“And the best swordsman in the six brigades of light cavalry.”
Massena was famous for the accuracy of his information.
“Now,” said he, “if you will look at this plan you will have no
difficulty in understanding what it is that I wish you to do. These are
the lines of Torres Vedras. You will perceive that they cover a vast
space, and you will realise that the English can only hold a position
here and there. Once through the lines you have twenty-five miles of
open country which lie between them and Lisbon. It is very important
to me to learn how Wellington's troops are distributed throughout that
space, and it is my wish that you should go and ascertain.”
His words turned me cold.
“Sir,” said I, “it is impossible that a colonel of light cavalry should
condescend to act as a spy.”
He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder.
“You would not be a Hussar if you were not a hot-head,” said he. “If you
will listen you will understand that I have not asked you to act as a
spy. What do you think of that horse?”
He had conducted me to the opening of his tent, and there was a chasseur
who led up and down a most admirable creature. He was a dapple grey, not
very tall, a little over fifteen hands perhaps, but with the short
head and splendid arch of the neck which comes with the Arab blood. His
shoulders and haunches were so muscular, and yet his legs so fine,
that it thrilled me with joy just to gaze upon him. A fine horse or a
beautiful woman--I cannot look at them unmoved, even now when seventy
winters have chilled my blood. You can think how it was in the year '10.
“This,” said Massena, “is Voltigeur, the swiftest horse in our army.
What I desire is that you should start tonight, ride round the lines
upon the flank, make your way across the enemy's rear, and return upon
the other flank, bringing me news of his disposition. You will wear a
uniform, and will, therefore, if captured, be safe from the death of a
spy. It is probable that you will get through the lines unchallenged,
for the posts are very scattered. Once through, in daylight you can
outride anything which you meet, and if you keep off the roads you
may escape entirely unnoticed. If you have not reported yourself by
to-morrow night, I will understand that you are taken, and I will offer
them Colonel Petrie in exchange.”
Ah, how my heart swelled with pride and joy as I sprang into the saddle
and galloped this grand horse up and down to show the Marshal
the mastery which I had of him! He was magnificent--we were both
magnificent, for Massena clapped his hands and cried out in his delight.
It was not I, but he, who said that a gallant beast deserves a gallant
rider. Then, when for the third time, with my panache flying and my
dolman streaming behind me, I thundered past him, I saw upon his hard
old face that he had no longer any doubt that he had chosen the man for
his purpose. I drew my sabre, raised the hilt to my lips in salute, and
galloped on to my own quarters.
Already the news had spread that I had been chosen for a mission, and
my little rascals came swarming out of their tents to cheer me. Ah!
it brings the tears to my old eyes when I think how proud they were of
their Colonel.
And I was proud of them also. They deserved a dashing leader.
The night promised to be a stormy one, which was very much to my liking.
It was my desire to keep my departure most secret, for it was evident
that if the English heard that I had been detached from the army they
would naturally conclude that something important was about to happen.
My horse was taken, therefore, beyond the picket line, as if for
watering, and I followed and mounted him there. I had a map, a compass,
and a paper of instructions from the Marshal, and with these in the
bosom of my tunic and my sabre at my side I set out upon my adventure.
A thin rain was falling and there was no moon, so you may imagine that
it was not very cheerful. But my heart was light at the thought of
the honour which had been done me and the glory which awaited me. This
exploit should be one more in that brilliant series which was to change
my sabre into a baton. Ah, how we dreamed, we foolish fellows, young,
and drunk with success! Could I have foreseen that night as I rode,
the chosen man of sixty thousand, that I should spend my life planting
cabbages on a hundred francs a month! Oh, my youth, my hopes, my
comrades! But the wheel turns and never stops. Forgive me, my friends,
for an old man has his weakness.
My route, then, lay across the face of the high ground of Torres Vedras,
then over a streamlet, past a farmhouse which had been burned down and
was now only a landmark, then through a forest of young cork oaks, and
so to the monastery of San Antonio, which marked the left of the English
position. Here I turned south and rode quietly over the downs, for it
was at this point that Massena thought that it would be most easy for me
to find my way unobserved through the position. I went very slowly,
for it was so dark that I could not see my hand in front of me. In
such cases I leave my bridle loose and let my horse pick its own way.
Voltigeur went confidently forward, and I was very content to sit upon
his back and to peer about me, avoiding every light.
For three hours we advanced in this cautious way, until it seemed to
me that I must have left all danger behind me. I then pushed on more
briskly, for I wished to be in the rear of the whole army by daybreak.
There are many vineyards in these parts which in winter become open
plains, and a horseman finds few difficulties in his way.
But Massena had underrated the cunning of these English, for it appears
that there was not one line of defence but three, and it was the third,
which was the most formidable, through which I was at that instant
passing. As I rode, elated at my own success, a lantern flashed suddenly
before me, and I saw the glint of polished gun-barrels and the gleam of
a red coat.
“Who goes there?” cried a voice--such a voice! I swerved to the right
and rode like a madman, but a dozen squirts of fire came out of the
darkness, and the bullets whizzed all round my ears. That was no new
sound to me, my friends, though I will not talk like a foolish conscript
and say that I have ever liked it. But at least it had never kept me
from thinking clearly, and so I knew that there was nothing for it
but to gallop hard and try my luck elsewhere. I rode round the English
picket, and then, as I heard nothing more of them, I concluded rightly
that I had at last come through their defences.
For five miles I rode south, striking a tinder from time to time to look
at my pocket compass. And then in an instant--I feel the pang once more
as my memory brings back the moment--my horse, without a sob or staggers
fell stone-dead beneath me!
I had never known it, but one of the bullets from that infernal picket
had passed through his body. The gallant creature had never winced nor
weakened, but had gone while life was in him. One instant I was secure
on the swiftest, most graceful horse in Massena's army. The next he lay
upon his side, worth only the price of his hide, and I stood there that
most helpless, most ungainly of creatures, a dismounted Hussar. What
could I do with my boots, my spurs, my trailing sabre? I was far inside
the enemy's lines. How could I hope to get back again?
I am not ashamed to say that I, Etienne Gerard, sat upon my dead horse
and sank my face in my hands in my despair.
Already the first streaks were whitening the east.
In half an hour it would be light. That I should have won my way past
every obstacle and then at this last instant be left at the mercy of my
enemies, my mission ruined, and myself a prisoner--was it not enough to
break a soldier's heart?
But courage, my friends! We have these moments of weakness, the bravest
of us; but I have a spirit like a slip of steel, for the more you bend
it the higher it springs.
One spasm of despair, and then a brain of ice and a heart of fire. All
was not yet lost. I who had come through so many hazards would come
through this one also. I rose from my horse and considered what had best
be done.
And first of all it was certain that I could not get back. Long before I
could pass the lines it would be broad daylight. I must hide myself for
the day, and then devote the next night to my escape. I took the saddle,
holsters, and bridle from poor Voltigeur, and I concealed them among
some bushes, so that no one finding him could know that he was a French
horse. Then, leaving him lying there, I wandered on in search of some
place where I might be safe for the day. In every direction I could see
camp fires upon the sides of the hills, and already figures had begun to
move around them. I must hide quickly, or I was lost.
But where was I to hide? It was a vineyard in which I found myself, the
poles of the vines still standing, but the plants gone. There was no
cover there. Besides, I should want some food and water before another
night had come. I hurried wildly onward through the waning darkness,
trusting that chance would be my friend.
And I was not disappointed. Chance is a woman, my friends, and she has
her eye always upon a gallant Hussar.
Well, then, as I stumbled through the vineyard, something loomed in
front of me, and I came upon a great square house with another long, low
building upon one side of it. Three roads met there, and it was easy to
see that this was the posada, or wine-shop.
There was no light in the windows, and everything was dark and silent,
but, of course, I knew that such comfortable quarters were certainly
occupied, and probably by someone of importance. I have learned,
however, that the nearer the danger may really be the safer place, and
so I was by no means inclined to trust myself away from this shelter.
The low building was evidently the stable, and into this I crept, for
the door was unlatched.
The place was full of bullocks and sheep, gathered there, no doubt, to
be out of the clutches of marauders.
A ladder led to a loft, and up this I climbed and concealed myself very
snugly among some bales of hay upon the top. This loft had a small open
window, and I was able to look down upon the front of the inn and also
upon the road. There I crouched and waited to see what would happen.
It was soon evident that I had not been mistaken when I had thought that
this might be the quarters of some person of importance. Shortly after
daybreak an English light dragoon arrived with a despatch, and from then
onward the place was in a turmoil, officers continually riding up and
away. Always the same name was upon their lips: “Sir Stapleton--Sir
Stapleton.”
It was hard for me to lie there with a dry moustache and watch the
great flagons which were brought out by the landlord to these
English officers. But it amused me to look at their fresh-coloured,
clean-shaven, careless faces, and to wonder what they would think if
they knew that so celebrated a person was lying so near to them. And
then, as I lay and watched, I saw a sight which filled me with surprise.
It is incredible the insolence of these English! What do you suppose
Milord Wellington had done when he found that Massena had blockaded him
and that he could not move his army? I might give you many guesses. You
might say that he had raged, that he had despaired, that he had brought
his troops together and spoken to them about glory and the fatherland
before leading them to one last battle. No, Milord did none of these
things. But he sent a fleet ship to England to bring him a number of
fox-dogs; and he with his officers settled himself down to chase the
fox. It is true what I tell you. Behind the lines of Torres Vedras these
mad Englishmen made the fox chase three days in the week.
We had heard of it in the camp, and now I was myself to see that it was
true.
For, along the road which I have described, there came these very dogs,
thirty or forty of them, white and brown, each with its tail at the same
angle, like the bayonets of the Old Guard. My faith, but it was a pretty
sight! And behind and amidst them there rode three men with peaked caps
and red coats, whom I understood to be the hunters. After them came many
horsemen with uniforms of various kinds, stringing along the roads in
twos and threes, talking together and laughing.
They did not seem to be going above a trot, and it appeared to me that
it must indeed be a slow fox which they hoped to catch. However, it was
their affair, not mine, and soon they had all passed my window and were
out of sight. I waited and I watched, ready for any chance which might
offer.
Presently an officer, in a blue uniform not unlike that of our flying
artillery, came cantering down the road--an elderly, stout man he was,
with grey side-whiskers. He stopped and began to talk with an orderly
officer of dragoons, who waited outside the inn, and it was then that I
learned the advantage of the English which had been taught me. I could
hear and understand all that was said.
“Where is the meet?” said the officer, and I thought that he was
hungering for his bifstek. But the other answered him that it was near
Altara, so I saw that it was a place of which he spoke.
“You are late, Sir George,” said the orderly.
“Yes, I had a court-martial. Has Sir Stapleton Cotton gone?”
At this moment a window opened, and a handsome young man in a very
splendid uniform looked out of it.
“Halloa, Murray!” said he. “These cursed papers keep me, but I will be
at your heels.”
“Very good, Cotton. I am late already, so I will ride on.”
“You might order my groom to bring round my horse,” said the young
General at the window to the orderly below, while the other went on down
the road.
The orderly rode away to some outlying stable, and then in a few minutes
there came a smart English groom with a cockade in his hat, leading
by the bridle a horse--and, oh, my friends, you have never known the
perfection to which a horse can attain until you have seen a first-class
English hunter. He was superb: tall, broad, strong, and yet as graceful
and agile as a deer. Coal black he was in colour, and his neck, and his
shoulder, and his quarters, and his fetlocks--how can I describe him all
to you? The sun shone upon him as on polished ebony, and he raised his
hoofs in a little playful dance so lightly and prettily, while he tossed
his mane and whinnied with impatience. Never have I seen such a mixture
of strength and beauty and grace. I had often wondered how the English
Hussars had managed to ride over the chasseurs of the Guards in the
affair at Astorga, but I wondered no longer when I saw the English
horses.
There was a ring for fastening bridles at the door of the inn, and the
groom tied the horse there while he entered the house. In an instant I
had seen the chance which Fate had brought to me. Were I in that saddle
I should be better off than when I started. Even Voltigeur could not
compare with this magnificent creature. To think is to act with me. In
one instant I was down the ladder and at the door of the stable. The
next I was out and the bridle was in my hand. I bounded into the saddle.
Somebody, the master or the man, shouted wildly behind me. What cared I
for his shouts! I touched the horse with my spurs and he bounded forward
with such a spring that only a rider like myself could have sat him. I
gave him his head and let him go--it did not matter to me where, so
long as we left this inn far behind us. He thundered away across the
vineyards, and in a very few minutes I had placed miles between myself
and my pursuers. They could no longer tell in that wild country in which
direction I had gone. I knew that I was safe, and so, riding to the
top of a small hill, I drew my pencil and note-book from my pocket and
proceeded to make plans of those camps which I could see and to draw the
outline of the country.
He was a dear creature upon whom I sat, but it was not easy to draw upon
his back, for every now and then his two ears would cock, and he would
start and quiver with impatience. At first I could not understand this
trick of his, but soon I observed that he only did it when a peculiar
noise--“yoy, yoy, yoy”--came from somewhere among the oak woods beneath
us. And then suddenly this strange cry changed into a most terrible
screaming, with the frantic blowing of a horn. Instantly he went
mad--this horse. His eyes blazed. His mane bristled. He bounded from
the earth and bounded again, twisting and turning in a frenzy. My pencil
flew one way and my note-book another. And then, as I looked down into
the valley, an extraordinary sight met my eyes.
The hunt was streaming down it. The fox I could not see, but the dogs
were in full cry, their noses down, their tails up, so close together
that they might have been one great yellow and white moving carpet. And
behind them rode the horsemen--my faith, what a sight! Consider every
type which a great army could show. Some in hunting dress, but the most
in uniforms: blue dragoons, red dragoons, red-trousered hussars, green
riflemen, artillerymen, gold-slashed lancers, and most of all red, red,
red, for the infantry officers ride as hard as the cavalry.
Such a crowd, some well mounted, some ill, but all flying along as best
they might, the subaltern as good as the general, jostling and pushing,
spurring and driving, with every thought thrown to the winds save
that they should have the blood of this absurd fox! Truly, they are an
extraordinary people, the English!
But I had little time to watch the hunt or to marvel at these islanders,
for of all these mad creatures the very horse upon which I sat was
the maddest. You understand that he was himself a hunter, and that the
crying of these dogs was to him what the call of a cavalry trumpet in
the street yonder would be to me. It thrilled him. It drove him wild.
Again and again he bounded into the air, and then, seizing the bit
between his teeth, he plunged down the slope and galloped after the
dogs.