The Great General
Marching from the building which had given them shelter, Tom and
his companions struck directly for the road that led away from the
hills, Andrews, in advance, standing in his stirrups so as to obtain
a better view of his surroundings. Jack watched operations from the
mattress placed in the cart, on which he had been placed, a most
unwilling prisoner, while the jovial naval lieutenant sat up, his
back propped against the side of the cart, and surveyed matters
generally from the standpoint of a man who is well satisfied with all
that is happening.
"Couldn't be better, couldn't," he observed to the disconsolate Jack;
"and hark ye, me lad, for all your grousing I know that you feel the
same. Tom's done magnificently; few would have done as well."
It was just what might have been expected of the amiable, if
hot-tempered, Jack that he should acquiesce warmly.
"Grandly," he agreed. "Of course one wonders what one would have done
oneself under the circumstances, and it's wretchedly unlucky being
winged, and having to look on like a child."
"Better than being chopped to pieces at any rate," came the swift
answer. "Besides, we're not out of the wood yet. We've to get away
from these mountains, and there's still that narrow valley through
which we galloped on our way to the place where the real attack was
made. I shall be surprised if we get through without meeting with
more of the peasants."
There was always that hazard, and as Tom looked about him, riding at
the tail of the procession, he was bound to admit that matters still
looked gloomy.
"There's no way out of the place but by the road," he said to
Howeley, who rode beside him. "Of course we could abandon the horses
and take to the hills, but then----"
"Wounded and stores, sir," came the respectful interruption.
"Couldn't be done, sir."
"Out of the question, I agree--so on we have to go. To turn the other
way would take us back to the village, and then there wouldn't be any
reaching the church or other fort as we have done. No, on we have to
go. Those peasants are following, and I see scattered groups about
us."
The wretched Portuguese who had attacked the troop of horse had
indeed taken many precautions to prevent their prey escaping them.
Not that the idea had occurred to them that Tom and his men would
have the audacity to leave a place that provided a fairly safe haven,
and which in any case gave such shelter that more than once attack
on the part of the peasants had failed. But, for fear of one of
the troopers venturing to ride away for help, they had posted bands
of their comrades round about the church, placing a number on the
road, and causing others to march to that narrow part that shut in
the wider portion of the valley, and through which fugitives must
pass. For half an hour Andrews led the cavalcade forward at a smart
pace. He turned on reaching the road, and then pushed along it, the
troopers clattering behind him, and riding on either side of the
carts. Suddenly his hand went up, bringing the procession to a halt,
while Tom galloped up to join him.
"A hundred of the enemy in front, sir," the rifleman reported. "They
seem to be blocking the road with a cart, and are stationed behind
it."
"While men are racing after us from the village," observed our hero.
"Looks ugly, Andrews."
"A hole, sir; but we've been in one as deep and deeper."
"True," agreed Tom; "and we'll climb out of this. Let me have a look
at them for a while. We'll move along again at a trot till just out
of musket shot. By then I'll have made up my mind how to treat them."
He rode on beside the rifleman, his eyes fixed upon the enemy in
front. Shouts came from the latter, while a number could be seen
standing behind a cart which had been upset across the narrow road.
At this precise point, in fact, the rugged hills on either side,
hills for which Portugal is notorious, converged abruptly, forming
as it were a doorway to that end of the valley. The rocky walls ran
along within thirty feet of one another for perhaps a hundred yards,
and then suddenly broke away again, making the entrance to another
valley. Not that one could see the latter, for there was a sharp bend
in the cleft between the hills. But Tom remembered the surroundings.
"Ugly place," he told Andrews. "Looks as if the two hills were joined
at one time, and then were broken apart. Once through, we have a wide
valley to cross, and then another place such as this, but shorter
and wider. So if we manage this job we'll do the other. Now for
skirmishers."
He swung round on the troop, and with a sign drew all the men toward
him. Then selecting eight men, whom he had noticed to be more active
than their fellows, he spoke quickly to them, so that they and their
comrades could hear.
"Listen, friends," he said. "Behind us the villagers are coming
up as fast as their legs can carry them. In front there is this
obstruction. Do as I order, and you will see that we shall quickly
clear the peasants out. You eight men will divide, and four will go
to either side. We are hardly within musket shot yet, so that I shall
approach closer. When I signal, hand your reins to your comrades,
take your carbines, and make off on to the hill. Clamber up and along
till you outflank those fellows opposite; then shoot them down. We
will do the same from the front. Understand?"
"_Oui, monsieur_," came in a chorus.
"Then on we go."
Tom led them forward at a foot pace, till bullets began to strike
the road at his feet, and the distance was so short between the
combatants that he could see the enemy easily. He came to a sudden
halt and waved his hand. Then, without waiting to watch the troopers
told off for special duty, he called to the man driving the store
cart to come forward.
"Dismount," he ordered abruptly. "Now turn the cart and horse round.
Good! Back the cart steadily towards the enemy. My lads, half a dozen
of you will ride after the cart, shooting from behind its shelter.
Better still, let three dismount. There will still be enough men left
to lead the horses, or you can hitch the reins to the second cart.
Yes, that will be better. Let the whole six dismount; then, with the
cart to shelter you, you will be able to do something with these
people."
A couple of minutes before, a casual glance at the troopers forming
the escort to the two carts would have shown doubt on many of the
sun-burnt faces; for the difficulty which confronted the fugitives
both before and behind was great. That in front seemed almost
insuperable, and, seeing it, more than one of the men wondered
whether, after all, this was to be the end of their adventure, if
here the peasants would hem them in and slaughter them. But Tom's
brisk orders and the novelty of his suggestions set them smiling.
"_Peste!_ But this Englishman has brains," grunted one of them,
swinging himself swiftly out of his saddle. "These Portuguese
peasants are pudding-headed beside him. One moment ago and I thought
that the end was near, that I and Strasbourg would see one another no
more. Now the path is easier for us--you will see these demons run."
But that had yet to be proved. Massed behind the upturned cart, and
already pouring shot at the troopers, the band of peasants hooted
and shouted in triumph. They hardly seemed to notice the eight
troopers who broke from the ranks of the little procession; for at
that moment the store cart was swung round, and the process of slowly
backing it towards the enemy began. That operation attracted their
whole attention, and soon bullets were thudding against the barrel
of wine, tearing a way into the midst of the hams loaded on the
cart, or smashing the jars of preserves which the excellent padre's
housekeeper had set aside for him. Some went to either side--for the
peasants were not first-class shots--while others pelted underneath,
passing between the legs of the horse, splashing against the road,
and sending little spurts of dust into the eyes of the troopers. The
latter made excellent use of the cover. Two were bent double beneath
the cart, and already their carbines were cracking sharply. A third
lay on the stores, his head shielded by a wooden box which was
filled with sugar, while the remainder walked on either side of the
horse, leaning outward and firing whenever an opportunity occurred.
Tom called the remaining troopers about him, and bade them make ready
for a charge.
"Once our fellows get on the hill above and outflank them we'll
gallop forward," he said. "Ride at the upturned cart. Swing when you
get near, and pass in behind. Once we have those rascals moving we'll
keep them on the run. So chase them right through to the valley, and
there halt till we come up. Ah! Our boys are getting to work. There
go their carbines."
The attack was not one that could be made hurriedly, for a horse
cannot be backed at a fast pace, and then the ground to be covered by
the men sent to outflank the enemy was steep and difficult. Indeed,
had the peasants but posted a few of their own men on either hand
they could have at once put a stop to such a movement. But it had
never crossed their minds that Tom and his men would force this
natural gateway. They imagined that they would come to a halt, and
that presently, on the arrival of their comrades from the village,
the troopers and their English friends would be cut down to a man.
That, in fact, was what would have happened had they delayed. But
the flanking party scrambled rapidly into position, while the store
cart advanced steadily and persistently, the shots from the troopers
sheltering behind it causing havoc amongst the Portuguese. Tom
allowed five minutes to elapse, and then, waving a sabre overhead,
led Andrews and Howeley and the two or three troopers still remaining
against the barricade. Cramming his heels into the flanks of his
horse, he sent him down the road at breakneck speed. Swinging past
the cart where the troopers were sheltering, he dashed at the
obstruction behind which the peasants stood, and, swinging again,
burst in on the far side. Andrews and Howeley followed with great
dash, while the French troopers were not a yard behind them. And
then began a furious struggle. Men slashed desperately at them with
scythes, others attempted to unhorse the riders, while a few dived in
with the intention of killing the animals. But those swinging sabres
beat them off. Already the bullets of the attackers had had some
effect, particularly the galling shots of the flanking party. For a
moment the issue hung in the balance. Then the men who had fired from
behind the cart came up at a run, and instantly the peasants bolted,
the three troopers and Howeley galloping after them and keeping them
on the run. Perhaps two minutes later the blare of a trumpet was
heard in front, and then the clatter of drums. While Tom stared at
the retreating peasants, and at the forms of his own men, some twenty
or thirty gaily uniformed lancers rode into view, blocking the far
end of the pass. The long lances were lifted from their rests as Tom
looked. The pennons fluttered, and then down came the points. A
second later an officer rode to the front of these lancers.
"Ah!" gasped Andrews, gaping at them.
"_Ma foi!_" growled one of the Frenchmen at Tom's elbow.
"English--hooray, they're our boys!" came in high-pitched tones from
the cart in which Jack and the naval officer were accommodated, and
which had been driven up to the scene of the conflict. Upright on
the mattress on which he should have been lying stood Jack, wobbling
badly, shrieking his delight at the top of his voice. As for Mr.
Riley, perspiration covered his forehead and streamed down his face.
He held out a hand as they came nearer, signalled to Tom, and gripped
his with a feeling there was no misunderstanding.
"Gallantly done, lad!" he cried. "You've pulled us out of the wood.
The coming of the lancers has nothing to do with the matter, though
it'll help to make things comfortable. Boys, three cheers for Mr.
Clifford!"
They gave them with a heartiness there was no denying. French and
English joined in the shouts till the rocky walls echoed back the
cheers a hundred times. And then all became of a sudden quiet and
sober. For those thirty lancers were followed by a hundred perhaps,
bringing the fleeing peasants to a sudden halt and causing some of
them to attempt the feat of clambering away on either hand. A minute
later the ranks of the lancers opened, and through the open files
came a number of horsemen. Tom found himself watching their approach
with something akin to fear, for mounted on a magnificent horse which
led the procession was a tall officer of high rank without doubt,
who rode through the muttering and beaten peasants as if they did
not exist. A stern, clean-shaven face was turned in Tom's direction,
while the pair of deep-set eyes that flanked a wonderfully hooked
nose peered out from beneath a cocked hat at the little band which
our hero had led so successfully.
It was Wellington without a doubt, the general who had led our
troops so brilliantly in the Peninsula, who had seen fighting in
many a place, and had won in far-off India a reputation there was no
denying. It was the great Lord Wellington, and with him his chief of
the staff, aides-de-camp, and other officers, a glittering throng,
gold-braided and medalled, all silently observing Tom and his little
party. As for the latter, our hero was almost too astounded even to
think, while his followers, conscious of the rank of those who looked
at them, and indeed, of the presence of Wellington himself, fell in
just behind our hero, shouldered their weapons, and drew themselves
up as became good soldiers. Yes, British and French, at war with one
another in the Peninsula, but friends in this particular part of it,
drew themselves up proudly, as men who had no cause to feel ashamed.
Slowly a smile swept across the face of the general.
"I see," he said, so that all could hear. "We have here a little
adventure worth hearing. Who is in command of this party?"
Mr. Riley pushed his way to the front, having clambered from the cart
with difficulty. Saluting the general, he pointed to Tom.
"That gentleman, sir, is in command," he said steadily.
"And these?" asked the general instantly, indicating the French
troopers, with a smile.
"We were their prisoners till a few moments ago. We were taken at
sea, landed in this neighbourhood, and taken off by a troop of
cavalry. The peasants attacked us suddenly, the officers were shot
down, and Mr. Clifford at once took command. I wish to report that
he has behaved splendidly. He and the riflemen have been the life
and soul of our party. But the troopers behaved most handsomely, and
obeyed orders as if they were our men. It is a good story, sir."
"And one we will hear," came the instant answer. "Er, Lieutenant----"
"Riley, sir."
"Ah, Lieutenant, I'm pleased to meet you. We shall camp in this
valley, and you will give me the pleasure of dining with me to-night
and of bringing your comrades. Mr. Clifford, I think you said."
The naval officer beckoned our hero forward and introduced him
formally. Then he took the general to Jack's side, making him known
also. As for Andrews and Howeley, they were beaming in a moment, for
Wellington did them the honour of shaking their hands, while smiles
broke across the countenances of the French troopers when he halted
before them.
"You have an interpreter?" he asked Mr. Riley.
"Mr. Clifford, sir."
"Then repeat what I say, if you please, Mr. Clifford. Tell them I
am delighted to hear that they have fought side by side instead of
against us, and that they shall be well treated and their conduct
reported to their own commanders. Tell them that."
Tom promptly interpreted the words, causing the Frenchmen to flush
with pride.
"And now for these wretched peasants," began Wellington, turning
to the spot where some fifty of the latter cowered, wondering what
was to be done with them. "I presume it is much the same tale as we
have had before? Reprisals attempted because of the brutality of the
French. Hundreds of these poor fools against a handful of armed men.
A sudden attack and a narrow escape. Well, we'll sign to them to be
off. There's no interpreter with us just now."
"Pardon, sir," burst in Mr. Riley. "Mr. Clifford speaks the language."
"What? Let me hear him."
Blunt and abrupt in speech, there was something kind nevertheless in
the tones of the general, and at once Tom went to the Portuguese and
told them they might depart. When he returned he found Wellington
looking at him with strange intensity.
"You are a civilian, sir," he asked, "and speak French and
Portuguese?"
"Badly, sir, I'm afraid," smiled our hero. "Also I can get along with
Spanish."
"Ah! And make yourself as well understood as in the other two
languages?"
"Better, perhaps, sir. My relatives are Spanish."
"And you are a civilian and wish to remain one?"
The eyes looking Tom up and down so closely gleamed. Did they twinkle
ever so little? Did this general, whose name was famous throughout
many countries, guess at the martial spirit that filled Tom's breast?
If he did, no one could do more than guess the fact, for the features
never altered. The eyes merely twinkled, and that ever so little.
"A pity," said the general. "You would have made a----"
Flesh and blood could not endure such temptation. Here was the
opportunity of his life, and Tom took it with open hands.
"I'm meant for a stool in Oporto, sir," he said. "But I'd give a heap
to earn a commission."
"Come to dinner to-night," was the answer he received, while
Wellington swung his horse round and rode on through the ranks
of the French troopers. But he did not forget our hero, for that
very evening, after dinner was over, and the remains of the
somewhat frugal meal in which he was wont to indulge had been
removed, Wellington called for candles with which to illuminate the
headquarters tent, and then bade Mr. Riley tell the story of the
adventure. Then he swung round on Tom and eyed him again in a manner
that made the young man's heart sink to the depths of his boots.
What wonder that the lad who had so bravely led the troopers should
tremble under the gaze of Wellington. For this famous general was
no ordinary man. The clean-shaven, sharply-cut features showed a
determination that was extraordinary and which of itself attracted
attention. His short, jerky sentences, however kindly meant, had a
way of alarming his juniors, while the severity of his features,
his exalted rank, the tremendous responsibilities resting on the
shoulders of this man, made him almost awe inspiring. Tom had nothing
to be ashamed of. Officers of senior rank out there in the Peninsula,
and elsewhere, both before and after this historic conflict, trembled
under the gaze of the brilliant tactician. Then why not Tom? But a
smile crossing the face of the general reassured him.
"So you were meant for a stool in Oporto and found yourself a
prisoner," began the general, putting down the glass from which he
had just taken a sip of wine, "and seem to have fallen naturally into
the life of a soldier. Let me add, too, you have done wonderfully
well. That I can gather even without the tale which Lieutenant Riley
has given me. You have shown discretion and sharpness, sir. The
army needs officers with discretion, and, I am proud to say, has
them. She needs, too, officers who are linguists. More than all she
wants officers able to speak one or more of the languages essential
to this campaign, and who have in addition the capacity to command
men. Mr. Clifford, my greatest difficulty in this campaign is that of
obtaining reliable information. Will you help me?"
Help a general! Help Wellington, the great duke who had defeated the
French now on so many occasions! The bare suggestion made Tom flush.
But the gallant officer addressing him was serious enough.
"Come," he said. "I want an officer for special service. He shall
be posted to my staff, and his special work will be to gather an
escort of the natives of Portugal or of Spain about him. He will
seek for information as to the movements of the enemy. He will
make sudden raids where necessary, and if occasion suggests it he
shall even enter the camps of the French and gather full tidings.
It is a dangerous task. It may mean wounds or death. The danger of
imprisonment is very great. Also, if the duties be carried out with
discretion and boldness, it means honour and promotion. Mr. Clifford,
I am happy to offer you a commission as an ensign, unattached at
present, to date from the day when you were taken by the French. My
next dispatch home shall make mention of your name and of my wishes.
To-morrow evening general orders shall confirm this offer, while
the following evening shall see you promoted to lieutenant for this
recent action. Afterwards you will carry out the instructions which
shall be handed to you. Will you accept?"
Would he accept! Would Tom take the very thing for which he had
longed, and become one of the king's officers! He jumped at the
offer. His delight robbed him of the power of speech, so that he
could only mumble his thanks. He retired, in fact, from the presence
of the famous general with his head and brain in a whirl.
"Hearty congratulations," cried Lieutenant Riley, smacking him on the
back as soon as they reached their own quarters. "We'll tell Jack
now. Pity the pain in his leg sent him away from the general's before
this happened. Ha! we've news, Jack."
The ensign had retired early from the dinner, the excitement and
movement of the last two days having set up inflammation in his
wound, though in the case of the naval officer it seemed to have
actually done his injury good. Jack lay on a camp bed provided by the
surgeon, blinking in the light of a candle.
"Eh?" he asked, glancing sleepily at them.
"Look out for squalls, my boy."
"Why? Don't understand, sir."
"You soon will," laughed Mr. Riley. "Tom's an awful martinet, and
he's your senior."
It was all true enough, though our hero found difficulty in
understanding the matter. For the very next evening found an
announcement in General Orders. There was a short, flattering
reference to Lieutenant Riley and Jack. And then the following
words: "The commander-in-chief has pleasure in recommending that Mr.
Clifford be granted a commission in His Majesty's forces, for his
action when in temporary command of the French troopers attacked by
Portuguese peasants. Ensign Clifford is posted to the headquarters
staff."
The following evening found a second announcement. "Ensign Clifford,
headquarters staff, is recommended for promotion for gallantry in a
recent action."
"My uncle!" exclaimed Jack, when he read the orders, "you'll be a
full-blown general, Tom, before I'm a captain. Don't forget me,
that's all. I'd look awfully fine in the uniform of a staff officer."
"A general? Why not?" Tom asked himself as he rolled himself in a
blanket. "I'm young, young for the rank of lieutenant. I'm in the
midst of a glorious campaign. And owing to the fact that I can speak
Portuguese, French, and Spanish I'm to be engaged on special service.
Why not a general one of these days?"
He forgot to look on the other side. Forgot, with the usual
impetuosity and carelessness of youth, to reckon the risks to be run
in achieving such honours. But then Tom did not realize what was
before him. To begin with, he reckoned without José de Esteros, his
most unloving cousin, whom he imagined still in England.