On Active Service
A crisp, cool breeze straight from the sea swept through the streets
of Oporto and fanned the brows of three horsemen who were riding in
from the country about ten in the morning some six weeks after the
events already narrated. A brilliant autumn sun shed its rays far and
wide, causing white walls and pavements to flash back shafts of light
which were almost blinding in their intensity, while the russet hues
of the foliage looked wonderfully bright and enchanting.
"Oporto at last!" exclaimed one of the three horsemen, a youth
dressed in the uniform of a staff officer. "At last!"
"And none too soon," came from his companion, riding at his knee.
"None too soon, Tom, my boy. Army rations are good enough when
there's nothing else to be had, but give me the sight of a town now
and again. There'll be dinners to be had, there'll be invitations
galore to the houses of the big people, dances, fêtes, everything you
can wish for or imagine."
Jack laughed uproariously, the happy laugh of a youth who is bent
on pleasure, and who is ready to enjoy all that comes his way. For
this was Jack Barwood, Ensign, of the 60th Rifles, attached for
special service to Lieutenant Tom Clifford's command. And the youth
who looked so well in the uniform of a staff officer was none other
than our hero. Respectfully in rear of them, precisely three horses'
length behind, rode the rifleman Andrews, as erect as any cavalry
soldier trained, his eyes glistening at the prospect of a rest in
Oporto, a bed to sleep in, and all the entertainment a city promised.
"And work," interjected Tom, when Jack had finished speaking. "All
play and no work makes Jack a bad soldier. Eh?"
Jack made reply by snatching at his sword and half-drawing it, while
he glared at his comrade. However it was all fun, and only a symptom
of good spirits. Jack was now in clover; but for that chance meeting
with our hero and the adventure which had followed he would have been
along with his regiment, then scattered by companies, and his lot
would have been very different. Instead he was appointed for special
service, than which there is nothing more eagerly sought by an
officer. He was Tom's right-hand man, his adviser if you like--though
Lieutenant Riley smiled satirically when that was suggested--his
adjutant when engaged with irregulars.
Jack had, in fact, in spite of his want of seriousness, been of great
service to our hero. For, with the help of Andrews, he had instructed
him in the customary duties of an officer and had taught him more
than a smattering of drill.
"Just enough to let you manoeuvre the irregulars you are to command,"
he had assured Tom, with a laugh. "You can't expect always to carry
out an adventure like that we passed through with nothing but cheek
to help you. Knowledge is wanted, my boy! I'll be the one to give it
to you."
One could hardly have imagined a worse instructor; but when it came
to the point Jack had proved an excellent fellow, and very soon,
thanks to his tuition, Tom found himself able to drill a company with
ease, and to understand how a battalion could be manoeuvred. It took
but a short while for him to grip other points particular to an army:
how it was split up into divisions, consisting of so many brigades
in each case, and how those brigades were made up of battalions,
each, of course, boasting of a certain number of companies. As for a
command, Tom had not been long in finding one.
"You will endeavour to enlist Portuguese and Spanish irregulars,"
the chief of Wellington's staff had told him. "We leave it to you to
suggest a plan; but, of course, your main work will be to seek out
information concerning the enemy."
"I'm wondering----" began Tom that very evening, when he and Jack lay
beneath the same tent.
"Eh? Don't!" came the facetious and grinning answer. "Don't, my boy;
your brain'll not stand it."
"Seriously, though," Tom went on, ignoring his friend's good-natured
raillery.
"Of course; you're always serious. Well, you're wondering; and I'm
wondering why you're wondering instead of getting off to sleep. It's
a beast of a night, raining cats and dogs, and a chap needs to sleep
to escape the blues."
"It would do you good to be out with our pickets then," cried Tom
warmly, irritated by his friend. "I've a good mind to send you off
with a message to----"
That brought Jack sitting upright with a jerk. After all, Tom was his
senior, ridiculous though it did appear, and if he carried out such a
threat, why, Jack must perforce obey, though such a thing as an order
had never yet come from his friend.
"You were wondering--yes," he jerked out hurriedly.
"Whether I should ride back to that village where we had that fight
with the peasants. I'm ordered to enlist irregulars. I propose having
a band here in Portugal and one in Spain, close to the border. We all
know that the two peoples don't agree very well. There are continual
jealousies between them; but they would work together on occasions.
I propose going to that village to enlist the Portuguese part of my
command."
The suggestion took Jack's breath away and filled him with horror.
"What! They'd tear you to pieces," he exclaimed. "It's madness.
It's----"
"I shall ride there to-morrow," said Tom, cutting him short. "You can
stay behind if you're nervous."
And off they went, with Andrews their only escort. Riding into the
village over the heaped-up mound which marked the spot where the
peasants had dug a trench to arrest the French troopers, Tom and
Jack were greeted most respectfully. None recognized in the handsome
staff officer the leader of the troopers, nor in his smart brother
officer the young fellow who was with him, and who had barely even
now recovered from the wound inflicted. Tom rode direct to the house
of the mayor, and dropped from his saddle. And then had followed an
exciting incident. When he spoke, the people recognized him. Men
rushed to the spot howling threats. Weapons appeared as if by magic,
and for a while it looked as if, in spite of their being English, the
little party would be cut to pieces. But here again Tom showed his
mettle; not once did he betray concern.
"I make no excuses," he said sternly. "What we did was forced on us;
but I have come back to bury old scores and to offer a favour to you."
His unconcern alone won him friends at once, while the memory of how
he had treated those men who had descended to the courtyard and had
been hemmed in there told in his favour. Where a minute earlier men
had shrieked at him, they now smiled and lifted their caps--more
than that, many were eager to do service. Thus it came about that
within three days Tom had as many hundred _Cacadores_, or Portuguese
irregulars, drilling close to the British army, on ground specially
allotted to them, while within six weeks he had set off for Oporto
for the special purpose of arranging for a similar party of Spaniards.
"It's work that you can look forward to, Jack," he repeated, as they
came to the outskirts of Oporto. "I haven't ridden in here for the
sole purpose of eating big dinners and dancing with all the fairest
girls in Oporto. I'm here on business, your business, the British
army's business, and don't you forget it!"
Jack screwed his face up as if he were disgusted.
"But," he began, "there'll----"
"Be time for fun--perhaps," agreed Tom. "But business first. I shall
ride direct for the house of Juan de Esteros and Septimus John
Clifford & Son."
"Of Oporto."
"And of London--wine merchants. Don Juan's my uncle; I'm looking
forward to the meeting. Wonder if he'll have news of the folks at
home?"
Men stepped aside to look at the two young officers, lifting
their caps; city people raised a cheer more than once as they
recognized the uniform of a staff officer; while often enough a
handkerchief fluttered from some window as Tom and Jack walked
their horses through the city. There was abundant evidence, in
fact, of the popularity of the British; and had our heroes cared
for entertainment, and possessed the time, they could have spent
a year passing from one hospitable house to another. Everyone was
glad to see them. Everyone!--no. There was one exception, though
he passed unnoticed amongst the crowds. A face peeped out from the
window of a hovel that was squeezed in at the corner of a square
which Tom and Jack were just entering, while the limbs of the owner
of that face writhed and twisted incessantly. A thin, weak hand
played with the corner of a weak mouth, while a scowl of hatred lined
a narrow forehead. The young man--for he was but little older than
Tom--stretched out a little farther, so as to obtain a better view of
the officers riding before him, and then ducked back out of sight.
"Tom Clifford!" he hissed. "He in Oporto! Safe from the sea, and an
officer! Ah!"
The scowl deepened, for the moment was a bitter one for José. Yes,
it was José de Esteros, whom we saw last in London, the scheming
vindictive nephew to whom John Clifford had given a home for many
a year, and who had rewarded his uncle after such a manner. It was
the sneaking youth who had procured Tom's impressment, and who had
schemed and schemed so that, one of these days, he might become the
head of the firm of Septimus John Clifford & Son. It was, in fact,
the ruffian who hoped to break through that old tradition of the firm
owned by his uncle, and deprive it of the son who, following unbroken
custom, should succeed.
"Tom Clifford!" he gasped again. "An officer too! How? And in Oporto!
Why?"
A guilty conscience supplied the answer promptly. It was for his
arrest that Tom had come without a doubt, and here again was added
injury. Let us realize the position of affairs exactly. Far from
being sorry for the rascally action he had undertaken, José vented
the whole of his own displeasure on Tom's unconscious head. He had
always been jealous of our hero. He hated him now because of the
failure of the wicked scheme which should have ruined him, and hated
him still more because retribution and discovery had come so soon.
Indeed, Tom had scarcely reached the ship after his impressment
when Huggins, John Clifford's faithful clerk, had unravelled the
conspiracy, and had compelled the ruffian who had captured him to
admit the fact. And José had had a near escape of being sent to
prison; for with the unravelling of the conspiracy came the knowledge
that he had robbed his uncle. But this wretched youth was as crafty
as he was sneaking. Swift to detect discovery, he had once more
robbed his uncle and had departed. A ship sailing that very evening
for Oporto took him aboard, and within a week José de Esteros had
presented himself at his uncle's, at Don Juan de Estero's house,
where the Portuguese branch of the famous firm of Septimus John
Clifford & Son was established. And there he had remained for two
months, giving it out that his cousin had run away from home, and
that he, José, had been sent to take his place. Cleverly intercepting
the frantic letters which John Clifford wrote, José kept up the
deception till, one fine morning, the faithful Huggins landed and
appeared at the office. Then José ran again and hid himself in the
hovels of the city. It was in one of these that he was located on the
morning of Tom's entry, engaged, one may be sure, in further rascally
schemes which the unexpected arrival of his cousin at once gave zest
to.
"Tom Clifford here!" he again ejaculated, crouching behind the
window. "Then here's a chance to go on with the matter. Because I
failed once, it won't be for always; I've a splendid game before me."
The shaking fingers went to his thin lips again, while his limbs
writhed and seemed to knot themselves together.
"I'll kill him!" José hissed, as Tom began to pass out of his vision.
"Yes, and I'll make use of the information which Don Juan gave me.
Ha, ha! It makes me smile. He took me into his confidence. Told me
of his riches, of the wealth his son would have. He's my cousin too,
like Tom. Why shouldn't I have their share from both sides of the
family?"
The pale features of this half-Spaniard wrinkled into a smile that
was more sardonic than anything. The thin, writhing fingers played
about the corners of his mouth, while the pair of bright and somewhat
protruding eyes which a second before had been fixed upon the
stalwart form of Andrews, then the only one of the three horsemen
remaining visible, lost themselves in a vacant gaze. In those few
following seconds José saw himself powerful and rich, head of a
prosperous old firm, a partner of the business in the place of his
cousin Tom, successor to his Uncle Juan's riches.
Let us turn from the contemplation of a youth so devoid of all that
was pleasant and taking--José was born with a kink, a moral kink, if
you will--let us leave him with it and follow Tom and his comrade.
But in doing so let us remember that though José might be weak, he
was yet a force to be reckoned with, a force, had Tom but known it,
likely enough to come between him and those much-cherished ambitions.
José might easily intervene between the gallant and handsome staff
officer whom he called cousin and that post in the army to which
youthful good spirits and assurance caused him to aspire.
"The way to the house of Septimus John Clifford & Son, _señor_,"
answered a man of whom Tom made an enquiry. "There are few in this
city who do not know the name and the house. Pass directly on till
you enter another square, then turn to the left, descending toward
the water. The house is on the right, some little distance down."
There it was at last. Jack pulled in his horse at the sight, while
his estimation of our hero went up a little. For to the high and
mighty Jack trade was trade, something at which he was rather wont
to turn up his nose. It was purely ignorance of the world that made
him do so; for to do him but justice the young ensign was no snob.
And here he found himself in front of an enormous range of buildings,
with warehouses and stores running right down to the water. Over the
main building flew the flag of England, with that of Portugal close
beside it, while a board of modest proportions announced the fact
that this was the home of Septimus John Clifford & Son.
Tom slid from his saddle, handed his reins over to Andrews, and went
striding up the steps of the building, his sword and sabretache
swaying at his side. A very gallant figure he cut too as he entered
the office and enquired for Don Juan de Esteros.
"What name?" he was asked.
"Say a British officer," he responded, and presently was ushered
into a handsomely furnished office. A little man, bearing traces of
obvious ill health, rose from a chair, and at once advanced with hand
cordially outstretched.
"This is an honour," he said in broken English, mingled with a word
of Portuguese. "To what do I owe the visit? What can I do for you,
sir? But surely----"
As he gripped Tom's hand he peered through his spectacles into his
face, while a flush suddenly suffused his own olive complexion.
"I am your nephew," said our hero abruptly, speaking Spanish and
smiling at his uncle. "Very much at your service."
A shout escaped Don Juan. He went to a door leading from the back
of the room and called loudly. A minute later a familiar figure
burst into the room and rushed at Tom. It was Septimus John Clifford
himself, fatter than ever perhaps, rosy-faced, but active. The
meeting between father and son can be imagined. They gripped hands
and stood staring at one another for perhaps five seconds.
"Well!" at last John gasped, standing away from his son. "A handsome
figure you cut, Tom. A soldier, eh?"
"On General Lord Wellington's staff, sir."
"And mighty well you'll do, sir," came the answer. "Mighty proud I
am of you. I've heard the tale. It's barely thirty hours since I set
foot in Portugal, and who should I meet but Lieutenant Riley, who was
just about to embark for England. We dined together. He talked, sir.
Yes, he made me feel proud. Tom, the business can still be carried on
with one of its partners in the army. I'm proud of you, lad."
Septimus John Clifford had a long tale to tell his son, and it was
half an hour later before our hero recollected that he had left
Jack waiting outside. By then he had learned all that had happened
during his absence from England. How José's cruel conspiracy had
been discovered. How in course of time a report had come through the
Admiralty telling of Tom's impressment, of the action at sea, and of
his behaviour. And then had followed silence. The ship on which he
should have reached Oporto failed to put in an appearance. Reference
to the French failed to discover news, and John Clifford was reduced
again to the depths of despair, imagining that Tom had gone to the
bottom of the sea with his comrades.
"Then there was the case of José, your cousin," he said severely. "He
acted like a hound all through, and but for Huggins would have done
us further injury. Imagine the duplicity and cunning of the rascal.
He presented himself to your uncle here as your successor. He wormed
himself artfully into his regard, intercepted all our letters, and
finally bolted, having once more stolen all that he could lay his
hands on. The news of his vileness brought me out here, and contrary
winds delayed me till the night before last. Then, and only then, did
I hear of you, my boy, and of all that you have been doing."
He stood away from our hero again and inspected him with obvious
pride, while Don Juan peered through his spectacles at the young
staff officer whom he called nephew.
"A fine soldier, John," he ventured. "A good leader, by all accounts."
"And come here to let us see him. What brought you, sir?" asked John.
"Business," said Tom crisply. "But let me call in my friend and
adjutant. We have business with Don Juan."
The meeting with Jack was most cordial, and presently all four were
seated in the office.
"Now," said Don Juan.
"We came to ask for your help," began Tom.
"If it's money you want, lad, as is only natural, why you shall have
plenty," burst in John.
"It's men," answered our hero. "I want to raise a small force of
Spaniards, and I want also a leader to act under my orders, on whom I
can at once rely."
It was wonderful with what enthusiasm the two older gentlemen
received this information. Don Juan pulled off his glasses and then
pushed them back again on to his nose. He got up from his seat and
paced backwards and forwards, and later suddenly faced the two
officers.
"You want a command composed of Spaniards; I can lay my hand on
such a force," he said. "Alfonso, my son, is now in Spain, within
easy distance of Madrid, and, were I to command him, could raise a
force there. But the men of the towns are not to be relied on. For
guerrillas you could have none better than the mountaineers living on
the frontier between Spain and Portugal."
"Just so," agreed Tom promptly. "Hardier and braver, sir."
"Precisely," came the answer; "and with this, added to their natural
feelings of patriotism, they will be led by the son of the man on
whose estate they work, and will have in supreme command that son's
cousin, a British officer on the staff of no less a person than
General Lord Wellington himself."
The little man skipped about the room in his enthusiasm, and forgot
for the moment the decorum usually expected of a sedate business man.
He snapped his fingers in his glee, and winked and blinked at Tom and
at the company generally through his glasses.
"Alfonso shall call them up and command them," he cried; "Tom
Clifford, of the firm of Septimus John Clifford & Son, shall be in
supreme command. How's that for an arrangement? No trouble about pay
either, Tom. I'll see to that; I've abundance with which to pay every
one of the following."
The suggestion almost took Septimus Clifford's breath away. The stout
little head of the old and extremely respectable business firm looked
across at the jubilant little man, who for many a year had conducted
the affairs of the firm in Portugal and Spain, as if he considered
him mad. He gasped for breath, polished his bald head with a huge
silk handkerchief of brilliant red colour, and blew heavily, puffing
out his cheeks.
"What!" he exclaimed, pointing a fat finger at Don Juan. "You will
place a force at Tom's disposal. You will call up the men on your
estate, and will put your only son in command."
"Why not, sir?" Don Juan flashed out the question, and then smiled at
his partner. "Why not? A pretty person you are, to be sure! You ask
in one breath whether I will do this thing, knowing that my country
is overrun by France, yet in the previous breath you sing praises
because your only son, the son who should represent the firm, is on
Lord Wellington's staff. Moreover, you gloated horribly over the
details of the fighting in which he took a prominent part, and which
were given you by that naval officer."
A condemnatory finger was pointed at Septimus John Clifford. Don Juan
regarded him severely for some moments, and then smiled and snapped
his fingers.
"Come," he said; "the affairs of our business lose significance when
compared with the dangers of this country and the efforts of your
soldiers. Tom asks for Spanish irregulars; he shall have them. He
asks for a commander; Alfonso is the lad. Eh? You don't dare deny it."
Septimus did not. In his heart he was delighted, and, like the
sensible, long-headed man he was, he promptly sat down to discuss
ways and means. As for Tom and Jack, they spent three days in the
city, and then, accompanied by a guide, set off for the Spanish
frontier.
"You will be met there by Alfonso," said Don Juan. "I have sent a man
across to him, and he will be at the estate as soon as you are. Here
is a letter for him, and you will find that he will give you every
assistance, and will fall into this scheme with eagerness."
Some three days later found our two heroes at the estate belonging to
Don Juan, where they were joined a day later by Alfonso. He rode up
on a big mule, and dropped from his saddle at the porch of the house.
A fine, frank young fellow he proved to be.
"Glad to meet you, señors," he cried. "Which is my cousin?"
"You speak English?" asked Tom, when the greetings were over.
"Not a word; but Portuguese, of course."
"Then Jack must hurry up with his lessons," grinned Tom; for his
adjutant, with that perverseness common to many English lads, hated
languages. Too full, perhaps, of insular pride, he imagined that
his own tongue should carry him everywhere, and that foreigners
should promptly contrive to add English to theirs, rather than
that he should be bothered to master any language beyond his own.
A perverseness, one may call it, a perverseness that gives the
foreigner an enormous opportunity, and in these days of easy transit
and of broadened interests, is telling against the Englishman. The
polyglot Britisher of to-morrow will advance better and farther than
will the man of to-day who is ignorant of all other languages than
his own. However, Jack was not the one to be stupid, and, indeed,
for quite a while had been struggling with French, Portuguese, and
Spanish.
The four weeks which followed were busy ones for the three young
fellows. First the men of the estate had to be called up, together
with others living in the neighbourhood.
"We want three hundred, so as to match those in Portugal," said Tom.
"It will be as well also to have a reserve, who can go on training
in our absence. I shall do the same with the men we have raised in
Portugal, and, as it seems that the two forces are at this moment
separated by only some fifty miles, there will be no need to move
nearer. But we must enlist the help of men living between us.
It will not be difficult to devise signals, such as fires on the
hilltops, which will warn either party or will summon one to join the
other."
The end of the month found Alfonso's particular command sufficiently
trained for active work. No large amount of drill was given them;
but they were able to perform simple movements, and, at Jack's
suggestion, worked at the call of a whistle. One long call would see
their bivouacs broken, their knapsacks swung over their shoulders,
and each man in his place in the ranks, his musket at his shoulder.
Consisting of three hundred men, they were divided into companies
a hundred strong, for each of which a reliable leader was found.
Moreover, Tom had no fault to find with the formation when those
companies were drawn up for inspection.
"Smartness on parade is all very well, and good for discipline,"
he said, whereat Jack grinned his approval, "but it won't win
engagements, and the engagements we are likely to be in don't require
rigid lines. Try 'em with two long whistles."
Alfonso had barely given the signals when the companies broke up as
if by magic and re-formed at once into small squares, with some fifty
paces between them.
"For cavalry," said Jack, approval in his voice. "If they've courage,
and will stand fast, cavalry will have little terror for them. If
they break----"
"Every man would be cut to pieces, _señor_," said Alfonso. "That is
a thing they know. I trust soon that we may have an opportunity of
testing their courage."
It happened that such an opportunity came almost instantly, on the
very morning when Tom and Jack were to return to Portugal. A couple
of French squadrons burst suddenly upon the little command when
engaged at drill, and galloped down upon them. For one moment there
was confusion in the ranks; then Tom's cheery voice was heard, while
Alfonso sounded his whistle.
"Get to the farthest square," Tom shouted at Jack. "I'll take the
centre with Andrews, while Alfonso goes to the third. Our presence
will hearten the men."
Clapping spurs to their horses' flanks they galloped to their posts,
and, dismounting within each square, turned to face the enemy.
"Hold your fire till I shout," commanded Tom. "Let those who are
kneeling reserve their fire till the men standing above them have
opened upon the enemy. Have no fear, boys--double that strength of
the enemy could not harm you."
But in spite of his assurance he had some qualms. Other guerrilla
forces composed of Spaniards had thought to do well, and had faced
French cavalry; but they had broken at the critical moment, and had
been sabred to a man. Would these fine fellows follow suit, or would
they stand firm? Ah! A man at one of the corners rose from his knees
and looked wildly at the enemy. He dropped his musket as if it had
stung him, and then, doubling up as if he were a hare, set off from
the face of the square.
"Halt!" Tom bellowed. "You will be shot if you do not stop. Let the
three men at the corner aim at him and fire if he does not return
instantly."
There came a growl from many of the men. Two or three looked as if
they might follow the bad example set them. Then there was a sharp
report, followed by the fall of the coward who had bolted from the
square, and who had been deaf to Tom's orders.
"Form up there in the corner," he commanded, severely. "You see what
happens to a man who deserts his comrades. Let it be a lesson to all.
Make ready to fire; stand firm. We shall beat them."
Let those who have not tested the experience imagine what nerve it
must require to stand shoulder to shoulder in the open and see a
horde of horse and men galloping down upon you. The animals take on
a stature wonderfully enlarged--they seem even more ferocious than
their riders--sabres whirl and appear to stretch far in advance, so
as to reach easily an enemy. The situation brings for the instant a
feeling of helplessness, one calculated to disturb the courage of the
boldest. Would Tom's little command and the men massed in the other
squares be proof against such an ordeal?
"Charge!" The loud command from the leader of the French squadrons
sent a flood of men and horse madly down upon them.