Table of Contents

At Aboukir and Acre

PREFACE

CHAPTER I.

MAKING A FRIEND.

CHAPTER II.

A BEDOUIN TRIBE.

CHAPTER III.

LEFT BEHIND.

CHAPTER IV.

THE BATTLE OF THE PYRAMIDS.

CHAPTER V.

A STREET ATTACK.

CHAPTER VI.

THE RISING IN CAIRO.

CHAPTER VII.

SAVED.

CHAPTER VIII.

AN EGYPTIAN TOMB.

CHAPTER IX.

SIR SIDNEY SMITH.

CHAPTER X.

A SEA-FIGHT.

CHAPTER XI.

ACRE.

CHAPTER XII.

A DESPERATE SIEGE.

CHAPTER XIII.

AN INDEPENDENT COMMAND.

CHAPTER XIV.

A PIRATE HOLD.

CHAPTER XV.

CRUISING.

CHAPTER XVI.

A VISIT HOME.

CHAPTER XVII.

ABERCROMBIE'S EXPEDITION.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE BATTLE OF ALEXANDRIA.

CHAPTER XIX.

QUIET AND REST.

At Aboukir and Acre

"WELL, MY LAD, WHO ARE YOU?"

At Aboukir and Acre

A Story of Napoleon's Invasion

of Egypt

BY

G. A. HENTY

Author of "The Dash for Khartoum" "By Right of Conquest"

"In Greek Waters" "St. Bartholomew's Eve" &c.

Illustrated

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PREFACE

With the general knowledge of geography now possessed we may well wonder at the wild notion entertained both by Bonaparte and the French authorities that it would be possible, after conquering Egypt, to march an army through Syria, Persia, and the wild countries of the northern borders of India, and to drive the British altogether from that country. The march, even if unopposed, would have been a stupendous one, and the warlike chiefs of Northern India, who, as yet, were not even threatened by a British advance, would have united against an invading army from the north, and would, had it not been of prodigious strength, have annihilated it. The French had enormously exaggerated the power of Tippoo Sahib, with whom they had opened negotiations, and even had their fantastic designs succeeded, it is certain that the Tiger of Mysore would, in a very short time, have felt as deep a hatred for them as he did for the British.

But even had such a march been possible, the extreme danger in which an army landed in Egypt would be placed of being cut off, by the superior strength of the British navy, from all communication with France, should alone have deterred them from so wild a project. The fate of the campaign was indeed decided when the first gun was fired in the Bay of Aboukir, and the destruction of the French fleet sealed the fate of Napoleon's army. The noble defence of Acre by Sir Sidney Smith was the final blow to Napoleon's projects, and from that moment it was but a question of time when the French army would be forced to lay down its arms, and be conveyed, in British transports, back to France. The credit of the signal failure of the enterprise must be divided between Nelson, Sir Sidney Smith, and Sir Ralph Abercrombie.

CHAPTER I.

MAKING A FRIEND.

Two lads were standing in one of the bastions of a fort looking over the sea. There were neither guards nor sentinels there. The guns stood on their carriages, looking clean and ready for action, but this was not the result of care and attention, but simply because in so dry a climate iron rusts but little. A close examination would have shown that the wooden carriages on which they stood were so cracked and warped by heat that they would have fallen to pieces at the first discharge of the guns they upheld. Piles of cannon-balls stood between the guns, half-covered with the drifting sand, which formed slopes half-way up the walls of the range of barracks behind, and filled up the rooms on the lower floor. Behind rose the city of Alexandria, with its minarets and mosques, its palaces and its low mud-built huts. Seaward lay a fleet of noble ships with their long lines of port-holes, their lofty masts, and network of rigging.

"What do you think of it, Sidi?"

"It is wonderful!" his companion replied. "How huge they are, what lines of cannon, what great masts, as tall and as straight as palm-trees! Truly you Franks know many things of which we in the desert are ignorant. Think you that they could batter these forts to pieces?"

The other laughed as he looked round. "One of them could do that now, Sidi, seeing that there is scarce a gun on the rampart that could be fired in return; but were all in good order, and with British artillerists, the whole fleet would stand but a poor chance against them, for while their shot would do but little injury to these solid walls, these cannon would drill the ships through and through, and if they did not sheer off, would sink them."

"But why British artillerists, brother, why not our own people?"

"Because you have no properly trained gunners. You know how strong Algiers was, and yet it was attacked with success, twice by the French, twice by ourselves, and once by us and the Dutch; but it is a rule that a strongly defended fort cannot be attacked successfully by ships. If these forts were in proper condition and well manned, I don't think that even Nelson would attack them, though he might land somewhere along the coast, attack and capture the town from the land side, and then carry the batteries. Successful as he has been at sea, he has had some experience as to the difficulty of taking forts. He was beaten off at Teneriffe, and although he did succeed in getting the Danes to surrender at Copenhagen, it's well known now that his ships really got the worst of the fight, and that if the Danes had held on, he must have drawn off with the loss of many of his vessels."

"I know nothing of these things, brother, nor where the towns you name are, nor who are the Danes; but it seems to me that those great ships with all their guns would be terrible assailants. As you say, these forts are not fit for fighting; but this is because no foes have ever come against us by sea for so many years. What could an enemy do if they landed?"

"The Mamelukes are grand horsemen, Sidi, but horsemen alone cannot win a battle; there are the artillery and infantry to be counted with, and it is with these that battles are won in our days, though I say not that cavalry do not bear their share, but alone they are nothing. One infantry square, if it be steady, can repulse a host of them; but you may ere long see the matter put to proof, for I hear that the officers who came on shore this morning asked if aught had been heard of the French fleet, which had, they say, sailed from Toulon to conquer Egypt. It is for this that the English fleet has come here."

"Their bones will whiten the plains should they attempt it," the other said scornfully. "But why should they want to interfere with us, and why should you care to prevent them doing so if they are strong enough?"

"Because, in the first place, we are at war with them, and would prevent them gaining any advantage. In the second place, because Egypt is a step on the way to India. There we are fighting with one of the great native princes, who has, they say, been promised help by the French, who are most jealous of us, since we have destroyed their influence there, and deprived them of their chance of becoming masters of a large portion of the country."

The conversation had been carried on in Arabic. The speakers were of about the same age, but Edgar Blagrove was half a head taller than his Arab friend. His father was a merchant settled in Alexandria, where Edgar had been born sixteen years before, and except that he had spent some two years and a half at school in England, he had never been out of Egypt. Brought up in a polyglot household, where the nurses were French or Italian, the grooms Arab, the gardeners Egyptians drawn from the fellah class, and the clerks and others engaged in his father's business for the most part Turks, Edgar had from childhood spoken all these languages with equal facility. He had never learned them, but they had come to him naturally as his English had done. His mother, never an energetic woman, had felt the heat of the climate much, and had never been, or declared she had never been—which came to the same thing—capable of taking any exercise, and, save for a drive in her carriage in the cool of the evening, seldom left the house.

Edgar had, from the first, been left greatly to his own devices. His father was a busy man, and, as long as the boy was well and strong, was content that he should spend his time as he chose, insisting only on his taking lessons for two hours a day from the Italian governess, who taught his twin sisters, who were some eighteen months younger than himself; after that he was free to wander about the house or to go into the streets, provided that one of the grooms, either Hammed or Abdul, accompanied him. When at thirteen he was sent to England to stay with an uncle and to go through a couple of years' schooling, he entered a world so wholly unlike that in which he himself had been brought up, that for a time he seemed completely out of his element.

His father had an excellent library, and during the heat of the day the boy had got through a great deal of reading, and was vastly better acquainted with standard English writers than his cousins or school-fellows, but of ordinary school work he was absolutely ignorant, and at first he was much laughed at for his deficiencies in Latin and Greek. The latter he never attempted, but his knowledge of Italian helped him so greatly with his Latin that in a very few months he went through class after class, until he was fully up to the level of other boys of his age. His uncle lived in the suburbs of London, and he went with his cousins to St. Paul's. At that time prize-fighting was the national sport, and his father had, when he sent him over, particularly requested his uncle to obtain a good teacher for him.

"Whether Edgar will stay out here for good, Tom, I cannot say, but whether he does or not, I should like him to be able to box well. In England every gentleman in our day learns to use his fists, while out here it is of very great advantage that a man should be able to do so. We have a mixed population here, and a very shady one. Maltese, Greeks, Italians, and French, and these probably the very scum of the various seaports of the Mediterranean, therefore to be able to hit quick and straight from the shoulder may well save a man's life. Of course he is young yet, but if he goes regularly for an hour two or three times a week to one of the light-weight men, I have no doubt that when he returns he will be able to astonish any of these street ruffians who may interfere with him.

"Even if he is never called upon to use his fists, it will do him a great deal of good, for boxing gives a quickness and readiness not only of hands, but of thought, that is of great service; and moreover, the exercise improves the figure, and is, in that respect, I think, fully equal to fencing. Please put this matter in hand as soon as he arrives. As to his studies, I own that I care very little; the boy speaks half-a-dozen languages, any one of which is vastly more useful to a resident here than Latin and Greek together. Naturally he will learn Latin. Of course his Italian will facilitate this, and it is part of a gentleman's education to be able to understand a quotation or turn a phrase in it. Still, it is not for this that I send him to England, but to become an English boy, and that your Bob and Arthur and his school-fellows will teach him."

Edgar was quite as much surprised at his cousins and school-fellows as they were with him. The fact that he could talk half-a-dozen languages was to them amazing, while not less astonishing to him was their ignorance of the affairs of Europe except, indeed, of the French Revolution—their vagueness in geography, and the absolute blank of their minds as to Egypt. It was not until three months after his arrival that he had his first fight, and the instructions he had received during that time sufficed to enable him to win so easy a victory, that it was some months before he had again occasion to use his fists in earnest. This time it was in the streets. He was returning home with his cousins, when a pert young clerk thought it a good joke to twitch off his cap and throw it into a shop, and was astounded when, before the cap had reached the floor, he himself was prostrate on the pavement.

He was no coward, however, and leapt up, furious, to punish this boy of fourteen, but in spite of his superior strength and weight, he was no match for Edgar, whose quickness on his legs enabled him to avoid his rushes, while he planted his blows so quickly and heavily that in ten minutes the clerk was unable to see out of his eyes, and had to be led away amid the jeers of the crowd. This success increased Edgar's ardour to perfect himself in the art. If he could so easily defeat an English lad of seventeen, he felt sure that after another year's teaching he need not fear an attack by the greatest ruffian in Alexandria. His uncle had taken advice on the subject, and, desirous of carrying out his brother's instructions to the fullest, changed his master every six months; so that during the two years and a half that he was in England Edgar had learned all that the five most skilled light-weight pugilists in England could teach him.

"Yes, he is going in for it thoroughly," his uncle would say to his friends. "Of course, I shall have my own boys taught in another three or four years, for I think that every gentleman should be able to defend himself if assaulted by a street ruffian; but in his case he has to learn when quite young or not at all, and I think that it will be very useful to him, as all these foreign fellows draw their knives on the least occasion."

When Edgar returned to Alexandria, nine months before the time when he and Sidi were watching Nelson's fleet, his father was well pleased with the change that had taken place in him. He had been tall for his age before he left, now he had not only grown considerably, but had widened out. He was still far from being what may be called a squarely-built boy, but he was of a fair width across the shoulders, and was a picture of health and activity. The muscles of his arms, shoulders, and loins were as tough as steel, his complexion was fresh and clear, and he had scarce an ounce of superfluous flesh upon him.

"Save for your complexion, Edgar, you might well pass as a young Bedouin if you were to wrap yourself up in their garb. I see you have profited well by your teachers' instructions. Your uncle wrote to me a year ago that you had administered a sound thrashing to a fellow seventeen years old who had meddled with you, and as, no doubt, you have improved in skill and strength since that time, I should think that you need have no fear of holding your own should you get into trouble with any of these street ruffians."

"I should hope so, father; at any rate I should not mind trying. I know that I could hold my own pretty fairly with young Jackson. They call him the 'Bantam'. He is the champion light-weight now, though he does not fight above nine stone, so there is not much difference between us in weight."

"Good! and how about your school work?"

"Oh, I did pretty well, father! I was good in Latin, but I was nowhere in figures."

"Not grown quarrelsome, I hope, on the strength of your fighting, Edgar?"

"No, sir, I hope not. I never had a fight at school except the one I had three months after I got there, and I only had that one row you speak of with a clerk. I don't think it would be fair, you see, to get into rows with fellows who have no idea how thoroughly I have been taught."

His father nodded.

"Quite right, Edgar. My ideas are that a man who can box well is much less likely to get into quarrels than one who cannot. He knows what he can do, and that, if forced to use his skill, he is able to render a good account of himself, and therefore he can afford to put up with more, than one who is doubtful as to whether he is likely to come well out of a fight if he begins one."

Edgar found on his arrival at Alexandria that his mother and sisters were about to leave for England. Mrs. Blagrove had become seriously indisposed, the result, as she maintained, of the climate, but which was far more due to her indolent habits, for she never took any exercise whatever. Her general health was greatly impaired, and the two Italian doctors who attended her—there being no English medical men resident there—had most strongly advised that she should return home. They had frankly told Mr. Blagrove that a colder climate was absolutely necessary to her, not only because it would brace her up and act as a tonic, but because she would probably there be induced to take a certain amount of exercise. The two girls were to accompany her, in order that they should, like Edgar, enjoy the advantage of going to an English school and mixing with English girls of their own age. They, too, had both felt the heat during the preceding summer, and Mr. Blagrove felt that a stay of two or three years in England would be an immense advantage to them.

Mrs. Blagrove was to stay with her father, a clergyman in the west of England, for a few months, when her husband intended himself to go over for a time. The war had much reduced business, the activity of the French privateers rendered communication irregular and precarious, the rates both for freight and insurance were very high, the number of vessels entering the port were but a tithe of those that frequented it before the outbreak of the war, and as no small part of Mr. Blagrove's business consisted in supplying vessels with such stores as they needed, his operations were so restricted that he felt he could, without any great loss, leave the management of his affairs in the hands of his chief assistant, a German, who had been with him for twenty years, and in whom he placed the greatest reliance.

Edgar would be there to assist generally, and his father thought that it would even benefit him to be placed for a time in a responsible position. It was, of course, a great disappointment to Edgar to find that his mother and the girls were on the point of returning. Their departure, indeed, had been decided upon somewhat suddenly owing to a strongly-armed English privateer, commanded by an old acquaintance of Mr. Blagrove, coming into port. She had been cruising for some time, and had sent home a number of prizes, and was now returning herself to England for another refit and to fill up her crew again. As she was a very fast vessel, and the captain said that he intended to make straight home and to avoid all doubtful sail, Mr. Blagrove at once accepted the offer he made to take his wife and daughters back to England, immediately he heard that his friend was looking for a passage for them. Accordingly for the next week there was much packing and confusion. At the end of that time the three ladies, after a tearful adieu, sailed for England, and things settled down again.

Edgar felt the absence of his sisters keenly. There were but a handful of English traders in the city, and none of these had boys who were near enough to his own age to be companions. However, it had the effect of enabling him, without interruption, to settle down steadily to work with his father, and to make himself acquainted with the details of the business. This he did so industriously that Mr. Blagrove said more than once: "You are getting on so well, Edgar, that I shall be able to go home for my holiday with the comfortable conviction that in yours and Muller's hands matters will go on very well here, especially as business is so slack."

It was about three months after his return that Edgar had an opportunity of finding the advantage of his skill in boxing. He had, on the day after he came back, had a sack of sawdust hung up in his room, and every morning he used to pummel this for half an hour before taking his bath, and again before going to bed, so that he kept his muscles in a state of training. Moreover, this exercise had the advantage that it enabled him to stand the heat of the climate much better than he would otherwise have done, and to save him from any of that feeling of lassitude and depression so usual among Englishmen working in hot climates. He was returning one day from a ride; dusk had fallen, and when just beyond the limits of the town he heard shouts and cries, and saw a scuffle going on in the road. Cantering on, he leapt from his horse, dropped the reins on its neck, and ran forward.

Two of the lowest class Maltese or Greeks were dragging a young Arab along, holding his hands to prevent him getting at his knife, and beating him about the head with their disengaged hands. It was evident that he was not one of the dwellers in the city, but an Arab of the desert. His horse stood near, and he had apparently been dragged from it.

"What is the matter? what are you beating him for?" he asked in Italian.

"This Arab dog pushed against us with his horse, and when we cursed him, struck at us."

"Well, if he did, you have punished him enough; but perhaps his story is a different one."

"Go your way, boy," one exclaimed with a Greek oath, "or we will throw you into that fountain, as we are going to do him."

"You will, eh? Unloose that lad at once or it will be worse for you."

The man uttered a shout of rage. "Hold this young Arab wolf's other hand, Giaccamo, so that he cannot use his knife. I will settle this boy;" and his companion seized the lad's other wrist.

He rushed at Edgar, waving his arms in windmill fashion, thinking to strike him down without the least difficulty, but he was astounded at being met with a terrific blow on the nose, which nigh threw him off his balance, and this was followed an instant later by another on the point of his chin, which hurled him back, half-stunned, to the ground, with a vague impression in his mind that his head was broken into fragments. Before he even thought of rising, Edgar sprang at his companion, who, releasing the Arab boy's hands, grasped his knife, but before he could draw it, a blow, given with all Edgar's strength and the impetus of his bound forward, stretched him also on the ground, his knife flying from his hand.

The Arab boy had drawn his knife also, but Edgar exclaimed to him in his own language, "No, no, pick up the other knife, and then stand over him, but don't stab him." Then he turned to his first assailant, who was rising to his feet, still confused and bewildered. He had instinctively drawn his knife.

"Drop your knife, drop it!" Edgar cried. But with an oath the man sprang at him. His eyes, however, were full of tears, his ears sung, and his head buzzed, partly from the blow on the jaw, partly from the force with which he had come in contact with the ground. Edward lightly sprung aside and avoided the cut aimed at him, and then delivered a blow with all his force just in front of the ear, and the man dropped again as if shot. In a moment Edgar had wrenched the knife from his hand, then he turned to the young Arab.

"That is enough," he said; "they have both got more than they wanted; they are harmless now, we have their two knives."

The Arab, who was panting from his exertions, and who had evidently restrained himself with difficulty from plunging his knife into his fallen assailant, turned round towards him.

"Who are you, brother, whose blows fell men like strokes of lightning?"

"My name is Edgar Blagrove. I am the son of a merchant, whose place of business is in the great square. Who are you, and how did this business begin?"

"My name is Sidi Ben Ouafy. I am the son of a chief. My father's tribe live in the oasis ten miles east of the old lake. I was riding from the town when these two men, for whom there was, as you see, plenty of room in the road, staggered suddenly against me, whether with evil intent or merely to enjoy the pleasure of seeing me rolling in the dust, I know not. They nearly unseated me from the suddenness of the attack, and as I recovered I certainly struck at them with my whip. One seized me by the foot and threw me off my horse, and then, as you saw, they fell upon me, beat me, and were dragging me to the fountain to throw me in when you came up. Had they not heard your horse coming along they would, I believe, have killed me. Henceforth you are my brother; my horses and all that I have are yours, and every sword of our tribe would leap from its scabbard in your defence were it needed. To-morrow I will ride in again, and my father himself will assuredly come with me. I cannot speak of my gratitude now, my head is still dizzy with the blows they gave me; even yet I cannot understand how it was that these two men have thus fallen before you, and you with no weapon in your hands. Are they dead?"

"Not they," Edgar said scornfully; "they are wondering what has happened to them, and fear to move, not knowing that their own knives might not be driven into their hearts did they venture to rise. Well, good-bye, Sidi; I will see you off first; and I should advise you, when you ride into the town again, to bring your pistols with you. Like enough these scoundrels will try to get revenge for this defeat."

"I will do so. I know not why I did not carry them to-day. I will not only bring them, but two of my tribesmen shall ride with me. But methinks that you will be in greater danger than I shall, brother."

"I shall be on the look-out, and will, for a time, carry pistols with me; but I do not often go out after dark, and have no occasion ever to enter the streets where rogues of this sort live. As to an open attack, I have no fear of it; but I have no doubt that either of those scoundrels would plant a knife between my shoulders if they had a chance to do so."

Both the lads mounted their horses, and after a few words of farewell rode off in different directions. Not until the sound of the horses' hoofs died away did the two figures in the road move, then they sat up.

"What has happened, Zeno?"

"I know not, save that my head is ringing. I feel as if my jaws were broken, and my nose is so swelled that it seems as big as my head."

"And I can scarcely see from my eyes," the other said. "Cospetto, never before have I been thus handled!"

"We will kill him!" the other said furiously.

"That of course; I know not who he was, but we shall doubtless find out. I can hardly believe even now that it was with his hand that he struck us—it was done so quickly. He was there—then I struck at him, when—paff!—and it seemed to me that the air was full of stars; then, paff again! my jaws cracked, I fell backwards, there was a crash, and the world seemed to have come to an end. And you, Giaccamo, what did he do to you?"

"It was like that, except that I only had one blow, and there was an end of it. I was drawing my knife when it came—how, I know not. My knife flew from my hand—there was a flash of fire from my eyes, and I was on the ground, and thought it best to lie there, lest that accursed young Arab should take it into his head to sheathe my knife in my body. The next time we will give the young fellow no chance to try those strange tricks upon us."

"You are right, Giaccamo; I would sooner fight against even Thomasso, who is the best knife-player in Alexandria, than face that fellow again. Who can he be, I wonder?"

Edgar rode home, and after seeing his horse taken into the stable, went into the house.

"I have found my boxing of use, father."

"How is that, Edgar?"

The lad told him what had happened.

"You were quite right to strike, my boy," his father went on when he had heard the story; "'tis likely enough that those ruffians would have killed the lad. There are fellows here who would do murder for the sake of a few copper coins; and, doubtless, those men thought that the young chief would have some trinkets about him that would pay them for their trouble. I am sorry that you did not let the Arab put his knife into them; it would have been a good riddance, for the town abounds with rascals of that kind—the scum of the Mediterranean, men who have made their native towns too hot to hold them, and have committed crimes untold. As it is, you will have to be careful; fellows of this kind are not of a forgiving nature, and will be patient enough to wait for their revenge, but sooner or later they will attempt to take it."

"It was so dark, father, that they can scarcely have seen my face."

"Perhaps not, but no doubt they were able to make out your figure, and there are very few better-class young Europeans here. You will have to be on your guard, lad; you had better always carry pistols with you. Clever as you may be with your fists, if you were attacked by half-a-dozen fellows with knives, you would stand but little chance with them. Don't be out after dusk; in daylight you are fairly safe. At any rate, you would be, if you avoid the rookeries, where the lower class of European inhabitants live. I have a brace of short-barrelled pistols up-stairs I will give you. I carried them at one time when things were very unsettled here. You have made two bitter enemies, but, on the other hand, you have made a friend who may be useful. These Arabs, when they once form a friendship, are as true as steel, and in the event of any fanatical troubles here, you would find a sure refuge among them. The lad's father, Aboo Ben Ouafy, I know a little of, as he has made purchases of me. His tribe is not a large one, but he himself is a fine fellow. As the lad told you, their head-quarters are in an oasis some eight or ten miles, I believe, east of the old site of Lake Mareotis. They, of course, like all those people, are frequently absent on hunting or plundering expeditions."

The next day Sidi and his father, followed by half a dozen tribesmen, halted in front of Mr. Blagrove's place of business, and the two former dismounted and entered. The Bedouin chief saluted the merchant gravely, while Sidi went up to Edgar, who was sitting at a table, for he now worked for some hours a day in his father's office, and who rose at the lad's approach, and held out his hand in English fashion.

"You are none the worse for our scrimmage last night, Sidi?" he said heartily.

"No harm was done," Sidi replied gravely. "I am glad of what happened, for it has given me a friend, a brother."

"I am glad too," Edgar replied, "for I too am happy to have gained a friend."

In the meantime his father was saying to Mr. Blagrove, "I have come, effendi, to thank you and your son for the assistance he rendered to my boy yesterday. I have no doubt that he saved his life, and that at the peril of his own. It is wonderful what my son tells me, that, with his hands alone he beat to the ground the two men who had attacked him, though they were armed with knives. I know not how it could be done, but since it was done 'tis plain that he must possess skill unknown to us. Sidi has called him brother, and henceforth I shall regard him as a son, and my tribe will be his should he need their services. I doubt not that the attack was made in order to gain the horse my son rode, which is one of famous breed, and would sell at high price at Cairo or any other of the large towns. I feel sure that they would have killed him in order that they might carry the horse away without search being made for it, for before we found that Sidi had been slain the horse would have been a hundred miles away."

"I know that your tribe is famous for having some of the best Arabian blood in the country, sheik, and I think it probable that you are right. The fellows may have seen your son ride into the town and determined to waylay him on his return."

"Your son did wrong not to kill them," the Arab said, "he will be in danger from them. I have called not only to thank him, but to ask him to come and bide with us for a time; he will assuredly be in danger here. Were I governor of the town I would chop off the heads of all those people who breed disorders and are a curse to it. 'Tis well that Franks like yourself should settle among us, and should trade with us, buying our goods and selling to us those of Europe, but these thieves and cut-throats, these ruffians who neither trade nor work, but live by ill-doing, should be rooted out."

"I should be glad for my son to stay with you for a short time, sheik. I share your opinion that these men will try to avenge themselves, and it were well that he should be away for a time. Doubtless they will watch narrowly to see if they can find the young fellow who interfered with them, but if they meet with no one like him they may well think that he has left the town."

"It is well!" the Arab said. "I am going now to the governor to lay a complaint against these men. My son will go with me to tell him what they are like; the son of a sheik is not to be assaulted by town ruffians with impunity. We may be kept some time, but when we have done we will return hither. Will your son be ready to ride with us?"

"Certainly, sheik; it will not take him five minutes to make his preparations."

"He will not need a horse," the sheik said; "I have brought one with me for him."

Edgar had listened with delight to this conversation (which was in Arabic, which his father spoke fluently). The idea of going to stay for a time in an Arab encampment was exciting indeed, for he had already begun to find the life monotonous after the two years spent at school and in the lively companionship of his cousins.

"It were well that you should come out and see your horse," the sheik said to him, "and make friends with him while we are away, for he is not accustomed to Europeans, and might give you trouble were you to mount him at once."

Edgar and his father both went out. One of the Arabs was standing at the horse's head, rubbing its nose and talking to it as if it had been a human being.

"That is the horse," the sheik said gravely. "Only to one, whom I regard as a son, would I part with him. On his back you may scoff at pursuit by any foes, for outside my encampment there is not a horse in Egypt which it could not distance. Now it is yours to do with as you like, save to sell it, for I would not that his blood should run in any veins save those of the horses of my tribe."

"This is, indeed, a princely gift, sheik," the merchant said warmly. "'Tis a noble horse, and one that a king might ride. My son is indeed indebted to you, and will value it beyond all price."

Edgar was warm in his expressions of gratitude and admiration, although, indeed, he was unable to appreciate at its full value the points of the animal. It was a gray, and, to English eyes, would have looked light and wanting in bone, and fit rather for a lady's use than for a man's, with its slender limbs and small head; but one accustomed to Arab horses, as Mr. Blagrove was, could see at once that it was of the purest strain and highest breeding.

"Come with me," the sheik said to Edgar. "At present, you see, he is not accustomed to your white face, but he will soon come to love you, and answer to your call."

The horse, indeed, had laid back his ears, distended his dilated nostrils, and stepped back a foot or two; but as the sheik approached it gave a little whinny of pleasure, and, advancing, laid its muzzle against his cheek.

"This is your new master, Beauty," he said, as he stroked its glossy neck. "He will keep you well, and you will be as one of his children, and you must be a good friend and servant to him."

Edgar now stroked the animal. A quiver as of fear ran through it as he touched it, but as he continued, this died away; and as Edgar spoke quietly to it in Arabic, it was not long before it responded to his caresses, and after taking a good look at him with its soft liquid eyes, it put its head on his shoulder.

"You are friends now," the sheik said, with a tone of pleasure. "It is to few, even of my tribesmen, whom he would give such a greeting. He recognizes you already as his friend. Give him a handful of sweetmeats, and the bargain will be sealed."

The merchant at once sent one of the native boys out to buy a bag of sweetmeats. The sheik waited until he saw the horse taking these out of Edgar's hands and munching them contentedly, then, leaving one of his tribesmen in charge of the horse, he mounted, and rode off with his son and the rest of his followers. Edgar stood for some time talking to the horse, and then, leaving it to the native, went into the house to make his preparations for the journey.

"You have, indeed, done well for yourself, Edgar," his father said as he came in. "'Tis in every way fortunate. The Turks love us little, and though they put up with us, as they need the goods that we sell, still there may at any moment be a fanatical rising, and it is well, indeed, to have made friends with one of the desert tribes, among whom you can find a safe refuge. You little know the value of the horse he has given you. The breed is a famous one, and the sheik has been offered a fabulous sum for one of his steeds, but nothing could tempt him to part with one. An Arab prizes a valuable horse beyond all his earthly possessions, and, save under the pressure of the direst want, nothing could persuade him to part with it. In presenting it to you, therefore, the chief has shown his friendship in the most striking manner possible, and that he regards you, as he says, as one of his family."

CHAPTER II.

A BEDOUIN TRIBE.

It was two hours before the sheik returned.

"We have been fortunate," he said, as Mr. Blagrove and Edgar came out into the court-yard as he entered. "The men have had their punishment. The governor, after hearing my story, sent to the head of the police, and charged him to take four men down with him into the quarter where men of this sort are generally to be found. When my son described the men to him, and said that he thought that one of them was a Maltese named Giaccamo, and the other was a Greek called Zeno, he spoke to some of his men, and they said they knew two fellows who generally went about together that answered to the description. They were, he said, notorious ruffians, but except for rioting and wounding among their compatriots, with which the police did not concern themselves, they had been able to find nothing against them, though they strongly suspected that they were concerned in many crimes. We went down with them to that quarter, and the police soon found out the place where they lived, but on enquiry were assured that both men were ill, the old woman who came to the door declaring that they had been in bed for some days. However, the police insisted upon entering, and speedily brought them down. Sidi recognized them at once, and indeed they had scarcely lied in saying that they were ill, for the eyelids of one were so swollen and blackened that he could not see out of them, while the other's nose was well-nigh as big as the rest of his face.

"They were at once taken before the cadi. He heard my son's evidence, and then said that had it been proved they attempted to steal the horse, he would have had their heads smitten off, but that though this was doubtless their intention, they had not done so. He sentenced them to a hundred blows with a stick, and to be expelled from the town and neighbourhood, warning them that should they be found near the town again, they would assuredly be punished with death. I waited and saw the blows administered, and although I felt angry that the cadi had not ordered them to execution, I admit that the punishment was severe enough, and the wretches howled like whipped curs. I trust that there will be no more trouble from them. Still, I hope that this will not prevent your son coming to visit us."

"Certainly not, sheik. He is prepared and ready to go, and he is looking forward to his stay with you with so much pleasure that even did I wish it I could not now deprive him of the enjoyment of it. Still, I am heartily glad that the two fellows have been expelled the town, for I should never have felt easy as to Edgar's safety so long as they were here."

A few minutes later the party set out. Edgar's valise was fastened to the saddle of one of the sheik's followers. The road ran along the sandy dunes that divided the low country, formerly covered by Lake Mareotis, from the sea, and as soon as they were well out from the town the horses were broke into a gallop. While in point of actual speed even the best Arab horses cannot hold their own against a moderate English race-horse, whose greater height and longer stride gives him an advantage, they are greatly superior in last, and possess extraordinary endurance and stamina. Brought up as if belonging to the family of their owners, their intelligence has been cultivated as has that of dogs. They are exceedingly docile and affectionate. Their pace is a very easy one, and Edgar was delighted indeed at the manner in which his new acquisition flew along without any apparent exertion, continuing the pace without a check until they reached the Arab encampment in an hour and twenty minutes from leaving Alexandria.

Here they leapt from their horses in front of a group of black tents. The oasis was of small extent, extending but two hundred yards across. In the centre was a group of thirty or forty palm-trees. Near these the herbage was thick, gradually dwindling away until it became lost in the sand. In the centre, near the tents, was a well, an irregularly-shaped pit some five-and-twenty feet deep, with a rough path down to it by which the women went to get water both for their own use and for that of the horses. A score of these were tethered on the grass.

"You are welcome to our tents," the sheik said; "may your visit be a fortunate one! Mulick," he called to one of the Arab boys, "take Beauty; but first," he went on to Edgar, "it were best that you talked to him a little, and gave him some sweets. He will soon get to love you, and it is well that he should hear your voice as often as possible."

"I will lead him out myself," Edgar replied, "and then Mulick can tether him. I shall know another time how to do it myself."

Then he patted the Arab's glossy neck, rubbed its ears, and praised it, giving it a handful of sweets while he did so. Beauty evidently appreciated the attentions, and replied to him by a low whinny. Then he took off its saddle and led it to a spot Mulick pointed out, and then watched the boy tether it, and took off the bridle and carried it back to the tents. A woman came out from the largest of these. She was not veiled, for except when they go into the towns the Bedouin women seldom conceal their faces.

"Ayala," the sheik said, "this is the young white lord who saved Sidi from those who attacked him; henceforth he is as one of our tribe."

"May the blessings of Allah fall upon you!" the woman said. "Sidi is our only child. Had he been taken from us our lives would have been desolate indeed."

"I am very glad that I happened to come along at the time," Edgar said. "It has been a most fortunate occurrence for me, as much indeed as for Sidi. I have no friends of my own age, and it will be great pleasure to me to have him as a sort of brother. I am sure that we shall get on capitally together. Besides which, your husband has given me a grand horse, such as I could never have obtained for money. Sidi will be able to teach me Arab ways, and I daresay I shall be able to show him something of our customs and life."

Edgar was now shown a tent that had been newly erected for his use. The furniture was simple, consisting only of a handsome Eastern carpet, which covered the ground, and a pile of rugs for sofa and bed. Hanging from one of the sticks that supported the tent was a porous jar of water. When he had hung up his rifle and pistols, powder-horn and bullet-pouch, its furnishing was complete.

"Is this all your tribe?" he asked Sidi, as he came out from his tent.

"Oh, no! our tribe dwells in a large oasis a hundred miles to the south, and fifty miles west of Cairo. There are other portions of the tribe dwelling not far from the same spot, and we can ride five hundred strong when we go to fight the Berbers of Morocco. But my father is only sheik of his section. There are generally but six tents left here to keep possession, and we are often away for months. We find that we can buy such goods as the tribe requires cheaper at Alexandria than at Cairo, where, indeed, we do not often go, for ill-blood exists between us and the authorities there, who ventured on some complaint to send out a party of Mamelukes against us. We beat them back handsomely, but had to leave our oasis for a time, as we could not withstand the force they would be sure to send against us. That was thirty years ago. They filled up our wells and cut down our palm-trees. The wells were soon cleared out again, and the palm groves have grown up. They have not interfered with us again, but even now we care not to visit Cairo, though it may be that the matter is altogether forgotten there."

Edgar remained a fortnight with his new friends, and enjoyed the life much. He took lessons from Sidi in hurling a lance, and discovered that it would need a long practice indeed to enable him to do so with the accuracy shown by the Arabs. He also practised with his rifles and pistols. When he left he gave a warm invitation to Sidi to come and stay with him. This, however, the Arab lad declined.

"I should not be comfortable in your European dwelling," he said. "I should be miserable, sitting on one of those chairs. Your father is busy, and so are you; I should be altogether out of my element."

"But I might have said the same thing here, Sidi?"

"Oh, no! it is easy to fling off restraint, to throw yourself on the sand, to ride and shoot and hurl the spear. Those are sports that you can enjoy as much as I do. I will come over often and see you, but do not ask me to stay."

Edgar saw that it was better not to press the matter, at any rate for the present. In time, when Sidi became more accustomed to European ways he might perhaps come to stay, but if he came now it would be a penance rather than a pleasure. After that time the young Arab rode over frequently, leaving his camp at daybreak and arriving in time to spend a long day with Edgar. Sometimes they rode together, sometimes walked along the sea-shore, and Sidi soon learned to enjoy as much as his friend a row or a sail on the water, which to him was at first altogether a novelty. The merchant possessed several boats, which he used in his business, and a pretty gig which carried a sail, in which he himself went off to visit ships which brought goods for him. This was at other times at Edgar's service. He had learned, even before going to school, to manage it, and it therefore was unnecessary to take anyone with them.

Sidi at first did not take kindly to an oar. Trained to hard exercise on horseback and in the sports of the tribe, he had yet a great aversion to anything like steady labour, and was unable even to understand Edgar's willingness to exert himself at an oar when he could have had men to row him about. In time, however, when he had mastered the initial difficulties of the art, he took to the exercise, and they often spent the whole day in the boat, either coasting along Aboukir Bay, or, more often, shooting on the lakes.

The arrival of the British fleet had created quite an excitement in Alexandria, and the news they brought, that a large French fleet had left Toulon, carrying many thousands of troops, destined, it was believed, to operate in Egypt, had caused an intense feeling of dismay among the British merchants settled there, and a corresponding exultation among the French.

"Will the French fleet be stronger than this?" Sidi asked, as he and Edgar leant on the parapet and looked at the long line of British ships.

"There may be more of them—very likely there are," Edgar said carelessly; "but that makes no matter, we are sure to thrash them. In the first place, we always do so somehow; and in the next, as our fleet is commanded by one of the best admirals we have, there is no fear of their being beaten. The only fear is that the fleet mayn't fall in with the French until they have landed their troops."

"The troops could not stand against our Mamelukes," Sidi said scornfully. "They would soon drive them into the sea."

"I am not so sure of that," Edgar said. "No doubt the Mamelukes are splendid horsemen. I suppose they are as good as any in the world; but horsemen cannot win a battle alone. The French infantry are very fine, and I doubt whether any number of horsemen could break their squares. Then their artillery is immensely superior to that of the Egyptians; that will give them a very great advantage."

"But if your fleet meets theirs and beats it, how could they ever get back again?"

"I expect they mean to stay here and hold the country," Edgar said. "I don't know what good it would do to them; still I suppose they think it would, or they would not take the trouble to come over. But if they should take the country, it would be very bad for men like my father, for they would be sure to put all the English in prison, and it would be the ruin of their business."

"Would they put you in prison?"

"I don't know; I expect so. They would hold all the English as prisoners."

"You would come out to us. You will be quite safe there. If their soldiers came, they would never catch us; we could move about anywhere, we know all the places where water is to be found, and they would only die of thirst if they went after us into the desert."

"Well, I hope that it is not going to be so, Sidi; but if the French should land here I should like it very much. I suppose you would fight against the French."

"If they came to take Egypt, of course we should, and then you could see it all, and fight with us against them."

"It would be very jolly, Sidi, and I should like nothing better; but of course I shall have to do as my father tells me. I expect he would shut up his place, and get all his goods on board a ship and go away till it was all over, if he was able. No doubt he would want me to go with him."

That evening Edgar learned that he had rightly guessed the steps that his father would take in case a French army landed.

"It is an awkward business, lad," he said. "Of course if Nelson comes up with the French fleet, we may hope that it will come out right; but if, before he catches it, they manage to land twenty or thirty thousand troops, our position here would be a most serious one. I intend to charter the Petrel, which has just discharged the cargo she brought here. I shall put all my most valuable goods on board at once, especially all the Egyptian carpets and other oriental work, so that within a few hours of hearing that their fleet was off the coast, I should be ready to sail for England. Of course there would be an end to the business here, so long as the French remained in Egypt; and no doubt any British subjects they could lay their hands on would be thrown into prison, just as was the case when they occupied Holland.

"I should not, however, propose to shut up the house altogether, for although we, as English, would be seized, and thrown into prison, and the place closed, France is not at war with Germany, and Muller could carry on the shipping business without interruption, his own name being substituted for mine. I should instruct him to do no trade with the interior; everything will be turned topsy-turvy, and all trade of that sort would be at an end. On the other hand, with the French masters here, a considerable number of French and Italian ships will be coming in with stores of all kinds, these will often need supplies, repairs, and so on; and as we have men capable of doing anything in the way of refitting, Muller could keep things going, and carry on a business that should pay all expenses, and would probably leave a margin of profit. At any rate, the house would not go to wreck and ruin, and the business be entirely lost.

"I don't think the French occupation would be likely to last very many months. You may be sure that there would be great efforts made at home. A tremendous fleet would be sent out here, and the difficulties of bringing in stores and reinforcements for the army would be enormous. Possibly we too may land an army. Certainly we could nowhere fight the French so advantageously as here; it would be the case of India over again, as long as we are superior at sea, as we could bring troops here more safely and more expeditiously than they could. However, that seems to me the best arrangement we can make if the French land. To me it would make no great difference, for, as you know, I had arranged to sail in three weeks for England.

"The only alteration would be that you must accompany me instead of staying here. Even putting aside the fact that you would be made a prisoner, you would, if you stayed here, be a hindrance rather than a help to the business. Muller would carry it on as a purely German firm, while if you were here it would be evident that I had merely left temporarily, and that you were my representative. That would be fatal to Muller doing business with the French."

"I see that, father, although I must say that I would rather stop to see the fun."

Mr. Blagrove smiled.

"I don't suppose you would see much of it in any case, Edgar. However, that is out of the question. I daresay my correspondents in London will be able to take you into their office, or get you a situation of the same kind elsewhere, so that if you stop in England a year you will not be wasting your time. However, the French have not come yet, and I can hardly think that they can intend to undertake an expedition, where, even if our fleet is not strong enough to do so at once, it will ere long certainly be raised to a point when it will completely cut them off from France."

"But even if they come, father, they may not succeed in conquering Egypt. Don't you think that the Mamelukes will be able to make head against them?"

"We don't know how strong the French are, but even if they come in great force, if the Mamelukes were well handled, Edgar, they ought to be able to prevent them from advancing far inland. They ought to hang in clouds round them, driving in their cavalry whenever they ventured to leave the shelter of their infantry fire. They ought to harass them night and day, and prevent them obtaining supplies of any sort. I am afraid that nothing of that kind will be done. The Mamelukes have been spoilt, and they are so puffed up that they believe themselves to be invincible, and that they have only to make a grand charge to sweep the French away.

"However, it will make no great difference to us when we are once fairly away, for of course I shall not think of returning here until matters have settled down again. The French traders have had a bad time of it since the war began, and most of them left long ago, for it was so seldom that a vessel got through our cruisers that they could not rely upon any regular supplies of goods. Of course, there are many small shopkeepers who take their goods of me, and retail them out to the natives, but all the importers left. I am afraid it is going to be our turn now; that is, unless Nelson manages to intercept their fleet—no very easy matter, for they might land anywhere along the coast between this and Syria. But I imagine that their descent will take place near this town, for from it they could follow the fresh-water canal to the point where it flows from the Nile, and so on to Cairo.

"They may, however, land at either the Damietta or Rosetta mouths of the river; still, I think that they are more likely to come here, seeing that the ships could more closely approach the shore."

The British fleet remained but a few hours off Alexandria. The short Peace of Campo-Formio had caused the greater portion of the British fleet to be recalled from the Mediterranean; and it was not until the French preparations were almost complete that the news reached England that a vast number of transports had been collected by the French at various ports, that provisions of all kinds were being put on board, and it was rumoured that an army was about to embark for some unknown destination.

Nelson was at once sent off with a fleet to blockade Toulon, from which port it was evident that the men-of-war intended to guard this great fleet of transports would start. It arrived there on the first of June, only to learn that the French fleet had set out three days previously. The idea that Egypt was its destination had not entered the minds of the British ministers, and although Nelson had been furnished with instructions as to the course to be taken in the case of almost every contingency, this had never been even discussed.

The French fleet consisted of 13 vessels of the line, 9 frigates, and 11 corvettes and despatch-boats. All of these, with the exception of a few of the smaller vessels, were furnished by Toulon. Here, too, 20,500 men had embarked in 106 transports. They were to be joined by 30 transports from Marseilles, 20 from Corsica, 35 from Genoa, and 41 from Civita Vecchia, bringing up the total to 232 transports, carrying 32,300 men.

In one arm the army was extremely deficient, as only 680 horses could be put on board. Of these 300 were for the cavalry,—all of whom, however, took with them saddles and bridles,—the rest were for the artillery and train.

Nelson started at once in search of the enemy, but having no clue to the direction they had taken he was able to obtain no news of their whereabouts until he heard that they had captured, without resistance, the island of Malta. Then he returned with all speed, imagining for the first time that possibly Egypt was the object of attack, and made for Alexandria. On his arrival there he heard that nothing was known of the French movements, although in fact their fleet was on that day lying at anchor off Cape Harzet, twenty leagues to the west.

Supposing, therefore, that they must after all have sailed for the coast of Syria or Constantinople, he steered for Alexandretta, and learning that, after having captured Malta, the French fleet had sailed to Candia, he left for Rhodes, searched everywhere through the islands of the Archipelago, and it was only when he anchored off Cape Matapan, the southern extremity of the Morea, that he first learned that the French army had landed in Egypt a month before.

The object of the French expedition was a vast one, but the means with which it was undertaken were insufficient for its execution, and the difficulties in the way were infinitely greater than had been supposed in Paris. Bonaparte had been chosen for its command principally because the directory feared that the great popularity of the victorious general would render him formidable to themselves. They knew already that he was by no means favourably disposed towards them, and they were therefore anxious to remove him from the public eye.

Napoleon, on his part, was perfectly aware of the reason for which he was appointed to the command, but he accepted it under the belief that a vast amount of glory was to be gained, and that, should the plans of the directory be entirely carried out, and India wrested from the English, his name would be placed by the side of Alexander in history. Already negotiations had been carried on for some time with Tippoo Sahib. Commissioners had been despatched to him, and an alliance proposed against the British. His power had been greatly overrated by the French, and but a feeble idea was entertained of the enormous difficulties of the scheme they proposed, which was that, after completely subduing and organizing Egypt, they should march through Syria and Damascus, thence to the head of the Persian Gulf, and thence down through India.

No account had been taken of the enormous difficulties of the journey. There was no thought of the powerful and warlike people of Northern India. The only idea was to revenge the total overthrow of the French power in India by the British, to re-establish it on a firmer and wider base than ever, and so not only to humiliate the pride of England, but to obtain a monopoly of the trade of the East.

The news that possibly a French fleet might at any moment appear before the port spread the greatest dismay throughout Alexandria; the native population were furious, and foreigners scarcely dared to show themselves in the streets. Mr. Blagrove and Edgar were busy from morning till night on the day after the British fleet had left, in transporting the goods from the store to the ship that had been chartered.

"It is quite possible that all this is needless," the merchant said to Edgar when they sat down to a hasty meal late in the evening. "I think myself that it is almost absurd, although I do not mean to leave anything to chance; but it is purely a surmise that the French expedition is intended to operate against Egypt. It seems to me that either Greece or Syria is much more likely to be its destination. I have just had a letter put into my hand, brought by the captain of a small Maltese trader. It is from a correspondent in Malta. He states that the French fleet has appeared off the island and summoned the knights to surrender, and that it is thought probable that the demand will be acceded to. He said that he sent me a line by a little coaster that intended to sail late that evening, and was taking a cargo of grain for Alexandria.

"That certainly looks as if the expedition is intended to operate farther east, for Malta is altogether out of the way for a fleet coming from Toulon hither. Still it is just as well to continue our work. There is, naturally enough, a violent ferment among the native population, and this may not improbably find vent in a fanatical attack upon the Christians. At any rate, we will get the rest of our goods of any value on board, and then await events."

By the next evening their preparations were completed. The ferment had now somewhat cooled down, and people were beginning to think that the excitement roused by a mere vague report was absurd. The next morning at breakfast Mr. Blagrove said to his son:

"I think, Edgar, that as things have quieted down, and we are all beginning to hope that the scare was altogether unfounded, it would be just as well that you should ride over to your friends in the desert, stay the night there, and come back to-morrow. They would think it strange and discourteous if we were to leave suddenly without communicating with them; and as I hope our absence will be of short duration, I should be very sorry to give people so well-disposed towards you any ground for offence. But return by to-morrow evening. In the extremely remote possibility of a French fleet being made out before that time, I must embark at once, if only for your mother and sisters' sake. It would be madness to wait here—simple madness. Even putting aside the certainty of captivity for a very long period, it is by no means improbable that there would be a sudden rising on the part of the population, and a massacre of foreigners.

"I consider the contingency so remote, that it is scarcely worth speaking of; but if the French fleet should arrive during the thirty-six hours that you will be away, and I am obliged to embark and sail off, you must stay with your Arab friends. You see, I have some £8000 worth of goods on board the Petrel, and the loss would be an extremely heavy one for me; and I have besides £2000 in cash. I shall leave £1000 in Muller's hands, which will be ample for his needs, as there is a very heavy stock of ships' stores in the warehouse. I shall, of course, instruct him to supply you with any money that you may require. You understand that I regard all this as extremely improbable, but it is just as well to make arrangements for every contingency. And then, should the French fleet come in sight, I can embark on board the Petrel, and set sail without any great anxiety on your account. More to relieve my mind than because I think there is any reasonable ground for thinking it necessary, here are fifty pounds in gold; you had best sew them up securely in the band of your trousers to-night; it will be no great trouble, and they will be safer there than if loose in your pocket."

As Edgar rode away the next morning, he could not help thinking that it would be great fun if the French were to arrive before he returned. The thought of a year or two passed in a stuffy office in London was not an agreeable one; while, were he to stay with the Bedouins, he might have a life of excitement and adventure. No doubt they and the other tribes would all fight against the invaders; impelled in the first place by their intense love of independence, and in the second, because the invaders were Christians. The thought of dashing charges, of skirmishing with the French cavalry, of pursuit, of flight, was very fascinating to a high-spirited lad of seventeen, and after indulging in these fancies for some time, he sighed, as he thought how small was the chance of their becoming reality.

He was heartily welcomed on his arrival at the oasis. The news that Sidi had brought of the visit of the British fleet, and the fact that they were in search of a great French fleet carrying an army that might possibly be intended for the invasion of Egypt, had created great excitement in the camp.

"Do you think it can be true," the sheik asked him, "that so wild an idea can have come to these people, as to think that they could conquer our country?"

"That I cannot say," Edgar replied. "If they did come, they would be very formidable opponents, for they have conquered many countries in Europe; their soldiers are well trained and disciplined, and they will have great numbers of guns; but my father thinks that they can hardly intend to come here, for if they landed we should soon have enough ships-of-war here to prevent their return, and they would be cut off from France altogether. There is no news of their fleet, except that they have arrived at the island of Malta. Whither they sailed thence we know not. Our fleet has gone in search of them, and will fight them when they find them. But if they should escape, and should really come hither, my father and I will embark on board a ship which he has loaded with his most valuable goods, and we shall at once sail for England. It is for this reason that I have ridden over this morning. If we should go, our departure will be very sudden, for we should get up anchor as soon as the French fleet was made out in the distance, or, at any rate, as soon as it became dark enough to hide our departure; and I should have been sorry indeed to go without saying good-bye to you."

"But for how long will you go, brother?" Sidi asked.

"Until the trouble was over here, which might be only two or three months, but which might be as many years."

"And will you be glad to go back to your own country?" the sheik asked.

"No, indeed. There I should have to work in an office in London, which would be very dull, while here my work is light, I have amusements, and I have my friends here."

"Why not stay behind with us until your father returns? You know that you would be most welcome, and that it would gladden all our hearts to have you with us."

"I should like it above all things, sheik," Edgar said warmly, "and I thank you most heartily for the invitation, but of course I must do as my father wishes, and he thinks it best that we should go to England if the French come, for they would keep us both as prisoners, and would seize all our goods and merchandise. However, it does not seem to him likely that the French will really come here, and it was only because he considered that it was just possible they might do so that he himself suggested that I should come over and stay here until to-morrow afternoon, lest, if we should have to leave suddenly, you might not think that we had forgotten you in our haste to be off. For myself, I wish that I could stay here. I suppose that if the French came you would fight, and I could fight with your tribe?"

"Assuredly we will fight," the sheik said. "Why should these Franks come here to molest us? I love not the Turkish rule much, but we are in no way molested. Assuredly every Arab through the desert will ride against them and aid the Mamelukes to drive them into the sea. How great an army would they bring against us?"

"We hear from the officers of our fleet that the news received in England said that some 30,000 men were preparing to embark for some unknown destination."

"Thirty thousand!" the sheik said scornfully; "why, there are 10,000 Mameluke cavalry and fully 20,000 infantry, janizaries, and spahis, besides the levy of the whole population, and the desert tribes can put 5000 horsemen into the field. They will never dare to come against us unless with a force very much larger than you speak of. No, it is not against Egypt that the expedition can have sailed."

"That is what my father thinks," Edgar said; "not because of the force you could bring against them, but because they would know that they might be cut off at any time from returning by our fleet, and their position would then become desperate. We have long blockaded them in their own ports, and if they are not strong enough to get out of these, still less would they be able to leave Egypt."

"Let us not talk more of them," the sheik said contemptuously. "They are dogs; if they come hither we shall know how to deal with them."

CHAPTER III.

LEFT BEHIND.

The sheik spoke a few words to two of his followers, who at once mounted their horses and rode off.

"They will bring us news if anything happens," he said; "they will go into Alexandria."

It was late in the evening when they returned.

"You have news?" the sheik said, as they came up to the fire by which he was sitting. The moon was shining brightly, lighting up the wide expanse of sand round the grove.

"The Franks have come," one said.

Edgar sprung to his feet with an exclamation of surprise and alarm.

"When did they come?" the sheik asked.

"When we reached the city all was quiet," the man said, "except that soldiers were working at the fortifications. When we asked why this was, they said that some Bedouins had come in two hours before with the news that the sea near Cape Harzet was covered with ships, and that they were sailing this way. Many did not believe the story, but all the people and the soldiers were ordered to work on the fortifications, to bring up shot for the great guns, to carry stones to mend the walls where they were broken, and to prepare for the defence. The sun was nigh half down when we saw a great many white dots on the edge of the sea. They were still some leagues away, when everyone pointed and cried out, 'It is the enemy!' and worked harder than ever. It was not for two hours that we were sure that they were ships. When we were so, we went, as you bade us, to the English merchant's. He was busy directing men, who were going backwards and forwards to a ship in the harbour. We said to him, 'Master, our sheik has sent us to carry him news should the fleet of the Franks come here. He told us to come to you if it did so, as you might wish to send for your son.'

"'It is too late,' he said; 'too late for my son to come to me. I am on the point of starting now, as you see. Many of the ships have already put to sea, and the captain has sent to say that he cannot risk his vessel by staying longer. The French will be here within two or three hours, and although they will not venture to enter the harbour till daybreak they could capture all vessels going out. Tell my son that I regret much that I let him go away for the day, but had no thought that the enemy would come so soon. Bid him not be uneasy about me, for it will be dark in an hour, and the French will not be up until two hours later, and they will have their hands full without trying to catch the craft that are putting out from here. Here is a letter for him; I was going to leave it here in case he returned.'

"Five minutes afterwards he took his place in a boat and was rowed off to the ship. We saw the men getting up the anchor, and then the sails were spread, and she sailed out of the harbour. Then, not wishing to be shut up in the town, we went out through the gates and rode to the mound by the sea-shore that is called Marabout. Then we got off our horses to see what would happen. It was dark when the Franks' vessels came along; some of them sailed on towards the harbour, but most of them anchored and let down their sails, and presently one could see vast numbers of boats rowing towards the shore."

When the man had finished, Edgar opened the note that was handed to him. It was written in pencil.

My dear Edgar,—In face of all probabilities the French fleet is in sight. They will be here soon after it is dark. The city is in a state of mid excitement. The captain of the 'Petrel' has just come in, saying that the French are coming along the coast from the west, and that I must be on board before it is dark. For some reasons I regret that you are not with me, but I believe that you will be quite safe with your Arab friends, and possibly this may be more to your liking than a long stay in London. Take care of yourself, lad. God bless you!—Your affectionate father.

Edgar's first thought at hearing the news had been regret that he could not accompany his father, but this was very speedily succeeded by a feeling of delight that he would be enabled to witness stirring events.

"Are you glad or sorry?" the sheik asked.

"I am much more glad than sorry," he replied. "My father, no doubt, is disappointed that I am not returning home with him. I should on no account have remained behind had it been possible to join him in time. As it is, it is neither my fault nor his, but, as I think, a stroke of good fortune. And now, chief, I can accept your kind offer of hospitality, and hope that if there is any fighting that I shall ride by the side of Sidi."

The Arab smiled gravely. "That assuredly you shall do. It is, as you say, no one's fault, but the will of Allah, that has left you in my charge, and I doubt not that good fortune will befall us thereby. Now, what think you that is meant by the Franks landing at Marabout instead of sailing on to attack the port?"

"It means, no doubt, that they are going to assault the city by land. They probably do not know how weak are the fortifications, and fear that the fleet might suffer much injury from their guns, and may therefore prefer to attack from the land side."

"But can they take the city that way?"

"I have no doubt that they can. Their guns could blow in the gates in a very short time. Moreover, from the high ground near Pompey's Pillar they could harass the defenders of the wall, or, if they chose, make a breach in it. The wall is very old, and in many places in a bad state of repair."

"Could we go into the city and aid in the defence?" the sheik asked.

"There will be no entering from this side, sheik. The French army will be between us and Alexandria, and, moreover, the guns from their war-ships will be able to sweep the sands. We might pass round by the south and enter the city from the other side; but your forty men would add but little strength to the defence, and would be far more useful as horsemen when the French begin their advance."

"How long will it take them, think you, to capture the town? Help can come down from Cairo in a week."

"I think that the French will lose but little time, sheik. So long as the town holds out, the fleet might be attacked by Nelson, should he come back this way, while as soon as they have captured the town all the light-draught vessels would find shelter in the harbour. You may be sure that they would lose no time in mounting guns from the ships on the forts, and render themselves perfectly safe from attack. They say that Bonaparte is in command of the French. He is their ablest general, and very active and enterprising. I should not be surprised if he captures the place before sunset to-morrow."

The sheik made no reply. It seemed to him that Edgar's opinion that the city which had withstood many sieges could be captured in a few hours was too absurd to need argument.

"There is nothing to be done now," he said; "let us sleep. To-morrow, before sunrise, we will make a detour round the south side of the city and approach the eastern gate, and then decide whether to enter the town or not."

In a few minutes there was silence in the camp, but long before the sun rose everyone was astir. The women were to be left with the boys and old men. The preparations were of the simplest character; each of the thirty-eight men going hung a bag of dates at his saddle-bow, looked to his firearms, and mounted. As the oasis was situated to the south-west of the city, they did not strike the old bed of Lake Mareotis until half-way along what had been its south shore. At present all was silent in the distant city, and the sheik said shortly, "We will wait till we see what is going to be done." Presently two or three Arabs were seen galloping across the cultivated ground. They belonged to the Henedy tribe, one of the wildest and most savage of the people of the desert. When they saw the group of horses they made their way towards them. As the sheik advanced a few paces, one of them leapt from his saddle and came up to him.

"What has happened, brother?" Ben Ouafy asked.

"Last evening the Franks began to land, and all night they continued to come ashore. At midnight Koraim, the commander of the town, went out to see what they were doing, at the head of twenty Mamelukes, and fell upon a company of their skirmishers, charged them, killed many, and carried the head of their captain in triumph into the town. At five this morning our tribe arrived. We rode up near them, and saw that they had neither horsemen nor cannon. They were divided into three columns, and were marching towards the town. We dashed in between the columns and cut down many of their skirmishers, but we were only five hundred, and dared not attack the column, which opened such a heavy fire that we were forced to draw off. Our sheik ordered us to ride south to carry the news to Ramanieb that the Franks had landed. They may have sent the news from the town, but he thought it best to make sure."

"'Tis well!" the sheik said, and the Arab threw himself into the saddle again, and with his companions rode south at a gallop. "You see," the sheik went on to Edgar, "the Franks cannot mean to attack the town. What could they do without cannon?"

"It would assuredly be a desperate enterprise, sheik, but I think that they may attempt it, seeing that it is all-important to them to obtain possession of the port before our fleet can return."

The party remained sitting, with the patience of their race, until the sheik should give orders for them to mount. Edgar got up several times, and walked backwards and forwards. He was less accustomed to waiting, and was burning for action. Just at eight o'clock there came suddenly to their ears an outburst of firing, the boom of cannon, and the sound of a crackling roll of musketry.

"The French have lost no time in beginning," he said.

The young Arab nodded. A flush of excitement glowed through the olive skin, his hand tightly grasped his spear, and his eyes were fixed on the distant city. Suddenly the sheik raised the vibrating battle-cry of the Arabs, in which the whole of his followers joined, and then at a wild gallop they dashed forward, the horses seeming to share in the excitement of their riders. After maintaining the pace for a couple of miles they reined in their horses somewhat, and at a canter swept along the neck that divided in old time the lakes of Aboukir and Mareotis, slackened down into a walk as they approached the fresh-water canal, where they stopped for a few minutes to allow their horses to drink, and then continued at a leisurely pace until they mounted the high ground at Ramleh. From here they obtained a view of the eastern side of Alexandria. They could hear the din of battle on the other side of the town, and could see the great fleet anchored, a mile from shore, some two miles to the west of the town. The wind, which had been blowing strongly the night before, and had seriously hindered the work of disembarkation of the French troops, had now subsided. Some of the men-of-war were engaging the forts, but at so great a distance that it was evident that it was a demonstration to distract the attention of the besieged rather than a serious attack. Four or five ships, under the shortest sail, were cruising backwards and forwards parallel with the shore eastward of the town, and occasionally a white puff of smoke burst out from one or other of them, and a shot was sent in the direction of scattered bands of horsemen near the shore.

After gazing at the scene in silence for some minutes, the sheik turned his horse and rode back to a spot near the canal, where the moisture, permeating through its banks, had given growth to a luxuriant crop of grass. Here all dismounted and tethered their horses. Four of the Arabs were appointed to watch over their safety, and the rest reascended the mound, and squatted down on the sands. Gradually the other parties of horse gathered there, and the sheiks gravely consulted together. All had a conviction that Alexandria would hold out until help came from Cairo. The question of entering the town was discussed. Presently the sound of cannon ceased, but the rattle of musketry continued unabated.

"Why have the guns ceased firing, think you?" the sheik asked Edgar.

"It is one of two things, sheik. Either the French have got so close up to the walls that the cannon can no longer be brought to fire upon them, or they have stormed the walls and the fighting is now in the streets of the town."

"But there are two walls," the sheik said; "the one known as the Arab wall, and the inner defences. It is impossible that they can have carried both."

"It would seem so," Edgar agreed; "but as the musketry is as hot, or hotter, than ever, it is evident that fighting is going on at close quarters, and that either the guns cannot be fired, or they have been captured. You see the walls were in many places weak, and the attempts that have been made during the past three or four days to repair the breaches that existed were very incompletely done. I am very much afraid that it is as I said, and that the French have gained an entrance."

Half an hour later, a number of horsemen, followed by a crowd of people on foot, poured out from the eastern gate. One of the leading horsemen drew rein for a moment as he passed the group of Arabs.

"The town is lost," he said; "the Franks have won their way into the streets, and Koraim has surrendered."

An exclamation of fury broke from the Arabs.

"It will be our turn next," Ben Ouafy said, shaking his spear towards the city. "This is but the beginning of the work. They may take a city, but the sands will devour them."

As they knew that the French had no cavalry the Arabs remained quiet; the stream of fugitives continued to pour past them, men, women, and children.

"We will return," Ben Ouafy said at last. "We will move south and join the rest of the tribe, and then see what the government of Cairo are going to do."

The capture of the town had not been effected without loss. Menou's column had attacked on the right, Kleber in the centre, Bon had moved round south of the town. The Arab wall was obstinately defended, Kleber and Menou were both wounded as they led the grenadiers to the assault; Bon, however, had met with less resistance, and had captured the inner wall before the other columns succeeded in doing so. For some time the battle had raged in the streets, but the captain of a Turkish vessel had been sent by Napoleon to the governor, pointing out that further resistance would bring destruction upon the town, while if he yielded, the French troops, who came as friends to deliver them from the tyranny of the Mamelukes, would do no harm to anyone. Koraim thereupon capitulated. He was at once attached to the general staff, and charged with maintaining order in the town and disarming its inhabitants.

Proclamations were at once sent out through the country, declaring that the French had come to destroy the Mameluke domination, and that they were friends of the Sultan of Turkey. Protection was offered to all the villages that submitted; those that did not do so would be burnt. Seven hundred Turkish slaves, who had been delivered at the capture of Malta, and who had been extremely well treated, were at once sent to their homes in Tripoli, Algiers, Morocco, Syria, Smyrna, and Constantinople, being provided with ample sums of money to support them on their way. These measures had an excellent effect. Koraim sent out messengers to the Arab tribes of the neighbourhood. His influence among them was great, and their sheiks for the most part went at once into Alexandria, and agreed to keep the road open from Alexandria to Damanhour, and to sell and deliver within forty-eight hours 300 horses, 500 dromedaries, and 1000 camels. They were presented with dresses of honour and money. By this time the transports had all entered the old port of Alexandria, and were busy discharging their cargo and the troops they carried, and in a short time the whole French army was on shore.

Scarce a word was spoken among Ben Ouafy's party on their homeward ride. The sheik gave his orders on his arrival.

"We will wait for a day or two," he said to Edgar as they dismounted. "The French have no cavalry, and would not come out here. Let us see what the other tribes are going to do; we are but a small body."

When, two days later, a messenger arrived from Koraim, the sheik, after reading the contents of the proclamation, indignantly tore it in pieces.

"Tell Koraim," he said to the messenger, "that hitherto I have regarded him as an honourable man, now I spit upon him as a traitor. Whatever others may do, I will fight against the Franks till the last."

As soon as the messenger had departed, he gave orders for the tents to be struck.

"We must be going, Sidi," he said; "some of the tribes may be taken in by these promises, and may give aid to the enemy; in that case they would doubtless obey orders to attack those who refuse to do so. Three of them can each put four or five hundred spears into the field. We will move away at once. With fifty men we cannot fight two thousand."

The process of packing-up occupied but a short time. As soon as the tents were made into bundles the thirty camels were brought in and loaded. The women and children took their places on the top of the baggage, and then the men mounted their horses, and the cavalcade started across the desert.

"Which way do we travel, Sidi?"

"We are not going direct. There are but few wells, and the distances are long between. Mounted men alone can do the journey without difficulty, but it is a painful one with women and children, and we never go that way unless in case of great necessity. We shall travel towards the south-east, keeping near the edge of the cultivated country until we reach the Nile, and then follow along the river bank until within a few miles of Cairo, thence it is three days' journey to the south-west. There is a well half-way."

After proceeding some ten miles, they perceived a party of Arabs galloping in the direction of Alexandria. They changed their course, however, and soon came up with the Ben Ouafy caravan. Two of the sheiks of the party rode forward and exchanged salutations with the chief.

"Whither are you journeying, Ben Ouafy?"

"I am going south to join my tribe; and you—are you going to Alexandria?"

"I am going there at once."

"Hast not the news reached you that the Franks have captured it?"

"Truly we have heard so, and a messenger came to us but this morning, saying that they had come to deliver us from the Turks, and inviting us to go in thither and see them. Have you not received a message also?"

"I received such a message, indeed, but its words were idle. For the Turks and their Mamelukes I have no great love. They prey upon the land, and enrich themselves at our expense; but the Franks would doubtless do the same, and I would rather be fleeced by those of the true faith than by kaffirs."

"But they come as our friends."

Ben Ouafy smiled. "Why should they come as our friends, Chief of Oulad A'Ly; what have we done for them? Why should they cross the sea in their ships at great expense and much danger, to save those whom they know not, from the Turks? You might as well expect the lion to come to rescue a deer attacked by a jackal. He might, it is true, drive it away, but it would only be that he might himself slay and devour the stag. We have heard of these Franks, how they have taken Italy and other countries; and think you, that if they should overpower the Osmanlis and defeat the Mamelukes, that they will say, 'We have accomplished our purpose, we have freed you from your oppressors, now we will sail back to France and leave you to manage your own affairs'?"

"He promises to respect our religion," the sheik said, "to buy horses and camels from us at fair prices, to give us rich presents, and to treat us with honour."

"No doubt, no doubt. 'Tis easy to speak soft words when one needs aid, but such promises are forgotten when the object is attained. To-day he is the friend of the Arabs, to-morrow he will be their master, and if we aid these kaffirs against the followers of the Prophet, we shall well deserve whatever may befall."

"Then you will not go in to the gathering to which he invites us?"

"Assuredly not. Even were it for no other reason, I would wait and see what comes of the matter. We know not yet that he will conquer the Mamelukes, and if he fails to do so, assuredly their vengeance will afterwards fall upon all who have assisted these people."

The sheik cast his eye over Ben Ouafy's cavalcade, as if estimating its strength. He saw, however, that it contained as many armed men as he had with him, and if the idea had entered his mind of commencing the campaign by plundering it, he concluded it must be at once abandoned.

"I have no intention," he said, "of taking part with the Franks against the government. I am going to sell horses and camels. Frank money is as good as Turkish, and, moreover, they threaten to attack and destroy those who refuse to aid them. Your tribe lives far away, though, indeed, you may abide here at times, and there is nothing of yours that they can destroy. I have my people to think of, their villages, their flocks and herds and horses; therefore, I shall go and see this great man, and hear what he says, and shall, if I can, keep on terms of peace with him. An army so strong and so fierce that it has captured Alexandria after four hours' fighting is too formidable for an Arab chief to resist; but, assuredly, I have no thought of fighting on his side against my countrymen."

The sheik bowed courteously.

"Every man has his own way of looking at things, and in a matter like this each must do as seems best to him. Go in peace, and may good fortune attend you!"

The formal salutation was returned, and the sheiks rejoined their parties, and each kept on their course as before they met.

"There, my son," Ben Ouafy said to Sidi, "you see how the desire for gain influences men to evil deeds. In order to sell a few hundred horses and as many camels, the Oulad A'Ly are going to assist the Franks against true believers. It is true that they may not be going to fight for them, but the animals that they sell to them will enable them to fight, which comes to the same thing. Of course he professes that he is thinking of saving his villages from destruction, but he must know well enough that the Franks have other things to think of than to spread over the country here, and give ample time to the Mamelukes to prepare for their coming. Moreover, as it is clear that the French have no cavalry, they could not make excursions, for if they seized all the horses in Alexandria, these would not suffice to mount a party strong enough to assail a tribe like the Oulad A'Ly, who can put nigh a thousand horsemen into the field."

The party travelled without haste. Before arriving on the Nile, Edgar suggested to the sheik that it would be as well were he to discard his European dress for an Arab one.

"When we were at Damanhour," he said, "I marked how the people scowled at me as I rode through the streets; and as no doubt you will ride into Cairo ere long, it would save trouble were I to be so attired that I should escape notice."

"It would be a good plan," the sheik agreed. "I daresay Sidi can supply you with a suit."

"I can purchase what is needed at the next place we come to," Edgar said, "I have money for any necessity that may arise. Even putting aside the trouble of being constantly questioned, I should prefer the Arab dress, for under this baking sun I think it would be a good deal more comfortable than these English clothes."

Accordingly, at the next town they passed through, Sidi and Edgar went together to the bazaar, and the latter purchased, after the usual amount of bargaining, clothes similar to those worn by his friend. The expense was but small, for the costume of an Arab chief differed but little from those of his followers, except that his burnoose was of finer cotton, and his silken sash of brilliant colours, richer and more showy. With this exception the whole costume was white, and although some of the Arab sheiks wore coloured burnooses, Edgar chose a white one, as both his friend and his father wore that colour. He bought two or three changes of clothes, for he knew that water was often scarce, and that washing of garments could not be indulged in frequently. That night when the camp was pitched he donned his new costume, and placed his pistols in his sash in Arab fashion. Sidi wound his turban for him, and gave him instructions how the clothes were to be worn. Those he had taken off were made into a bundle so that they could be resumed if necessary. He felt rather awkward as with his friend he sallied out from the tent which they now shared between them.

"You look well, Edgar," the sheik said approvingly, "but you will need to stain your arms and legs, and it will be better for you to stain your face and neck also, for you would attract quite as much attention as a white Arab as you would in your European dress."

"I was thinking so myself, sheik; it will be much pleasanter for me to be able to pass anywhere without comment."

"You are taller than I thought," the sheik said; "it had not struck me that you were much taller than Sidi, but I see now that you are as tall as I am."

"I suppose the flowing garments make one look taller," Edgar said. "I have often been surprised, when standing near a native who looked to me a good deal taller than myself, to find that he was really not above my own height."

"My wife shall make a stain for you as soon as she can get the material. There will be no difficulty about that, for we often dye our burnooses brown, especially when we are starting on a long journey."

The sheik's wife and the other women were voluble in their expressions of satisfaction at the change in Edgar. They had been but little in the towns, and the comparatively tight-fitting European garments were, in their eyes, ugly and unbecoming. Seen in the more graceful dress of the Arabs they recognized for the first time that their guest was a good-looking young fellow, tall, active, and not ungraceful in figure, and that he could even compare not unfavourably with Sidi, who was a favourite with the whole camp. Even the men, impassive as they usually were, uttered a few words of satisfaction at Edgar having adopted an Arab costume, and at his appearance in it. On the following day the sheik, taking his son, Edgar, and two of his followers, left the caravan and rode on to Cairo, leaving the others to travel by easy stages to join the rest of the tribe.

"Doubtless we shall find many other sheiks assembled there," he said as they rode along; "the government is sure to have sent orders already for all the Bedouin tribes to hold themselves in readiness to gather there to oppose the advance of the French. The levies of the city and the neighbourhood will also be called out, not so much perhaps to fight as to labour at the fortifications. That they will not ask of the Arabs, for no Arab would work like a fellah. We will fight, but we will leave it to the peasants to work. The Mamelukes will, however, in the first place oppose the Franks. I love them not. They are the oppressors of Egypt, but the lions of the desert are not more courageous. They are proud of themselves, and believe themselves to be invincible. They will not believe that the Franks can stand for a moment against them, and you know that the night that the Franks landed, twenty Mamelukes rode out against them, killed many, and brought in their heads in triumph. They would not ask us to charge with them, but would deem it shame to ask for aid in such an encounter, but they will be willing enough to accept our help in cutting off the fugitives and in preventing others who may land from spreading over the country."

"Then you still feel sure that the Mamelukes will defeat the French?" Edgar said.

"If it be the will of Allah, my son. The Mamelukes are not like the people who defended Alexandria; they are warriors. We Arabs are brave, we do not fear death; but when, from time to time, a tribe refuses to pay its annual tribute, and a band of Mamelukes is sent against them, truly the sons of the desert cannot withstand them in combat, even when much more numerous, and are either destroyed or forced to make their submission. These men regard themselves not as simple soldiers; it is an army of emirs. Each has his two or three slaves to wait upon him, to groom his horse and polish his arms. Their dresses are superb; their arms and trappings are encrusted with gold and gems. Each carries his wealth on his person, and there are few who cannot show a hundred pieces of gold, while many can exceed that by ten times. It is true that they are the oppressors of the people, and that Egypt has been drained of its wealth for their support, yet we, who suffer from them, cannot but feel proud of them. Are they not followers of the Prophet? They are men like those whom the great Sultan Saladin led against the Christian hosts who strove to capture Syria. We have tales how brave these were, and how they rode, clad in steel from head to foot; and yet their bones whitened the sands, and the true believers remained in possession of their lands. The Mamelukes are men such as those were, and until I see the contrary I shall not believe that they can be defeated by these Franks."

"I hope that it may be so, sheik, and I doubt in no way their valour; but it is the guns and the discipline of the French that will, I fear, decide the conflict."

CHAPTER IV.

THE BATTLE OF THE PYRAMIDS.

The little party had ridden but a few miles when they saw a party of five or six hundred Arab horse approaching. The sheik rode to meet them, and after a short conversation with their leaders, returned.

"We need go no farther for orders," he said. "Mourad Bey, with 3000 Mamelukes and as many Janizaries, is within a few miles. Orders have been sent to all the Arab tribes to hasten to oppose the march of the enemy, and from all parts they are riding hither. Doubtless my brother, who is the great sheik of the tribe of which we are a branch, is already on his way to join him. We will at once ride and bring back all our fighting men. The caravan can proceed without guard. Even a hostile tribe would respect it at the present time, when all are engaged with the enemy. We shall speedily overtake them. They would not have started for an hour after we mounted, and cannot have gone many miles before we come up with them."

Riding at full gallop, they soon overtook the caravan. The Arabs received with shouts of satisfaction the orders their leader gave them to retrace their steps. The old men, who were to proceed with the caravan, were told that in the event of meeting with any parties hastening towards Ramanieh, to tell them that the orders were to harass the French as they advanced, and to say that all the sheik's fighting men were already engaged in the work. Then, after a brief adieu to the women, the Arabs rode at full gallop towards the river.

It was on the morning of the 29th of June that the French had taken Alexandria, and on the 6th of July that they commenced their march. General Dugua, with Kleber's division, had been taken by water to Rosetta, which they occupied without difficulty, and with a large flotilla of boats carrying provisions and stores, proceeded up the Nile as far as Damanhour, at which town the main portion of the army arrived after two days' painful march.

The French met with no resistance, owing to the fact that almost all Bedouins near the coast had accepted Napoleon's tempting offers. Nevertheless the troops were already discouraged. They had expected to find a rich and fertile country, with palm-trees, lovely towns, and an abundance of supplies of all kinds; but the Nile was now at its lowest, and during the previous season it had not, as usual, overflowed its banks and fertilized the country, consequently their march lay through a sandy waste. The dust rose in clouds under their feet, the sun beat down upon them; they suffered agonies of thirst, and many dropped from exhaustion. And their disappointment was great when they found that, instead of a rich and prosperous town, Damanhour was but a collection of huts, affording neither means of subsistence nor booty of any kind. Beyond the town large bands of Arabs had gathered, and the French army were obliged to keep their ranks as they marched, to maintain a constant watchfulness, and to travel at a slow pace in order that they might not be separated from their baggage. General Muireur was seized with a serious fever, the result of heat, thirst, and disappointment. He mounted his horse on the morning after his arrival there, and rode out beyond the outposts. He had gone but a short distance when a party of Arabs, hiding among some bushes, sprang to their feet and poured in a volley. He fell dead, and his body was stripped, and the Arabs, mounting their horses, rode off before the outposts could arrive on the spot.

From this time the French dared not straggle. Every man who left the ranks or lagged behind was killed. The Arabs were seldom seen, but they lay concealed behind every inequality of the ground, every clump of bushes. Occasionally, when there seemed to be an opening, a horde of Arabs would sweep down, but these always recoiled from the steady fire of the French infantry, and on the 10th of July the leading French division, that commanded by Desaix, reached Ramanieh, on the Nile. Here, after their terrible march, the French troops were seized with a delirium of pleasure at seeing the verdure on the banks of the river, and the water.

Disregarding all orders, they broke their ranks and rushed wildly to the stream, into which thousands of them plunged in their uniforms. In the cultivated fields great quantities of melons were found, affording a delightful food, for since they had left Alexandria there had been nothing to eat but the biscuits they had brought with them. Many paid dearly for over-indulgence in the fruit, numbers being prostrated with colic, while not a few died. Next day the army rested, the horses needing the halt even more than the men, for they had not recovered from the long confinement of the voyage when they started from Alexandria, and the scanty supply of water, the clouds of dust, and the heaviness of the passage across the deep sand had caused the death of a large number, and had rendered the rest all but unserviceable.

They had learnt from the natives that Mourad, with a large number of Mamelukes, was in front of them; and, indeed, on the day of their arrival there they appeared in such force that the French formed in order of battle outside the town. The Mamelukes rode backwards and forwards in front of the line brandishing their weapons and threatening a charge. A few rounds of artillery, however, speedily taught them the power of the French guns, and they retired to Chebreisse, and the French were not disturbed the next day. Here the army had the satisfaction of being rejoined both by Dugua's division, with its flotilla, and by another fleet of boats from Alexandria.

The Bedouins under the sheik had taken no part in the irregular skirmishes. There were already as many Arabs as sufficed for cutting off stragglers and compelling the French to march in military order, and the sheik determined to hold his small party together until some opportunity for a general encounter presented itself. Sometimes from the crest of the sand-hills he and his followers watched the progress of the dark masses of infantry.

"They march very slowly," he said to Edgar. "Why do they not go on quicker?"

"I fancy that they are keeping pace with the baggage-train. Their animals must be completely exhausted; and last night as we followed them we came upon many dead horses. They know that their only safety is to keep together, and I doubt not that the men are well-nigh as exhausted as the animals. Even on horseback the heat is terrible, and although we have our water-skins well-filled, I feel it very much, and of course men on foot carrying their muskets and ammunition and knapsacks must feel it very much more. I think they will go on faster after they have left Ramanieh. They will have the Nile by their side, and will have no want of water. The sand is firmer, too, and moreover they will be able to obtain what they require from the boats."

On the evening of the 12th the French arrived at a village near Chebreisse. At sunrise the next morning a battle began between the flotilla and some Egyptian gun-boats that had come down from Cairo, together with some batteries that had been established on the banks. The Mamelukes sallied out from Chebreisse and charged down with such ardour that it seemed as if they were about to hurl themselves on the French infantry. When within a short distance, however, they suddenly stopped their horses, checking them almost instantaneously, then they discharged their carbines, and retired as rapidly as they had come. This they repeated several times, but the shells of the French batteries played havoc among them.

Never before had the Mamelukes encountered a shell-fire, and the destruction wrought by these novel missiles bursting among them caused them to retire at full speed, leaving three or four hundred dead behind them, and abandoning some of the guns they had placed in position before Chebreisse. A large Arab force had been drawn up in front of the town when the Mamelukes charged, in readiness to follow the latter as soon as they had broken the French ranks. This was the first opportunity that Edgar had had of seeing any considerable body of this famous cavalry, and he acknowledged that nothing could be more superb than their appearance. The splendour of their dress, the beauty of their horses, and magnificence of their arms and trappings excited his admiration to the highest.

"Now you will see," the sheik said exultingly, "how they will gallop over the Franks!"

Edgar said nothing, but sat watching the splendid array as they swept down upon the French line. Each of the French divisions was formed up in square, with the artillery and dismounted cavalry in the intervals. The volleys of musketry that received the charging Mamelukes was sufficient to quell the ardour of the boldest horsemen in the world. In vain, before drawing off, they circled round and round the French formation, seeking for some weak spot upon which they could hurl themselves, and when at length they drew off, the French soldiers ran out from their ranks to plunder the fallen.

In silence the Arabs followed the Mamelukes, and the chief did not say a word until they had ridden, at a leisurely pace, some distance beyond the town.

"You were right," he said at last to Edgar. "I did not think that any men on foot could have resisted that charge, but the Franks stood as steadily as if it were a flock of sheep that was approaching them. The cannon are terrible. Who would have thought that the balls they shoot would explode and fly into pieces when they reach their mark! How is it done?"

Edgar explained as well as he was able the nature of shells, and how, when they were fired, a fuse was lighted of a length just sufficient to burn down to the powder within the ball at the time it reached the object at which it was fired.

The fight on the river had been more severe, and had been maintained with great obstinacy. At one time two gun-boats were taken by the Egyptians. These, however, were recaptured, and the admiral's ship burnt. Admiral Perrè, who commanded the first flotilla, was wounded by a cannon-ball, and the loss on both sides was severe.

For eight days the French continued to march forward. They suffered terrible hardships, and at times were almost in a state of mutiny. The interminable extent of sand utterly dispirited them, and they came to believe that all that they had heard of Egypt was false, and that they had been deliberately sent there by the directory to die. They doubted even the existence of Cairo. Some, in their despair, threw themselves into the river and were drowned. Many died on the march, less from sunstroke and exhaustion than from despair. At last the Pyramids came in sight, and their spirits rose again, for here, they were told, the whole army of Mamelukes, Janizaries, and Arabs were assembled to give battle, and they hoped therefore to terminate the campaign at a blow.

During the whole march they were harassed by the Arabs, and many were cut off and killed. Marches were always performed at night, and at ten o'clock in the morning they halted for the day, preparing themselves for slumber by a dip in the Nile. On the 21st of July they advanced from Omdinar, and at ten o'clock made out the enemy drawn up in line of battle. They had constructed a large entrenched camp, with forty pieces of ancient cannon incapable of movement. In this camp were 20,000 infantry, Janizaries, Spahis, and militia from Cairo. On the right were the Mameluke cavalry, some 10,000 strong, with one or two foot-soldiers to each horseman. To the left of the Mamelukes, and between them and the Pyramids, were some 3000 Arab horse.

The French army was drawn up in the same order as in their last fight, in great squares of divisions, the left resting on the Nile, and the right on a large village. Napoleon, with his staff, reconnoitered the enemy's entrenched camp, and by means of telescopes discovered that the cannon were not upon field-carriages, but were simply heavy ship guns that had been taken from their flotilla, and were served by the sailors. They, therefore, could not be moved, and it was evident that if the infantry left the camp they must do so without guns. The entrenchment itself was not formidable; it had been begun but three days before, and although it might be impracticable for cavalry, it would offer no serious obstacle to an attack by infantry.

The discovery that the cannon were immovable, decided Napoleon in his dispositions for the battle, and he gave orders that his army should move across to his right, and should thus be concentrated for the attack upon the Mamelukes and Arabs. Mourad Bey, seeing Napoleon's object, at once ordered two-thirds of his cavalry to charge the French while they were in motion, while the others were to remain near the entrenched camp. So rapidly did they sweep down, that the French squares fell into some confusion, and Desaix, with his division, which formed the head of the column, had difficulty in maintaining themselves, their ranks being somewhat broken by a grove of palm-trees through which they were passing. They, however, received the Mamelukes with so terrible a fire of musketry and grape-shot that the charge was not pressed home. The Mamelukes, however, fought with desperate courage, sweeping round the French squares, and even endeavouring to back their horses into the line of bayonets, in hopes of breaking the wall of steel.

At length, however, they could do no more, and Mourad, with 2000 men, rode off towards Gizeh, while the rest, not noticing the way that he had taken, owing to the cloud of dust and smoke, rode back to the entrenchment. The French now pressed forward with all speed, and a division was thrown across the plain, so as to prevent the horsemen from retreating by the line that Mourad had taken. The latter, seeing what had happened, charged again and again with his Mamelukes, to endeavour to break an opening through the French, by which the rest of his forces could join him. The divisions of Generals Bon and Menon advanced to the attack of the entrenchments; but the infantry, panic-stricken at the defeat of the cavalry, did not await the attack, and after but two or three rounds of shot had been fired by their cannon, deserted the position, and fled in wild confusion to the river.

Here some succeeded in making their way across by boats, while many swam over. The Mamelukes also attempted to swim their horses; a few succeeded, but more were drowned. The total loss on the Egyptian side amounted to some 10,000 men, including infantry, cavalry, and the slaves of the Mamelukes. 1000 prisoners were taken, and some 2000 camels and horses fell into the victors' hands. Great booty was captured by the French soldiers, and for days they occupied themselves in recovering the bodies of the drowned Mamelukes, which amply repaid their trouble, as four or five hundred pieces of gold were often found upon them, besides jewels and other valuables. The great bulk of their less portable property they had, however, placed on board sixty boats, and these, when the battle was seen to be lost, were set on fire, and their contents destroyed.

The Arabs had taken little share in the battle. When the Mamelukes charged, they had been ordered to remain in reserve, and only to charge when the latter had broken the French squares. Burning with impatience they watched the mighty torrent of horse sweep across the plain, then came the roar of artillery and the incessant rattle of musketry. Then they saw with astonishment the cavalry recoil; they witnessed charge after charge, and then saw them sweeping round the squares, while the plain, where they had first attacked, was strewn thickly with the bodies of men and horses right up to the bayonets of the French line. The Arabs burst into cries of dismay.

"Nothing can stand such a fire as that," Edgar said to Sidi; "the musketry and grape from the cannon are mowing them down like grass—it is terrible!"

For a time the Mamelukes were hidden from sight by the cloud of smoke and by the dust raised by their horses' hoofs, then they were seen to emerge.

"There is Mourad's banner!" the sheik exclaimed; "they are making for Gizeh, but surely all cannot be there—there are not more than 2000 with him."

Then another body of about equal strength broke out from the dust of the battle, and went towards the entrenchments.

"Let us join them there," the Arab shouted; and at full gallop they rode across and joined the Mamelukes. Then, heralded by a tremendous artillery fire, the French line advanced, pouring heavy volleys of musketry into the cavalry, and upon the defenders of the entrenchments. In two or three minutes the infantry were seen to be throwing away their guns, leaping from the entrenchments, and flying in a disordered crowd towards the river. Had the French possessed any cavalry, not one of the fugitives could have escaped. The Mamelukes, seeing that all was lost, had ascertained that Mourad had ridden towards Gizeh, and now started to endeavour to rejoin him; while among the Arabs the cry rose, "To the desert!" and, turning their horses, they galloped away, passed the foot of the Pyramids, and out into the desert, where they halted, seeing that once out of reach of the fire of the French guns, there was no fear whatever of their being pursued.

"It is the will of Allah," the sheik said, as he and his party dismounted. "Truly you were right, friend Edgar; we know not how to fight. Who could have dreamt that men on foot could have withstood the charge of five thousand horsemen? And yet the Mamelukes fought, as always, bravely."

"They did indeed, sheik," Edgar agreed. "They did all that was possible for men to do, but against such a fire of infantry and artillery horsemen are powerless. Had our infantry been as well trained as those of the French, and instead of remaining in the entrenchments, where they could render no assistance whatever, marched against the French infantry and broken their squares, the Mamelukes would then have been able to dash down upon them, and not a French soldier would ever have reached their ships again; but without infantry the horsemen could do nothing."

"Then you think that all is lost, Edgar?"

"Assuredly all is lost for the present, sheik. Mourad Bey and the party with him may get away, but the rest are penned in between the French and the river, and few of them will escape. As for the infantry, they are a mere mob, and even if they get away they will never venture to stand against the French. Napoleon will enter Cairo to-morrow, and there he will remain. Numbers of horses will fall into the hands of the French. They will take many more in Cairo, and before long they will have cavalry as well as infantry, and then no part of the country will be safe from them."

"Then is Egypt to fall altogether under the rule of the French?"

"Only for a time. Our fleet will soon return, and their troops here will be cut off from their country. They may remain here for some time, but at last they will have to go. I think that we shall send an army out to fight against them. We shall know what their strength is, and that they cannot be reinforced; and they will find in the long run that although they may have captured Egypt, they are themselves but prisoners."

"And what would you advise?" the sheik asked. "You understand the ways and customs of the Franks, while I know no more than a little child. Thus, you see, in this matter you are the graybeard and I but a boy. Therefore speak freely what you think will be best."

"Then I should say, sheik, that your best course would be to return at once to your oasis. The French army will doubtless remain near Cairo. They will send cavalry and light artillery over the country, to search out their enemies, and to reduce all to obedience. Around Alexandria all will be quiet, and so long as French convoys are not attacked, the force there is not likely to interfere with peaceable people. If you return there you will live unmolested. You can wait and see how matters go. If there is any great rising against the French, it will be open to you to take part in it, but at present hostilities against the French would only bring down their vengeance. It may be that the Arabs in the great oasis to the west will continue the war, but in the end they will be sure to suffer by so doing."

"I think that your advice is good," the sheik said. "Sidi and you shall return home at once with half my followers. I will ride at daybreak with the other half. In one long day's ride I shall reach the spot where the women and baggage have gone, and I will escort them back. The road will certainly be safe from the Franks, who will, for some time, be occupied with Cairo, though it is hardly likely that the town will resist. Ibrahim, after the destruction of the Mamelukes and the defeat of the army, cannot hope to resist a great attack; for the fortifications, like those of Alexandria, have been suffered to decay, and the French would assuredly soon force an entrance. However, after the march that they have made they will need rest, and for a time the roads will be safe. But this is not so with regard to the Arabs. The whole country will be in confusion, and an unarmed caravan might well be plundered by any party of Arabs who met it, though they would not interfere with it were it headed by a sheik with armed followers. Therefore I will go to fetch them. My son will ride fast, and take possession again of our home, lest some of our neighbours, finding it deserted, should occupy it, and then trouble would follow."

Accordingly, the next morning at daybreak the troop divided and rode off in different directions. The greater part of the gathering had scattered the evening before, and determined to return home and wait events. Four days' rapid travelling took Sidi and his companions back to the oasis, which they found exactly as they had left it, the tribes in the neighbourhood having been all too busy in following the French army, and picking up baggage left behind by the break-down of the horses, to attend to other matters.

The next day Sidi and Edgar rode into Alexandria Everything there was going on as peacefully as usual; French soldiers lounging about the streets, a number of labourers, under the direction of French officers, were at work restoring the fortifications on the sea face of the town, the shops were all open, the markets were as well supplied as usual. To Edgar's surprise a good many French sailors were to be seen in the streets.

"Their fleet cannot have sailed," he said to Sidi. "Let us ride out through the East gate to Ramleh. It may be, of course, that there is a despatch-boat lying in the port, though I did not see one. I can hardly fancy that the French admiral would have kept his fleet here, for Nelson must sooner or later get the news of what has taken place, and it is certain that when he does he will hurry back at full speed."

From the elevation of Ramleh, however, the French fleet could be made out, lying in Aboukir Bay in a long line.

"Hurrah!" Edgar exclaimed; "there they are. I mean to see this battle, Sidi, if I have to stop here a month. It cannot be long before Nelson arrives. I cannot think why the French admiral should have risked being caught in a trap like this, when a defeat would cut the French army off from Europe altogether."

"But what will you do?"

"I shall go into the town, and buy three or four of your Arab blankets, and put up a little tent here."

"I will share it with you," Sidi replied. "I will send one of our two men back and tell him to return with two more. There will be four of them to look after the horses, and to fetch things out from the town as we may require them. I should like to see the battle too; it must be something terrible to hear the noise of so many great cannon."

The inaction of the French has never been satisfactorily explained. Admiral Brueys bore a high reputation as a sailor. He was a personal friend and possessed the complete confidence of Bonaparte. The latter had given him the strictest injunctions to sail for Toulon as soon as he had completed the discharge of the stores that he had on board. Instead of doing this, however, he anchored in Aboukir Bay, and there waited. It may have been that he feared that Napoleon might never reach Cairo, or that he might be defeated in a great battle there, and that it might be necessary for him to return to the port and to re-embark his army. No other explanation is possible of his delay in carrying out the imperative orders that he had received.

After the despatch of the messenger the two friends rode along the shore until they could not only make out the exact position of the French fleet, but count the guns in the broadsides of each vessel. It consisted of thirteen line-of-battle ships, comprising the flag-ship the Orient, of 120 guns, three of 80, and nine of 74, together with four frigates, four mortar vessels, and a number of gun-boats, while on an island ahead of the line was a battery of guns and mortars. Many parties of Arabs were riding about on the shore, and there were several of their encampments. Some had been attracted to the spot from a considerable distance in order to view the great vessels of which reports had reached them, others again were simply there from the spirit of restlessness that pervaded the population.

The news of the battle of the Pyramids had not yet arrived, and all were in suspense. The belief that the Mamelukes would defeat the French was all but universal. Had this taken place the whole of the Arab tribes would at once have harassed the retreat of the defeated army, and with the Mamelukes pressing upon them it is probable that not a single Frenchman would have reached the sea. As Edgar and his friend were watching the French fleet a vessel was seen over the spit of sand. She was some three miles out at sea.

"There is another of their ships of war, Sidi. I wonder whether she has been scouting along the coast to gather news as to where our fleet may be at present?"

When she came abreast of the extremity of the bay she changed her course and bore closer in.

"She is coming in to join the others. I wonder what news she brings?"

When, however, she approached within two miles of the French fleet she again changed her course, and bore along parallel with the coast.

"I suppose she is going into Alexandria. She hasn't got any colours flying. That is curious, too; all the ships here are flying theirs. Look! there are men at the mast-heads of several of the ships examining her with telescopes. That is curious, too, for she is not signalling. There she is, turning again and making out to sea. Perhaps she is a British ship sent on ahead by Nelson to discover the position of the French. If it is so we shall most likely have the fleet here to-morrow. Then we shall see a big battle; at least we shall if the French don't run away. See! there is a twelve-oared boat starting from the admiral's ship and rowing right away. They must be going to Alexandria. They are rowing hard, too."

They watched it for some time, and then returned to their tent. Two hours later a number of ships' boats were seen coming out from Alexandria.

"They are men-of-war boats," Edgar said. "I think I must have been right, and that that vessel we saw must have been an English frigate. That boat has been sent to order all the sailors we saw in the streets of the town to return at once."

For some hours boats continued to pass, all filled with men, but there were no signs of movement on the part of the ships.

"If it was one of our frigates the French admiral must have made up his mind to fight them. They have got a great advantage, covered as they are by those two land batteries. Besides, I know that there is a spit of sand running out there which will make it very awkward for an enemy, not knowing its position, to attack them. There is one thing, the French will find it difficult to sail out if they want to. You see the wind is on shore, and they are all riding head to it. There can't be much water inside them. No doubt they could get out all right if they had plenty of time and no one to interfere with them, but it would be a difficult business to manage if the British fleet were upon them."

At ten o'clock the next morning a number of large vessels were seen in the distance. They bore down towards Alexandria, but the wind was light and they made but slow way, and it was five in the afternoon before, having changed their course, they formed into line of battle and headed for the French fleet. The scene from the shore was intensely exciting. In each fleet there were thirteen battle-ships, but the French ships were the larger and more heavily armed. They carried forty-six more guns, and the weight of their broadside was 14,029 pounds to 10,695 pounds, while they carried 2300 more men, and were 5000 tons heavier. They had, too, in addition, four frigates, besides the mortar vessels, gun-boats, and the battery on the island of Aboukir. Soon after six o'clock, the two leading vessels of the British fleet being within range, the French opened fire, as did the guns of the battery. Edgar uttered an exclamation of disgust as one of the largest of the English ships was seen to stop suddenly in her course.

"She has run on the shoal!" he exclaimed. "Look, our ships are steering for the head of the French line; they mean to go inside them."

As the British vessels reached the head of the French ships they anchored one after another, each laying itself broadside to broadside against an opponent, and the battle commenced with terrible energy, the tremendous roar of the guns astounding the Arabs who were gathered on the sand-hills. At first the French reply was feeble. They were taken entirely by surprise by Nelson's manœuvre. Believing that he could only attack them from outside, they had prepared only on that hand for the fight, and in clearing the decks for action all the useless gear and fittings had been piled over on the other side, and it was some little time before this could be cleared away and the guns got ready for action. Then for a time their fire was as heavy as that of the British. Nevertheless some of them had suffered terribly before they were able to return a shot, and this contributed in no small degree to the British victory.

The loss of the Culloden, which was the vessel which struck on the sands, and of the Leander, which went to her assistance, was serious, and had the French rear-admiral, Villeneuve, who commanded the five vessels at the rear of the French line, cut his cables and come to the assistance of his comrades, the eight British ships, engaged with as many French, would have been in a serious position. He did not do so, however, possibly fearing to run his ships aground. Consequently the Alexandria and the Swiftsure came in to the assistance of the British ships, some of which were being terribly damaged by the greatly superior weight of the French fire. The Bellerophon, dismasted and disabled by the enemy's fire, dropped out of the line, and the Alexandria took her place, while the Swiftsure attacked the Franklin. The Leander, seeing how hard was the fight, relinquished her attempt to get the Culloden afloat, and, sailing in, engaged in the battle.

Battle of THE NILE

1st. August 1798.

For a time the issue was doubtful. The three English seventy-four-gun ships were matched against one of a hundred and twenty and two of eighty-four. Darkness did not put a stop to the engagement, which continued to rage with unabated fury, the battle being practically between twelve British ships and eight French ships of the line and their four frigates and gun-boats. By ten o'clock five of the French van had surrendered, and the great hundred-and-twenty-gun ship, the Orient, was in flames. The excitement of the Arabs as the battle continued was unbounded. It seemed to them that mortal men could not sustain so terrible a conflict, and exclamations of wonder and admiration rose constantly among them.

The light of the burning vessel enabled the whole of the terrible scene to be clearly witnessed. Half the ships were partly or wholly dismasted, the rigging was cut to pieces, and the sails were riddled with balls. The splintered sides, bulwarks shot away, and port-holes blown into one, showed how terrible was the damage inflicted on both sides. Higher and higher rose the flames on board the Orient. Men could be seen leaping overboard into the water from the burning ship, and soon after ten she blew up with a tremendous explosion, the concussion of which was so great that many of the Arabs were thrown to the ground. For ten minutes a dead silence succeeded the roar of battle, not a gun was fired on either side. The British vessels near the spot where the Orient had lately floated lowered what boats there were uninjured and set to work to rescue the survivors, who were either clinging to spars or were swimming. Several of these, too, were hauled in at the lower port-holes of the ships.

The French ship Franklin was the first to recommence firing, but after a few more broadsides from the Swiftsure she hauled down her colours. The firing continued without any abatement until three o'clock in the morning. It then died away for a time, but recommenced at six o'clock with fresh fury, and it was not until two in the afternoon that it came to an end. Villeneuve, seeing that all was lost, now woke up and cut his cables. Three of his ships ran aground, but with the Guillaume Tell and the Genereux and two frigates he made off, there being only one British ship that was in condition to make sail in pursuit. The two line-of-battle ships and one of the frigates were afterwards captured by a British squadron.

Thus of the thirteen French ships of the line eight had surrendered, one had blown up, two had escaped, and two were on shore. If the Culloden could have got into action, it is probable that not one of the French fleet would have left Aboukir Bay. The British loss in killed and wounded was 895. 3105 of the French, including the wounded, were captured, and 5225 perished in the fight. The victory was the most decisive that was ever won at sea.

CHAPTER V.

A STREET ATTACK.

Not until the last gun was fired did Edgar and his Arab friend return to their tent, utterly worn out by excitement and watching.

"I told you what it would be, Sidi," Edgar said as they went along. "I was certain that we should thrash them. It is a tremendous victory, and you see it is as important for you as it is for us, for the French army is now cut off. It will be a long time indeed before the French can fit out another fleet strong enough to have even a chance of fighting ours, and, as far as I can see, the only possible escape for their army is to march all the way round by Syria to Constantinople, and I should think that after this the Sultan will at once declare war with them, for by conquering Egypt they have taken one of his provinces."

This turned out to be the case. The news of the capture of Egypt had filled the Sultan with indignation and rage, but the fear excited by the success of the French arms in Europe deterred him from declaring war against so formidable a foe until the report of the destruction of their fleet reached Constantinople, when he at once plucked up courage, declared war against France, and ordered two armies to be gathered for the reconquest of Egypt. The news of the destruction of the French fleet caused intense excitement throughout Egypt. It showed that the French were not, as many had been inclined to consider them, invincible, and that it was improbable they would be able to receive any reinforcements from beyond the sea.

A week previously the Arabs had felt completely crushed, now the feeling of independence and hope sprang up again, and the whole situation was at once changed. Sidi had, directly the fight came to an end, sent off one of his followers to meet his father, and to inform him of what had taken place. Four days later the man returned; he had met the chief and his party just as they had reached the river. The latter had resolved at once to rejoin the desert tribesmen, and to escort the caravan back to their oasis; his wife, the women, and the animals were to remain there. The party now at the encampment with Sidi were to join him at once.

"The sheik bids me say," the messenger went on to Sidi, "that he would that you should not wait until the others are ready to start, but, if he is willing, should at once ride with your white friend to Cairo, if he is disposed to go with you; there, from his knowledge of the language of the Franks, he would be able to gain much information as to their designs.

"He bids you regard him as your leader, and to act as he may advise. Two of us are to go with you to look after your horses. He begs that one of you will come to the base of the Great Pyramid on the twelfth day after I left him, that is in ten days from now, to tell him what news you have gathered and to consult with him. He is convinced that the news you sent him will call all the Arabs to arms again."

"That is just what I should wish," Edgar said. "I have been thinking for the last four days that I should like to be at Cairo. That is the place of interest now."

He and his friend talked the matter over. "It will be better," Edgar said, "that we should go as simple Arabs, and that we should take two horses of less value than those which we now ride. You could send them up by the party that will rejoin your father. As two young Arabs on ordinary horses, we should attract no attention. We could encamp with our two men just outside the town, and go in and out as we pleased; no one would be likely to notice or question us. Or we might even wear the dress of the fellaheen, which would be safer still, for if the Arabs begin to make attacks upon French parties, as they are likely to do, any of them wandering in the streets of Cairo might be regarded with suspicion by the soldiers."

"I will do just as you advise, Edgar. I suppose that we had better start at once."

"Certainly, as soon as we have eaten a meal. Will the man who brought the news in be fresh enough to start again at once?"

"Certainly he would," Sidi said in a tone of surprise; "an Arab never feels fatigue on horseback. Of course he must have a fresh horse. I will pick out another man to accompany us, and two horses for ourselves. There are two that would suit us well, for they are both sound and fast, though but poor animals to look at, and no one will cast an eye of envy upon them."

"That is just what we want, Sidi."

In less than an hour they were galloping across the plain. The journey of 110 miles was accomplished in two days, and the party, without entering the town, encamped on some waste ground outside the walls. Here were many small huts belonging to the poorest class of the population, together with many small shelter tents of black cloth erected by parties of wandering Arabs like themselves. They had, on the previous night, changed their attire, and had nothing to distinguish them from the poorer classes of Arabs, who, having given up the desert life, earned a precarious existence in the towns. The two men with them looked with disdain at their surroundings, and Edgar felt obliged to warn them.

"You must remember," he said, "that the lion couches before he springs, and crawls and conceals himself until he is within reach of his prey, so is it needful also for us to bear ourselves humbly. We are come to see what the French are doing; how they comport themselves, and what is the feeling among the population. We are as spies who come to examine a country before it is attacked, and to carry out our object we must bear ourselves so that suspicion may not fall upon us. If you are questioned, remember that we are four men ready to act as guards to a caravan or on any such service that may present itself."

Leaving the two men to look after the horses, Edgar and Sidi entered the city. The scene was intensely interesting, Cairo being vastly more oriental in its appearance than Alexandria. The narrow streets were crowded; strict orders had been issued against plundering, Napoleon being anxious to win the good-will of the population, and merchandise of all sorts was displayed in the shops. Each trade had its special bazaar, the gold and silversmiths, the dealers in silks, in carpets, richly embroidered garments, tobacco, long pipes with jewelled mouthpieces, narghiles with their long twisted stems; workers in iron, vendors of the yellow shoes used by the women in walking, the dainty gold-embroidered velvet slippers for indoors, or the pointed upturned shoes of the men, had each its own bazaars scattered throughout the streets.

Women, in their long dark blue garments, and the hideous white linen yakmash covering the whole face below the eyes, and falling to the breast, moved through the crowd, others of higher rank, seated on donkeys and attended by eunuchs, made their way back from the baths, or from visits to their friends. Stout Turkish merchants or functionaries rode along perched on high saddles, looking as if they would bear to the ground the little donkeys, that nevertheless went lightly along with their burden. French soldiers abounded, gazing into the shops, and occasionally making small purchases, chattering and laughing, the fatigues and sufferings of the march being now forgotten.

There were comparatively few of the richer class in the streets, many of these having left the city at the approach of the French, while on the night before the latter entered there had been serious tumults in the city, and the houses of many of the beys had been broken into and sacked. Through all this crowd Edgar and Sidi wandered unnoticed.

"It does not look as if there were any strong feeling against the Franks," Sidi remarked, as they issued into a large square which was comparatively deserted, and seated themselves on a bench in the shade of the trees near a fountain.

"No; but it is not here that one would expect to find any signs of disaffection. No doubt the traders are doing a good business, for every officer and soldier will be sure to spend all his pay in presents for those at home, or in mementoes of his stay here, and I am sure the things are pretty enough to tempt anyone. It is in the poorer quarters that trouble will be brewing."

Presently a group of French officers came along and seated themselves at a short distance from the two young Arabs. Having not the slightest idea that these could understand what they said, they talked loudly and unrestrainedly.

"The thing is serious, gentlemen," one of them, who was clearly of superior rank to the rest, said. "Since the news of this most unfortunate affair arrived, there has been a great change in the situation. For the last two days there has not been a single horse brought into the horse-market, and the number of bullocks has fallen off so greatly that the commissariat had difficulty this morning in buying sufficient for the day's rations for the army, but the worst of it is, that assassinations are becoming terribly common, and in the last three days fifty-two men have been killed. There will be a general order out to-morrow that men are not to go beyond certain limits, unless at least four are together, and that they are not, under any pretext whatever, to enter a native house.

"Besides those known to have been killed, there are twenty-three missing, and there is no doubt they too have been murdered, and their bodies buried. The Egyptian head of the police has warned us that there are gatherings in the lower quarters, and that he believes that some of Mourad's emissaries are stirring the people up to revolt. A good many parties of Arabs are reported as having been seen near the city. Altogether I fear that we are going to have serious trouble; not that there is any fear of revolt, we can put that down without difficulty, but this system of assassination is alarming, and if it goes on, the men will never be safe outside their barracks, except in the main thoroughfares. One does not see how to put it down. An open enemy one can fight, but there is no discovering who these fellows are in a large population like this, and it would be of no use inflicting a fine on the city for every French soldier killed; that would affect only the richer class and the traders. There is no doubt, too, that the news that our fleet has been completely destroyed has dispirited the soldiers, who feel that for the present, an any rate, they are completely cut off from France."

"That is certainly serious, general," one of the officers said, "and there seems only the project of the invasion of India or a march to Constantinople. After our march here, though it was but little over a hundred miles, and the greater portion of the way along the bank of the river, with our flotilla with stores abreast of us, neither of these alternatives look as easy as they seemed to us before we set foot in this country."

"No, indeed, colonel; our campaign at home gave us no idea of what the march of our army would be across these deserts, and it certainly seems to me that the idea of twenty thousand men marching from here to India is altogether out of the question. If our fleet had beaten the English, gone back and brought us twenty thousand more men, and had then sailed round the Cape, and come up to Suez to fetch us and land us in India, the thing would have been feasible enough, and in alliance with the Sultan of Mysore we might have cleared the English out altogether, but the land march seems to be impossible; a small body of men could never fight their way there, a large body could not find subsistence."

"No; I fancy that Constantinople will be the place at which we shall emerge. A march to Palestine will, of course, be hard, but it is only three or four days from the Egyptian frontier. I don't fancy that there will be any difficulty on the way up through Syria and Asia Minor, and that almost everywhere we shall find cultivated land, and an abundant supply of provisions for the army. As for the Turks, I have no doubt that we shall thrash them, if they venture to interfere with us, as easily as we did the Egyptians. I have no fear for the safety of the army, and if the Egyptians venture on a rising here, before we start, we shall give them such a lesson that a few thousand men left here should have no difficulty in keeping the country in order."

They chatted for some time longer, and then moved off. Edgar repeated to his friend the substance of their conversation, and they then returned to their tent. The next day they wandered through the poorer portion of the town. Groups of men were assembled in many places, talking excitedly; when, as it sometimes happened, a party of French soldiers came along, they broke up, only to assemble at another spot. Sidi and Edgar mingled with them, and gathered that in a short time there would be trouble. It was agreed that so long as the whole French army remained there nothing could be done, but it was regarded as certain that it would soon break up. It was argued that they could not remain at Cairo. Mourad was gathering a large force higher up on the Nile. The Arabs were moving again. Damietta and Rosetta would have to be occupied. There were numbers of the Mamelukes between Cairo and Suez. The French could not remain quietly until the whole country was in arms against them. No doubt columns would be sent off, and as soon as they were gone, the time for a rising would come.

They were going down a quiet lane when two men came out from a house. One of them looked fixedly at Sidi and exclaimed:

"This is the Arab boy who got us into trouble at Alexandria; now it is our turn."

Paying no attention to Edgar, who was so entirely altered by his disguise as to defy recognition, the two men seized Sidi, and began to drag him into the house. Edgar sprang forward and struck one of them so heavy a blow in the face that he released his hold of Sidi and staggered back against the wall. Then with a shout of fury he drew his knife and rushed at Edgar. The latter also snatched his knife from his girdle, shifted it into his left hand, and threw himself into the usual boxing attitude with his left foot forward. The Maltese paused in his rush. This line of defence was altogether new to him. He had been engaged in many a fierce fray, but his opponents had always, like himself, fought with their knives in their right hands.

The momentary indecision was fatal to him. With the speed of a practised boxer Edgar changed feet. Springing forward with his right foot in advance he caught his opponent's wrist with his right hand, and snatched the man's arm across his body, and plunged his own knife to the hilt under the other's arm. He was but just in time, for the Greek, who, having hurled Sidi into the passage, had turned to the assistance of his comrade, was close upon him, giving vent to a hoarse howl of fury as his comrade dropped. Edgar faced him in the same attitude as that in which he had met the Maltese. The man paused out of reach and then crouched, swaying his body from side to side in readiness for a spring, but he never gave it. Sidi, although thrown heavily down, had leapt up again with the activity of a cat, and with a single bound from the door he reached the Greek and buried his knife between his shoulders. Almost at the same moment there was a shout from the other end of the street, and two or three men were seen running towards them.

"Through the house, Sidi!" Edgar exclaimed.

They rushed in, closed and fastened the door, and then ran out into the yard behind the house, which was fortunately empty. They were over the wall in a moment into another yard, entered a door that stood open, went noiselessly along the passage, for both were barefooted, opened a door and went out into the lane beyond, pausing for a moment before they did so to see that there were no blood-stains that would attract attention on their dress. As their arms were bare, there were but a few spots of blood to be seen. They wiped the blood from the hands that held the knives on the inside of their dress, and then walked quietly out, pulled the door to, but did not attempt to close it, walked quietly down the lane, took the first turning, turned again four or five times, and then quickened their pace to a fast walk, and in ten minutes emerged from the labyrinth of lanes they had been traversing. Up to this time not a word had been spoken from the moment they entered the house.

"We are well out of that, Sidi," Edgar said. "Who would have thought of our meeting those two scoundrels again? I am sorry that I had to kill that man, but it was his life or mine."

"You have assuredly again saved my life, Edgar. I am sure that they would have murdered me."

"No doubt they would," Edgar said. "But as I was with you, and was not likely to stand and look on while they did it, it was a fight of two against two, and you did your share."

"It was a poor share, brother. You drew off the attention of the man that would have killed me, and I had but to strike him down without danger to myself. Again you have saved my life."

"That may be, but I think that you in turn saved mine, for I doubt whether I should have got on as well with the second fellow as I did with the first."

"Oh, I have no doubt you would!" the young Arab said confidently. "How did you kill him? I saw nothing of it."

"It was simple enough," Edgar replied, and related how the short conflict had begun and ended.

"You must really teach me these things, Edgar. It is wonderful how quick you are, and with a knife too; for I have heard you say that in England people never fight with knives."

"One learns quickness from boxing," Edgar said carelessly. "That is one of the advantages of it. It teaches one to think quickly and act quickly; and if one can fight with one's fists, of course one can fight with a knife. It was a boxing trick I used, and a very useful one, and more easy than it would be against a good boxer, who would have hit me with his left before I could strike my blow, but of course this fellow had no idea of doing that, so that unless I had failed to grasp his wrist it was a certainty. Did the other hurt you? I heard you go down with a crash."

"I feel stiff," Sidi replied, "and I expect that I shall be a good deal worse to-morrow, for I am sure I am bruised all down the back; but that is no matter. It is a good thing that we have done with those two men; I felt sure that they would try to be revenged on us if they ever fell in with us again."

The next day, the anniversary of the establishment of the republic, was celebrated by a grand review of the troops, and a few days later the news came that Desaix's division, which had set out in pursuit of Mourad on the day after the battle of the Pyramids, had overtaken him, and another fierce fight had ensued. The charge of the Mamelukes had broken one of the French squares, and for a time great confusion prevailed, but Desaix shouted to the soldiers to throw themselves down on the ground, and then the next square opened so terrible a fire on the Mamelukes that they were forced to retreat. Two days later Kleber marched with his division for Damietta.

In the native quarter the agitation continued, but so far peace had not been broken, and the French took little heed of what was passing, and had no idea that there was any danger of a rising. Had it been their object to provoke such movement, they could hardly have taken steps better calculated to bring it about. They had, in the first place, after their arrival proceeded to largely strengthen and increase the fortifications, and in doing so had altogether disregarded the feelings of the people, had pulled down houses and mosques, had desecrated tombs, and cleared away all buildings on spaces of ground across which the guns would play. This desecration of their sacred places had given rise to the deepest feelings of exasperation among the people.

In the next place, many of the fortifications were converted so that the guns menaced the town instead of the country round, and at the citadel especially, which dominated the whole city, guns were placed to overawe it. The next step was deeply resented by the people, for interfering with their ancient usages. Cairo was divided into fifty quarters, each of which had a wall and gate. These gates were closed at night, or indeed at any time, by the orders of the chief of the quarter, and the interruption caused by these breaks in the line of communication had given rise to many quarrels between the soldiers and the townspeople. The inconvenience was a distinct one, and the French, without giving any notice of their intentions, sent a strong party of engineers, supported by troops, to demolish all these gateways.

The taxes were onerous in the extreme. By means of a council that had been appointed, consisting of notabilities who had, either by fear or bribery, been brought over to the side of the French, a crushing taxation was imposed, and this rendered the trading and upper classes, upon whom the burden principally fell, as hostile to the French domination as were the lower classes. Thus the French themselves had, by their high-handed conduct and their absolute disregard for the feelings and religious sentiments of the people, prepared a mine that was on the point of exploding.

That afternoon a messenger arrived from the sheik, saying that he should be at the Pyramids on the following morning, at nine o'clock, and that he wished them to meet him there.

"Would you take the men with us, Edgar?"

"No, I think it would be best to leave them. They are well established here now, and have come to be looked upon by those around them as having left the tribe altogether and as intending to work as carriers. I should tell one or other of them to go into the town every day, and see how matters are going on. If your father, as I hope, decides to take no part in any attack on the French here, he can easily send a messenger to recall them."

Accordingly, the next morning they mounted at daybreak, rode down to Boulak, and were, with their horses, ferried across the river; then they mounted again and rode to the Pyramids. An hour later a cloud of dust was seen rising to the south-west, and in a few minutes the sheik, with fifty followers, rode up.

"What is the news?" he asked his son as he leapt from his horse. "We heard that the people of Cairo are about to rise against the Franks, and numbers of our people have already ridden to join them in the attack."

"The city is in a very disturbed state, father, but as yet the rising has not begun."

"That is good, my son. We were unable to strike a blow at the Franks in the battle here; this time we will do our share, with the aid of Allah.

"You do not think that that is well?" he broke off as he glanced at Edgar.

"It is for you to decide, sheik," Edgar said. "For my part, I do not believe that the rising will be successful. It is true that a large number of the French are absent. Desaix has gone with his division to capture the northern provinces and drive out Mourad Bey and the Mamelukes. Kleber marched yesterday, they say, to Damietta, but there is still a strong force here. I doubt not that the rising will be successful at first. Many French soldiers away from their regiments will be cut down and killed, detached parties may be attacked and overpowered, but I believe that in the end their discipline will triumph. Their cannon will sweep the streets, the guns of the citadel and the new forts that they have armed will shell the town; and although, if a really desperate defence is made, the town can hardly be captured without great loss, Bonaparte is sure to do so sooner or later, for, if necessary, he can call back Kleber and Desaix. It is a matter of life and death to them. Were the country to hear that Cairo had been recovered and the French driven out with heavy loss, there would be a rush to arms. The army would, I believe, be able to fight its way down to Alexandria, but when beleaguered there, unable to obtain any stores from the country round, and their retreat from sea cut off, their position would be desperate."

"I do not say that you are not right," the sheik said gravely. "You understand the mode of warfare of these Franks much better than I do, and have been right in all your predictions of what would happen; but whatever may be the danger, it is clear to me that it must be faced. Brave men do not shrink from encountering death, and how can a follower of the Prophet shrink from death in battle with infidels. Numbers of my countrymen will assuredly take part in the struggle, and did I ride away without sharing in the conflict, I should not be able to lift up my head again. It may be that it is fated that I shall not return; so be it; if it is the will of Allah that I should die now, who am I to oppose it?

"Let there be no more said on this. I know, my friend, that you are not afraid of danger, and that your counsel is not prompted by any thought of personal fear. I acknowledge that all you say may come to pass, but my mind is made up. Thousands of Arabs will fight there, and I shall not draw back. Sidi will, of course, fight by my side, but it is not your quarrel, and there is no reason why you should risk your life in a struggle that you believe to be hopeless."

"Assuredly, chief, I shall ride with you. You have treated me as one of your tribe, and I have come to regard myself as such. Sidi is as my brother, and were there no other reason, I would ride to battle by his side. Moreover, this is as much my business as yours. My country is at war with France, and if at present Egypt is invaded by them, it is not because France desires to capture Egypt, but because by their occupation of the country they hope to strike a blow at England."

"It is well!" the chief said. "I think not that either you or Sidi will fall. Allah sent you to his aid when he was in danger, and he would hardly have done so had it been his will that you should both perish so shortly afterwards; but we are all in His hands, and shall die when our time comes, and not before."

Then, as if dismissing the subject, he asked Sidi what had happened in the town, and whether they had been questioned by any as to their business.

"The principal thing, father, that has happened to us is, that we again met the two men who attacked me at Alexandria, and were beaten and turned out of the city, and as it happened then, I should have lost my life had it not been for my brother."

"Tell me about it," the sheik said, his face hardening and his fingers playing with the hilt of the long knife in his sash.

Sidi related the whole adventure.

The sheik stood stroking his beard gravely as Sidi spoke. His eyes turned from his son to Edgar.

"Bishmillah!" he exclaimed, when the story was finished, "Allah must have sent you to be Sidi's protector. Without doubt, he would have lost his life had he been alone. Truly it is a wonderful thing this English science that you possess, and that enables you, though but a lad, to knock down strong men, and although unused to a knife, to slay ruffians accustomed to it from their childhood, with their own weapons. More than ever am I beholden to you, Edgar. Twice have you saved my son's life. Had you been alone, these men would not have recognized you, and it was but because he was attacked that, as on the last occasion, you joined in the fray. Show me, I beg you, how you slew this man."

"It was simple, sheik. Had I fought him in his own fashion he would, I have no doubt, have killed me. But my method was as new to him as his would have been to me. Will you draw your dagger and advance at me as if going to strike? Now, if I have my knife in my right hand also, you know what to do; you would try to grasp my wrist with your left hand. I should try to grasp yours in the same way. We should struggle, but with your superior strength you would soon wrench your right hand free, and strike me down. Now, you see, I take my closed knife in my left hand, pointing it straight towards you, with my left foot forward; that is the position in which we stand when we use our fists. You, like that Maltese, are puzzled, and stand, as he did, for a moment indecisive; that would have been fatal to you. As, you see, I leap forward, changing my advanced foot as I do so, catch your wrist, and pull your arm with a sudden jerk towards me, and at the same moment strike you under the arm with my left hand."

An exclamation of wonder broke from the Arabs standing round listening to the conversation, as with lightning speed Edgar repeated the manœuvre that had been fatal to the Maltese.

"Bishmillah," the chief ejaculated, "but it is wonderful! It is true I should have been a dead man had your blade been opened, and your movement was so rapid that I could not have avoided it."

"No, because you were not accustomed to it. Had you been an English boxer you would have leapt back as quickly as I leapt forward. I should have failed to grasp your wrist, and should in that case have leapt back again to my former position, for had I remained thus I should have been at your mercy. Had I succeeded in doing so before you struck me, we should have been as we began, and I should have tried some other trick. Certainly as long as I stood with my left arm extended and my knife pointed towards you, you could not have closed with me—for I am much quicker on my feet from the training that I have received—and I could have got back more quickly than your knife could fall, and even if the blades fell at the same moment you would but gash my shoulder, whereas I should pierce you at a vital point.

"It is with this as with other matters. You have been trained from childhood to sit your horse. You can stoop over while you are galloping at full speed and pick up a stone from the sand. You can twirl your lance round your head and throw it into the air, and catch it as it descends while going at full speed. You can do things that no untrained Englishman could do. So is it with me. I have learned boxing from the best masters in England, I have practised daily for two years and a half, and I have gained a quickness that could not be imitated by one who has not had such teaching and practice."

"It is true," the sheik said. "But it is not the less wonderful in our eyes that, though knowing the use of our weapons, we should be but as children in your hands when thus fighting on foot. I wonder no longer that you should so easily have conquered this man. What say you, my brothers?"

An exclamation of assent broke from the Arabs, who, in spite of Edgar's explanation, henceforth regarded him with an almost superstitious respect. As soon as the troop had arrived, Edgar had gone to see his horse, which, as well as that of Sidi, the sheik had brought with him. It had whinnied with pleasure as he came up to it, and he stood patting it for some time, and giving it some dates. He now went over to it again, and on his return asked the chief:

"Were you thinking of riding that splendid horse of yours?"

"Certainly I was," he replied, in a tone of surprise.

"I do not mean to take mine," Edgar said, "and I think that it would be a great pity if you and Sidi were to ride yours. I can understand that, in a fight on the plains, it would be a great advantage to be so mounted, for either in pursuit or flight it would be invaluable, but in the narrow streets of Cairo it would be a sin to risk so splendid an animal, and the one I have been riding would be just as useful. We shall be fighting, not against cavalry, but against infantry and artillery, and it would be useless to ride a horse that would outstrip those of the rest of the band; while even if we won the day our satisfaction would be lessened indeed had one to mourn the loss of one's friend."

"You are right," the sheik said gravely. "Were I to lose Zeila it would be like the loss of a child; we love each other dearly. I had not thought of it before. It seemed to me a matter of course that if I rode in the battle she should carry me as she has done a score of times; but, as you say, this will not be like fighting in the desert, when man singles out man, and one's life depends as much upon the intelligence and quickness of the horse as upon one's skill with spear and scimitar. Two of my followers shall take our three horses back to our camp in the desert. You and Sidi are already mounted. One of the men shall give me his horse, and shall ride on Sidi's; each will then have but one to lead. If my son and I are killed, the two horses will be valuable possessions to my wife."

Accordingly the saddle was shifted from the sheik's horse to that of one of his followers, and the latter, with his comrade, was told to start for the oasis as soon as the rest of the party set out for Cairo.

CHAPTER VI.

THE RISING IN CAIRO.

As soon as a meal had been eaten the Arabs mounted again, rode to a ferry two miles above the city, crossed there, and joined a large party of their countrymen, who were gathered at a short distance from the city. There was much excitement among them, for one of their number had just returned, bringing news that there was fighting in the town. Napoleon had gone in the morning to examine the ruins of Old Cairo. On hearing that there were armed gatherings in various parts of the town, General Dupres started from the barracks of Birketelfi with a detachment of dragoons. On his approaching one of these gatherings fire was opened upon him. He and some of his dragoons were shot, and the rest galloped with the news to Junot, who was in command, and who at once sent to acquaint Bonaparte with what was taking place.

The latter returned at once, found the first two gates at which he arrived in the hands of the insurgents, and making a detour, entered the town by that of Boulak, and, joining Junot, he ordered the whole of the troops to be concentrated in the great open space known as the Square of El-Esbekieh, where were the headquarters and barracks occupied by a portion of the troops, and the houses in which the staff-officers, servants, and others lodged. Cannon were placed at the mouth of all the streets leading from it, and the troops were ordered to remain under arms all night. The Arabs had, soon after the sheik's party joined them, entered the town by one of the gates that had been seized by the insurgents, and established themselves in one of the large open spaces near the walls. Parties galloped down into the town, and from time to time brought back news of what was being done.

They reported that no attacks had been made on the troops, but that the whole town was in a state of insurrection; that the keepers of the French restaurants had been, for the most part, killed, and all their houses pillaged; and that the insurgents had gathered in great force in the cemetery, near the Square of El-Esbekieh. The sheik, with his followers and many of the other Arabs, rode down to this spot in readiness to take part in the attack that would, he supposed, be at once made on the French. Finding that nothing was done, the sheik rode to the Mosque of Gama El Ashar, where the leaders of the insurrection were gathered. He dismounted and went in. He found a tumultuous debate going on, a few being ready for instant attack, while the others urged the advisability of waiting until the next morning, when many more Arabs, and the inhabitants of Old Cairo and other places, would have joined them.

The sheik at once took part in the debate, and urged strongly that the attack should be made without an instant's delay.

"You are giving time for the Franks to prepare themselves," he said. "You have already lost the advantage of surprise. After the first shot was fired there should not have been a moment of delay; but no shot should have been fired until you had given us notice. Then together we should have flung ourselves upon them when they were confused and dismayed, and had no time to form plans or to gather themselves in one place. You have already lost that advantage, but do not give them any longer time. You may be sure that already swift horsemen have been sent to order the divisions that have just marched to return at once, and by to-morrow evening they may be here."

"You have spoken truly," one of the leaders said, "that no shot should have been fired until all was in readiness, and that we should then have attacked at once with all our force. But the impatience of individuals has destroyed our plans. The evil has already been done; the Franks are gathered together. They can receive no reinforcements until to-morrow night, while in the morning we shall be joined by fully 10,000 men; therefore nothing would be gained, and much lost, by attacking to-day."

The majority of those present agreed with this opinion, and the sheik returned to the cemetery.

"You were right," he said to Edgar moodily. "To be successful, such a rising should have been prompt. They should have wasted no time in killing tradesmen and plundering their shops. They should have hurled themselves at once upon the troops and cut them to pieces before they had time to recover from their surprise. Had they acted thus they might have succeeded. Now they have allowed the whole of the French to gather, with their guns, and after what happened in the battle, I fear there can be little doubt of what will occur when we attack them; but this does not alter my determination to do my best towards gaining a victory.

"Even if defeated the affair will not be without advantage. The Franks will begin to see that, easy as was their first victory, the Egyptians are not a flock of sheep to be maltreated and robbed without even venturing to murmur, and that they cannot afford to scatter their forces all over the country. Moreover, the news that Cairo is in insurrection will spread through the country and excite a feeling of resistance. Many will die, but their blood will not have been shed in vain. The French think that they have conquered Egypt—they have, in fact, but marched to the capital. They only hold the ground they stand on, and it will not be long before they feel that even that is trembling under their feet."

Some sheep that had been brought, slung across the horses, were cut up, fires lighted, and supper eaten, and when two men had been posted as sentinels, the rest wrapped themselves in their burnooses and lay down to sleep. Edgar's reflections were not pleasant, and he sat up for some time talking to Sidi.

"You think that we shall be beaten," the latter said, after they had talked for some time. "There is no reason, brother, why you should take part in a fight that you think will end badly. Why should you not leave us, and go out of one of the gates in the morning?"

"I cannot do that, Sidi. I have, of my own free-will, cast in my lot with your people. It is thanks to them that I have escaped a prison and perhaps death, and I cannot withdraw now because there is danger. To tell you the truth, I am more disgusted at the murder of all the unfortunate shopkeepers than thinking of any personal danger to-morrow. There is nothing brave or patriotic in slaying unarmed men, and the deeds done yesterday are rather those of street ruffians thirsting for plunder than of men trying to shake off subjection to foreigners. Such doings as these bring disgrace upon a cause."

This view of the case was new to Sidi. In the wars that the Arabs carried on with each other, or with the tribes of Morocco, there was no fine distinction between combatants and non-combatants: women as well as men were killed or carried off as slaves, and that there was anything wrong in this had never occurred to him.

"But they are enemies," he ventured to protest.

"They were foreigners, but not enemies," Edgar replied. "Many of them were settled here long before the French landed, and, like my father, lived peaceably among you. They are not in any way responsible for the action of the French government, or of Bonaparte and his army. Among civilized people, save that after the capture of a town by storm, the soldiers become maddened and behave sometimes like demons, the lives of peaceful people are never menaced. Soldiers fight against soldiers, and not against quiet traders or cultivators of the ground. To me all that has been done to-day is nothing short of a murderous butchery, and to-morrow I would much more willingly join in a charge on the rabble who have done these things than upon the French soldiers, who are for the most part honest fellows and have injured no one since they came into the town, though they may have looted houses which they found deserted by their inhabitants.

"However, as my country is at war with them, and I have an opportunity of fighting them, I shall do so, but I would rather have done it with an Arab force alone out on the desert than in conjunction with these blood-stained ruffians. However, the matter is settled now, and at any rate it will be a satisfaction to fight by the side of yourself and your brave father, who sees as well as I do that defeat is almost certain." So saying he lay down to sleep, but with sore forebodings of what was likely to take place the next day.

When daylight broke it soon became evident that the insurgents had neither a leader nor fixed plans. Some were in favour of attacking at once, while others urged that it would be better for the French to do so. The argument was, that whereas at present the French were all assembled, ranged in order, and ready for an attack, they must be broken up as soon as they issued from the various streets leading into the square. The sheik, after talking the matter over with Edgar, rode with some of his followers to the spot where the leaders were discussing the matter.

"There is much in what you say," he exclaimed, when one of those who urged delay had spoken; "but if we are to await their attack let us prepare for it. All who have firearms should go on to the roofs of the houses of the streets through which they will march, and fire down into them as they pass along. Those who have other arms should take their places in the lanes, running out of them and break into the column as it comes along, while we Arabs will charge them in front."

Some strongly approved of this advice, others said that the question must be referred to the council at the mosque, and things remained as they were before.

The French had made a move early. Soon after daybreak Captain Sulkouski, one of Napoleon's aides-de-camp, started with two hundred cavalry to make a circuit of the town, and to reconnoitre the position of the insurgents. He rashly charged into the middle of a large party of Arabs, but was killed with many of his men. Two hours later scouts rushed into the cemetery, and announced that the French were in movement along the streets leading towards it, and almost immediately afterwards several batteries, which had been placed during the night on spots commanding the cemetery, opened fire.

There was no hesitation now on the part of the insurgents; they rushed forward in confused masses to meet the enemy. As they did so the leading ranks of the columns opened, and cannon, which were being dragged along by the infantry, poured volleys of grape into the crowded mobs. Many of the Egyptians ran into the houses, and from there kept up a heavy fire. But pressing steadily forward, the French fought their way into the cemetery, and opening out, poured such heavy volleys into the Egyptians that these speedily ran up the streets leading from it, leaving numbers of dead behind. The Arabs had fallen back before the French entered the square, as the crowded tombstones rendered it impossible for them to act with any effect there, and the sheik's party, with several others, took up their position at some distance up the principal street leading towards the mosque.

As soon as a heavy French column entered this street fighting began in earnest. From roof and window a deadly fire was poured into them, bodies of men armed with sword and dagger rushed out of the narrow lanes and threw themselves on the flanks of the column. Many French soldiers were killed, but the bayonet did its work, and the assailants who had pierced the column fell to a man.

The blood of the French soldiers was now up. The sudden attack upon them, the killing of many of their comrades, and of several distinguished officers who had been caught riding unguardedly through the city, had exasperated them to a pitch of fury. They had been under arms all night, and the sight of many shops gutted, and their late inmates lying dead at their doorway or in the road, filled them with a thirst for vengeance, and they moved forward eagerly.

"Now it is our turn!" one of the Arab sheiks said sternly, then raising his war-cry he led the way down the street, followed by a hundred of his followers. Behind them rode Ben Ouafy, with Sidi and Edgar beside him, and his own band following closely. There was only room for eight men to ride abreast. Although their front ranks were swept away by the fire of the leading ranks of the French column, the Arabs charged with splendid bravery, but when within twenty paces of the column there was a sudden movement, the ranks opened, and two cannon loaded to the muzzle with grape poured a murderous discharge into them.

The effect was terrible. The greater portion of the band that led the charge was swept away; the others would have turned, but the Beni Ouafy were racing forward. "Charge," the sheik cried, "before they can load again!"

"Forward, forward!" the Arabs' war-cry pealed out loud and shrill from a hundred throats, and the whole then dashed down upon the French column. The leading ranks were cut down, the cannon were for the moment captured, and the Arabs pressed forward with shouts of victory; but the French in front, pressed upon by those behind, could retreat but a short distance. Those in front defended themselves with bayonet and clubbed muskets, those behind poured their fire into the Arabs, who, being raised above their comrades' heads, offered an easy mark.

The road was speedily blocked with fallen men and horses, but the struggle continued until there was a movement from the French column, and pressing their way along, a number of soldiers dragged two more guns to the front. Then the head of the column opened sufficiently for the muzzles to project between those of the first line, and again the storm of grape swept the street. This was too much for the Arabs, and those who survived turned their horses and galloped back. The sheik and his party had just reached the French line, all in front of them having fallen, when the cannon poured their contents down the street. Edgar had caught sight of the guns just before, and uttered a warning shout.

"To the right, sheik, to the right!" while he himself, with a sharp pull at the bridle, caused his horse to wheel to the left, and thus when the guns were fired, their contents passed between Edgar and his two friends. The sheik gave a cry of dismay as he saw that the greater part of his followers were destroyed, and shouted to Sidi and Edgar to fly for their lives. Riding at a mad gallop they dashed along, but the bullets of the French pursued them vengefully, and half-way down the street Edgar felt a sudden sharp pain in his right arm, and at the same moment his horse gave a sudden spring and then rolled over. He was at the time somewhat in rear of the sheik and Sidi, and they were for the moment unaware of what happened to him. Fortunately the horse did not fall upon him, and in an instant he was upon his feet again.

Looking round he saw that he had fallen close to the open door of a shop with an Italian name over it; he ran into it. The shop had been completely ransacked, and three bodies, those of the proprietor and two lads, lay on the floor. There was no door leading out behind, and he ran up the stairs. The rooms were littered with the remains of the furniture and belongings. The bedding, curtains, and everything that could be of use to the spoilers were gone, but the European clothes, which could not be worn by them, were still about. The only windows looked into the street. There was no apparent means of escape; the only hope was in disguise. Tearing off his Arab garments and thrusting them into a cupboard, he threw on without a moment's delay, trousers, a coat that buttoned up, and a pair of European shoes, thrust a cap on his head, and then ran downstairs again. Fortunately the column, after defeating its assailants, had paused for two or three minutes, while the soldiers broke into the houses from which they had been fired upon and slew all they found in them, and its head was still a hundred yards away when Edgar looked cautiously out. He had time to throw off his coat and to hastily bandage the wound in his arm, from which the blood had been streaming down; then as he heard the tramp of the advancing column he ran down to the door, and as the troops came up, waved his hand, danced as if for joy, and shouted a welcome in Italian, mingled with a few words of French, pouring at the same time a voluble string of maledictions on the ruffians who had killed his master and his two comrades. A mounted officer riding at the head of the column shouted to him to go in and to remain quiet, saying that there was no fear that he would be molested now. Edgar drew back a little, but remained at the door, sometimes shouting encouragement to the soldiers, sometimes apparently weeping convulsively, and acting as if half out of his mind with relief at his deliverance.

As soon as the column had passed he returned upstairs, bandaged his wound much more carefully than before, put on a shirt, and chose the best garments that he could find. All these had no doubt belonged to the proprietor, and he now went boldly out and followed the French column. These met with very slight resistance on their road towards the Mosque of Gama El Ashar. When they neared this spot they halted until the other columns should reach the point of attack. Before they had left the square General Gonmartin had moved round from Boulak with ten guns and taken post on the height near Fort Dupres, and at mid-day thirty guns from this fort and the citadel opened fire on the town. As it was known to the French that great numbers of the fugitives from the cemetery had fled to the mosque, where already a strong body of armed men were assembled, it was deemed imprudent to attack it until secure that there was no danger of a great mass of the insurgents falling upon them while so engaged.

Shells fell fast on the mosque, and fires broke out in several parts of the town. Edgar joined a group of several civilians, who, having either been hidden during the massacre or having escaped to the French lines, now came up, deeming that they would be safer near the troops than elsewhere. All had stories of hairbreadth escapes to relate, but, feigning not to be able to follow their narratives, Edgar, after a few words in Italian, joined the troops, who were engaged in eating the food that they had brought with them.

At three o'clock a tremendous roar of fire in the direction of Fort Dupres burst out, as some seven or eight thousand of the insurgents, among whom were a number of Arabs, poured out from the nearest gate to endeavour to carry the battery, while at the same moment a tremendous musketry fire from the minarets and roof of the Mosque of Hassan, and from the houses near the wall, was poured at the French artillerymen, to prevent them from working their guns upon their assailants. Gonmartin, however, had with him three battalions of infantry and 300 cavalry, and with these he charged the advancing crowd. The Arabs fought bravely, but were, for the most part, slain, and the insurgents, unable to stand the heavy volleys, followed by a bayonet charge of the infantry, fled back to the gate from which they had sallied out, 400 of them being taken prisoners and sent to the citadel.

A great number of the fugitives fled to the Mosque of Gama El Ashar, which was now crowded. Their reports of the disaster shook the courage of those already there, and when four columns of French infantry emerged simultaneously from the ends of as many streets, the fire opened upon them from the roof of the mosque was but feeble. Six guns were instantly placed commanding its gate, which was shattered after two or three rounds had been fired, and then, with a shout, the infantry rushed in and commenced the work of slaughter. This was terrible, no quarter was given, and some 6000 Moslems perished there, while 2000 had been killed in the previous fighting.

Satisfied with this terrible act of vengeance, the French troops were marched back to the square they had left in the morning, Bonaparte being sure that there would be no more rioting after the terrible lesson that had been taught the inhabitants. Late in the evening, indeed, the chief men waited upon him and implored mercy for the town. Several of them had been members of the council who directed the movement, but they represented that they had been compelled to act against their will, and Napoleon, satisfied that there would be no more troubles, pardoned them on condition of their at once issuing a proclamation condemning the rioters, and ordering all to return to their ordinary avocations, and to hand over to the authorities any who should preach mischief.

After the capture of the mosque, Edgar went down to the great square occupied by the French, and gathered from the talk of the officers there the result of the sortie. All agreed that the Arabs had fought bravely, and that few indeed had left the field alive. Edgar made his way out of the town by the Boulak gate, which was still open, and found the two Arabs still at the spot where he had left them when he and Sidi rode off to meet the chief at the Pyramids. They were full of excitement at the battle that had raged all day.

"I have bad news," he said. "I rode with the sheik and his son against the French. My horse was killed, and I received a wound in the arm, but, as you see, I obtained a disguise, and have escaped without further harm. You heard that there was a great fight outside the walls?"

"Yes, my lord. Many men came running past here, and said that the French had beaten them."

"I greatly fear," Edgar went on, "that the sheik and his son took part in that fight. Many Arabs went out with those who attacked the battery, and I think it almost certain that the sheik and his son were among them. Most of the tribesmen were killed in the fight in which I was wounded. The sheik would have joined his countrymen, knowing that there would be no mercy shown the Arabs taken in the town. I hear that almost every one of those who rode out were killed, and I want you to come with me to search among the dead, for doubtless there are many wounded among them, and one or other may yet be alive. There will be a bright moon, and we shall have no difficulty in recognizing them. It will be necessary only to search among those in white."

The two men were greatly moved at the thought of the fate of their chief, his son, and so many of their followers, and assented at once to his proposal.

"We must wait until it gets quite dark," Edgar said. "Have you any food, for I am faint with hunger and loss of blood?"

After he had finished his meal, the horses were handed over by the Arabs to the care of one of their neighbours, with whom they had made acquaintance. The rough tent was pulled down in order that they might wrap the dark blankets over them to conceal their white clothing.

"You had better leave your pistols behind," Edgar said, "but take your knives; we may come across some ruffians engaged in robbing the dead, and the knives may come in useful. I hope that, as is most likely, the French have sent down parties from the forts to watch the gates, so as to prevent any of the leaders in the trouble from making their escape; but some plunderers may well have come across from Old Cairo, so it is as well to be armed. Take your lances also, not for fighting, but to make a litter with, should we find either the chief or his son."

The sun had set a short time before they started, but the moon would not rise for another hour, and they were unnoticed, or, at least, unquestioned as they went round towards Fort Dupres. Indeed, they encountered no one on the way. The din of battle had been succeeded by a dead silence, no sound was heard from the city, whose population were awe-stricken by the events of the day, and terrified by the expectation of further acts of vengeance by the French. Those in the suburbs had heard but vague rumours of the fighting in the streets and of the massacre at the mosque, but they had learned from fugitives of the defeat of the great sortie, and knew that the insurrection had been completely crushed. The moon was just rising when Edgar and his companions reached the spot between Fort Dupres and the city walls, where the fight had taken place.

The bodies lay thickly piled here at the spots where the struggle had been fiercest. For a time they found none save those of the men of the city, but after two hours' search they came upon a number of Arabs, whose white garments showed up clearly in the moonlight. Lying among them were many bodies of French cavalrymen, showing that the Bedouins had sold their lives dearly. Body after body was carefully examined, a few were found to be still living, and as the Arabs had, at Edgar's orders, brought water-skins with them, they were able to give some little aid to these. Presently they came to a spot where the bodies were more closely heaped than elsewhere and almost as many French as Arabs lay together.

"Now, search most carefully," he whispered, "this is where the last stand was evidently made."

The greatest caution was indeed necessary, for the fort lay a couple of hundred yards away, and the French sentries could be plainly made out against the sky-line as they marched backwards and forwards. Presently one of the Arabs uttered a low exclamation. Lying by the side of his dead horse, and surrounded by the bodies of five or six French cavalry-men, lay the sheik. His white dress was dabbled with blood, one side of his face was laid open by a sabre cut, and four or five patches of blood at various points of his dress pointed to the existence of other wounds. Edgar knelt beside him and placed his ear to his heart.

"Thank God, he still lives!" he exclaimed; "give me your water-skin; Hassan, lift his head." Edgar poured a little water between the sheik's lips, sprinkled some on his face, and then, tearing off a strip of his garment, brought together the edges of the wound in the face, from which blood was still slowly oozing, laid a wad of rag along it, and then bound it tightly with the bandage.

"We must see to the other wounds after we have got him away," he said. "Now, Hassan, do you two bind one of those spare blankets to the shaft of the two spears, wind it round them until the sides are not more than three feet apart."

While the men were doing this he continued to allow a few drops of water to trickle between the sheik's lips. When the stretcher was ready it was laid on the ground beside him; he was gently lifted on to it, the cloak strapped to his horse's saddle was placed under his head, and the other spare blanket thrown over him. Then the two Arabs lifted the ends of the spears on to their shoulders, and, led by Edgar, made their way from the scene of conflict. When they had gone half a mile they laid the sheik down.

"Do you stay here, Ali; pour a little water between his lips occasionally. Hassan and I will go back and look for Sidi."

The sheik was lifted from the blanket, and Hassan, shouldering the litter, they returned at a rapid pace to the spot where they had found the sheik. They had already made a hasty search here before leaving, but without success, and now examined with the greatest care the body of every Arab who had fallen near the spot, for Edgar made sure that, unless he had been previously stricken down, Sidi would have fallen near his father. Again their hunt was unsuccessful. Then they widened their circle until after three hours' search they became convinced that he was not among those who had fallen on the field, that he had either been killed in the city, made prisoner, or escaped altogether. When at last convinced that further search would be useless, they returned to the spot where they had left the sheik.

"He has opened his eyes," Ali said, "and murmured two or three words, but I could not hear what he said."

"There are hopes at any rate that he is not mortally wounded," Edgar said. "Now let us go on again with him; do you two each take one of the spears at his head, I will take my place at his feet; we shall get on faster so."

Bearing down towards the river, they reached, after an hour's fast walking, a grove of palm-trees near a village.

"We will leave him here," Edgar said; "it must be five miles from the town. The French will have enough to do to-day without searching for wounded. Do you two stay with him. If he becomes sensible and wants anything, here is some money, and one of you can get food from the village, but beyond some fresh fruit to make him a cooling drink with, he is not likely to need anything. I shall return at once and enter the town by the Boulak gate as soon as it is open. I heard in the town that there were three or four hundred prisoners taken, and that they were confined in the citadel, and would be tried in the morning. The first thing to do is to find out if Sidi is among them, in which case I shall do all in my power to save him. Pour a little water over my hands, Ali. Wait a moment," and he took up a double handful of the sandy soil, "now pour it on to this. I must get rid of these blood-stains."

After a vigorous rubbing with the wet sand his hands were, as far as he could see in the moonlight, clean, and with a few last words to the men, he started back for the city. It was with difficulty that he made his way to the spot where the horses had been left. It had been a terrible twenty-four hours, with their excitements and emotions, and he had lost a good deal of blood from the flesh wound in his arm. The gray light was just stealing over the sky when he arrived there, and he threw himself down on a secluded spot a short distance from his old camping-ground, and slept for a couple of hours. Waking, he went to the hut, by the side of which the horses were tethered. He and Sidi had spoken several times to the man who lived there, and he possessed two donkeys which worked for hire in the city.

"You do not recognize me?" he said.

The man shook his head.

"I am one of the young Arabs who were staying in the little tent close by. You see I am in disguise. It was not safe to be in the city yesterday in Arab dress, nor is it to-day."

"Of course I remember you now," the man said. "Where are those to whom the horses belong?"

"They are not likely to come here to-day. A friend of theirs was wounded in the fight at Fort Dupres, and they have found him and carried him off. I have been with them. Tell me, is there any blood on my face?"

The man shook his head.

"Now I want you to go to one of the shops near the gate and get food for me. It matters not what it is some kabobs, or a pillau, or anything they may have, and a large bowl of milk. I am faint and weary. Here is money."

In a quarter of an hour the man returned, and Edgar, after eating a hearty breakfast and drinking a quart of milk, felt greatly better.

He now entered the town. There were no signs of renewed fighting, and listening to the talk of the officers near the headquarters, he gathered that Bonaparte had granted a pardon to the inhabitants, but that the prisoners taken in the attack on Fort Dupres, among whom were many of those most deeply concerned in the rising, were to be tried at ten o'clock by court-martial, and that probably a great part of them would be shot.

CHAPTER VII.

SAVED.

Hiring a donkey, for he still felt weak, Edgar rode out to the citadel. He found the town gate open, as Napoleon, to show his contempt for the population and his perfect confidence that they would not venture to rise again, had ordered everything to go on as usual. Paying the donkey-boy when within a short distance of the citadel, he sat down on a block of stone a little way off the road, and waited for the hour when the court-martial was to open. From what he had heard in the square he was afraid that the Arab prisoners would all be among those sentenced to death, as the general opinion was that a stern lesson was needed in their case, as they had, with the exception of those dwelling near Alexandria, proved themselves bitterly hostile to the French.

"I am afraid that I shall have to lie," he said to himself. "I hate that, and I would not do it for myself, but the lie will hurt no one and may save Sidi. Anyhow I won't tell more than I can help."

During the two hours that he sat there he made up his mind as to the story that he should tell. As the hour approached, several French officers of rank rode into the citadel. He saw a few people go in on foot, but all were questioned by the sentry at the gate. A few minutes before ten he went up.

"You cannot pass without an order," the sentry said in French.

"I wish to speak to the officer," Edgar replied in a mixture of French and Italian. "I am a witness. I have to give evidence at the trial of one of the scelerats."

The sentry called a non-commissioned officer, who, after speaking a few words to him; entered the guard-house near the gate, and an officer came out.

"What do you want to come in for?" he asked.

"I have evidence to give, monsieur, for one who is, I believe, among the prisoners. He is, like myself, but a lad; but he saved my life from one of those villains of rioters, and slew him with his own hand, when my employer, Signor Pancherasi, and two other of his assistants were killed by them. I would urge this in his favour."

"Well, it is but fair that you should be heard;" and calling a soldier from the guard-house, he told him to accompany Edgar to the spot where the court-martial was to be held, and to inform the officer in charge of the prisoners that the lad desired to give evidence in regard to one of them.

Thanking the officer, Edgar went up with the soldier into the great quadrangle. In one corner were a large number of prisoners, guarded by a line of soldiers with fixed bayonets. Three or four officers were standing on the steps in front of a large open door. One of them, as Edgar passed near, called out to his companion:

"Whom have you got there, my man?"

The soldier led Edgar up to the group, saluted, and stood at attention.

"He has come to give evidence for one of the prisoners, general."

"It must needs be pretty strong evidence then," the officer said, "considering that they were all taken when fighting against us. Well, my lad, who are you?"

"I do not speak French well, monsieur: Italian is my language. My name is Giovanni Baptista. I was in the employ of Signor Pancherasi, who sold goods of our country in the broad street leading up from the square of El-Esbekieh, where your soldiers beat the Arabs yesterday."

"I recognize the young fellow," one of the officers said. "He rushed out, half out of his mind with joy, as I rode past at the head of the column. Well, go on, lad. Tell us what you have got to say."

"Well, monsieur, an Arab boy saved my life when the others were killed. One had fired at me, and the bullet went through my arm, when the Arab, who had some of his people with him, sprang forward, and just as the man was going to rush at me with his scimitar he sprang upon him and stabbed him between the shoulders. I do not remember much more, for I was frightened; but there was a quarrel between him and his Arabs and the others. I think I fainted. When I came to I was alone with the bodies of my master and comrades, and there I remained in hiding until your troops came along."

"But why should this Arab have interfered in your behalf?"

"A few days before, sir, I was going with a parcel of my master's goods through one of the narrow lanes, when I saw two rough men ill-treating an Arab boy. He seemed to be the son of a sheik, and they were trying to rob him and he resisted, and seeing that he was a boy like myself, I shouted at the top of my voice for aid, and ran in with my knife. Then we fought for a minute, but doubtless it would have gone hard with us, had not two of your soldiers, who heard me shouting, come running up, and the men then took to their heels. The young Arab said that his father would show his gratitude to me for having aided him, but I had not heard of him again until, hearing our cries, he ran in with some other Arabs, and, as I have said, saved me from death."

"Let me look at your wound?" the general said. Edgar took off his coat and showed the blood-stained bandage.

"Well, you can look among the prisoners and see if your friend is here. If he is, when you see him brought in you must come in and repeat your story. By the way, how did you understand what this Arab said about his father?"

"I have been out here some years, monsieur, and can speak a little Arabic."

"Well, as you have lost your master, and are out of employment, if you go down to the intendence and say that General Rombaud sent you, and that you can speak enough French and Arabic to get on with, they will find you some employment where you can be of use."

"Thank you very much, monsieur," and, bowing, Edgar went off with the soldier to the group of prisoners.

There were in all about a score of Arabs, and these kept in a body together. To his great joy, he recognized Sidi among them. His head was bound up, and he looked weak and exhausted, but, like his companions, and indeed the great proportion of the prisoners, he maintained an air of indifference to his position. Thinking it as well that he should not be recognized, and feeling sure that the guard would permit no communication to take place with any of the prisoners, Edgar turned away and went and sat down on some steps between the prisoners and those on which the officers were standing. In a few minutes they went in by the door behind them.

Five minutes later a sergeant came out, and calling four men from a company drawn up near the door, went across to the group of prisoners and presently returned with six of them. In a few minutes they came out again. Three of the men, in charge of a single soldier, were marched away in the direction of the gate; the other three were taken to a door a short distance away, thrust in, the door was locked after them, and two soldiers placed there as sentries. The barred windows told their tale, and Edgar had no doubt that the three men who had entered were sentenced to death. In the meantime, another party had taken six more prisoners in. So the matter proceeded for upwards of an hour, five minutes at the outside sufficing for each batch. At the end of this time the group of Arabs was reached. Hitherto about half of the men taken had been suffered to depart, but this time the six Arabs were all taken to the fatal door.

Edgar did not recognize any of them, and indeed, he knew that the greater part of the sheik's followers had fallen in the attack on the French column in the street. Sidi was in the next group, and Edgar rose to his feet, saying to the soldier who still stood by his side, and who had heard the conversation with the general, "That is the lad." The man went with him to the door, told the sentries there that the general's orders were that the witness was to be allowed to enter, and Edgar followed the party into a large room. Six French officers were seated at a table. The president, who was the general who had spoken to him, looked up:

"Is that the lad?" he asked, pointing to Sidi.

"That is he, monsieur."

"As we have heard your testimony, it is not necessary to take it again." Sidi had given a sudden start on hearing Edgar's voice. "This young fellow has testified to us," General Rombaud said to two of the members of the court-martial, who had not been present on the steps when the conversation took place, "that this young Arab saved him from murder at the hands of some of the rabble, by killing the man who was about to slay him, and that he did this in return for a service this young Italian had rendered him in succouring him when attacked, some time before, by two robbers. As he is but a lad, and of course acted under his father's orders, I think we may make him an exception to the rule. You can go free, young sir, but let the narrow escape that you have had be a lesson to you not to venture to mix yourself up in treasonable risings again. You can take him away with you," he added to Edgar.

Sidi moved away from his companions with an unsteady step. He had made up his mind that his fate was sealed, and had been prepared to meet it, and the sudden revulsion of feeling was almost too much for him. He gave his hand silently to Edgar, and as the latter bowed and murmured his thanks to the general, they went out together, one of the soldiers accompanying them. In spite of his Arab stoicism, the tears were running down Sidi's cheeks as they issued into the open air.

"I am not crying for joy that I am freed, brother," he said, "but with pleasure at seeing you alive. When we got to the end of that street and saw, for the first time, that you were not with us, and, looking back, could see that your horse had fallen, we gave you up for dead, and bitterly did my father reproach himself for having permitted you to share in our attack. He is among the dead, brother; I saw him fall. I had been separated from him by the rush of the French horsemen, but I saw him fighting desperately, until at last struck down. Then, almost mad, I struck wildly. I felt a heavy blow on my head, and should have fallen had not a French soldier seized my arm and dragged me across his saddle in front of him. I was dimly conscious of being handed over to the infantry, and placed with some other prisoners. I sank down, and should have bled to death had not an Arab among them bandaged my head. The fight was nearly over then, and I was brought up here."

"I can give you good news, Sidi. I went last night with the two men whom we had left behind, and searched for some hours among the dead for you and your father, and found him at last. He was insensible, but not dead. We carried him off, and the other two are with him in a grove six miles away, and I have every hope that he will recover. He has five or six wounds, but I do not think that any of them are mortal."

Sidi fairly broke down on hearing the news, and nothing further was said until they had issued from the gate. The officer was still there who had spoken to Edgar on entering.

"So you have saved your friend?" he said pleasantly, as Edgar passed. "He is lucky, for I fancy he will be the only one of the Arabs who will issue out of here to-day."

"I thank you much, monsieur, for having let me pass," Edgar said gratefully. "I feared so much that I should not be allowed to enter to speak for him."

The officer nodded, and the two lads went out. They had gone but a hundred yards when Sidi said:

"I must sit down for a while, Edgar. I have eaten nothing since yesterday morning, and I have lost much blood, and all this happiness is too much for me. Don't think me very childish."

"I don't think you so at all, Sidi. It has been a fearful time, and I don't wonder that you are upset. Look, there is a quiet spot between those two huts. Do you sit down there; you can't go on as you are. In the first place, your dress is covered with blood; and in the next, you are too weak to walk. I will go into the town. There are plenty of shops close to the gate, and I will buy a burnoose that will cover you, and a change of clothes for you to make afterwards. I will get you some food and a little cordial."

Sidi shook his head.

"Nonsense, man!" Edgar went on. "This is medicine, not wine, and you must take something of the sort or you won't be fit to travel. I shall get some fellah's clothes for myself, a basket of food and other things to take out to your father, and I will hire a couple of donkeys. You are no more fit to walk six miles than you are to fly, and I feel rather shaky myself. I sha'n't be away more than half an hour."

After seeing Sidi seated in the place he had indicated, where he would not be seen by those passing on the road, Edgar at once went in through the gate. The provisions, and two or three bottles of good wine, were quickly purchased, but it took him some little time getting the clothes, for had he not bargained in the usual way, it would have seemed strange. As it was, the man of whom he purchased them congratulated himself on having made the best bargain that he had done for many a day. He bought two Arab suits, and two such as were worn by peasants, and a brown burnoose for Sidi to put on at once. Then, going out with the provision-basket and the clothes in a bundle, he went to the gate again, chose a couple of donkeys from those standing there for hire, and went along the road for a short distance. Telling the donkey-boy to wait with the animals until his return, he took the basket and the burnoose, which had been made up into a separate parcel, and went to the spot where he had left Sidi, who rose to his feet as he reached him.

"I am better now, and can go on."

"You are not going on until you have made a meal anyhow," Edgar replied; "and I feel hungry myself, for I have been up a good many hours."

Sidi sat down again. The basket was opened, and Edgar produced some bread and some cold kabobs (kabobs being small pieces of meat stuck on a skewer). Sidi eat some bread and fresh fruit, but he shook his head at the meat.

"I shall do better without it," he said. "Meat is for the strong. My wound will heal all the faster without it."

He did, however, drink from a tumbler Edgar had brought with him a small quantity of wine mixed with the water.

"I regard you as my hakim, and take this as medicine because you order it."

"I feel sure that the Prophet himself would not have forbidden it when so used. You look better already, and there is a little colour in your cheek. Now, let us be off. If your father has recovered consciousness, he must be in great anxiety about you."

"But I want to ask you about yourself?"

"I will tell you when we are mounted. The sooner we are off the better."

He was glad to see that, as they walked towards the donkeys, Sidi stepped out much more firmly than before. He had put on his burnoose as soon as Edgar joined him, and this concealed him almost to his feet when he had mounted.

"We are not pressed for time," Edgar said to the donkey-boy. "Go along gently and quietly."

The donkey started at the easy trot that distinguishes his species in Egypt.

"Now, Edgar," Sidi said, as soon as they were in motion, "here have you been telling me about my father, and I have been telling you about myself, but not one word as yet have you told as to how you escaped, and so saved the lives of both of us. Allah has, assuredly, sent you to be our good genius, to aid us when we are in trouble, and to risk your life for ours."

"Well, never mind about that now, Sidi. I will tell you all about it; but it is a good long story."

So saying, he narrated his adventures in detail, from the time when his horse fell with him to the moment when he entered the room where the court-martial was being held. He made the story a long one, in order to prevent his friend from talking, for he saw when he had spoken how great was his emotion. He made his narrative last until they came within a quarter of a mile of the village near which the sheik was hidden.

"Now we will get off," he said, "and send the donkeys back."

He paid the amount for which he had bargained for the animals, and bestowed a tip upon the boy that made him open his eyes with delight. They turned off from the road at once, made a detour, and came down upon the clump of trees from the other side. The Arabs had seen them approaching, and welcomed Sidi with exuberant delight. To his first question, "How is my father?" they said, "He is better. He is very weak. He has spoken but once. He looked round, evidently wondering where he was, and we told him how the young Englishman, his friend, had come to us, and how we had searched for hours among the dead, and, at last finding him, had carried him off. Then he said, 'Did you find my son?' We told him no, and that we had searched so carefully that we felt sure that he was not among the dead, but that you had gone back to the town to try and learn something about him. He shook his head a little, and then closed his eyes. He has not spoken again."

"Doubtless he feels sure, as we could not find you, that you are dead, Sidi. I have no doubt the sight of you will do him a great deal of good. I will go forward and let him know that you are here. Do not show yourself until I call you."

The sheik was lying with his eyes shut. As Edgar approached he opened them, and the lad saw he was recognized.

"Glad am I to see you conscious again, sheik," he said, bending over him.

The sheik feebly returned the pressure of his hand.

"May Allah pour his blessings upon you!" he whispered. "I am glad that I shall lie under the sands of the desert, and not be buried like a dog in a pit with others."

"I hope that you are not going to die, sheik. You are sorely weak from loss of blood, and you are wounded in five places, but I think not at all that any of them are mortal."

"I care not to live," the sheik murmured. "Half my followers are dead. I mourn not for them; they, like myself, died in doing their duty and in fighting the Franks—but it is my boy, of whom I was so proud. I ought not to have taken him with me. Think you that I could wish to live, and go back to tell his mother that I took him to his death."

"He was not killed, sheik; we assured ourselves of that before we carried you away, and I found that, with twenty other Arabs and two or three hundred of the townsmen, he was taken prisoner to the citadel."

A look of pain passed across the sheik's face.

"Your news is not good; it is bad," he said, with more energy than he had hitherto shown. "It were better had he died in battle than be shot in cold blood. Think you that they will spare any whom they caught in arms against them?"

"My news is good, sheik," Edgar said calmly; "had it been otherwise I would have left you to think that he had died on the field of battle. I have reason to believe that Sidi has been released, and that you will soon see him."

For a moment the sheik's eyes expressed incredulity; then the assured tone and the calm manner of Edgar convinced him that he at least believed that it was true.

"Are you sure, are you quite sure?" he asked, in tones so low that Edgar could scarce hear him.

"I am quite sure—I would not buoy you up with false hopes. Sidi is free. He is not far off now, and will speedily be here, directly he knows that you are strong enough to see him."

For a minute the sheik's eyes closed, his lips moved, but no sound came from them, but Edgar knew that he was murmuring thanks to Allah for his son's preservation. Then he looked up again.

"I am strong enough," he said; "your news has made a man of me again. Send him here."

Edgar walked away and joined Sidi.

"Be very calm and quiet," he said; "your father is very, very weak. Do not break down. He knows that you are close by, and is prepared to see you. Do not, I beg of you, agitate him; do not let him talk, or talk much yourself; be calm and restful with him."

He turned away and walked to the end of the trees, where he engaged in a short conversation with the two Arabs. Then he turned again, and went near enough to catch a sight of the sheik. Sidi was kneeling by his side, holding his hand to his heart, and a smile of happiness illuminated the drawn face of the wounded man. Satisfied that all was going on well, he joined the men.

"In the basket you will find a small cooking-pot," he said. "Pick up some of the driest sticks that you can find, so as not to make any smoke. Put some kabobs into the pot with as much water as will just cover them; then place it over the fire, and let it stew until the meat is in threads. Strain the broth off. I will give it to him, a sip at a time."

"We need not be afraid of the smoke," one of the men said. "We went down to the village to get bread and dates. A man saw that we were Arabs, and asked us for news of what was going on in Cairo. Some fugitives passed along yesterday evening, and said that the French were killing all the Moslems. We told him that it was not as bad as that, but that many had assuredly been slain. He called down maledictions upon the French, and seeing that he was a true man we said that we had a wounded comrade with us, and that he was lying in the grove. He told us that he was the owner of it, and that we were welcome to use it, but prayed us not to come to him again; for if the Franks came along in search of fugitives, and happened to search the grove, and found that he had been supplying a wounded man with provisions, it might cost him his life. We told him that he need not fear, for that we would not betray him, but that, at any rate, we would not come to his shop again."

"Then make the fire immediately, Hassan; the sooner the sheik has a little nourishment, the better. If he seems strong enough to bear it, I want to carry him off to the mountains at once. It is quite possible that the French may be searching the villages round for wounded fugitives, and I would fain get him up among the hills. Sidi, too, has an ugly wound in the head, and needs a few days' rest. I think I have everything that they can want for the next two or three days, and you have a good supply of fruit. We must find some place among the rocks sheltered from the sun. When it is dark you must go down to the fountain and fill up your water-skins there."

An hour later Edgar carried the cup of broth to the sheik.

"Sidi, do you lift your father up a little—a very little. I want him to take some of this broth. It is all a question of keeping up your strength now, sheik, and I hope that you will try and drink a little."

"I, too, want to get strong," the sheik said, "I have something to live for now."

He drank a few mouthfuls, and then motioned to his son to lower his head down again.

"'Tis strange," he said, "that we three should be together again when it seemed that none of us would meet on earth."

"It is very pleasant to be together again," Edgar said heartily, "and it will be more pleasant still when we are able to get about again together."

There had been but few words exchanged between father and son. To be restored to each other was sufficient, and the sheik had not even wondered as to how his son had so unexpectedly arrived. After drinking the broth he closed his eyes, and in a few minutes it was evident, by his quiet breathing, that he was asleep.

Edgar moved quietly away, beckoning to Sidi to follow him, and when he joined him at the edge of the grove, told him of the plan that he proposed.

"Do you think that he is strong enough?" Sidi asked.

"I do not think that it will do him harm, Sidi; indeed I think that if, before he goes to sleep, we lay him on that blanket that we brought him here in, we might carry him without waking him. Of course I should tell him this evening what we thought of doing. It may be that the French will make no search for the wounded. I saw proclamations signed by some of the principal sheiks and ulemas, calling upon the people to be tranquil, and announcing that Bonaparte had consented to forgive the past; but you know that did not prevent their trying those prisoners this morning, and, I doubt not, executing a large number of them. Therefore, although they may leave the lower class alone, they may seize any of their leaders they may find, and if they came upon your father, his wounds would show that he had been engaged in the fighting; and if they took him to the town many of those who saw him there might denounce him as the sheik who led his horsemen against one of their columns. Of course they may not search, but it is as well to be on the safe side, and it is better to run the slight risk that the journey might do him than to chance his being captured here."

Sidi heartily agreed.

"Now, Sidi, you may as well get rid of those clothes and put on the peasant's suit I bought you. I shall do the same; then should we be caught sight of, at a distance, we should simply be taken for two fellahs who have gone up into the mountains, either to shoot game or for some other purpose, while the white clothes would excite suspicion. I am sorry now that I did not get them for Hassan and Ali, but it is likely enough that I may be able to buy such things in the village. By the way, your father said, when we were riding from the Pyramids to the town, that there were a good many old tombs up in the hills. Of course, for to-night, it would be enough if we take him a short distance up, then to-morrow we can search, and if we can find one of those tombs, it will be a safe place for him to stop in; and being cut in the solid rock, it would be pleasantly cool. There will be no fear whatever of any French soldiers coming along and entering there, and we can live quietly until he is fit to sit a horse. When you have taken off those things that you have on, you had better tear off a number of long strips for bandages. We did what we could roughly when we first carried your father off the field; but we can bandage his wounds carefully now, and yours also must want looking to badly."

When the sheik woke, after two hours' sleep, he drank some broth. His voice was louder and clearer, and it was evident that even the small quantity that he had taken before, and the quiet sleep, had refreshed him greatly.

"Now, sheik," Edgar said, "Hassan and Ali are going to bandage your wounds carefully. They say that they are both accustomed to it, and no doubt they have some experience, for wounds are common enough in your raids and forays."

Edgar by this time had put on the dark-blue blouse, reaching down below the knee and girt by a belt at the waist, which forms the main article of dress of every Egyptian peasant. On his head was a brown cap of rough wool, of something of the same shape as a fez. These, and a pair of low Turkish shoes, completed his costume, underneath which he wore the European one, the trousers being rolled up above the knees, so as not to show. While the operation of dressing the wounds was going on, he went down into the village, and finding a shop where they sold such things, bought similar suits to his own for the two Arabs. When he returned, the sheik's wounds had been dressed, a blanket rolled up under his head, and he was looking altogether more comfortable. Edgar now told him his plan of carrying him off.

"It will be best," he said, "much the best. Though I have said nothing, I have wondered to-day whether the French would come along, and it has troubled me; besides, I shall gain strength faster up in the hills. Your plan is a good one. I think that I shall sleep well in the blanket. Even if I wake it will not matter; the motion will be easy, and my wounds have been well bandaged, and I have no fear of their breaking out again."

In addition to the severe sabre cut on the face, the sheik had another on the left arm. A third had struck him slantingly on the right side, as his arm was raised to strike; a musket shot had also made a deep groove on the hip. When in the village, Edgar had purchased, among other things, several sticks of kabobs, and when it became dark the two Arabs, now in their peasant dress, went down and filled the water-skins at the village well. The sheik drank off the rest of the broth, and was then carefully lifted and laid down on the blanket, which was still attached to the spears. The other blanket was then placed under his head, and in half an hour his son, who was watching him, was glad to see that he was again asleep. Some more kabobs were put in the pot to stew, and when ready the broth was poured into a wine-bottle that Edgar had emptied. As soon as the moon was fairly up they started, as before, the two Arabs taking the pole at the sheik's head, Edgar those at his feet, where the weight was comparatively a light one. Sidi would have divided this with him, but Edgar laughed at the idea.

"I shall be well pleased, Sidi, if you can do the walk without needing help; the weight is really nothing. If he had been a big fleshy Englishman it would be a different thing altogether, but you Arabs are simply bone and muscle, and divided between three the weight is not worth talking about."

The blankets had been rolled up and placed across the men's shoulders, the water-skins hung by their straps on either side, and they carried the baskets, on which were also placed the bundles of clothes, between them. No stir or movement showed that the sheik was conscious of being lifted from the ground. After twenty minutes' walking they got beyond the area of cultivated ground, and were able to head directly for the hills, and two hours later they were well up among them, and Edgar and Sidi agreed that there was small chance indeed of any French parties, especially of cavalry, searching such broken and rugged ground. A spot was chosen where the ends of the spears could be laid on two flat stones high enough to keep the bottom of the hammock from touching the ground between them.

Sidi bent over his father, and, listening to his breathing, saw that he was sound asleep. His only share of the burden had been a small, shallow iron pot, in which a little charcoal fire glowed brightly. A small bag of this, the most common fuel in Egypt, had been bought in the village. The broth was poured into a tin, which was hung a short distance above the fire, so that it would warm slowly. Then Edgar and Sidi, who were both completely worn out, wrapped themselves, one in his burnoose and the other in a blanket, and lay down; Hassan and Ali, who had by turns slept during the day, undertaking to keep watch by the side of the sheik, and to give him the broth as soon as he woke.

Edgar dropped off to sleep instantly; when he awoke the sun had risen. He saw that Sidi was still asleep. The hammock had been lowered to the ground, and Ali was holding the cup to the sheik's lips. Edgar saw at once that he was better, the drawn expression and the ashen shade round his lips had greatly abated, and his eyes were brighter. Living so frugal and active a life, the Arab, like the Red Indian, can bear wounds that would be fatal to a dweller in towns; and as none of the sheik's wounds were in themselves very serious, and it was loss of blood alone that had brought him to death's door, the night's rest, the nourishment that he had taken, and above all, his joy at finding his son living, had already placed him on the path to recovery.

"I am glad to see you looking much better than you did yesterday," Edgar said heartily as he came up. "I hope that you have slept well?"

"I have woke but twice, and each time took some of the broth, and straightway went off to sleep again. I did not feel my move here, and was indeed surprised on my first waking, when Ali told me that I was safe up in the hills. See, I can already lift my right hand. I shall not be your patient long."

"There is no hurry," Edgar replied. "After I have had some breakfast I shall start out to look for one of those tombs that you told me of. There we shall have shelter from the heat of the sun and from the night-dews. There will be no fear of the French lighting upon us; and indeed I do not think that, now they have Cairo under their feet again, they will trouble more about the matter. They have other things to think about; and although Cairo will be quiet for a long time after this, the French will know that their merciless slaughter of the Mussulmans will excite the deepest feeling of hatred against them, and that it will be even less safe than before for small parties to move about.

"Kleber will no doubt start again with his division for Damietta. Desaix is many days' journey to the south. Probably a force will march to Suez. I heard it said by some French officers that this would probably be the next move, and Napoleon will not care to further weaken the garrison of the city by sending out search parties."

"Is Sidi's wound a bad one?"

"No, it is nothing like so severe as that which you received on the cheek. It was a downright blow, but his turban saved him. It is a pretty deep scalp wound extending down to the ear, and he lost a good deal of blood, but it was anxiety for you and the prospect of death for himself in the morning that caused it to seem more serious than it was. In three or four days he will be nearly himself again."

"And you, did you escape unhurt? We deemed you certainly dead."

"No; my horse was shot, and I at the same moment got a bullet through my arm. Beyond the loss of a little blood it was of no consequence. I ran into a house close by and sheltered there until the French column came out, and then went out in some European clothes I found there, and had no more trouble."

CHAPTER VIII.

AN EGYPTIAN TOMB.

While the Arabs were preparing breakfast, Edgar searched for a spot where the sheik could lie in shelter during the mid-day heat; for, hot as it was on the desert sands, the heat was fully as great on the bare rocks of the hills. After some search he found a spot where two ledges of rock ran parallel to each other, with a passage of some six feet between them, on each side of which they rose perpendicularly some twelve feet in height. The fissures ran nearly north and south, and therefore, except for an hour at noon, the bottom was entirely in shade.

It was within half a mile of the spot where they encamped for the night; and returning, the sheik was carried there at once, and was laid on the blanket. The spears were found to be long enough to reach across at the top. The blanket that had formed the hammock being unrolled, it formed a sort of awning that could, when the sun was high, be moved a little one way or the other, so as to keep him in the shade. Learning from the sheik in which direction the tombs that he had spoken of were situated, Edgar started with Hassan, and after half an hour's walking came upon them. They were, for the most part, square-cut holes in the face of the perpendicular rock. Some of them were only flanked by pilasters cut in the stone; others had more ornate designs. All had originally been closed by great stone slabs. These had long since been moved or broken up by treasure-seekers. The plan of most of them was similar—a short passage, terminated by a chamber of from ten to twenty feet square. Vestiges of the paintings that originally covered the walls could still be seen. Choosing one of the larger tombs, Edgar aided Hassan to remove fragments of stones that projected above the dust and sand, which lay six inches deep over the floor. Well satisfied, he returned to the sheik.

"We have found a good place," he said. "The air was quite cool in there, and the sand will make a much more comfortable bed than this bare rock."

The sheik made no reply, but lay looking at him with an expression that puzzled him, and he was about to turn to Sidi to ask whether his father was worse, when the latter said, "While you have been away my son has been telling me all that you have done for him, and that it was you who saved his life as well as mine. I am weak now, I cannot say what is in my heart, it is too full for words."

"Don't say any thing about it, sheik," Edgar said earnestly. "Did you not adopt me into your tribe? Does not Sidi call me brother? Have you not sheltered me in your tents when I had nowhere else to go? Is it not natural then that I should do all in my power to repay these benefits, and to rescue you and my brother Sidi from the hands of your enemies? I deem myself most fortunate that I have been enabled to do so, and, indeed, ran but little risk in either case. It was a small thing to search for you among the dead, and to have you carried off; while, having found the disguise of a European, there was no risk of my being recognized as having fought against the French when I went to testify in favour of Sidi. Save as to my own name I had need to go but little beyond the truth. I had won Sidi's gratitude by aiding him against two ruffians. He had slain a man who was about to attack me, though that did not take place, as they supposed, at the time of the massacre of the European shopkeepers, but the main facts were true, and there was no fear that in the telling of them I should get myself into trouble."

The sheik shook his head. "'Tis well to say so, my friend, and I suppose that it is the way with your people to make but little of their good actions. It was not the risk you may have run. Many men are brave, and we who charged that column of Franks, after those in front of us had been swept away by their cannon, have a right to say that we are not cowards; but you see the difference: Sidi and I thought you dead, but beyond resolving to avenge you, we did nothing. The idea that we might disguise ourselves, and, after the Franks had advanced, gone and searched the streets and found whether you were still living, never occurred to us, and I think that no Arab would have thought of it.

"But you had scarcely passed through the first danger of being discovered than you began to think of us. You learnt that many Arabs had been killed when we poured out of the city, and that others had been taken prisoners. Wounded yourself, you lose no moment in finding my two followers. All night you search among the dead for me, and carry me off to a place of safety. Then, without rest, without pause, you return to the city and begin to take measures to rescue Sidi. He was in the citadel, strongly guarded by French troops. There was but one way of succeeding. You thought of that way. You planned it all out. You invented a likely story, which was yet very close to the truth. You went into the midst of the men that you have been fighting against, and you so sustained the character that you had chosen, that none of the French officers suspected for a moment that you were aught but what you seemed, and so, listening to your pleading on his behalf, let him go free. Well did I say, the other day, that though we might be beaten, I believed that you and my son would escape, for that Allah had clearly sent you to save him from danger, and that he would therefore assuredly preserve you both."

ALI AND AYALA APPEARED

"It is Allah, who is our God as well as yours, who is to be thanked, sheik, that all our lives have been preserved," Edgar said reverently, "and that we are again united when so many have perished."

In spite of the shade of the blanket overhead, Edgar found it tremendously hot in the middle of the day, but as soon as the sun had passed west, he was able to get some hours' comfortable sleep. A short time before sunset they started again and carried the sheik to the cave. The two Arabs did this while Edgar and Sidi loitered behind pulling up the parched-up bushes that grew here and there among the rocks, and making them into faggots. As soon, therefore, as the sheik was laid down the fire was lighted, giving a cheerful air to the dark chamber. Ali and Hassan went down again and brought up the provisions, water, and bundles. The air was cool and pleasant in the tomb, and a hearty meal was made by all but the sheik, who, however, not only drank a cup of broth, but ate some dates with something like an appetite.

"Now, sheik," Edgar said, after he had put some more sticks upon the fire, "we can chat about our future plans. I have been talking with Sidi. It must be a fortnight or three weeks before you are fit to sit a horse again. It is very fortunate, by the way, that you sent your favourite horse, as well as Sidi's and mine, back by two of your followers from the Pyramids when you decided to enter the town; and that we rode other horses in that charge in Cairo. It would have been a loss, indeed, if those noble steeds of ours had been all killed."

"That was one of my first thoughts when I was able to think," the sheik said. "Next to my wife, my son, and you, I love Zeila, and it would have sorely spoiled my joy that we are reunited, had she fallen in the battle. It was your advice that saved her life also."

"My idea is," Edgar went on, "that either Hassan or Ali shall go back to the town, get one of their horses, and ride to the oasis, where all your spare horses and some of your followers are."

"I have thirty men there," the sheik said. "I thought it as well not to bring all, for had misfortune happened, the women and children would have been left without protectors; but there is surely no occasion for Hassan to go yet. In three days he might be there, and be back in another three, and though I hope to mend quickly, surely I could not mount a horse in a week's time."

"That I quite see, sheik, but as your wife and the women are there also, I thought it well that he should start at once. Two or three of your men may have escaped from that fight. They would be sure to make for the oasis, and will doubtless report that all, save themselves, have been killed. Your wife will be mourning for you and Sidi as dead, and it is for that reason that I would send one of the men at once with the good news."

"How thoughtful you are, lad! No gray-beard could think of things more than you do. I had not once thought that the news might reach her; but, as you say, it may well be that two or three at least of my men may have escaped. Ali shall start to-morrow at daybreak, but when he has given his message to my wife, what next is he to do?"

"I should say, sheik, that he should bid your men be at the Great Pyramid in twenty-one days from this, and that on the following morning you will join them there at daybreak."

"I may be well enough before that," the sheik said.

"That we cannot say for certain," Edgar said; "'tis best that we should name a date when we may hope that you will be fit to ride long and far again if need be. We know not what are the plans of the French, but 'tis like enough that though they may have granted pardon to the people of the city, Bonaparte will endeavour to strike some heavy blows at the Arabs. He knows how terribly they harassed him on his march here, and that wheresoever his troops may move, they will again swarm round him. He has overawed Cairo, and can safely leave a small garrison there if he marches away. And he may well seek to overawe the Arabs by making expeditions against their oases, which he can now easily do, as his cavalry are all mounted on Egyptian horses, capable of supporting thirst and making long journeys, and he may think that by striking at your camping-places, cutting down your palm-trees, and filling up your wells, he may compel you to promise to cease from all attacks upon his troops."

"He might certainly damage us greatly in that way," the sheik agreed; "but few of his horses are equal to ours. You may be sure that the tribes near Alexandria, who basely sold him horses, did not part with their best, while those the Franks took at Cairo are not accustomed to the desert, save, indeed, those of the Mamelukes, of whom there were few, for most of their horses were killed with their masters. But were they even as well mounted as we are, they might indeed reach our oases and do terrible damage, as for ourselves, we could laugh at them, for they would have to carry far heavier weights. It is not that the French soldiers are heavier than we are, but with their riding-boots, their accoutrements, their valises, and other matters, they would ride from forty to fifty pounds heavier than we should, and their horses, unaccustomed to such burdens, would soon tire. Would it not be well to bid, say, four men, to come straight hither to act as a guard?"

"I think not, sheik; the fewer of us there are about here the better, and were we discovered, four men or forty would be useless. We might defend the mouth of the tomb for a short time, but even were we to beat off every attack, it would be but a matter of hours before we were forced to surrender for want of water. Hassan can start with Ali to-morrow morning, and bring the second horse back here; it will be very useful for bringing up water and provisions. And now that Hassan has his peasant dress on, he would attract little attention were he noticed riding among the hills. I will tell him to buy two more skins, larger than those we have. The four will then bring up sufficient water to last us and the horse for three days at least, so that he will only have to make an occasional journey down to the village. Indeed, there are several villages within a short distance of each other on the river bank, and by going sometimes to one and sometimes to another for food and water, he will not attract attention at all."

"So be it," the sheik said. His voice now had weakened, and, after drinking some more broth, he composed himself for sleep—an example which was speedily imitated by the others. Sidi gave Ali and Hassan the necessary instructions, and before they started, Edgar took the former apart and had a private conversation with him.

"It is possible, Ali, that the sheik's wife will, when you arrive there, want to start at once to attend him. If she does, do not try to dissuade her, it will be a great comfort to him to have her with him, and will aid his recovery. I know that she is skilful in the dressing of wounds, and will be able to cook things such as he would like, far better than we could. No one can guide her here but yourself. Of course, when you are once fairly across the river, you will take off that long blue gown, and ride in your Arab dress, and she will ride with you in her own dress, until you get within a short distance of the river; beyond that, of course, you will again put the peasant's dress on; and before you start to-day get such a dress also for her, and let her slip it on over her own.

"It were best that you did not approach the ferry until it is getting dark. You would do well to bring a comrade to take the two horses back; Ayala could not use them. One frequently sees women riding on donkeys, but for a peasant woman to be mounted on a horse would be unusual. Besides, we should not know what to do with them here, and they would have to go down every day for water. If you start at noon to-day from Cairo, you will be there on the afternoon of the third day, and if you start again next morning will be here on the sixth day. I will light a fire a short distance from the front of the cave so as to act as a guide to you when you get into the rough ground. If you are not here that night I shall know that she is not coming. I shall say nothing about it to the sheik or Sidi; it is better that they should not be looking forward to it. If she did not come they might be fearing that some misadventure had happened on the journey. In any case, you understand that you are not to propose it to her, but are to remain altogether silent on the subject unless she herself insists on coming."

Hassan returned with the horse carrying the four water-skins and some provisions, including a supply of coffee, just as darkness set in; he reported that Ali had started before noon. The next six days passed quietly. Hassan went down twice with the horse for water, fresh meat, fowls, and other provisions, and a supply of grain for the horse, which was stabled in the next tomb to that they occupied. The sheik gained strength, slowly indeed but steadily. At each meal he took a basin of broth prepared either from fresh meat or chicken, and to Edgar's satisfaction his hands remained cool, and there were no signs of fever. On the sixth day he was able to sit up, leaning against the wall of the chamber.

At dusk that evening Edgar strolled out, as he usually did, to enjoy the cool evening air. He told Hassan to accompany him, and they soon plucked up some withered and dead bushes among those growing between the rocks. These were piled some twenty yards on one side of the entrance to the tomb. Then Hassan went into the chamber, picked up a piece of glowing charcoal out of the fire with which to light his pipe, placed it on the bowl, and after taking two or three draws, went out into the air. The piece of charcoal was placed among some dried leaves and twigs and blown until a flame shot up. Then some dried sticks, which had been collected for the purpose, were placed carefully on this, and the fire soon burned up.

"That will do, Hassan," Edgar said. "I don't want a big blaze that can be seen a long distance away. You sit here and feed it carefully, so as to keep up the flame not more than a foot or two in height."

Hassan obeyed the orders. Ali had told him on leaving that he might possibly return with the sheik's wife, but that he was not to mention it to Sidi or the sheik himself. Edgar walked up and down near the fire. An hour later he heard voices below, and gave an exclamation of pleasure, and two or three minutes later Ali and Ayala appeared within the circle of light, the former leading the horse on which she was sitting.

"How is he?" she exclaimed, as she slipped from the saddle, and hurried forward to meet Edgar.

"He is getting on very well; he is gaining strength, and has had no fever. I will lead you to him. Hassan, you can put out that fire now, but bring some of the brands into the tomb; they will make a cheerful blaze. Perhaps you had better do that before we go in. If the sheik asks why you do it, say it is by my orders, and that I thought it would be more cheerful than the glow of the charcoal.

"He will not be a minute, Ayala, and were you to go in now you would scarce see him or he you."

With the patient obedience of Arab women she stopped at once.

"Ali has told me," she said, turning to him, "how much you have done for us, and how you saved the lives of both my husband and son."

"I was fortunate in being able to do so," he replied, "and that without the slightest risk to myself." Then changing the subject, he went on, "I thought that you would wish to come."

"Certainly I should," she said. "My place is by his side. And is Sidi well also? And you—Ali said that you also were wounded?"

"Mine was a trifling business," he said, "and Sidi's not much worse. We both suffered from loss of blood, which perhaps is a good thing, as we have had no fever, and though our wounds are somewhat sore, we have almost ceased to think of them. There, I can see by the light that the fire is burning up inside. Now we will go in. Keep a little way behind me; it would startle him were you to go in suddenly."

He walked into the tomb.

"Sheik," he said, "here is a friend come to see you."

"A friend!" the sheik repeated in surprise. "Who is it?"

"She has ridden all the way from the oasis, sheik. I was sure she would come. She is your wife!" and Ayala ran forward and threw herself upon her knees by the side of the sheik. Edgar went out with Hassan, and left them and Sidi together.

Ayala now took the entire charge of the sheik. Edgar went down frequently to one or other of the villages on the river bank, partly for change and exercise, partly to learn what he was doing at Cairo. He heard that, under the direction of French engineers, the greater portion of the population of Cairo were employed in building forts on elevated positions round the town, where the guns would completely dominate the city, that it was said that the Sultan had declared war with France, and that an army from Syria had advanced and had established itself at a fort in the desert half-way between the frontier of Syria and Egypt.

"I made sure," he said, after talking the news over with the shiek and Sidi, "that the Sultan would be driven to declare war against the French. It would have been impossible for him to have allowed the French permanently to establish themselves as masters of his province of Egypt. Even if he himself had been willing to suffer it, the whole Moslem population would have risen against him. No doubt the news of the destruction of the French fleet decided him to take this step. Now that no more reinforcements can reach them here, he may well consider that his army is capable of annihilating them. The Turks are good soldiers—that is to say, they have always shown themselves capable of fighting desperately when well led.

"Unfortunately, that is not likely to be the case. The pashas have no experience in war, while the French have the best generals in Europe. The Turks are badly disciplined, while the French are veteran soldiers with perfect confidence in themselves and in their leaders. Still, in any case, this will greatly increase Napoleon's difficulties; he will have to send the greater portion of his army to meet the Turks, at the same time will have to keep Egypt in subjection. The British government will be blind if they do not see that the opportunity is a grand one for striking a blow at the French, and I should think that they would ere long send an army out here, though they may not do so unless they see that the Turks alone can do nothing against them."

Later Edgar heard that columns of French cavalry had gone out into the desert and had driven away the bodies of Arabs that had assembled again a few miles off the Nile. They had, however, been unable to gain any advantages over them, as the Arabs had always fallen back upon their approach, and the French, finding pursuit useless, had returned to the city. Once or twice a few Arabs had been killed when the cavalry had been so closely followed by a battery of artillery that the Arabs were unaware that the French had guns with them, and had therefore contented themselves with keeping beyond carbine shot, their first intimation of their presence having been when the cavalry rode rapidly to the right and left, leaving the guns exposed.

Even then their loss had been slight, for the slight undulations of the desert afforded shelter, and riding at full speed along some hollow they were almost out of range before the artillery could limber up after the first discharge of their guns and advance to a position whence they could see their flying foes.

By the end of the three weeks the sheik was strong enough to walk up and down for some time in front of the tomb, and he declared himself quite able to make the journey. Edgar had some doubt on the subject, but he knew that the Arabs were so thoroughly at home on their horses that they scarcely felt the slightest inconvenience after the longest day's journey, and Zeila's pace was so easy and smooth that he hoped the chief might not suffer from it.

At two o'clock on the morning of the day when the band would be awaiting them at the Pyramids the party started. All, save the sheik, were in their peasant disguises. He was in his Arab dress, disdaining, however great the occasion, to put on the dress of a peasant. He wore, however, a dark burnoose which completely covered his figure. Edgar and Sidi had, the day before, carefully examined the face of the hill, and had found a track by which peasants drove up their goats to pasture among the hills at the time when the shrubs were sufficiently fresh and green for them to browse. The chief mounted the horse with an exclamation of pleasure at finding himself again in the saddle. The two lads led the way a pace or two in front of the horse. Ayala walked by the side of her husband. Hassan and Ali followed behind with the second horse.

The descent required great care. Although Sidi carried a torch, it took them upwards of an hour to get to the foot of the hills. When on the level ground Ayala was assisted to mount Ali's horse, and they went more briskly along. There was, however, no occasion for haste, for the ferry was but four miles away, and the boat would not cross until dawn. Ali, however, had gone down on the previous day and had bargained with the ferryman to be ready, as soon as it was light, to take over a party who had a long journey to make. Dawn was just breaking as they reached the banks of the river. A few moments later the ferryman arrived. He looked surprised at seeing an Arab with four peasants, but made no remark; he was to be well paid for getting up two hours earlier than usual, and it was no business of his whether an Arab crossed or not. The sheik, his wife, and the two lads first got on board, then Ali and Hassan led the horses and stood by their side as the boat pushed out from the shore. In ten minutes they were across. As soon as they landed, the sheik and Ayala mounted and set off at an amble—a pace between a walk and a trot, the two legs on each side moving together. This pace is in general use among horses in Egypt and Turkey, and is as comfortable and easy as a walk.

The sun had risen half an hour when they neared the Pyramid. As soon as they were seen a party of thirty horsemen dashed out and rode towards them at full gallop, brandishing their spears or guns over their heads, and as they approached uttering shouts of welcome. Sidi and the two Arabs had, like Ayala, taken off their peasant smocks and caps, and had wound their turbans round their heads as soon as they had landed. To them the disguise was very repugnant, for the Arabs looked down with supreme contempt upon the fellah population of Egypt. Edgar had followed their example, not from any dislike to the dress, but because he thought that the sheik would prefer rejoining his followers, with the whole party dressed in Arab costume.

There was no doubting the genuineness of the welcome that the Beni Ouafy gave their chief. Until Ali had arrived with news of their escape, they, like his wife, had deemed that he and his son had fallen, and there was deep emotion in their faces as they circled round and round the little party, discharging their guns, tossing their spears in the air, catching them as they fell, and shouting their welcome. The sheik and those with him fired off their guns as the party came up, and the sheik, in spite of his efforts to maintain the impassive expression of his face, was evidently much moved. As soon as the demonstration ceased he started again without a word. The others followed his example, and they rode in a body until they reached the Pyramids, when he dismounted. In an instant all were off their horses and gathered round him.

"My brothers," he said, "I thank you for my welcome. It gladdens my heart to be among you again, but I cannot forget that many saddles have been emptied, that many of our women are widows and their children fatherless. I rode away with fifty men. I hear that but ten, and they all wounded, returned to your tents. Two, Ali and Hassan, remained with the horses; the rest met their death with their face to the foe, dying as a Moslem should do in defence of his faith and his country. But the loss to us is a grievous one; half of our fighting strength is gone. You have heard from Ali that had it not been for this brave young friend, whom you regard as one of yourselves, since he is my son's adopted brother, both I and my son would have died. Later I will tell you how he sought for and carried me senseless from among the dead upon the field of battle, and how he ventured into the council of the Franks and by stratagem persuaded them to free my son, who was one of the Arab prisoners.

"It will be a tale to tell your children how this English lad, himself wounded, saved the lives of the sheik of your tribe and his son. But this is no time for telling it to you in full now. See, there is a great dust rising by the river; it is probably the cavalry of the Franks, with perhaps some guns. They are far away yet, but it will not be long before they are here. I have resolved to journey quietly back to our home. I feel that it will be some time ere I shall be fit to ride fast and far. My wife will, of course, accompany me. I will take Ali and Hassan and two others. We shall travel quietly and slowly, and shall keep well out from the river, so as to run no risk of falling in with any fresh party. The rest of you will ride back to fetch the women and children, with the camels and other animals, and to warn my brother that bodies of French cavalry are moving about, devastating the oases, cutting down palm-trees, and filling up wells. I should advise him, for the sake of the tribe, to hasten to make his submission, which, as he did not take part in the rising in Cairo, he may well be able to do, though they will perhaps send him into that town, and hold him as a hostage for his people. Now bring out the horses."

Zeila was first brought up, and her delight was as great as that of the sheik at the meeting, but there was no time for prolonged endearments. After a few loving words to the horse the sheik mounted. Ayala, who was to ride behind him, was lifted to her seat, Ali and Hassan, with two men the sheik picked out, sprang into their saddles, and the party started north. Then Sidi and Edgar mounted their own steeds and set out with the rest towards the south-west. By this time the French were within a mile of them, and it could be made out that they were a body of some fifteen hundred cavalry, who were, as far as could be seen, unaccompanied by guns.

"'Tis probable that they are going a long distance," Edgar said, "and that the guns would much delay them, for it is hard work indeed dragging them over the sands."

The French had already experienced that they had no chance of overtaking the Arabs, and the cavalry accordingly paid no attention to so small a party, but continued their journey at a trot. After riding for four or five miles they were left far behind by the tribesmen, but the dust-cloud showed their position.

"They are coming exactly the way that we are," Sidi said, looking back; "it may be that they are bound for my uncle's oasis."

"It would be as well to find that out, Sidi. Do you give me two of your best mounted men and then ride straight on with the others. We will remain here till they approach, and then ride on for another eight or ten miles, still keeping them in sight. They will assuredly camp at the wells of Orab if they are making for the oasis. These are about twenty miles from the Nile, and they will go no further to-day, for it is as much again before they come to another well. When we have with certainty made out that they are making for the wells of Orab, we will follow you at full speed, but do not wait for us, and, save to give your horses a drink, do not draw rein till you reach your people and deliver your father's message. I don't suppose that I shall overtake you before you get there, but I shall not be long after you, and my report may decide him what he had best do."

Sidi at once picked out two men who were, he knew, among the best mounted of the tribe, and told them to remain with Edgar and act under his orders. Then at a much more rapid pace than before he pursued his journey. Edgar and his men dismounted, sitting down on the sands until the French were again within a mile of them, then they cantered on ahead. The French had followed so exactly the line along which the party had ridden that Edgar felt quite convinced that they were making for the wells. However, he kept at the same distance ahead of them until the Arabs told him that they were now within five miles of the water.

"Then we will go on," he said. "It is certain now that they are going there, and as you say there are no camping grounds within many miles of the wells, I think it is certain that they are bound for the oasis of the Beni Ouafy."

They now rode at full speed to the wells. Here for a quarter of an hour they halted, refilled their water-skins, gave the horses a drink and a handful of dried dates, eat a few themselves, and then started on their long ride. Had not Edgar had perfect confidence in the Arabs' knowledge of the country he would have felt uneasy, as hour after hour they rode across wastes of sand without, so far as he could see, any landmark whatever to guide their course. He remarked this to them. Both smiled.

"You Franks can make your way over the sea when there is nothing whatever to guide you," one of the men said; "it would be strange if we could not do the same over the land that we have traversed many times before."

"At sea they have a compass with a needle that points always to the north, so that they know in what direction they are going."

"We have the sun," one of the Arabs answered; "but even without that we could find our way, and do so even on the darkest night. The horses know the way as well as we do. When they have once journeyed over a track they never forget it, and even did they swerve a little it would not matter, for they can smell water miles away, and would always, if unguided, make for it."

At ten in the evening Edgar rode into the Bedouins' encampment, having passed over eighty miles since leaving the Pyramid. Sidi's party had arrived there half an hour earlier, and he found that his friend was now in the tent of the sheik. Edgar went there at once, and Sidi introduced him to his uncle, who was some years older than his father.

"I am rejoiced to see you," the sheik said gravely. "I heard how you had before befriended Sidi, and the messenger who arrived here told us how you had saved the lives of my brother and nephew, and I wanted to see your face.

"Truly you are young, indeed, to have done such wonderful deeds, and to have so much wisdom, as well as courage. Sidi tells me that some fifteen hundred of the Frankish cavalry are riding hither."

"I think that there can be no doubt of it," Edgar replied. "Certainly they have gone to the wells of Orab. We left them but a short distance from it. They will camp there to-night. They may, for aught I know, change their direction to-morrow, but in any case it will be three days before they are here. They would not journey more than twenty miles a day."

"They are too strong for us to fight," the sheik said. "I was at the battle near Cairo, though, as we arrived late, and did not know at what point my brother's men were gathered, I did not join them, but when all was over rode off with Mourad and his Mamelukes. I can put but six hundred horsemen in the field at short notice; though, had I a week's time, I could call up another four hundred, who are encamped at some wells far away to the west. But even were they here I could not venture to engage in open fight with fifteen hundred Franks.

"I have given orders that at daybreak the tents shall be struck, and all the women and children, with the baggage and as many bunches of dates as the camels can carry, shall start at once for the wells of Azim, seventy miles away. It is a long journey, and there is no water by the way, so there is no fear of the French following. There are already a hundred of my tents there, for although this oasis is a large one, being nigh eight miles long and two wide, it is not large enough for the whole of my people. The one at Azim is smaller, but it will support us for a time; and there is an abundance of water for the camels, which number twelve hundred, and the sheep and goats, of which there are about two thousand. A hundred of my men will ride with them as a guard, and to drive the animals.

"With the others I shall, if the Franks do damage here, harass them on their retreat, and by dashing among them at night will do them such harm that they may regret the day that they came hither. Sidi will start in the morning with the women and camels of his father's branch of the tribe. I shall send in the morning two horsemen with a white flag to meet the Franks, and to tell them, in my name, that none of my followers have aught to do with the affair in Cairo, and that I desire to live in peace with them. Upon their return I shall know what to do."

An Arab woman now brought in refreshments, consisting of a pillau and sherbet, after which coffee was handed round, and Sidi and Edgar threw themselves down on heaps of blankets for a few hours' sleep. As soon as day broke, the encampment was a scene of bustle and confusion. The women pulled down the tents, rolled up the blankets composing them, and fastened the poles in bundles. Numbers of men scattered to cut bunches of dates, and of these huge piles were collected. Three hours later the camels were brought up, and men and women alike employed in loading them. This occupied over an hour. As soon as it was completed, the women and children took their places on the top of the burdens, and the camels at once filed off, three abreast.

A party with the sheep, goats, and spare horses had started as soon as it was light. The rest of the escort scattered themselves along on each side of the long column of camels. Sidi's party left at the same hour. The sheik up to that time had been engaged in superintending the arrangements for shifting camp, and asked Sidi and Edgar to stop behind for an hour or two in order that he might hear a full account of the events at Cairo. When the story was finished they partook of a meal, and then, after saying adieu, mounted and rode off, and in an hour's time overtook the slow-moving cavalcade. Six days' travel took them to their old camping-ground, where the sheik, with his little party, had arrived three days previously.

CHAPTER IX.

SIR SIDNEY SMITH.

The first intimation that Napoleon received that the Sultan had declared war with France, was the news that an army from Syria had advanced and established itself at a fort in the desert half-way between the frontier of that country and Egypt. He had, in the interval, endeavoured to make himself familiar with the country. Forts had been erected all round Cairo on heights dominating the town, so that a comparatively small force could overawe the population. He himself paid two visits to Suez. Desaix had pushed the Mamelukes still farther into Upper Egypt; a division had established the French authority at Damietta and Rosetta, and every arrangement was made by which the main body of the army could move away with a fair hope that Egypt would remain quiet during its absence.

It was now the beginning of December. During the journey down to the coast Edgar had thought seriously of his position. It seemed to him that, although finally the French would have to evacuate Egypt, a long time might elapse before this took place, and he finally came to the resolution to attempt to escape. He was doing neither himself nor his father any good by remaining. He had already witnessed a great battle by land, and one by sea, and he thought, by returning home and rejoining his father, he would be better employed in acquiring commercial knowledge in a business in London than in remaining in Egypt. Accordingly, on the day after his arrival at the oasis he mounted and rode into Alexandria, and entered his father's place of business for the first time since the French had landed. Muller did not recognize him as he entered, owing to his Arab dress and coloured skin. There were two native clerks present, and Edgar went up to him, and said in a low voice:

"I want to talk with you, Mr. Muller." The latter started slightly on hearing the voice, but only requested him in Arabic to follow him into the inner office, then he closed the door.

"My dear Edgar," he said, "I am delighted to see you. I have been in great uneasiness about you. I had no doubt that you were with that Bedouin chief, but whether he had taken part against the French, or remained quiet, I knew not, and have been for a long time expecting to hear from you."

Edgar gave him a brief sketch of what he had been doing since he had been away, and then said, "I am desirous of making my way to England. Of course it will be impossible to go direct, but if I could get to Italy, I might get a ship home from there."

"That would not be difficult. No large Italian vessels come in here, but small ones do so not infrequently. They generally bring spirits, wines, and other goods that command a ready sale here, and they make a considerable profit on their trading. No doubt you could obtain a passage in one of these."

"And how goes on business, Mr. Muller?" Edgar asked after the question of the passage had been discussed for some time.

"We have been pretty busy ever since the French arrived. Many of the transports and store ships received damage on their voyage. We have had a fair share of the work. Before you go I will draw up a short statement of what we have done, for your father. I am on very good terms with the French general and his staff. I represented to them that your father had, on seeing the approach of their fleet, determined to abandon his business altogether and leave the country, and that having saved a considerable sum during my service with him, I was able to purchase from him the heavy goods that he could not take away with him, and arranged to conduct the business on my own account. I may tell you what perhaps you did not know, that, before leaving, your father executed a deed of partnership with me, by which he gave me a fourth share in the business, and moreover arranged that I was to receive half the profit of it during the French occupation. On his return it was arranged that the business should be conducted under the name of Blagrove, Son, & Muller."

"I am glad to hear it, Mr. Muller. My father indeed mentioned to me, some months before he left, that he intended to take you into partnership, and that possibly he should, after a time, leave me here with you and should fix himself in London and carry on the business of the firm there, so the French invasion has only hastened it on. Of course I have my European clothes here, and though I fancy I have grown a couple of inches in the last five months, I daresay they will do very well for me. The best plan will be to take the passage for me as a French lad, the son of a trader in Cairo, who, in view of the late events there, his father is sending home."

"I will look at my sailing lists," Mr. Muller said, "and will see if any Italian craft is intending to sail in the next day or two."

He left the room, and returned in two or three minutes.

"There is one bound for Naples. She will sail on Saturday, so there are four days to make your preparations."

"That will do well," Edgar said; "on Friday evening I will be here."

He had, on the previous evening, acquainted the sheik and his son of his intention. Both had expressed deep regret, but acknowledged that his arguments in favour of the plan he proposed were so strong that they could urge nothing against them. On the Friday afternoon the sheik and Sidi both rode down to Alexandria with him. The former returned that evening to his camp, one of his followers taking Edgar's horse, which they promised to keep for him until his return, as he assured them that it would be next to impossible to get a passage for it to England, and that even could he do so it might die during the voyage, and moreover that it would be useless to him in London. Sidi slept at the house, and accompanied him on board on the following morning.

The Italian craft was a brig of about a hundred and fifty tons burden, but as Edgar was the only passenger the accommodation was ample. A few minutes after he stepped on board the crew began to get up the anchor, and as soon as this was done, Mr. Muller and Sidi said good-bye and returned to shore. Edgar had, on coming on board, spoken a few words to the captain, who was glad to find that his passenger spoke Italian fluently. The wind was very light, and the brig made but little progress, and five days after sailing was still a hundred miles south of the Italian coast. Edgar, however, greatly enjoyed the time. He was in no particular hurry, and the comparatively cool air and the fresh green of the sea was delightful to him after the dry heat and sandy waste of Egypt.

On the sixth day a vessel-of-war was seen in the west. The captain felt no uneasiness; coming from Alexandria, a French vessel would regard him as a friend, while a British ship would certainly not interfere with an Italian trader, for the court of Naples was most friendly, and a portion at least of the British fleet were off the town. The ship-of-war was bringing up the breeze with her, and came along fast, and ere long the captain was able to declare that she was British. As she approached they found that she was the Tigre, an eighty-gun ship captured some time before from the French. When she came near she fired a gun across the bows of the brig, which at once lowered her sails. The man-of-war was thrown up into the wind as she approached, and a voice shouted in French, "What ship is that, and where from?"

"He wants to know your name and where from," Edgar translated, and the captain shouted back, "the Annetta, bound from Alexandria to Naples."

"Send a boat alongside with your captain," was the order from the Tigre.

"Shall I go with you, captain, to translate," Edgar volunteered.

The captain gladly assented, and the boat was at once lowered, and they were rowed to the Tigre. On ascending the deck they were taken to the captain. The latter glanced at Edgar and said, "Why, surely you are English?"

"I am, sir. My father was a merchant at Alexandria. I was away at the time the French arrived, and was left behind, and have been with a party of Arabs ever since."

"Can you speak Arabic?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any other languages?"

"French and Italian, sir. It was for that reason that I came on board with the captain to interpret for him."

"Where are you going now?"

"I was going to Naples first, in order to take a passage home from there."

"Ah! What have they got on board?"

"Little enough, sir. They came across with spirits and wine and other cargo. The man is a small trader and part owner of the ship."

"Tell him if he carries stores again to Alexandria his ship will be seized as a prize by the first ship-of-war that comes across her. By carrying them to Alexandria he is aiding the French. Now about yourself. What are you going home for?"

"To join my father in England."

"What are you going to do there?"

"I believe that I shall go into an office, sir, till my father can return to Egypt again."

"You speak these three languages well."

"Yes, sir; well enough to pass as a native."

"Have you been doing any fighting ashore?"

"Not much fighting, sir,—the Arabs could not stand against the French; but I have seen a good deal. I saw the battle of the Pyramids, the sea fight in Aboukir Bay, and the street fighting in Cairo."

"Well, with your knowledge of languages you ought to be able to do better than go into a London office. You might be very useful to me, and if you like to go with me to Constantinople, where I am bound, I will give you a midshipman's rating. You may have an opportunity of seeing some more service, and when this affair is over you could, of course, leave the navy if you thought fit and rejoin your father. What do you say? I will give you five minutes to think it over."

It required less time than this for Edgar to take his resolution. He had no fancy whatever for work in a London office, and the prospect of serving on board ship, the chance of seeing Constantinople and other places, and possibly of active service against the French, was vastly more pleasant. Before the end of that time he went up to the captain, touched his hat, and said that he thankfully accepted his offer.

"Very well, then, that is settled," the officer said kindly. "I will give you ten minutes to row back to the brig and return with your clothes."

In ten minutes Edgar was on board again, having explained to the astonished captain that he was going as interpreter on board the British ship. As soon as he stepped on deck again orders were shouted, the sails trimmed, and the Tigre proceeded on her way. An officer came up to Edgar.

"What is your name, sir?"

"Edgar Blagrove, sir."

"I remember the name," the officer said. "I put into Alexandria some ten months ago to get some repairs done, and I remember that your father undertook them." He beckoned to a lad of about the same age as Edgar. "Mr. Wilkinson," he said, "you may take this young gentleman, Mr. Blagrove, down to the cockpit and introduce him to your messmates. He is entered on board the ship as a midshipman by Sir Sidney Smith's orders."

The midshipman took him below without a word. There were two other lads in the cabin.

"Allow me," Edgar's guide said with a theatrical flourish of the hand, "to introduce to you Mr. Blagrove, a fellow midshipman and messmate."

"Really, Wilkinson, one never knows whether you are in earnest or playing the fool," growled one of the others, who was a master's mate some nineteen years old.

"On the present occasion I am in earnest, Mr. Condor," Wilkinson replied.

"Where did he spring from?"

"He has just come on board from that little brig that we made lie to just now."

"I come from Alexandria," Edgar said quietly.

"From Alexandria!" Condor repeated in surprise, for he had not been on deck when the Italian captain had answered the hail.

"I was accidentally left behind when most of the English inhabitants left when the French ships came in sight."

"What did they do to you? Have you been in prison ever since?"

"Fortunately they never laid hands on me. A sheik of one of the Arab tribes was a friend of mine, and I have been staying with him ever since."

"How did you make them understand what you wanted?"

"I can talk Arabic as well as I can English," Edgar replied.

"Still you must have felt it awfully slow stopping at an Arab camp all this time."

"It has not been by any means slow. The tribe harassed the French on their march. We were present at the battle of the Pyramids, though we did not take any active part in it; for when the Mamelukes were defeated the Arabs knew that alone they had no chance of success. Then we came down to the place where they generally encamp, some twelve miles from Alexandria, and I had the good luck to see Nelson's fleet destroy the French in Aboukir Bay."

"That was luck!" Wilkinson said warmly. "I would have given anything to have been in that fight."

"You are taking late to the sea," the midshipman who had not yet spoken remarked.

"I have no intention of taking to the sea for good," Edgar replied. "My father has one of the largest businesses in Alexandria, and as soon as the French leave Egypt I shall go back there. Sir Sidney Smith asked me to come, as I talk French and Italian as well as Arabic, and he thought that I should be useful to him as an interpreter, and said he would rate me as a midshipman. I was very glad to accept, as I should have nothing particular to do if I had gone home, and I thought that it would be far more pleasant to have two or three years of active service."

"Have you been in England?" Wilkinson asked.

"Yes, I was there nearly three years, and only returned a few months before the French landed."

"Well, it seems a rum start," Condor said, "but I suppose Sir Sidney knows what he is doing."

"I should imagine he did," Edgar said quietly. "Possibly, if you like to question him he will be good enough to explain the matter to your satisfaction."

"Look here, youngster!" Condor growled. "You have come in here as a midshipman, and let me tell you that whether a fellow is an interpreter or not we don't allow cheek here."

"But you allow rudeness, eh?" Edgar said quietly. "I am new to ship's manners, but at school, anyhow, a fellow was just as likely to get thrashed for rudeness as he was for cheek."

"Come, Condor," Wilkinson said, as the master's mate sprang to his feet, "you won't do yourself any good by quarrelling with a fellow who has just come on board. He has certainly said nothing offensive to you. Moreover, it is quite possible that the captain may want to ask him questions about Egypt, and if he had any marks on the face you may be pretty sure you would get such a wigging that you would never want another, and possibly you might never have a chance of getting one."

"Very well," Condor said, sitting down again, "you are safe for a day or two; but mind, the first time I get an opportunity I will give you the soundest thrashing that you ever had."

"I am sorry that it must be postponed," Edgar said quietly, "but I daresay it will keep."

"Come on deck, Blagrove," Wilkinson said, putting his arm into that of Edgar. "He is an ill-tempered brute," he went on as soon as they had left the cockpit. "He only passed his examination a week before we sailed, and we all heartily wish that he had failed. He is a regular bully, and as none of us are older than I am he has pretty well his own way, for he is a strong chap, and, as I heard from a fellow who sailed with him, knows how to use his fists, and none of us would have any chance with him. It is a great nuisance, for we should all be very pleasant together if it were not for him. However, I don't expect he will dare touch you, for the captain may, at any time, want you to put questions to craft he may overhaul, and Condor would certainly get it hot if he found out that he had been interfering with you."

Edgar smiled.

"I can assure you that I do not want the captain's assistance in the matter. Boxing is a branch of my education which has not been neglected, and I fancy that Mr. Condor will not find that he has it all his own way."

"Well, if you could lick him we should all regard you as a benefactor, Blagrove; but I am afraid you will find him a great deal too strong and heavy for you."

"Well, we shall see, as he says, on the first opportunity. I don't think that I am at all a quarrelsome chap, but I am certainly not going to put up with being bullied by a fellow like that."

At this moment the boatswain came up. "Mr. Blagrove," he said, "I have the first lieutenant's orders to take you to the tailor to be measured for your uniform—an undress suit, he said. The tailor can manage that, but you will have to get the rest of your kit later on."

"You will find me on deck, Blagrove," Wilkinson said, as Edgar followed the boatswain, who led the way to the lower deck, where, by the light of a couple of lanterns, two or three tailors were at work.

"Hall, the first lieutenant's orders are that you are to measure this young gentleman for a midshipman's undress uniform, and you are to put everything else by and push it forward."

"Very well," the man replied. "It makes no odds to me what I does first. I doubt whether the first lieutenant will be pleased to-morrow; he tore his trousers yesterday, and sent them down to me to be mended."

"Well, one of your hands can finish that," the boatswain said. "Anyhow, you have got to do this suit, or you will hear of it."

Edgar was measured for his uniform by the head tailor, who was a cockney who had been carried off by the press-gang. It was soon found that he was of no use as a sailor, but as he was by trade a tailor he was given a rating below, and it was not long before he gave such satisfaction that he was made chief of the little party employed on that work.

Returning on deck Edgar rejoined Wilkinson, and was introduced by him to several other midshipmen, who were all predisposed to like him, as Wilkinson had informed them of his little encounter with Condor, and of his readiness to fight the bully of the mess. This was considered, however, a sign of pluck rather than wisdom, and one of them expressed the general sentiment when he said, "You see he has been brought up among these Egyptian chaps, who have no idea whatever of fighting. He may have licked some of them easily, and that may have made him think he can fight; he will find the difference when he stands up against a fellow like Condor."

The first lieutenant presently sent for Edgar to come to the quarter-deck.

"I quite understand, Mr. Blagrove, that although you are given a midshipman's rating, it is really as an interpreter that Sir Sidney Smith has engaged you. Would you wish to perform midshipman's duties also? I have asked him what are his wishes in the matter, and he left it entirely with you, saying that the very nominal pay of a midshipman was really no remuneration for the services of a gentleman capable of interpreting in three or four languages, but that as the rules of the service made no provision for the engagement of an interpreter, except under special circumstances, and as you said that you did not think it likely you should make the sea your profession, you might not care to undertake midshipman's duties in addition to those of interpreter."

"Thank you, sir; but I should certainly wish to learn my duties as midshipman, and to take my share in all work. My duties as interpreter must be generally very light, and I should find the time hang heavily on my hands if I had nothing else to do. I hope, therefore, sir, that you will put me to work, and have me taught my duty just as if I had joined in the regular way."

"Very well, Mr. Blagrove, I think that you are right. I will put you in the starboard watch. I am sure that Mr. Bonnor, the third lieutenant, will be glad to keep a special eye on you. Do you understand anything about handling a boat?"

"Yes, sir. I have been accustomed to sailing, rowing, and steering as long as I can remember."

"That is something gained at any rate. Do you know the names of the various ropes and sheets?"

"I do in a vessel of ordinary size, sir. I was so often on board craft that were in my father's hands for repair that I learned a good deal about them, and at any rate can trust myself to go aloft."

"Well, Mr. Wilkinson is in your watch, and as I put you in his charge to start with, I will tell him to act as your instructor in these matters. Please ask him to step here.

"Mr. Wilkinson," he went on, as the midshipman came up, "I shall be obliged if you will do what you can to assist Mr. Blagrove in learning his duties. He has been knocking about among boats and merchant craft since his childhood, and already knows a good deal about them; but naturally there is much to learn in a ship like this. You will, of course, keep your watches as usual at night, but I shall request Mr. Bonnor to release you from all other duties for the present, in order that you may assist Mr. Blagrove in learning the names and uses of all the ropes, and the ordinary routine of his duty. He will, of course, attend the master's class in navigation. There will be no occasion for him to go through the whole routine of a freshly-joined lad in other respects; but he must learn cutlass and musketry drill from the master-at-arms, and to splice and make ordinary knots from the boatswain's mate. Thank you, that will do for the present."

Lieutenant Bonnor came up to Wilkinson a few minutes later, and told him that he was to consider himself relieved from all general duties at present.

"I hope you won't find this a nuisance, Wilkinson," Edgar said.

"Not at all," the other laughed; "quite the contrary. It gets one off of all sorts of disagreeable routine work, and as you know something about it to begin with, I have no doubt that you will soon pick up your work. A lot of the things that one has to learn when one first joins are not of much use afterwards, and may not have to be done once a year. However, I can lend you books, and if you really want to pick up all the words of command you can study them when you have nothing else to do; and I can tell you there are plenty of times when one is rather glad to have something to amuse one; when one is running with a light wind aft, like this, for instance, we may go on for days without having to touch a sail. Well, we will begin at once. We won't go aloft till you have got your togs; a fellow going aloft in landsmen's clothes always looks rather a duffer. Now, let us see what you know about things."

As the names of the halliards, sheets, and tacks are the same in any square-rigged vessel, Edgar answered all questions readily, and it was only the precise position assigned to each on deck that he had to learn, so that, even on the darkest night, he could at once lay hands on them without hesitation; and in the course of a couple of days he knew these as well as his instructor. On the third morning he put on his midshipman's clothes for the first time.

"You are a great deal stronger fellow than I should have taken you for," Wilkinson said, as he watched him dressing. "You have a tremendous lot of muscle on the shoulders and arms, and on the back too."

"I took a lot of exercise when I was at school in England," Edgar replied, "and I have been accustomed to riding ever since I was a boy, and for the last five months have almost lived in the saddle. I have done a good deal of rowing too, for I have had the use of a boat as long as I can remember. Of course, I have done a lot of bathing and swimming—you see, the water is so warm that one can stay in it for a long time, and one can bathe all the year round. I cannot even remember being taught to swim, I suppose it came naturally to me. I am sure that my father would never have let me go out in boats as I used to do if he had not known that I was as much at home in the water as out of it."

"Now we will go aloft," Wilkinson said.

Edgar ran up almost as quickly as his companion. He had not only been accustomed to ships in the port of Alexandria, but on the voyage to England and back he had spent much of his time aloft, the captains being friends of his father, and allowing him to do as he liked, as soon as they saw that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

"This is not the first time that you have been aloft, sir," one of the top-men said, as he followed Wilkinson's example, instead of going up through the lubber's hole.

"It is the first time that I have ever gone up the mast of a man-of-war," Edgar replied; "but everything is so big and solid here, that it seems easy after being accustomed to smaller craft. It is a wonderful spread of sail, Wilkinson, after having been on board nothing bigger than a brig. I used to help reef the sails on my way back from England; but these tremendous sails seem altogether too big to handle."

"So they would be without plenty of hands, but you see we have a great many more men in proportion here than there are on board a merchant craft. Will you go up higher?"

"Certainly." And they went up until nothing but the bare pole, with the pennant floating from its summit, rose above them. "You don't feel giddy at all, Blagrove?"

"Not a bit. If she were rolling heavily perhaps I might be, but she is going on so steadily that I don't feel it at all."

"Then I will begin by giving you a lesson as to what your duties would be if the order were given to send down the upper spars and yards. It is a pleasure teaching a fellow who is so anxious to learn as you are, and who knows enough to understand what you say."

For two hours he sat there explaining to Edgar exactly where his position would be during this operation, and the orders that he would have to give.

"When we get down below," he said, when he had finished, "I will give you all the orders, and you can jot them down, and learn them by heart. The great point, you see, is to fire them off exactly at the right moment. A little too soon or a little too late makes all the difference. It is generally a race between the top-men of the different masts, and there is nothing that the men think more of than smartness in getting down all the upper gear. When you have got all the words of command by heart perfectly, you shall come with me the first time the order is given to send down the spars and yards, so as to see exactly where the orders come in. It is a thing that we very often practise. In fact, as a rule, it is done every evening when we are cruising, or in harbour, or at Spithead, or that sort of thing. When it is a race between the different ships of a squadron, it is pretty bad for the top-men who are the last to get their spars down. But, you see, as we are on a passage I don't suppose we shall send down spars till we get to Constantinople."

"What are we going there for?"

"As far as I can understand, the captain is going on a sort of diplomatic mission. His brother is our ambassador there, and he is appointed to act with him in some sort of diplomatic way, I suppose, to arrange what troops the Sultan is going to send against the French, and what we are to do to help him, and what subvention is to be paid him, and all that sort of thing. I expect you will be pretty busy while we are there. Do you understand Turkish?"

"Yes, it is very like Arabic. All the officials and upper classes in Egypt are Turks, and one hears more Turkish than Arabic, except among the Bedouin tribes."

While they were talking they were leisurely descending the shrouds side by side. As soon as they gained the deck, the captain's steward came up to Edgar, and said that Sir Sidney Smith would be glad to see him and Mr. Wilkinson to dinner that evening. The captain had abstained from inviting him until he should have got his uniform, thinking that he would find it uncomfortable sitting down in civilian dress. The fact that he was going to dine late in no way interfered with Edgar's enjoyment of his mid-day meal. During the two days he had been on board, he had got on friendly terms with all his messmates excepting Condor, who studiously abstained from noticing him in any way. The younger midshipmen he bullied unmercifully, and had a general dictatorial way with the others that made Edgar frequently long for the opportunity of giving him a lesson.

He had no doubt that Condor had determined to postpone the occasion until they had left the Pireus, at which point they were to call, as his service might be required there to interpret. Once away from the island, he would not be likely to be called upon to translate until they arrived at Constantinople.

It was a pleasant dinner in Sir Sidney Smith's cabin. There were present the first and third lieutenants, the captain of the marines, the doctor, Wilkinson, and Edgar. Sir Sidney Smith was a delightful host; he possessed a remarkable charm of manner, was most thoughtful and kind to all his subordinates, and, though strict in all matters of discipline, treated his officers as gentlemen and on terms of equality in his own cabin. He had already accomplished many dashing exploits in the Baltic and elsewhere, and was beloved both by the sailors and officers. It was a time when life in the navy was very rough, when the lash was unsparingly used for the smallest offences, and when too many ships were made floating hells by the tyranny of their commanders.

"I should have asked you to dinner on the day that you came on board, Mr. Blagrove," Sir Sidney said kindly, as the two midshipmen entered, "but I thought that you might prefer my not doing so until you got your uniform. It has been some privation for myself, for I am anxious to hear from you some details as to what has been doing in Egypt, of which, of course, we know next to nothing at home."

During dinner no questions were asked, but after the cloth had been removed and the decanters were placed upon the table, he said:

"Now, Mr. Blagrove, we shall be glad if you will give us details of how you came to be left behind, of your personal adventures, and what you yourself witnessed, and your opinion of the situation in Egypt. This is desirable, not only as a matter of general information, but because it will be really useful to me to understand the situation fully, for the purposes of my mission."

Edgar began his story, but was interrupted almost at the outset by Sir Sidney asking him how he came to be so intimate with these Bedouins. He was therefore obliged to relate how he had rescued the sheik's son from an attack by two of the lowest class of Europeans in Alexandria. Edgar told the story modestly, making as little as possible of his share in it.

"And were these fellows armed, Mr. Blagrove?"

"They had their knives, but they had not time to use them. These fellows have no idea of boxing, and a straight hit is a mystery to them. The thing was all over in less than a minute."

"Then, I suppose, you can box?" Sir Sidney said, with a smile.

"I was taught it in England, sir. My father thought that it would be useful, for the population of Alexandria is a rough one."

Sir Sidney said no more, and Edgar told his story without further interruption, and then answered many questions as to the proceedings of the French, the rising in Cairo—of which Sir Sidney now heard for the first time, and the prospect of a general insurrection.

"I don't think that there is much chance of that, sir. The defeat of the Mamelukes led them to believe that the French were invincible. The destruction of their fleet showed that this was not the case, and led to the rising at Cairo, but their easy defeat there, and the terrible slaughter inflicted upon them, will certainly cow them for a long time, and as long as the whole French army remains there, I don't think there will be much further trouble, but if a portion were to march away, no doubt they might muster up courage to attack those that remained. Mourad Bey, with a considerable force of Mamelukes, still keeps the field, and the Arab tribes would certainly join him if they saw a chance of defeating the invaders."

"And the two men you had that trouble with, have you ever come across them again, Mr. Blagrove?" the first lieutenant asked.

"We came across them in Cairo, sir," Edgar replied reluctantly. "I was with my friend, the sheik's son. They did not recognize me, being in my Arab dress, but they knew him at once and pounced upon him, and were dragging him into a house. Of course, I took his part and there was a fight."

"And what was the result, Mr. Blagrove?"

"The result was that they were both killed," Edgar said quietly. "They attacked us with knives, and we had to use ours. My friend killed one of them and I killed the other. It was unfortunate, but it was their lives or ours, and if we hadn't done it then, the thing would have happened again, and next time we might have been stabbed before we had a chance of defending ourselves."

"I can quite understand that, Mr. Blagrove," Sir Sidney said kindly, while the others smiled at the matter-of-fact way in which Edgar related what must have been a very dangerous business.

"I see that, whatever else we may have to teach you, it will not be how to use your weapons. Indeed, it seems to me that you are getting on very fast. I saw you go up the shrouds to-day, and I can see that you will very soon be as much at home there as any of my midshipmen. And now, gentlemen, we have had rather a long sitting, for it is nearly ten o'clock; but I am sure that you must have been as interested as I have been myself, in the information Mr. Blagrove has been good enough to give us."

"By Jove, Blagrove," Wilkinson said when they had left the cabin, "if you had told me all this before I should not have felt so doubtful about your fight with Condor. So you can really use your fists well?"

"I learnt for over two years from some of the best light-weights in London," Edgar replied, "and unless he has had wonderfully good teachers I ought to have no trouble about the matter."

Two days later the Tigre left the Pireus. To Sir Sidney Smith's disappointment, he had not found Lord Nelson there, as he had expected to do, and he was the more disappointed inasmuch as he had missed Lord St. Vincent, who was commander-in-chief in the Mediterranean, at Gibraltar.

CHAPTER X.

A SEA-FIGHT.

Finding that the last news from Lord Nelson was that he was sailing to join the fleet blockading Toulon, Sir Sidney Smith remained but a couple of days at the Pireus, and then continued his voyage to Constantinople. They had had no intercourse with any of the natives, and Edgar's services had consequently not been called into requisition.

In the afternoon Condor came up to Edgar, who was talking with some of the other midshipmen, and said:

"Now, Mr. Blagrove, if you really meant what you said, I think this is a good opportunity to settle our affair. Your valuable services are not likely to be required for a few days, and if you don't wish to back out you had better come with me below."

"With pleasure," Edgar said quietly. "I have had some difficulty in waiting, and have several times been on the verge of stopping your pleasant habit of bullying youngsters."

"Well, you need not say any more," Condor said savagely; "let us see what you can do."

Wilkinson and two or three others who were off duty went down at once with Edgar, and as the news spread among the others, every midshipman who could possibly get away unnoticed, stole off also, and joined them on the lower deck. Half a dozen lanterns were lighted and hung up from the beams. A few of the sailors, seeing so many midshipmen going down there, guessed that there was a fight coming off, and descending the hatchway forward, stole noiselessly aft to watch it.

Wilkinson had said nothing to the others of what he had heard in the cabin. The general belief was that although Edgar, no doubt, would make a plucky fight of it, he had no chance whatever with an opponent nearly three years his senior, two or three stone heavier, and with a reputation for being able to use his fists well.

The opponents stripped to the waist and faced each other. Wilkinson acted as Edgar's second; none of the older ones would act for Condor, but a lad of fifteen, who dared not refuse his request, did so.

The combat is best described in the language in which one of the tars who witnessed it related it to his comrades.

"I never seed such a thing in all my born days," he said. "It did not look a fair thing, for it was like a man against a boy. Condor is about three inches taller than the young 'un, and much more strongly built. The young 'un stripped well, and looked a wonderfully wiry young chap; there was a determined look about his face, and I guessed that he was game to the backbone; but his chance did not seem worth speaking of. Well, they stood up. The young one moved about quick on his pins for a moment, and then, it was so quick that you could scarce see how it was done, he gave a sort of bound, and hit out with his right, and the next moment Condor was on his back.

"I never saw such a clean, knock-down blow in all my life. The mids, they all cheered, and it was plain enough to see which way their 'pinions went. Condor was not down a moment; up he jumped again, looking as savage as a bull, but somewhat dazed. He meant mischief this time, and went with a rush at the young 'un; but lor, the latter just jumped out of his way, and hit him such a smack in the eye that it staggered him altogether. But he did not lose his legs this time, and made another rush. It was the same thing over and over again. The young 'un did just what he liked with him, and after five minutes he knocked him silly, his eyes were beginning to close, he was just bleeding like a pig at the nose; but it was a cut on the mouth that finished him, and knocked him out of time altogether, and the young 'un had never been as much as touched once.

"You should have heard how the middies cheered. As to the young 'un, he seemed to take it as a matter of course, and said, 'There is nothing in it. Condor fought pluckily enough, but he knows next to nothing of boxing, while, though I say it myself, I am a first-rate boxer. I ought to be, having been taught by the best masters in London for a couple of years.'

EDGAR HITS OUT

"They had to chuck some water on Condor's face to get him round, for the force with which he struck the deck stunned him. When he was helped to his feet, the young 'un went up to him and held out his hand. 'I hope there will be no more ill-feeling between us, Condor,' he said. 'You have made a bad mistake, and have had to pay for it. Only I say this, that as long as I am on board there shall be no more bullying in the cockpit. We are all gentlemen, I hope. As long as we are on duty, of course, we obey the orders of our superiors, and, as our senior officer, we should all obey you; but when off duty we are equals. And if anyone attempts to bully anyone else, he has got me to reckon with.

"'There is no reason why we should not have a pleasant time when we are below, and I will do my best to see that we do have it. You are the senior of the mess, and as such have to keep order; but beyond that you have no right to interfere. Now let us shake hands and say no more about it.'

"Condor shook hands without saying a word, and then slipped away. I have seen many a fight since I first took to the sea, but never such a fight as this before. It were just a massacre of the innercents, and I don't think a fellow was ever more thoroughly sucked in than Master Condor when he undertook the job."

Condor had to go on the sick-list half an hour after the fight was over. His eyes were almost closed, his face was enormously swollen, and he had lost three teeth—the effect of the blow that had brought the conflict to a close.

"Did you know how it was going to be, Wilkinson?" one of the other seniors said as they went up on the deck again.

"I guessed pretty well, from what Blagrove was telling Sir Sidney when he dined with him, that Condor would meet his match, but I did not think that it was going to be a hollow thing like that."

"What do you mean, sir, by skulking below?" the second lieutenant angrily asked one of the midshipmen of his watch as he returned on deck.

"I just slipped below for a few minutes, sir," the lad said.

"Well, you had better be careful, or you will find yourself at the mast-head," the lieutenant said sharply.

"I fancy there has been a fight," the first lieutenant said as Mr. Knight passed him, grumbling to himself. "I noticed just now that there were only two midshipmen on deck. Do you see, they are coming up the hatchway, one by one, looking as innocent as a cat that has been at the cream-jug. They seem to be pretty nearly all here now, but I don't see any signs in any of their faces that they have been in trouble.

"Well, well, midshipmen are only boys, and boys will quarrel. I expect we both had our share of it before we got our epaulettes."

The other laughed. "I suppose so," he said; "and after all it does them no harm, and it is much better, if two boys do quarrel, that they should fight it out and have done with it, instead of always wrangling."

"I thought it might have been Blagrove," the first lieutenant said. "A new hand generally has a fight before he has been on board a fortnight. After that he finds his level. However, it is not him, for there he is, looking as cool as a cucumber. It must have been some sort of meeting to discuss some fancied grievance. I daresay we shall hear something about it sooner or later."

Half an hour afterwards the doctor came on deck. There was a smile on his face as he went up to the first lieutenant.

"One of your officers is on the sick list, Mr. Canes."

"What is the matter with him?"

"I should say that it would come under the head of contusions."

The lieutenant laughed.

"Bad contusions?"

"Rather more serious than is usual in these cases. Face greatly swelled, eyes closed, very great enlargement of the nose, lips puffed and badly cut, three front teeth missing."

"By Jove, that is severe punishment! Who is it?"

"Master's mate Condor."

"Why, who has he been fighting with?"

The doctor laughed. "I could hardly believe it when I heard. I waylaid young Jocelyn, who was executing a war-dance of delight, and questioned him. It is your last acquisition, Blagrove."

"Impossible, Doctor! There is the lad himself, without the slightest sign of having been engaged in a fight. I have been looking at them all rather closely, for they nearly all disappeared about half an hour ago, and one knows what that generally means. Mr. Knight was very angry about it, so when they came back again I glanced at them; and as none of them were marked in any way, or showed any signs of their having been engaged in a bout of fisticuffs, I came to the conclusion that there had been no fight. And you mean to say that Blagrove punished Condor in that fashion without receiving a mark himself? Condor is a powerful fellow, and must be nearly three years older than the lad. It seems well-nigh impossible!"

"I was astonished myself, but, if you remember, he told us the other evening at the captain's table that he had earned the good-will of those Arabs by rescuing the sheik's son from an attack by two European ruffians. He certainly told it in a very modest tone; but that a lad could thrash two men armed with knives seemed to me to border on romancing. Young Jocelyn said that the fight did not last more than five minutes, and that Blagrove did not receive a scratch. His delight was excessive, and I fancy Condor is rather a bully. You see there is nobody else in the mess anywhere near his weight and age, and he took advantage of it accordingly. The boy said that after it was over and they shook hands, Blagrove told Condor that there should be no bullying in the mess in future.

"I asked what the affair was about. Jocelyn did not know, but said that he heard that something had happened when Blagrove first came on board, and that they all knew that there was going to be a fight, but he thinks that it was put off until they left the Pireus for some reason or other."

"That young fellow must be a marvellously good boxer to be able to punish a fellow so superior in age and weight without showing a mark himself. The lesson is certainly likely to do Condor good. I have heard from Mr. Bonnor, who was in the same ship with him on his last commission, that the fellow had a bad name as a bully, but that, unlike most fellows of that sort, he had pluck, and could fight, which makes Blagrove's victory all the more surprising. However, of course we shall take no notice of it. I have merely your official report that Mr. Condor is on the sick-list suffering from severe contusions. I suppose it will be some days before he can show up?"

"I should say that it will be a week before he is fit to come on deck. As to the loss of his teeth, it will be a serious disfigurement until he gets home again and can be fitted with some fresh ones. Well, at any rate this will give Blagrove a good standing among the others. It is always awkward for a lad who joins a good bit later than usual."

It was not only among the midshipmen that the defeat of Condor established Edgar as the most popular member of the mess. During the voyage out, Condor had already rendered himself obnoxious to the men by the roughness of his tone when speaking to them, and by his domineering manner whenever the officer of the watch was engaged elsewhere, and the report of the manner in which he had been punished excited great delight among them, and rendered Edgar a most popular personage. They had noticed his behaviour the first time that he had gone aloft, and had agreed that the new middy was a good sort and no greenhorn.

"He will make a first-rate officer," one old tar said. "You mark my words if he don't. New hand as he is, you will see that he will show up well on the first opportunity."

The fight, too, raised rather than lowered Condor in their opinion. The men who had seen it all agreed that, although he had not a shadow of chance from the first, he had fought with unflinching pluck, and struggled on most gamely until knocked out of time. Consequently, when he returned to duty he was treated with the same respect as before, and with none of the covert grins that he had expected to notice among them.

The young fellow was not a fool, and while in the sickbay had thought matters over a good deal. It was of course mortifying to have been thrashed by an antagonist he despised, but he was conscious that he had brought the punishment upon himself. Hitherto he had not, since he first joined the service, met with his match among those of his own age and standing, and had come to think himself an exceptional sort of fellow; but the discovery that he was but a child in the hands of a really good boxer, while it humiliated him, was extremely useful. A lesson of this kind is sure to have an effect, good or bad. Among some it sours the temper, produces an active hatred of the person who gave it, and renders a lad savage and morose. On the other hand, among more generous natures it has an opposite effect. Thinking matters over, a lad will feel that he has been going in the wrong direction, that he has been puffed up with an exaggerated idea of his own powers, and he will determine to get into a better groove, and to break himself of his faults.

Condor belonged to the latter class. As he lay in bed he saw clearly that he had made a great mistake, that his successes had been won simply because those he licked were less skilled or strong than himself, and that, in point of fact, instead of being, as he believed, a good boxer, he knew next to nothing about it.

Edgar had, after the first day, gone in regularly to have a chat with him. He had been somewhat doubtful as to how his advances would be received, but had determined to do his best to become friends with Condor, whom he felt, rather remorsefully, he had punished terribly severely.

"I hope, Condor," he said the first time he entered, "that you will believe that I have come in because I am really sorry that you have been hurt so much, and not from any idea of triumphing over you. It was only natural that I should have got the best of it. I knew beforehand that I was sure to do so. I learned boxing for over two years from some of the best light-weight fighters in London. I worked very hard, and at the end of that time, except that I was of course their inferior in strength, I could hold my own very fairly with them. That was more than a year ago, and since then I have gained a lot in height, in length of reach, and in strength, so you really need not feel mortified that you were so easily beaten, because I consider that if you had been twice as strong as you are, and four or five years older, it would have come to the same thing. A man who can box only in what you may call a rough-and-ready way has practically no chance whatever with a really scientific pugilist, which I may say I am. I hope you bear me no malice, and that we shall be friends in future."

"I hope so too, Blagrove. I feel that I deserve what I have got, and it will be a lesson that I shall not forget. You have taken me down a great many pegs in my own estimation, and I shall try and make a fresh start when I am about again."

"I am very glad to hear it," Edgar said warmly. "I am sure it must be very much more pleasant to be liked by everyone than to be disliked; and one is just as easy as the other."

"I don't know that I ever thought of it before," Condor said, "but I suppose it must be. I will try the experiment when I get up. I shall feel very small among the others."

"I don't see why you should. You did all that you could, and no one could have done better who had not been taught as I have, and I am sure that no one will think the least degree the worse of you because you had no chance with me. Why, I thrashed a couple of ruffians in Alexandria, armed with knives, in a quarter of the time that it took me to beat you."

"At any rate I shall know better in future," Condor said, with a poor attempt to smile with his swollen lips. "I have learned not to judge from appearances. Who would have thought that a fellow brought up in Egypt would have been able to fight like a professional pugilist. You said that you had been a couple of years at school in England, but that didn't go for much. We have all been at school in England, and yet not many of us know much of boxing. How was it that you came to learn?"

"Well, you see that there is a very rough population in Alexandria—Greek, Maltese, and Italian, in fact the scum of the Mediterranean—and my father, who is a very sensible man, thought that the knowledge of how to use my fists well might be of much greater value to me than anything else I could learn in England, so he asked my uncle, with whom I lived when I was at school, to get me the best masters in boxing that he could find. I got to be very fond of it, and worked very hard. I had three lessons a week all the time I was at school, and the last year changed my master three times, and so got all their favourite hits. Of course I used to get knocked about, for some boxers can't help hitting hard, and to the end I used to get punished pretty heavily, because though I might hit them as often as they hit me, they were able to hit much harder than I was, but I fancy now that they would find it pretty hard work to knock me out of time. My father used to say that being really a good boxer kept a man or a boy out of trouble. A man who knows that he can fight well can afford to be good-tempered and put up with things that another man wouldn't, and if he is driven to use his fists gets off without being knocked about; and besides, as soon as it is known that he can fight, others don't care about quarrelling with him. I know that it was so with me. I had a fight or two at first, but I very quickly improved, and after that I never had a quarrel for the rest of the nearly three years I was at school."

"One thing is certain, Blagrove, you are not likely to have another quarrel as long as you remain on board the Tigre. You will come and see me again, won't you?"

"Certainly I will. I can see that it hurts you to talk now, but you will soon get over that, and then we can have some good chats."

During the voyage up to the Dardanelles, the Tigre encountered changeable weather; the sails had often to be shifted. When he was on watch, Edgar always went aloft with his friend Wilkinson and took his place beside him, listened to the orders that he gave, and watched him at work. In a few days he was able to act independently and to do his duty regularly, and to aid in tying down a reef when a sudden squall came on.

They caught sight of many islands as they passed through the Aegean. Edgar was disappointed with the Dardanelles, but delighted with his first view of Constantinople. It was on the day that they cast anchor that Condor for the first time put in an appearance at mess. His face had resumed its normal appearance, save that there were greenish-yellow patches under the eyes. Wilkinson, who was by a week or two the senior midshipman, and had occupied the president's chair with reluctance, at once left it. They had not expected him until the next day, or he would not have taken it. Edgar had that morning particularly asked the others as a personal favour to give Condor a hearty welcome on his return.

"I think you will find him a much more pleasant fellow than he was before," he said. "At any rate he has been punished heavily, and I think that you ought to welcome him heartily."

Wilkinson and two or three of the older midshipmen had gone in several times to see Condor, and had been pleased at the friendly way in which he had spoken of Blagrove. There had, however, been little talk between them, for Condor had not seemed disposed for conversation. Condor walked to his accustomed seat at the head of the table.

"I hope things will go on better than they have done," he said gruffly. "All I can say is, it sha'n't be my fault if they don't;" and without more words he proceeded to cut up the salt meat placed in front of him. For a short time the conversation was constrained, and it was evident that those who spoke were talking for the sake of talking; but this soon wore off, and by the end of the meal even the youngest mids were talking and laughing with a feeling that somehow a change had come over the place. A quarter of an hour after the meal had ended, a boat was lowered.

"Mr. Wilkinson, you will take charge," the first officer said. "Mr. Blagrove, you will accompany the captain on shore."

A few minutes later they reached the landing-place. A number of men at once crowded round to proffer their services, and the captain said:

"Choose one of them for a guide, Mr. Blagrove. Ask him to take us to our embassy."

Edgar at once chose a quiet-looking Turk, and, to the latter's surprise, addressed him in his own language. The others fell back disappointed, and the guide soon conducted them to the embassy.

"I shall not want you here, Blagrove. I shall be engaged for at least a couple of hours. You can either stroll about and have a look round or go back to the boat as you please. It is now two o'clock; call again here for me at four."

Cairo had prepared Edgar for Constantinople, and indeed he thought the former city more picturesque in the variety of costume than the latter. The views from the hill of Pera, whether looking up the Golden Horn, across it at Stamboul, over to Scutari and the shores of the Sea of Marmora, or up the Bosphorus, were beautiful beyond anything that he had ever seen, and leaving the exploration of the city for another day, he sat down under the shade of some cypress trees close to a Turkish cemetery and entered into a conversation with the guardian of the tombs, who pointed out the various mosques and places of interest to him. At the end of two hours he repaired to the embassy. Presently a dragoman came down and asked him if his name was Blagrove, and on his replying in the affirmative, said that Sir Sidney Smith had ordered him to say that he could return in the boat to the ship, for that he would dine ashore, and the boat was to be at the wharf at ten o'clock.

Sir Sidney Smith remained two months at Constantinople. His duty, in conjunction with his brother, Mr. Seymour Smith, was to engage the Sultan in an active alliance with England, and to concert, as a naval officer, the best plan to be pursued to render that alliance effective. The former portion of the commission had already been carried almost to a successful termination by his brother, and the treaty was signed on the first week of January, 1799. The details of the latter were arrived at in the course of several meetings between Sir Sidney Smith and the Turkish pasha and admiral. To these latter meetings Edgar always accompanied his chief as interpreter, Sir Sidney preferring his services to those of the dragoman of the embassy, as he was better able to understand and explain the naval points discussed.

The Porte, indeed, was able to do but little towards aiding in the naval operations. Two bomb ships and seventeen gun-boats were all the vessels that they were able to produce, but it was some time before they would agree to place these entirely under Sir Sidney Smith's command. Ahmed Pasha, or, as he was generally called, Djezzar Pasha—Djezzar meaning the butcher, from the cruel and brutal nature of the man—the Governor of Syria, was in Constantinople at the time, and was present at these meetings. He was aware that Napoleon was marching against him; and although usually he paid but little attention to the Porte, or recognized any orders received from it, he had now hurried there to represent the situation and ask for assistance.

Bonaparte lost no time after hearing that Djezzar had sent forward a force to occupy the fort of El-A'rich in the desert, between Syria and Egypt, and on the 8th of February set out with 12,428 men for the conquest of Syria. Djezzar, who had returned to his pachalik, having early news of the movement, despatched a force, consisting principally of cavalry, to support the garrison of El-A'rich, and they were joined there by Ibrahim Bey with a force of Mamelukes. The march of the French was painful, and they suffered greatly from thirst. However, they defeated the Turk and Mameluke cavalry with heavy loss, and El-A'rich at once surrendered. The garrison were allowed to depart on undertaking not to serve again, and four days later the army entered Palestine, and believed that their fatigues and sufferings were at an end.

Two days later, however, a cold rain set in, and the troops, who had been suffering greatly from heat, felt the change painfully. On the 3rd of March they arrived in front of Jaffa. A Turk was sent in to summon the garrison to surrender. The commandant simply ordered his head to be struck off and sent no reply. The fire of the field artillery in a few hours effected breaches at several points. The French, in spite of opposition, burst into the town, which was given up to sack, and a large number of the inhabitants, as well as the soldiers, were massacred. Between 3000 and 4000 prisoners were taken, among these doubtless were some of those who had been allowed to march away from El-A'rich. The difficulties in the way of provisioning the army were great. Many were ill from the effects of the change of climate, and the position was becoming serious.

To feed 3000 or 4000 prisoners added greatly to the difficulties, and Napoleon took a step which has been a foul blot on his reputation. They were marched into a vast square formed of French troops; as soon as all had entered the fatal square the troops opened fire upon them, and the whole were massacred. The terrible slaughter occupied a considerable time; and when their cartridge-boxes were emptied, the French soldiers had to complete the massacre with their bayonets. Of the whole of these victims one only, a mere youth, asked for mercy; the rest met their fate with heroic calmness and resolution. Napoleon's excuse for this hideous massacre was that the soldiers had broken the engagement they took at El A'rich, but this applied to only a very small proportion of the garrison, and the massacre was wholly indefensible, for if unable to feed his prisoners, they should have been allowed to depart unarmed to seek subsistence for themselves.

The effects of this horrible massacre recoiled upon those who perpetrated it. The great number of dead bodies speedily tainted the air, and the maladies from which the troops suffered became vastly more serious, and the plague broke out among them and carried off a considerable number. Kleber's division made a reconnaissance towards Jerusalem, but the people of Nablous and the mountaineers assailed them with so terrible a fire, as they endeavoured to make their way up the narrow valleys, that they were forced to retire and join the main body of the army. When the French marched from Jaffa there were still many of their men stricken with the plague in hospital. Napoleon has been accused of having had these poisoned.

The statement has been repeated over and over again, and has been as often vehemently denied, among others by Bonaparte himself. It still remains, and always will remain, doubtful. There can be no doubt that the transport of plague-stricken men would have been a source of danger to the whole army; and as very few of those once attacked by the plague ever recovered, but few would have benefited by the operation, while the condition of the great majority would have been rendered still more hopeless and painful by the journey. Upon the other hand, had they been left behind they would assuredly have been massacred by the inhabitants, who had suffered so terribly at the hands of the French. Rather than be so left, the unfortunate men would assuredly have vastly preferred some painless form of death at the hands of their friends. The probabilities are that all the sick, whose final recovery was considered by the surgeons as within the limits of probability, were taken on, and that those whose cases were absolutely hopeless were not allowed to fall alive into the hands of their foes.

Napoleon's position was an extremely difficult one. He had shown much solicitude for the wounded. When the whole army were panic-stricken at the outbreak, he had himself visited the hospitals, been present at operations, talked encouragingly to the sick, and had done all in his power to relieve their condition. But he could keep the army no longer in the tainted air of Jaffa. He could not take men at the point of death away with him to communicate the malady to those who had so far escaped, nor could he leave them to be murdered in their beds by the infuriated population. It is uncertain really what course was taken; but it must be assumed that Napoleon, who was always anxious to win the affection and regard of his troops, would, putting all other matters aside, not have perpetrated any act that would have been condemned by the soldiers of his army.

CHAPTER XI.

ACRE.

At last all was satisfactorily arranged. By the terms of the convention, Sir Sidney Smith was appointed to the command, not only of the Turkish fleet, but of the Turkish army in Syria, a most important point, as the Porte had no confidence whatever in Djezzar, who, like many others of the pashas of the outlying possessions of Turkey, almost openly defied the authority of the sovereign. Djezzar was already at Acre, and some Turkish gun-boats, under Hassan Bey, had also been despatched thither towards the end of February. The welcome order was issued for the Tigre to sail on the 1st of March. Her destination was Alexandria, which, as forming part of the Sultan's possessions, came under the terms of the convention; under the terms of which it had been agreed that two British men-of-war and three frigates should be stationed in Eastern waters to give such aid as was possible to Djezzar, both in active operations, and by capturing store-ships destined for the use of the French army.

The Theseus, of 84 guns, commanded by Captain Miller, was already at Acre; and her captain and Colonel Phelypeaux were giving great assistance to the pasha in putting the place into a better state of defence, while his presence there animated the pasha and his troops to determine upon a stout defence.

It was with deep satisfaction that the officers and men of the Tigre received the orders to prepare for sailing at once. They had now been nearly two months in Constantinople; the novelty of the scene had worn off, and all were impatient for active service. Things had been going on pleasantly among the midshipmen. Condor had shown by his behaviour that either he sincerely regretted the conduct that had made him so unpopular, or that the lesson that he had received had been so severe that he would not risk any repetition of it. At any rate there was peace and comfort in the cockpit.

Just at first, two or three of the younger middies were disposed to take advantage of the altered state of things, but Wilkinson, Edgar, and the other two seniors supported Condor, and told them that if the latter did not keep them in order, they would do so themselves, after which threat matters went on quietly. The change from salt provisions to fresh meat, with an abundance of fruit and vegetables, had been very pleasant, and added to the good temper and harmony that prevailed. Edgar had not felt time hang heavily on his hands, for he was constantly on shore with Sir Sidney Smith, who found his services as interpreter of great value. Had it been an ordinary case, the other midshipmen of older standing would have felt somewhat jealous, but they knew that he went as interpreter rather than as midshipman, and as some of them had leave to go ashore every day, they could amuse themselves according to their liking, while he was kept hard at work translating documents, examining the state of stores, or attending prolonged meetings between his commander and the Turkish naval officials. They had therefore no reason for envying him his post.

He himself was glad of an occasional holiday at the rare intervals when Sir Sidney had no business on land, and made excursions to his brother up the Bosphorus, or to towns on the Sea of Marmora, when Edgar was able to join parties who, hiring horses at the landing-place, took long rides over the country, starting sometimes from Pera, and sometimes from Scutari on the other side of the water. He was certainly not less glad than his comrades when the order came to prepare for sailing. The wind was favourable, the voyage was a speedy one, and the Tigre arrived off Alexandria on the 7th of March. Here they remained for some days. News had already been received by sea from Jaffa of the capture of El-A'rich, and of the approach of the French army to Jaffa.

This had caused no uneasiness, as the town, having a garrison of 8000 men, was believed to be able to resist any assault. When, however, on the fifth day after the arrival of the Tigre off Alexandria, a small Turkish vessel brought the news that Jaffa had been captured, and some 3000 of the garrison killed in cold blood, besides a large number of the inhabitants, Sir Sidney decided to start instantly, in order to aid in the defence of the important stronghold of Acre, which would certainly be the next object of assault by the French. Committing to the captain of the Lion the charge of continuing the blockade with the gun-boats under his command, sail was at once hoisted, and the Tigre started for Acre.

On her way she picked up the Theseus, which was out cruising, and the two men-of-war arrived off Acre on the 15th of March, and, to the satisfaction of all, found that Napoleon had not yet appeared before the town; Sir Sidney Smith, owing to the terms of the convention, at once assumed the command of the operations. The arrival of the men-of-war excited great enthusiasm among the garrison and inhabitants, who, now, for the first time, believed in the possibility of beating off the French, and of being spared the horrors that had befallen Jaffa.

On the following morning the French were seen marching along between the lower slopes of Mount Carmel and the sea, and the men-of-war boats, running in close to the shore, opened fire upon them, and compelled them hastily to change their course and to ascend the hill until beyond the range of the guns.

As no attempt had been made to return the fire by the artillery, Sir Sidney Smith was convinced the French must be unprovided with a siege train. Having learned from people who had escaped by boat from Jaffa, that only field-pieces had there been employed to batter the wall, he ordered a constant watch to be kept for any ships seen approaching, as Bonaparte would hardly have hoped to take so strong a place as Acre without heavy guns, and had doubtless arranged for a battering-train to be sent from Alexandria by sea. This would probably be ordered to make either for Jaffa, or for Caiffa, a small port a few miles south of Acre. The Theseus was at once sent down to Jaffa, to prevent any landing of guns or stores being effected there, while the Tigre's boats were placed at intervals between Caiffa and Acre.

The next day a corvette and nine gun-boats were seen rounding the promontory of Mount Carmel. The signal was made for the recall of the boats, and the Tigre at once got under sail and started in pursuit, picking up her boats as they came alongside. Bonaparte had been ignorant that there were any British vessels on the coast, or he would hardly have sent the boats from Alexandria without a stronger escort, and the corvette and gun-boats no sooner caught sight of the Tigre than they made out to sea. The chase lasted for some hours, and one by one seven of the gun-boats were picked up, surrendering in each case as soon as the Tigre's guns opened upon them. The corvette and the other two gun-boats succeeded in making their escape, but their commander, believing it hopeless to attempt to carry out his mission in the face of a British man-of-war, sailed direct to France.

The capture was a most valuable one, for the possession of the gun-boats enabled a blockade of the coast to be carried on much more effectually than could otherwise have been done, and on board were found, as expected, the guns and battering-train intended for the siege of Acre. The Tigre returned with her prizes to the port, and the crew were at once employed in transporting the captured guns and ammunition on shore, when they were conveyed by the Turkish troops to the batteries, which were before very deficient in guns, and the capture added, therefore, much to the strength of the defences.

Edgar's services as an interpreter were again called into requisition. Mr. Canes was sent on shore with a party of sailors to assist the Turks in moving the guns to their new positions, and half an hour before landing he sent for Edgar and told him that he had arranged with Sir Sidney Smith that he was to accompany him.

"A good deal of the hard work will have to be done by the Turks, and it will save much trouble if you are with me to translate my orders to them, or rather to their officers. Sir Sidney is of opinion that there will be a great deal more for you to do on shore than on board. He will, of course, be much on shore himself, and I am carrying a note to the pasha, requesting him to assign a suitable house for him to take up his abode there and which he will make his headquarters. Lieutenant Beatty will be posted there with twenty marines, furnishing a guard, and for other purposes. A room is to be assigned to you. You will then be handy whenever the captain is on shore, and at other times will assist me or other officers with working parties. Of course two or three natives will be engaged as servants. One of them will be a cook, and Lieutenant Beatty and you will establish a small mess together. You will, of course, have shore allowances. I think that you may consider yourself fortunate, for you will have an opportunity for seeing all that goes on, while the others will of course only come ashore by turns."

"Thank you, sir," Edgar said, much pleased. "I shall like it very much."

The Turkish soldiers worked well, tugging at ropes, while the sailors used levers to get the guns up steep places. Edgar was kept busy translating the first lieutenant's orders to the Turkish officers, and for the first three days had hardly time to snatch a meal until the sailors returned at nightfall to the ship. He got on very well with the lieutenant of the marines, who was a pleasant young fellow. On the day after they landed they heard heavy firing, and going up to the highest point of the rocky promontory on which Acre stood, could make out that a number of gun-boats were cannonading Caiffa. The place appeared to make no reply to the fire, and at last two gun-boats, believing that there could be but few French troops there, sailed up the harbour.

Lambert, the French officer in command, had, however, a howitzer and a small gun, and eighty French troops, but he gave orders that these should not reply to the fire of the gun-boats, and that not a musket should be discharged until he gave the word. The two small gun-boats came on confidently, until, when at a distance of only a hundred yards from the shore, where they intended to land and set fire to the French storehouses and to do as much damage as possible, a heavy fire was suddenly poured in. The two guns, loaded to the muzzle with grape, swept their decks, and the heavy volley of musketry did much damage. Lieutenant Beatty, who had brought a telescope on shore with him, exclaimed:

"By Jove! those two little gun-boats have caught it hot. See, there is one of them putting about, but the other seems to be drifting towards the shore."

This was indeed the fact; she was slightly in advance of the other, and was the principal target of the fire. The midshipman who commanded her, and most of her crew, were killed, and before the few survivors could recover themselves from the surprise into which they had been thrown by the unexpected attack, the vessel had grounded. The heavy fire of musketry continued, the guns again poured in their fire, and as escape was impossible, the few men who remained alive at once hauled down their flag and surrendered. The capture was a valuable one to the French. The gun-boat carried a 32-pounder, and as Napoleon's heaviest guns were but 10-pounders, the cannon was invaluable.

As soon as its capture was known, some artillery horses were sent to the port and transported it to the batteries, at which the French were already hard at work. For the first day or two it was almost useless, for, with the exception of a few shot taken with it, they had none that would fit it; but as soon as the besieged began to fire they obtained an ample supply of cannon balls, which were eagerly collected by the soldiers, a small reward being paid for every shot that was brought in. In a short time, however, the French were in a better position for carrying on the siege with vigour, for as it became necessary to retain the Tigre and Theseus to assist in the defence of the town, French vessels were able to land artillery at Jaffa and other points, and they had ere long an ample supply for their batteries.

"There is no doubt," Lieutenant Beatty said, "that that gun-boat has been captured, and from her not attempting to go round and sail out as her companion did, I am afraid that the crew must have been almost annihilated by the enemy's fire. It was a very risky thing to send those two small craft in alone, even though the place had not replied to their fire, for even if the French had no guns, they might have had many hundreds of men in the town, against whom the crew of those two boats could have done nothing whatever. However, the loss is not serious except in the matter of the crew. I don't suppose she carried more than one gun."

"But even that is important," Edgar said, "for I know they have pretty heavy guns on board those boats, and in the hands of the French it would give us some trouble."

"We shall have hot work of it presently, Blagrove. The walls are absolutely rotten, and it would be absurd to call them fortifications; and if the French open fire at close quarters, they will make a breach in no time. If Phelypeaux's plans had been carried out, the place would have been in a position to make a serious defence; but I hear that he and Captain Miller of the Theseus have been trying in vain to get the Turks to carry out their plans.

"Djezzar was always saying that what they wanted should be done, but it went no further than that; and what little has been accomplished has been done by the men of the Theseus; and I believe that the dragging of the guns we captured to their places was the first job on which the Turkish soldiers really worked; but, of course, Sir Sidney had a good deal more influence than Miller had, as he is commander-in-chief of the Turkish army, and if Djezzar did not give him the help he asked for, he would have the power to take the matter altogether out of his hands. His troops have no love for him, for, as his nickname shows, he is as cruel as he is ambitious.

"There can be no doubt that he intended to throw off the authority of the Sultan altogether. The position of the guns show that. I hear that when the Theseus arrived there was not a single gun mounted on the face of the town on the land side, every one being planted on the walls to seaward. However, I believe he is personally plucky, but as this place is nothing like so strong as Jaffa was, he must see that, as a garrison of 8000 there could not resist the enemy, the 3000 men under him would not have a shadow of a chance were it not for our help. Even we could do nothing if it were not that the position of the town enables us to cover the land approaches."

The position of Acre, the ancient Ptolemais, was indeed very favourable for its protection by a fleet. It stood on a projecting promontory almost square in shape; three sides were entirely washed by the sea; the north-eastern side had no natural protection, but at an angle of the wall a tower, which was the strongest point of the defences, covered it to some extent. Near the tower, and with its garden abutting against the wall, stood the pasha's palace. The masonry of the greater part of the wall was old and crumbling. From the sea to the north of the town vessels anchored there could cover the approaches to the northern side by their fire, while these could similarly be swept by ships anchored in the Bay of Acre on the south side of the fortress.

The water here, however, was too shallow for the men-of-war to anchor in. The Tigre, therefore, was moored more than a mile from the shore; next to her was the Alliance sloop. Three of the gun-boats captured from the French, and two Turkish gun-boats, lay nearer to the shore, and the fire of all these vessels swept the ground across which it was already evident that the French main attack would be directed. This was also covered by the fire of the Theseus and three of the captured French gun-boats. The French had, on their arrival, promptly seized a village within half a mile of the wall, and pushed forward their trenches with vigour, establishing four or five batteries, which at once opened fire.

Napoleon calculated that he should be master of the town in three days at the utmost, and this no doubt would have been the case had he only Turkish resistance to overcome. As soon as the Tigre returned from her short cruise, Sir Sidney Smith took up his residence on shore. He brought with him Condor and Wilkinson, to act as his aides-de-camp, and fifty sailors were established in an adjoining house in readiness for any emergency. Here the mess was now established, although Lieutenant Beatty and Edgar continued to sleep in Sir Sidney Smith's house, the one to be near his men, the other in readiness to attend upon his commander at any moment night or day.

As far as possible the midshipmen's mess adhered to regular hours for their meals, but Sir Sidney Smith took his at any time when he could snatch them. One or other of the midshipmen came ashore each day with a boat's crew, so that at any moment orders could be sent to the Tigre or the Theseus. Except at the evening meal, when the fire generally slackened, it was seldom that more than two of the midshipmen's mess sat down together, being constantly employed either in carrying messages or orders, or in keeping a watch at threatened points, in order that Sir Sidney should at once be made acquainted with any movements of the enemy.

Map of Siege of ST. JEAN D'ACRE

by the French Army of Egypt from 19. March to 21. May 1799.

The French had lost no time, for on the 25th their batteries opened fire against this tower, and, after four hours' firing, a breach, considered by the French to be practicable, had been effected.

The Turkish guns had returned the fire, aided by two mortars worked by British sailors, but the Turks believed that their walls were strong enough to stand a prolonged siege, and as the French fire was heavy against the tower, those near it had betaken themselves to safer positions. Sir Sidney Smith was on board the Tigre. Djezzar seldom stirred from his palace. He had no capable officer under him, and no one was in the slightest degree aware of the serious damage the French battery was inflicting upon the tower, and there was no thought that an attack could be made upon the town for a considerable time. Edgar had been engaged all the morning with Sir Sidney, and when the latter went on board ship he went into the next house, where he found the others at dinner.

After that was over he proposed a stroll down to the corner against which the French fire was directed. Wilkinson and Beatty agreed to accompany him, but Condor, who had been all day at work seeing guns placed in position, said that he did not care about going out again. On reaching the wall facing the French position they found that there was little doing. A few of the guns were being worked, throwing their shot into the garden between the French batteries and the town. Along the rest of the line the Turks were squatting under the parapet, smoking and talking.

"What are the French firing at?" Edgar asked a Turkish officer.

"They are firing at the tower. They will do no harm. Some of the shots came in at the loopholes; so, as the soldiers there could do no good by staying, they have come out."

"That seems rather a careless way of doing business," Edgar remarked as he translated what the officer said, to his companions. "Well, at any rate we may as well go and see what the effect of their fire is. Their battery is not a heavy one, but as it is not more than four or five hundred yards from the tower it may really be doing some damage."

As they neared the tower at the angle of the wall they found that the ramparts there had been entirely deserted by the Turks.

"This is a rum way of defending a town," Wilkinson remarked. "If this is the way the Turks are going to behave, the sooner we are all on board ship the better."

The French fire was brisk, the thuds of the balls, as they struck the tower, occurring five or six times a minute. The three officers entered the tower. Two or three holes appeared in the wall of the floor by which they entered it.

"The masonry must be very rotten," Beatty said, "or they would not have knocked holes in it as soon as this."

They descended the stairs into the story below, and uttered a simultaneous exclamation of alarm. A yawning hole some eight feet wide appeared.

"This is serious, Wilkinson. Let us take a look down below."

"Look out!" Wilkinson shouted as a ball passed just over their heads and struck the wall behind them. "Stand back here a moment."

He ran forward and looked down.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "there is a breach down to the bottom of the tower level with the lower storey ground, and a heap of rubbish at the foot outside. I don't think it is high enough yet for anyone to get up to the opening, but it will soon be practicable if it is not now. Look! look! I can see a large body of French among the trees there. They are about to advance to storm the breach. Run, Blagrove, and wake up the Turks. We will go back and fetch up the marines and blue-jackets. The enemy may be in the place in five minutes."

Leaving the tower, Edgar ran along the wall.

"Take your men to the tower at once!" he shouted to the first Turkish officer he saw. "The French are crossing the ditch."

Instead, however, of obeying him the officer and his men ran to one of the steps leading up to the wall, and commenced shouting, "The French are in the town!"

Edgar saw that he had told the news too suddenly, and that it was hopeless for him to try to stop the flood, therefore ran along the wall until he reached the stairs leading down to the open space in front of Djezzar's palace. As he had been frequently there before, he made his way straight to the apartments where Djezzar transacted business.

"The French have breached the tower, pasha," he said, "and their storming party was about to cross the ditch when I came away. There are no troops there to defend the breach, and those on the wall are flying. Unless you yourself go out and rally the men to the defence the town is lost."

Djezzar was thunderstruck at the news. He had showed himself brave in battle, but with the fate of Jaffa in his mind he now lost heart altogether.

"It is too late!" he said, and catching up his sword he ran out of the palace, and directed his flight towards the landing-place.

Edgar ran towards the breach again, and on the way came upon his two companions running along, with the marines and blue-jackets after them. Fortune, however, had done more for the town than its defenders. Led by an officer with sixteen sappers, and followed by twenty-five grenadiers, the French party prepared to mount to the assault. Their orders were to mount the breach and hold it, and the moment this was done the main body of the storming party were at once to follow. But they met with an unexpected obstacle. Instead of finding, as they had expected, merely a shallow ditch, they found themselves at the edge of a counterscarp, the wall being fifteen feet in depth, with a regular moat filled with water between them and the foot of the breach.

They had brought with them only two or three short ladders, which were intended to be used, if necessary, to aid them in clambering up the heap of rubbish to the breach. The French had no idea of the existence of the counterscarp. The ladders that they had brought were too short to enable them to descend it, and the officer in command hesitated as to what course to adopt. The mysterious silence maintained by the enemy was disquieting. That the Turks had all fled and the tower was undefended did not occur to the officer in command, and he feared that they must have placed mines in the breach, and were for the present abstaining from showing themselves or firing a shot, in hopes of tempting him to make an assault. Before he could decide what was best to be done there was a loud tramp of feet inside the tower, and then the British sailors and marines showed themselves suddenly at the openings on each floor, and at once opened a heavy fire.

Many of the French fell at once, and seeing that there was nothing to be done, the officer gave the order for the rest to retreat, which they did hastily. Djezzar was furious when he heard what had happened, and questioned Edgar; and, on hearing that the tower had been altogether deserted, as well as the adjacent portion of the wall, he ordered the instant execution of six of the officers and a number of the men for this gross neglect of their duty. He was exasperated that he himself should have shared in the panic that had seized them when informed that the French were assaulting the breach, and that no resistance had been offered by his men; and Edgar congratulated himself that he was not one of his officers. When the old pasha, however, recovered from the state of fury into which he had fallen, he complimented the three British officers highly on the quickness that they had shown, which had, as he rightly said, saved the town, for, had the French found themselves still unobserved, they would assuredly have managed to get down the counterscarp, and to establish themselves in the tower in force before any suspicion of what was going on took place.

The French, whose operations were hidden by the gardens, at once proceeded to drive a gallery in order to blow up the counterscarp, upon which their guns could not be brought to bear, and on the 29th the mine was sprung. It did some damage, but it had not been driven quite far enough. Led by an officer of the staff named Mailly, the French rushed forward as soon as the mine exploded. They clambered down over the breach that had been made on the counterscarp, crossed the fosse by three ladders they had brought with them, and reached the foot of the breach. There was, however, too great a distance between the pile of rubbish at the foot of the wall and the great hole above it for them to enter without fixing their ladders.

As they were in the act of doing this the Turks, who had at their first appearance again been seized with a panic, but had been brought back by a number of their officers, who adjured them to stand, saying that it was better to die fighting the infidel than to be shot by Djezzar, opened a heavy fire. Mailly was killed, several of the grenadiers and sappers fell round him, and the rest retired, meeting, as they climbed the counterscarp, two battalions who had joined them as soon as the breach was reported practicable; but upon hearing from the grenadiers that this was not the case they fell back again after losing their commanding officer and many men from the Turkish fire.

This success greatly encouraged the Turks, who had heard from those who had escaped from Jaffa that no obstacles were sufficient to daunt the French, and from this time Sir Sidney Smith began to entertain hope that the town could be held, of which, owing to the supineness of Djezzar and his troops, he had hitherto been very doubtful. The French at once recommenced mining. In eight days they completely blew up the counterscarp, and on the twelfth carried their gallery under the ditch with the intention of blowing up the whole tower.

By this time the besieged were aware that the French were at work mining. Colonel Phelypeaux had, during the interval since the last attempt, worked indefatigably. The breach had been filled up with combustible materials, a number of shells had been placed on the platform of the tower, with fuses attached in readiness to hurl down into the midst of a storming party, heaps of great stones had been piled there for the same purpose, and the Turkish soldiers, seeing the readiness and alacrity with which the British worked, had gained confidence. The faint sound of mining under the tower brought about a consultation between Sir Sidney Smith, Captain Wilmot, Colonel Phelypeaux, and the pasha. The engineer officer pointed out to the pasha that it was impossible to say what the result of the firing of the mine might be, as it would depend upon the quantity of powder employed.

"If a large quantity is used," he said, "it may entirely blow down the tower and a considerable quantity of the walls adjoining it, and leave so large a breach that the French would be able to pour in in such force that your troops, who might well be panic-stricken at the explosion, would not be able to make any effective opposition."

"But what can we do to prevent it?" the pasha asked.

"Nothing can be directly done," Sir Sidney said; "but if we make a sally in force we might drive the French back, discover the mine, and carry out the greater part of the powder, and place a small portion under the ditch, and, exploding it, allow the water to run in; or, if the men carry with them a number of fascines, we might establish a work fifty yards from the foot of the wall. This would put a stop to their mining. An enemy attacking it would, as he advanced, be swept by the guns of the two men-of-war and the gun-boats, and the garrison would further be covered by the fire from the tower and walls. I propose that we should sally out in three columns. The central column, which will be composed of the marines and sailors of our ships, will make straight for the mouth of the mine and force its way in; the other two columns will attack the enemy's trenches on right and left."

"The plan seems to me to be a good one," the pasha said; "it shall be done as you propose."

On the night of the 15th of April two columns of men were gathered at midnight in the street leading to the water-gate, a short distance to the right of the tower, the third column close to a gate some little distance to its left. Lieutenant Beatty was, with his party of marines, to join the landing force, but to their disappointment neither Condor nor the midshipmen were to take part in the sortie, as the little party of seamen were to be held in reserve. Sir Sidney Smith himself intended to take his place on the tower, whence he could watch the operations. Wilkinson and Edgar were to act as his aides-de-camp, the latter to carry messages to the Turkish officers commanding the two columns, while Wilkinson was to perform the same office to the central column.

"You and Mr. Condor may probably have opportunities of distinguishing yourselves later on," he said; "the other midshipmen may have their turn to-night."

CHAPTER XII.

A DESPERATE SIEGE.

Just as day began to break, the gates were opened, and the columns moved out one after the other. The order that the strictest silence was to be observed was obeyed by the sailors and marines; but the Turks, who were wrought up to a pitch of enthusiasm, made so great a noise that the moment they issued from the gate shots were fired by the advanced pickets, and a few seconds later the roll of drums in the French lines broke out, and it was clear that the whole camp was alarmed. Sir Sidney Smith uttered an exclamation of anger. As concealment was useless, he then sent the two midshipmen to order all the batteries to open fire upon the French trenches, and as the first gun boomed out the ships and gun-boats on both flanks also opened fire, and the trenches by which the French must advance from the village were swept by a storm of shot. The French batteries joined in the din, while the infantry in the advanced trenches opened a heavy musketry fire.

"By Jove, the Turks mean fighting this time!" Wilkinson said, when he and Edgar had both returned from carrying their orders. "Look at them, they are going at the French trenches in gallant style."

The dark masses could be plainly made out in the gray light that was now stealing over the sky. Undaunted by the heavy fire of the French, the Turks rushed at the earthworks, scaled them, and engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand fight with their defenders. But the chief attention of the little group on the tower, where Captain Wilmot and Colonel Phelypeaux had also stationed themselves, was riveted upon the fight going on in front of them. Already the French were thronging down from their trenches, and the blue-jackets and marines were engaged in a fierce fight. Knight, second of the Tigre, received two balls in his left arm as he advanced, but upon arriving at the top of the shaft of the mine he and the pioneers at once leapt down into it.

One ran forward to see if it was charged, and brought back news that it was not. Lieutenant Knight and the little party of sailors worked desperately to pull down the props that supported the roof of the gallery, but they had little time allowed them for doing so. Had it not been that the noise made by the Turks had given the alarm so long before they reached the spot the work might have been completed. As it was, they had performed but a small portion of it when an officer ran in to say that they must at once come up, as the party could no longer keep back the swarming throng of the enemy. Colonel Douglas, who was in command, cheered on his hardly-pressed men, who had found the resistance of the French so desperate that they had been unable to drive them out from their advanced trench.

Lieutenant Knight, exhausted by the loss of blood, and his efforts to aid the pioneers, had to be assisted from the gallery and carried off by the seamen. Major Oldfield, who commanded the marines of Theseus, was killed, with two of his men. Mr. Janverin, midshipman of the Tigre, and eleven men were wounded. Beatty, and Forbes, a midshipman of the Theseus, were both slightly wounded, as were five marines of that ship, and a seaman and two marines of the Alliance. As soon as the party began to draw off, a heavy fire was opened on the French by the Turkish troops on the wall. The batteries opened with renewed vigour, while the bugles sounded to order the retreat of the two Turkish corps. All gained the gates unmolested. The Turks were in high spirits. According to their custom at the time, they had cut off the heads of their fallen foes and brought in sixty of these trophies.

The French loss had been considerably greater, for from the desperate nature of the fighting the Turks had been unable to decapitate the greater part of their fallen foes. In addition to the heads they also brought in a great number of muskets and some intrenching tools. The last were an extremely valuable prize, as the garrison had been much hampered in their work by the small number of available picks and shovels. Although, so far as the main object of the sortie, it had been a failure, the result was, upon the whole, a satisfactory one. The Turks had met the French in fair fight, and had held their own against them, and they were so pleased that during the rest of the siege they never once wavered. The attack, too, showed the French that their enemy was not to be despised, and compelled them to take much greater precautions than before, and to maintain, at all times, a strong force in their advanced trenches.

On the 25th a tremendous explosion was heard, and the troops from all quarters rushed towards the tower to repel the expected assault. Had the mine been carried a few feet farther, the whole tower would have been destroyed, but the French miners had come across a vault which projected a little distance beyond the tower above it, and believing that its wall was that of the tower itself, they had placed the charge against it. Although therefore a partial failure, the effect was tremendous. A portion of the outer wall of the tower was blown down, some two hundred Turks, who formed its garrison, and some pieces of cannon, were buried in the ruins. A small party of French rushed forward before the smoke had cleared away and established themselves in the lower stories. The Turks, however, rallied very quickly from the shock, and opened so tremendous a fire from the walls, aided by the cross-fire from the ships, that no reinforcements could reach the party in the tower, and the next morning early they evacuated the place, which was rendered untenable by the fire of the Turks in the story above them.

So soon as they had left the building the enemy concentrated their batteries upon it. At the sound of the explosion Sir Sidney Smith, with the sailors and marines of his guard, at once rushed through the streets to the tower.

"Bravo, the Turks!" Wilkinson exclaimed, as he and Edgar ran along by the side of the sailors. "Listen to their musketry fire! It is clear that they are standing their ground anyhow, and that there is no panic this time."

Sir Sidney was greatly relieved when, on his arrival at the tower, he found that, although shaken and shattered, it still stood an obstacle to an entry into the town. He went along the wall, warmly praising the Turkish officers and men for their courage.

"That is a weight off my mind, colonel," he said to Phelypeaux. "I have been scarcely able to close an eye for the last week. That mine has been a perfect nightmare to me. There was no saying when it was going to explode, and although the Turks have worked hard at that countermine we set them to dig, I had little hope that you would be in time, as you had to take it right under the foundations of the tower. I think that we must congratulate ourselves heartily that it has been no worse."

"I think so, indeed, Sir Sidney. The Turks have certainly behaved admirably to-day. I thought they would when they once got over their idea that the French were invincible. They have always proved themselves splendid soldiers when well led, and I have no doubt the example of your men, and their carelessness of danger, have animated them with a determination to show that they too can fight."

From the time of their entering Palestine the French had been amply supplied with provisions of all sorts by the natives. As soon as he crossed the frontier from Egypt, Bonaparte had sent proclamations broadcast among the people. A large proportion of the inhabitants of the hill country were Christians, and the assurances that he came to free them from the domination of the Turks, just as he had freed Egypt, was received with enthusiasm by the simple and ignorant people, who knew very little of what was passing in the world around them. The consequence was, that as he marched north from Jaffa, deputations met him, comprising most of the leading men. These received presents, and promises that they should never again fall under the dominion of the Turks; while they, on their part, promised to supply cattle, corn, wine, and wood to the utmost extent of their resources. These promises they faithfully kept, and also did good service in aiding the transport of stores landed at Jaffa.

Sir Sidney now endeavoured to counteract the effect of Napoleon's proclamations, and by means of native emissaries landed by the ship's boats at various points along the coast, sent out a large quantity of addresses of his own, telling them that Napoleon was, it was true, at war with the Sultan, but that this was no question of religion, and that he was but endeavouring to pass through Syria, in order to make his way to Europe, his retreat by sea having been cut off; and that he would be perfectly ready at any time to make terms with the Sultan, and would leave them, without a moment's thought, to the vengeance of the Turks, against whom they were now helping him. He added, that Djezzar Pasha, being convinced that they had been deceived by Bonaparte, and were acting in ignorance of the true state of things, promised solemnly that all who, now that the truth was told to them, withdrew their aid from the French, should be pardoned for the course that they had hitherto taken.

These papers soon bore fruit. The English were known to be favourable to the Syrian Christians, and the assurances of Sir Sidney Smith had great weight, and there was soon a sensible decrease in the amount of provisions and supplies brought into the French camp.

The breach widened under the heavy fire kept up continuously upon it by the French batteries, and as it was evident that other assaults would be made at that spot, the engineers began to throw out a ravelin, or advanced work, from the foot of the walls on each side of the breach, so as to take any assaulting party in flank. On the 1st of May the French, thinking that the breach must now be practicable, advanced for the fourth time.

A heavy gale had blown all day, the ships of war and gun-boats were rolling heavily at their anchorage, and it was doubtless thought that they would be unable to use their guns. In the afternoon, therefore, a body of men ran forward with six scaling-ladders; crossing the moat as before, they planted their ladders and attempted to mount the breach. They were, however, assailed by so heavy a fire of musketry from the Turks that the leading party were literally swept away. In spite of the heavy weather, the ships joined their fire to that of the batteries, and a storm of shot and shell was rained upon the trenches, and the 2000 men who had been seen to advance in readiness for the assault, finding it impossible to issue from their shelter, retired to their camp. The marines of the two men-of-war had manned the new works, and their fire contributed much to the repulse of the French.

Sir Sidney Smith, in his despatches home, expressed his regret at the heavy loss of life encountered by the French in their desperate attempts to perform the impossible feat of entering by a breach that could only be reached by scaling-ladders. The point of attack had certainly been badly chosen, for, while the masonry of the upper chamber tower was very rotten, that of the lower part was excellent; whereas the walls themselves were, in most places, badly built, and could have been demolished in a very short time by the heavy guns the French now had in their batteries. Thirty of these had been landed at Jaffa, and brought up to the front.

In addition to the sortie of the 16th April, Sir Sidney Smith kept the besiegers constantly on the alert by landing parties from the ships' boats on the flanks of their lines of trenches. The attacks were sometimes pushed home, the earthworks were overthrown, the fascines carried off for use in the redoubts, guns spiked, and intrenching tools captured, and these attacks greatly added to the labour imposed upon the besiegers, who were compelled not only to keep strong bodies in the advanced trenches but to defend the whole line of attack against flank surprises by their enterprising foes.

The Turks vied with the British in activity, making frequent night attacks on the trenches, and generally succeeding in carrying off a number of fascines, which were greatly needed, and were of special utility in the construction of the ravelin. The day after the repulse of the fourth attack the garrison suffered a heavy loss in the death of Colonel Phelypeaux, who died of fever brought on by want of rest and exposure to the sun. On the same day another, and almost as serious a loss, was sustained, for Captain Wilmot was killed by a musket shot while in the act of mounting a gun in the breach.

The midshipmen had, two days before, lost one of their comrades named Morris, who, with three seamen, was killed in one of the sorties, eight other blue-jackets of the Tigre being wounded at the same time. On the night of the 2nd of May the enemy made two desperate attempts to capture the English ravelins, but the marines in charge, aided by the fire from the walls and ships, held their ground, and repulsed the French with much loss. Every day the fighting increased in fury. Between the 1st and 9th the French made no less than five attacks upon the breach; these were all beaten off with very heavy loss; while the defenders, on their part, made frequent sorties to compel the assailants to stand on the defensive, and to interfere with their attempts to carry the approaches up to the foot of the walls.

The fire of the vessels was still maintained, but the besiegers had so raised and strengthened the earthworks protecting their traverses and trenches that they were now able to go backwards and forwards to the front with but little danger from the ships' fire.

Edgar had now lost the companionship both of Condor and Wilkinson. These had both gone back to their ship, for the death of Morris and the wounding of Forbes and Lieutenant Knight had left the ship short of officers. Condor acted as junior lieutenant until the latter was fit for service again, and both he and Wilkinson took part in the boat attacks and the sorties from the town. Edgar was therefore now in command of the blue-jackets on shore, who were held always in readiness to run to the aid of the garrison at any spot where there might be sudden danger.

It was believed that the French were again mining in several places, and although Colonel Douglas, who had succeeded Phelypeaux in command of the engineering operations, set parties at work to drive countermines, the work progressed slowly, and it was difficult to ascertain the precise direction in which the enemy were driving their galleries. Edgar still acted as interpreter to Sir Sidney Smith, and was the bearer of his orders to the Turkish officers. He was very glad that it was but seldom that he was called upon to accompany his chief in his visits to the tower, for the stench here from the unburied bodies of the French and of the Turks overwhelmed by the explosion was overpowering. Numbers of the Turks stationed here were attacked by mortal illness, others became delirious, and it was necessary to change the force holding it at very frequent intervals.

On the evening of the 7th of May there was immense satisfaction in the town, as a number of sail were seen on the horizon. It was certain that this was the force under Hassan Bey, which had been originally intended for Egypt, but had been diverted from its course by Sir Sidney Smith's orders. Its arrival had been anxiously looked for during the last month, but it had been detained by calms and other causes at Rhodes, and it was only a portion of the force that now, on the fifty-first day of the siege, made its appearance.

From the enemy's camp on the hills the fleet was made out as soon as from the town, and the effect was in a very short time apparent by the fire of the enemy's batteries being redoubled, and it was apparent that Bonaparte had determined to make a great effort to capture the town before the arrival of the reinforcements; and in a short time a great column was seen advancing to the attack.

Two of the Tigre's 68-pounders, mounted on native craft lying in the little port near the water-gate, opened upon them with shells, while two guns, manned by British sailors, one on the castle of the lighthouse, the other on one of the ravelins, poured grape into them. But the column moved on. The tremendous cannonade from their batteries overpowered that from the guns on the walls, and they suffered but little from the fire from the ravelins, as they had, the night before, constructed two breastworks from the end of their trenches to the breach, the materials used being sandbags and the bodies of their own slain.

In spite of the efforts of the defenders the French effected a lodgment in the tower. Its upper story had now been entirely destroyed by the enemy's fire, and the fragments had so increased the heap at the foot of the breach that the assailants were able to mount without the use of ladders. This was the most critical moment in the siege.

Hassan's troops were already in their boats, and were rowing to shore.

"Run down to the landing-place, Mr. Blagrove," Sir Sidney said, "take my gig, and row out to meet the boats, and order them to come round to the port here, instead of landing at the other end of the town. There is not a moment to be lost; the Turks are losing heart."

Edgar had just brought up the little party of sailors, and leaving them to the leading of the petty officer with them, ran down at the top of his speed to the landing-place. The gig's crew were standing near the boat, listening anxiously to the terrible din of the conflict.

"Jump in, men, and row for your lives!" Edgar exclaimed; "every minute is of consequence. The French will be in the town in five minutes. I want to meet the boats, coxswain."

The sailors, who had already guessed that his errand was urgent by the speed at which Edgar dashed down to the boat, stretched themselves to their oars and rowed as if racing, and met the Turkish boats a quarter of a mile from the shore.

"I am sent by the commander-in-chief, Sir Sidney Smith, to order you to row round to the mole and land there. Order the men to row their hardest. Every moment is of consequence. The French are on the point of entering the town."

At once the flotilla of boats changed its course, the soldiers cheered, filled with the excitement of the moment, and the sailors tugged at their oars; and, headed by the gig, in ten minutes the boats reached the landing-place by the mole, and as the troops leaped out, Edgar, burning with impatience and anxiety, led them to the breach. It was still held. Some of the Turks, as the French entered the tower, had been seized with a panic and fled, but a few remained at their post. While some hurled down stones from above on to the column ascending the breach, others met them hand to hand at the top of the heap. Here Sir Sidney Smith himself took his place with three or four of his officers and the handful of blue-jackets.

The combat was a desperate one. The swords of the officers, the cutlasses of the sailors, the pikes of the Turks, clashed against the bayonets of the French. Soon an important ally arrived. The news had speedily reached Djezzar that Sir Sidney and his officers were themselves defending the breach. The old pasha had hitherto taken no personal part in the conflict, but had, as was the Turkish custom, remained seated on his divan every day, receiving reports from his officers, giving audience to the soldiers who brought in the heads of enemies, and rewarding them for their valour. Now, however, he leapt to his feet, seized his sabre, and ran to the breach, shouting to the soldiers to follow him. On his arrival at the scene of conflict he rushed forward and pulled Sir Sidney and his officers forcibly back from the front line.

"You must not throw away your lives," he said; "if my English friends are killed, all is lost."

Fortunately, the shouts of the pasha, as he ran, caused a number of soldiers to follow him, and these now threw themselves into the fray, and maintained the defence until Edgar ran up with the soldiers who had just landed.

The reinforcements, as they arrived, were greeted with enthusiastic shouts from the inhabitants, numbers of whom, men and women, had assembled at the landing-place on hearing of the approach of the boats. The garrison, reanimated by the succour, ran also to the breach, and the combat was now so stoutly maintained that Sir Sidney was able to retire with the pasha, to whom he proposed that one of the newly-arrived regiments, a thousand strong, armed with bayonets and disciplined in the European method, should make a sally, take the enemy in flank, or compel them to draw off.

The pasha at once assented, a gate was opened, and the Turks rushed out. Their orders were to carry the enemy's nearest trench, and to shift the gabions and fascines to the outward side, and to maintain themselves there. The new arrivals, however, were not yet inured to fighting, and as the French batteries opened upon them, and the soldiers, leaping on to the parapets, poured volley after volley into their midst, they faltered, and presently turned and fled back to the gate, their retreat being protected by heavy discharges of grape from the 68-pounders in the port. The sortie, however, had its effect. The French had suffered heavily from the flanking fire as soon as they had shown themselves on the parapet, and the assaulting column, knowing from the din of battle that a serious sortie had been made, fell back from the breach, their retreat being hastened by the discharge of a number of hand-grenades by a midshipman of the Theseus on the top of the tower.

But the assault was not yet over. Napoleon, with several of his generals and a group of aides-de-camp, had been watching the fight from an eminence known as Richard Cœur de Lion's Mount, and had been compelled to shift their position several times by shells thrown among them from the ships. Their movements were clearly visible with a field-glass. Bonaparte was seen to wave his hand violently, and an aide-de-camp galloped off at the top of his speed. Edgar, who was standing near Sir Sidney Smith, was watching them through a telescope, and had informed Sir Sidney of what he had seen.

"Doubtless he is ordering up reinforcements. We shall have more fighting yet."

He then held a consultation with the pasha, who proposed that this time they should carry out a favourite Turkish method of defence—allow the enemy to enter the town, and then fall upon them. The steps were removed from the walls near the tower, so that the French, when they issued from the top of the ruined building, would be obliged to follow along the wall, and to descend by those leading into the pasha's garden. Here two hundred Albanians, the survivors of a corps a thousand strong who had greatly distinguished themselves in the sorties, were stationed, while all the garrison that could be spared from other points, together with the newly-arrived troops, were close at hand. The Turks were withdrawn from the breach and tower, and the attack was confidently awaited.

It came just before sunset, when a massive column advanced to the breach. No resistance was offered. They soon appeared at the top of the ruin, which was now no higher than the wall itself, and moved along the rampart. When they came to the steps leading into the pasha's garden, a portion of them descended, while the main body moved farther on, and made their way by other steps down into the town. Then suddenly the silence that had reigned was broken by an outburst of wild shouts and volleys of musketry, while from the head of every street leading into the open space into which the French had descended, the Turkish troops burst out. In the pasha's garden the Albanians threw themselves, sabre in one hand and dagger in the other, upon the party there, scarce one of whom succeeded in escaping, General Rombaud, who commanded, being among the slain, and General Lazeley being carried off wounded.

The din of battle at the main scene of conflict was heightened by the babel of shouts and screams that rose throughout the town. No word whatever of the intention to allow the French to enter the place had been spoken, for it was known that the French had emissaries in the place, who would in some way contrive to inform them of what was going on there, and the success of the plan would have been imperilled had the intentions of the defenders been made known to the French. The latter fought with their usual determination and valour, but were unable to withstand the fury with which they were attacked from all sides, and step by step were driven back to the breach. Thus, after twenty-four hours of fighting, the position of the parties remained unaltered.

Bonaparte, in person, had taken part in the assault, and when the troops entered the town had taken up his place at the top of the tower. Kleber, who commanded the assault, had fought with his accustomed bravery at the head of his troops, and for a time, animated by his voice and example, his soldiers had resisted the fiercest efforts of the Turks. But even his efforts could not for long maintain the unequal conflict. As the troops fell back along the walls towards the breach, the guns from elevated positions mowed them down, many of the shot striking the group round Bonaparte himself. He remained still and immovable, until almost dragged away, seeming to be petrified by this terrible disaster, when he deemed that, after all his sacrifices and losses, success was at last within his grasp.

During the siege he had lost five thousand men. The hospitals were crowded with sick. The tribesmen had ceased to send in provisions. Even should he succeed in taking the town after another assault, his force would be so far reduced as to be incapable of further action. Its strength had already fallen from sixteen thousand to eight thousand men. Ten of his generals had been killed. Of his eight aides-de-camp, four had been killed and two severely wounded.

The next evening the Turkish regiment that had made a sortie on the night of their landing, but had been unable to face the tremendous fire poured upon them, begged that they might be allowed to go out again in order to retrieve themselves.

Permission was given, and their colonel was told to make himself master of the nearest line of the enemies' trenches, and to hold them as directed on the occasion of his previous sortie. The work was gallantly done. Unheeding the enemy's fire the Turks dashed forward with loud shouts, leapt into the trenches, and bayonetted their defenders; but instead of setting to work to move the materials of the parapet across to the other side, carried away by their enthusiasm they rushed forward, and burst their way into the second parallel. So furiously did they fight that Kleber's division, which was again advancing to make a final attempt to carry the breach, had to be diverted from its object to resist the impetuous Turks. For three hours the conflict raged, and although the assailants were greatly outnumbered they held their ground nobly. Large numbers fell upon both sides, but at last the Turks were forced to fall back again into the town.

The desperate valour with which they had just fought hand to hand without any advantage of position showed the French troops how hopeless was the task before them; and Kleber's grenadiers, who had been victors in unnumbered battles, now positively refused to attempt the ascent of the fatal breach again.

Receiving news the next day that three French frigates had just arrived off Caesarea, Sir Sidney determined to go in pursuit of them, but the pasha was so unwilling that the whole force of British should depart that he sent off the Theseus with two Turkish frigates that had accompanied the vessels bringing the troops.

The voyage was an unfortunate one. Captain Miller, as the supply of shot and shell on board the men-of-war was almost exhausted, had for some time kept his men, when not otherwise engaged at work, collecting French shell which had fallen, without bursting, in the town. A number of these he had fitted with fresh fuses, and a party of sailors were engaged in preparing the others for service, when from some unknown cause one of them exploded, and this was instantly followed by the bursting of seventy others. The men had been at work on the fore part of the poop, near Captain Miller's cabin, and he and twenty-five men were at once killed and the vessel set on fire in five places. Mr. England, the first lieutenant, at once set the crew to work, and by great exertions succeeded in extinguishing the flames. He then continued the voyage, and drove the three French frigates to sea.

The loss of Captain Miller, who had been indefatigable in his exertions during the siege, was a great blow to Sir Sidney Smith. He appointed Lieutenant Canes, who had been in charge of the Tigre during his absence on shore, to the command of the Theseus, and transferred Lieutenant England to the place of first lieutenant of the Tigre.

It was generally felt that after the tremendous loss he suffered in the last of the eleven assaults made by the French that Napoleon could no longer continue the siege. Not only had the numerical loss been enormous in proportion to the strength of the army, but it had fallen upon his best troops. The artillery had suffered terribly, the grenadiers had been almost annihilated, and as the assaults had always been headed by picked regiments, the backbone of the army was gone. It was soon ascertained indeed that Napoleon was sending great convoys of sick, wounded, and stores down the coast, and on the 20th the siege was raised, and the French marched away.

CHAPTER XIII.

AN INDEPENDENT COMMAND.

The departure of the French had been hastened by the rapidly-increasing discontent and insubordination among the troops. During the later days of the siege Sir Sidney Smith had issued great numbers of printed copies of a letter from the Sultan authorizing him to offer a safe passage to France to the French army if it would surrender. This offer was a tempting one indeed to the soldiers. They had suffered hardships of all kinds since they had disembarked at Alexandria. They had been parched with thirst, half-choked with blinding dust, and had seen their comrades fall in numbers smitten by sunstroke. They counted but little the losses they had suffered in the battles in Egypt—that was in the ordinary way of the business of a soldier; but the dread of assassination whenever they ventured out from their lines, whether in camp or on the march, had weighed heavily upon them. Then had come the plague that had more than decimated them at Jaffa, and now they were reduced to well-nigh half their strength by the manner in which they had been sent time after time against the breach in the wall of an insignificant town, which would have been of no use to them if taken, as they could have been shelled out of it by the British men-of-war and gun-boats.

Sir Sidney Smith had passed through the terrible siege without a scratch, although freely exposing himself, and two attempts at assassination by the French emissaries in the town had also failed. The Tigre sailed at once to place herself between Jaffa and Damietta, and so cut off the retreat of the French army by sea. Not anticipating that this would be the case, Napoleon, on his arrival at Jaffa, embarked the twenty-three guns he had brought with him, on board ship, together with all the sick and wounded who were unequal to the desert march.

So great was the haste, that the vessels were despatched short of hands, and without provisions or water. As soon as the Tigre was made out the vessels all steered for her, confiding in the well-known humanity of the British to their prisoners. They were not mistaken. Sir Sidney had abundance of supplies and water put on board them, and he convoyed them to Damietta, where they received from their countrymen the surgical and medical aid that was beyond his power to afford them. Edgar was not on board the Tigre when she fell in with the convoy of wounded. Sir Sidney had, early on the morning after the departure of the French, informed him that he should, in his despatches, report most favourably of the assistance that he had rendered him both as interpreter and aide-de-camp during the siege.

"For the present," he went on, "I shall have no great need for an interpreter, as I shall probably have little to do for some time beyond cruising backwards and forwards on the coast of Egypt to prevent ships from France entering the ports with stores and ammunition, therefore I shall be able to give you employment which I think that you will like. One of the gun-boats captured from the French is a fast sailer. Hassan Bey tells me that when he was at Rhodes he heard great complaints of the piracy that was being carried on among the islands. The Turkish troops in most of these were withdrawn by him to swell his force as he sailed south, and there are now no vessels of war in those waters. The French flag has been driven from the sea, while our work has been too serious to admit of our paying any attention to the Aegean, although, as I knew before I left London, the complaints of merchants and ship-owners of the capture of merchantmen trading with Constantinople and other eastern ports were numerous. At the present moment I can well spare one of the gun-boats; the others will go down to watch the Egyptian coast. I shall therefore commission the Foudre, and re-name her the Tigress. I shall appoint Mr. Wilkinson to the command. Mr. Condor would, of course, have had it, but he has been transferred as third lieutenant to the Theseus, and as Wilkinson is senior midshipman, he will have her. I shall appoint you his second in command. She carries eight guns, and has room for two more, which I shall place on board from those on the walls. Her own guns are fourteen-pounders, and with two eighteens she will be heavily armed. Her complement was fifty-two men. I will give you forty from the Tigre, and will draw fifteen from the Theseus, and five from the Alliance. You will need a stronger crew with two extra guns; besides, you may want to send landing-parties on shore, or to cut out piratical craft, and ought therefore to be strong-handed."

"Thank you very much, sir. I shall be very glad to be employed on such service."

"Please send Mr. Wilkinson to me, Mr. Blagrove. I have his instructions written out for him."

"Sir Sidney Smith wants you, Wilkinson," Edgar said as he went into the next house.

"What is up?"

"There is a report that you have been making love to a Turkish girl; you will get it hot."

"Bosh!" Wilkinson said, laughing, as he put on his cap. "I have not spoken to a feminine of any kind since we left England."

In a quarter of an hour he returned.

"Hurrah, Blagrove! this is glorious. I am all the more pleased that you are going with me. How lucky Condor being promoted to the Theseus, or of course he would have had it. Then Knight, being still unfit for duty from the effects of the wounds he received in the sortie, and our first lieutenant being new to the ship, the third lieutenant cannot be spared. Sir Sidney spoke very kindly. He said that it was a heavy responsibility for so young an officer, but that he trusted I should prove equal to it, and that I must remember that prudence was just as necessary as courage and dash. He gave me a good deal of advice, which I shall think over and try to act on when I sober down a bit. Now we are both relieved from other duty, so we will pack up our kit.

"Sir Sidney is going on board the Tigre in five minutes, and he said that we could go on board with him, and we had better do so, as there was no time to be lost. Mason, one of the gunner's mates, is to go with us. We are to have sixty blue-jackets and five marines for sentries, and so on. He thinks that we can't do better than take the Turk who has been cooking for him, and our cook here. They are both very good fellows. One will be our steward and cook, and the other cook for the men. The boatswain's mate and the purser are to go with us to the brig, and see what is required in the way of stores. Everything has to be got on board by to-night, as Sir Sidney sails early to-morrow morning, so there is no time to be wasted."

While he was talking the two midshipmen were throwing their spare clothes into the kit-bags, in which they had brought them ashore. One of the sailors slung them across his shoulder and followed them down to the landing-place. The bags were stowed under the thwarts forward, and the lads waited until their commander came down.

"Remember, Mr. Wilkinson," the latter said as he took his seat in the boat, "you and Mr. Blagrove must be here at seven o'clock this evening, for I am landing at that hour to pay a final adieu to the pasha, and he asked me to bring you both with me. I mention it now, as it might slip my memory. The men you had on shore all gave you satisfaction, didn't they?"

"Yes, sir, they were all willing and ready for work at any hour, day or night."

"Then you may as well have them as a body. Some twenty of them have been killed, wounded, or laid up by fever, but with the men now on board they will make the crew up to its full strength."

The gig was now on her way, and the shore party of sailors and marines were gathering round the cutter that had been sent to take them on board. Before leaving the quarters that they had occupied, the midshipmen had made hasty arrangements with the two Turks, who had gladly accepted their offer. They had been told that one or other of the midshipmen would be sure to be on shore some time during the day. Therefore they were to hold themselves in readiness to embark at once. On arriving on board, the lieutenant was requested by Sir Sidney to tell off five marines to form part of the complement of the gun-boat. Ten minutes after their arrival the two midshipmen started with two petty officers to inspect the stores of the gun-boat.

"She is a very pretty craft, Blagrove!" Wilkinson said with delight as he regarded with pride his new command.

"Yes. I doubt whether we should have ever taken her if she had not been so deep in the water with the guns and stores she had on board. The French certainly know how to build ships; there is no question about that. I doubt whether we have such a good-looking gun-boat in the service. Anyhow I have not seen one."

The petty officer who commanded the gun-boat saluted as Wilkinson came up to the side and announced that he had come to take command of the boat.

"Am I to remain on board, Mr. Wilkinson?"

"Yes, Mr. Philpot. I am to have two petty officers, and Sir Sidney said that as you knew all about the brig you would be very useful to me. All the men are to remain here. Now we must overhaul the stores. What have you got on board?"

"We have a very short supply of powder and ball, not above ten rounds for each gun, and there is hardly any small-arm ammunition. There are twelve barrels of salt junk, eight of flour; there is a cask of rum that was broached last week, half a cask of sugar, and some bags of coffee. I have not sounded the water-tank, but I don't think that there is much in there."

A thorough examination was now made. An exact inventory of the provisions was taken, and the amount of water on board was ascertained, the boatswain's stores were gone over, and were found to be well supplied with rope, sail-cloth, and other necessaries. A calculation was then made as to the amount that would be required for the future strength of the crew for a three months' cruise. The boat was then rowed back to the Tigre. As soon as they arrived there, and reported to the first lieutenant what was required, a signal was made to the gun-boat to send one of her boats ashore at once with water-casks, and to fill up the tanks. A party was set to work to hoist up the barrels of stores, according to the list handed in by Wilkinson, while Edgar was sent on shore with forty men, with an order to the Turkish commander of artillery, to hand over to him two 18-pounders and as much ammunition for them and the 14-pounder guns as could be provided.

Mason, the gunner's mate, who was to sail in the Tigress, accompanied him to aid him to get the guns down to the boat. The Turkish officer at once handed over the guns, but was able to supply but little ammunition, for which, now that the French had retreated, there was no longer any use at Acre. However, he told off twenty men to aid the sailors in getting the guns and ammunition down, and in two hours the whole had been placed on board the boats, bringing them down very low in the water. When the last party were on their way down, Edgar hurried to his old quarters and had a consultation with the two Turks, who were ordered to purchase a supply of wine, meat, and such other stores as they could find for the cabin use, and were told to have everything at the landing-place, and to be in readiness to go on board themselves, by four o'clock in the afternoon.

Had the order been given two days before, there would have been little for the Turks to have purchased; but the town was already full of natives from the hills, many chiefs having come down to assure the pasha of their fidelity, and to inform him that bands of their horsemen were hanging on the rear of the retreating French. Great numbers of the villagers had come in to inspect the scene of the desperate struggle that had for upwards of two months gone on unceasingly. Many were anxious to obtain employment in the work of burying the dead and clearing away the ruins. Almost all brought in something to sell—sheep, goats, and chickens, eggs and vegetables. Of the latter Edgar had ordered that a large supply should be brought for the use of the crew; for although native boats from the north had, while the siege went on, often arrived with fresh provisions, the supply had been insufficient for the demand, and many of the sailors were suffering alike from the want of fresh food and from their hard work, and most of all from the horrible effluvia from the unburied bodies that bestrewed the ground over which the fighting had taken place.

As the heavily-laden boats rowed out to the brig they were overtaken by the water-boats, which were now making their third trip; they reported to Edgar that what they now carried would completely fill up the tanks. Wilkinson was on board, having come off with the boats with the stores from the Tigre. It had been a hard morning's work, but both were well satisfied with it; and as they sat down to a lunch composed of a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine Edgar had brought off with him, they chatted over the future prospect in high glee.

"This is not so spacious as the room you have been occupying for the last two months," Wilkinson said, "but it beats the cockpit hollow."

"Yes, it is a very snug little cabin, and the French skipper evidently knew how to make himself comfortable. It is lucky that everyone has been so busy since we took her that no one has thought of stripping it. There are his telescope, a big roll of charts, and two brace of pistols, all in their places. I know the French officers were all permitted to take their clothes away with them; so no doubt the lockers are empty."

This, however, on examination, proved not to be the case, for in them were found three or four dozen of wine, two dozen of brandy, a good supply of chocolate, coffee, and other cabin stores.

"I see, Mr. Philpot," Wilkinson said when they went on deck, "you have husbanded the captain's stores most carefully."

"Yes, sir; no orders were given to me about them, and I knew that I might be relieved any day. I think I have had three bottles of brandy. I used to take a tot every night, thinking that there could be no harm in that."

"No harm at all," Wilkinson said. "I suppose properly, under ordinary circumstances, the stores should have been handed over at once to the Tigre; but as no orders were given about it, I think you were perfectly right in taking toll, though I don't know that it would have been justified by the regulations. However, certainly I shall risk it myself."

"Of course, sir, as commander of the ship, it is a different thing altogether. I was only put here to look after the men working the guns."

For some hours the crew were hard at work lowering down the stores into the hold, packing the ammunition in the magazine, hoisting up the two eighteen-pounders and their carriages, and getting them into position. At half-past three a boat was sent ashore, and returned with the two Turks and a quantity of provisions. The carcases of three sheep were handed over to the crew, with the greater portion of the vegetables, one sheep being kept for the use of the cabin and the petty officers, together with a supply of vegetables sufficient for some days. A good supply of fruit had been brought, which was also divided. As soon as the deck was cleared, all hands were set to wash it down.

"They need not scrub until to-morrow morning, Mr. Philpot," Wilkinson said. "The men have had a hard day's work; they can clean her properly the first thing to-morrow. Have you taken a look at the rigging?"

"Yes, sir, everything is in first-rate condition."

"No doubt she was thoroughly fitted out before she sailed. She certainly looks like it," Wilkinson replied as he glanced at the coils of ropes. "We shall get up anchor at daybreak. I want to be under sail before the Tigre. It would not look smart for a line-of-battle ship to be under weigh before a brig."

At half-past six, Wilkinson and Edgar, both in full uniform—for the latter had provided himself with a full kit, having bought the outfit of one of the midshipmen of the Theseus who had been killed, and who happened to be about his own height and size—took their places in a boat and rowed ashore. In a few minutes Sir Sidney Smith arrived.

"Nearly ready for sea, Mr. Wilkinson?"

"Yes, sir, we shall be ready to sail to-morrow morning. Everything may not be quite ship-shape yet, but a few hours' work on the way will get everything in order."

"Very good work!" Sir Sidney said approvingly. "I hardly thought that you would have got your guns on board to-day."

"The commandant gave us a complement of Turks to help to carry them down, sir, which made short work of it."

"I expect that you will be having a more lively time of it than I shall. I may pick up a few store-ships, but blockading is always dull work. However, I hope before very long they will be sending a force out from England to finish with the French in Egypt. You must remember that you can't be too careful with those Greek and Moslem pirates; one is as bad as the other, and from what I hear they generally work two or three together, and though their craft may be small they carry a number of men; therefore, boat expeditions against them should always be strong-handed. You must bear in mind that although a command like this is a fine opportunity for a young officer to distinguish himself, upon the other hand, if he meets with a misfortune it tells against him. If I had not seen you and Mr. Blagrove both frequently under a heavy fire I should scarcely have ventured to appoint you to such a charge; but I know that you are both cool and steady, and being so short of officers as we are, and feeling that it is of urgent importance to do something to put a stop to the alarming increase of piracy, I consider myself justified in making these appointments."

By this time they had reached the pasha's palace. The latter evidently considered the visit to be a ceremonious one, and a guard of honour was drawn up in the court-yard who saluted as they passed in. For a time the pasha and Sir Sidney exchanged compliments in the usual oriental style, Edgar translating their speeches.

"Without you and your brave sailors the town would have fallen on the first day the French opened fire," the pasha said. "My men were thoroughly dispirited by the events of Jaffa, and to tell you the truth, I myself absolutely despaired of resistance, and should have left before the French arrived had not your ships come into the bay. If Jaffa, which was very much stronger than this place, and with a garrison of 8000 men in good heart, fell at the first assault, what could be done here, where the defences needed but a few shot to fall in ruins, and the garrison were panic-stricken and believed the enemy to be absolutely invincible?"

"No troops could have fought better than yours towards the end of the siege, pasha. The way in which they threw themselves sabre in hand upon the French bayonets was splendid, and my own sailors could have fought no better than they did when the French entered the town."

"Yes, yes, they did well then, but at the beginning their hearts were water, and a hundred French grenadiers could have taken the place. I hope you will return here soon."

"I fancy that there is little chance of that, pasha, unless it be that I hear that those three French frigates the Theseus chased a few days ago are on the coast again, in which case I may run across and try to catch them. Certainly there is no fear of the French coming here again; the news of what has taken place here will cause such excitement among the Egyptians that Bonaparte will have as much as he can do to maintain his hold on the province. I shall take care to do justice to yourself and your soldiers in sending my report of the siege to the Sultan, my sovereign's ally, and in whose service I hold rank."

The old pasha smiled. "At any rate, Sir Sidney Smith, I shall take care that the Sultan shall not send you hither to capture Acre instead of defending it. I have had a lesson that my troops are not so formidable as I had deemed, and he shall have no further reason for complaint against me. And now, young gentlemen," he went on, turning to the midshipmen, "I hear that you are going to sail in one of the gun-boats captured by your commander, to endeavour to punish some of the pirates that are doing so much mischief, not only to the trade among the islands, but to vessels trading from our ports and others with Stamboul. You, young sir, have rendered me, as well as Sir Sidney Smith, great service throughout this siege by interpreting between us and thus enabling me to understand his wishes, instead of being obliged to learn them through those who might have reported their substance to the French. Likewise you have daily carried his orders to my officers, and often through heavy fire. Had you been an officer of mine I should have known how to recognize your services. I could have given you much promotion, and, for such is the custom in our army, have presented you with so many purses. As you are not, I have no power to give you promotion, and Sir Sidney Smith tells me that as a British officer you could not receive gifts in money even from a foreign monarch. He has said, however, that, as a personal present, and as a token of my regard for the services that you have rendered me, he considers that you could accept such a present in the form of a jewel as I might think it right to offer you."

He took a box of Turkish make that stood on the table beside him.

"This," he said, "is an aigrette which I myself have worn in battle; and no more appropriate present could be made to one whom I have seen standing unflinchingly in a fire that might well have appalled veterans."

Then he turned to Wilkinson. "You, sir, have throughout the siege been on service on shore here, and during the first part of the siege commanded the little body of sailors who checked the first attempt of the enemy to capture the tower. I saw you fighting bravely during that terrible struggle in the breach when it so nearly fell into the hands of the French. I therefore present you with a ring of honour similar to those that I have requested Sir Sidney Smith to have the kindness to give in my name to the officers who distinguished themselves most greatly in the defence of my town."

Edgar translated the pasha's speech, and then opened the box presented to himself. It contained a superb aigrette, mounted upon a brooch-like ornament by which it was fastened to a turban. This ornament, which was some four inches in diameter, was composed entirely of precious stones, with an emerald of great size in the centre. He looked at Sir Sidney Smith.

"It is too valuable altogether," he said.

"You can take it," his commander said with a smile; "he showed it to me this morning."

Edgar then expressed his thanks in suitable terms to the pasha, and also those of Wilkinson, whose ring contained a diamond of great beauty; then at a sign from Sir Sidney they left the room, leaving him to conclude his interview with the pasha alone. In a quarter of an hour he joined them outside the palace.

"I congratulate you on your presents," he said. "Yours, Blagrove, is undoubtedly very valuable, and had you intended to remain permanently in the service I do not know that I could have allowed you to accept it. As it is, I see no harm in it. I may tell you that the pasha asked me if I thought that you would remain in his service. He says your knowledge of several languages would be of much value to him, and that he should like to have one about him on whose courage, as well as fidelity, he could rely. I told him that I knew that you had other plans, and that you would probably leave the navy as soon as the French evacuated Egypt, and were, I knew, anxious to return to your parents in England. I have no doubt, Mr. Blagrove, that he would have been willing to give you terms you could hardly have hoped for elsewhere; but the pasha is an old man, you would have been an object of jealousy to his officers and officials, and he is at times guilty of cruelties at which I know you would revolt, and your position therefore would have been a precarious one, and your enemies might not improbably endeavour to remove so formidable a rival in their master's favour by assassination, so I thought that for your own interest it is better that I should take upon myself to decline the offer."

"Thank you, sir. I should not have liked to enter his service at all. It would be an idle life as well as an unpleasant one, and, besides, I know that my father wishes me to take his place in Alexandria."

"Djezzar has behaved very handsomely," Sir Sidney said. "He obtained from me a list of all the officers of the three ships and of the petty officers who have specially distinguished themselves. He has given me jewels to hand to all the officers in his name, and also purses of money for the petty officers. He is, you know, immensely rich. The old fellow was really grieved that he could not offer anything to me; he said as much, but I at once pointed out that, putting everything else aside, it would be an unheard-of thing for the commander-in-chief of the Sultan's army to receive a present from one, however high in rank, who was under his orders. He just now insisted, however, that we should exchange rings, and as he had absolutely tears in his eyes when he spoke, I could not refuse, though mine was but a signet-ring with my crest, and his a diamond worth, I should say, a thousand pounds if it is worth a penny."

They had by this time reached the landing-place.

"Now, lads, we part here for the present; I hope that you will have a prosperous cruise, and do credit to my choice. You understand, Mr. Wilkinson, that you will remain on your station among the islands until you receive other orders from me."

After seeing Sir Sidney off, the two midshipmen took their places in their boat, and were rowed off to the Tigress.

"That was an unexpected piece of luck, Blagrove," Wilkinson said when they had started. "I thought, perhaps, that he might make you a present, for you have seen him every day, and besides interpreting, have carried orders to his officers under a heavy fire, and done all sorts of things, but except that I landed several times to take part in the sorties, and was lucky enough to be on shore at that fight at the breach and when the French got in, I did no active work. I had no hopes of getting anything beyond perhaps a mention in the chief's despatches."

"I feel quite ashamed at having so much more valuable a present, Wilkinson."

"Oh! I am sure that no one could begrudge it to you," Wilkinson replied. "You don't get any special pay for being an interpreter, and it gives you a tremendous lot of work; besides, going about as you do with Sir Sidney, you were constantly under fire. Besides, the pasha saw a great deal more of you than he did of anyone else, except the chief himself. I congratulate you upon it heartily; if you ever want to turn it into money it will be quite a small fortune. Luckily my father is in a position to make me a good allowance, so I have no intention of ever parting with this ring, it will be a remembrance of the siege, and the sort of thing to wear on grand occasions."

They found that during their absence the men had worked hard, and that, except for a final scrub, the brig was now ship-shape and in good order. At four o'clock in the morning the crew were again on deck It was still dark, but the men set to with a will to scrub the decks, for, as they said, if they passed near the Tigre they should not like the decks to look like those of a trader in ballast. An hour's hard work and they had finished, just as the look-out reported that the Tigre's men were going aloft to loosen sails. It was light now, and in a very few minutes the canvas was spread and the anchor catted. The Tigre, with her great sail spread, was not yet under way, and the brig, as she laid her course west, passed a hundred yards under her stern. The Tigress ran up her ensign, for the sun was just showing, and dipped it in salute. The midshipmen waved their hands to their comrades on board, and saluted more formally Sir Sidney, who stood at the bulwarks watching the craft as she passed, and who returned the salute with a cheery shout of "Well done, Tigress!"

Then she went on her course, after the exchange of a cheer between the crews clustered by the bulwarks of the Tigress and in the tops of the man-of-war.

"Now we are fairly off," Edgar said, "what do your written instructions say?"

"I am to go to Rhodes, there to make inquiries of the port authorities as to any outrages that have been lately reported, and to be guided by what I hear. In fact, the matter is left entirely in my hands, after we once get there. I don't know how we had better divide the watches. It would hardly be the thing for me, as skipper, to take a watch, and yet that would be the most satisfactory way of arranging it. I could take the gunner and you the boatswain. In fact, I think it would be ridiculous to work it in any other way."

"Just as you like, Wilkinson, but I have no doubt that the boatswain would do just as well or better than I should."

"No, I will take a watch, at any rate until we see how the petty officers get on. It is ticklish navigation among these islands, and I certainly should not feel comfortable if neither you nor I were on deck. There is the Tigre fairly under way, steering south by west. We are walking along, ain't we? This breeze just suits her, and she is a very different craft now to what she was when we overhauled her, laden down pretty nearly to her covering-board. I don't think, in a breeze like this, that the Tigre would be able to catch us, although, of course, if the wind strengthened much her weight would tell. However, there is no doubt at all that this craft is fast. I hope ere long we shall try our speed against one of these pirates. I expect that off the wind with those big lateen sails of theirs they are very fast, but on the wind they would have no chance with us. When we get away from Rhodes we will disguise her a bit, put a yellow streak to her, and give her the look of a trader. They are much more likely to find us than we are to find them."

"Where are we to send our prizes, that is, if we take any?"

"If they are small craft we are to burn them, but if we take any that would be likely to be of use to the chief in the blockade we are to sell them. Any prisoners we take we are to hand over to the pasha at Smyrna if they are Moslems; if they are Greeks, the fewer prisoners we take the better. It would be infinitely more merciful to shoot them down in fair fight than to hand them over to the tender mercies of the Turks, but Sir Sidney said that he would largely leave the matter to my discretion. I would rather that he had given me positive orders in writing on the subject, for it is an awkward thing for a midshipman to have a thing like this left to his discretion, especially as at other times superior officers don't seem to think that midshipmen possess any discretion whatever."

CHAPTER XIV.

A PIRATE HOLD.

On arriving at Rhodes, Wilkinson and Edgar rowed ashore as soon as the anchor was dropped, and called upon the Turkish governor. They were received with much honour, and the governor was delighted to hear the news, which they were the first to bring, that the French had abandoned the siege of Acre and were retreating in all haste to Egypt. He gave orders for a salute to be fired at once in honour of this great success, and then asked Wilkinson what he could do for him, assuring him that he would put all the resources of the island at his disposal. Edgar, as interpreter, assured the governor that they had no occasion to avail themselves largely of the offer, but that, in consequence of the amount of ammunition expended in the siege they were short of both powder, ball, and musketry ammunition, and would be very much obliged for as large a supply as he could spare them. He gave orders at once for the issue to him of as much as they required. Edgar then went on:

"The object of our coming here, sir, is to endeavour to check the piracy that is now being carried on among the islands. Numerous complaints have reached Sir Sidney Smith from Turkish, British, and Greek merchants; ships are constantly missing, and there is no doubt that they have been captured and scuttled, and their crews massacred."

"Your ship is a small one for such a purpose," the governor said, for from the divan on which he was sitting he commanded a view of the port.

"I hope that she is large enough," Edgar replied; "she is heavily armed for her size, and she is a fast sailer. Sir Sidney Smith had no larger vessel at his disposal, as he needs the two men-of-war and the small frigate for watching the Egyptian coast, and, indeed, had he been able to send a larger craft, it would not have been so well suited for the purpose, for the pirates would hardly have ventured to attack her. We shall, after we have put out to sea, disguise the brig and rig her as a merchantman in order to tempt them out. We shall not do it until we are well away, for the pirates may have friends here who might send them information. We shall head for the south, and shall give out that we are to rejoin our commander off Alexandria, as we have only come round here to give you news of the retreat of the French. We shall be glad if you will furnish us with two men having a thorough knowledge of the islands, and of the spots where the piratical craft are most likely to harbour. They must be trusty men who will not open their lips here as to our designs."

"I can find you two such men," the governor said. "They both used to be captains of craft that traded among the islands, but now own several vessels; some of these have disappeared, and they are continually coming up here and pestering us with their complaints, though I have told them again and again that I can do nothing in the matter; I know that they would very gladly go with you in order to aid in the punishment of the pirates."

Such indeed turned out to be the case. Edgar had a long talk with them, and learned from them the spots where it was supposed that the pirates had their rendezvous, as many vessels whose course had lain near them had disappeared. He asked them to go into the town and gather what further information they could from men whose craft had been chased but had succeeded in getting away, and told them to be at the landing-place after dark so that their passage to the ship would be unnoticed, for they agreed with him that undoubtedly many of the pirates had agents at Rhodes and other important ports, and that intelligence was carried by small, quick-sailing craft, to the pirates, of vessels likely to be valuable prizes. An abundant supply of ammunition was taken off to the brig in the course of the afternoon, and the supply of fresh provisions replenished.

The two young officers dined with the governor, who had a large party in their honour, including many of the military authorities. The next morning they started at six, and held their course south until they were sure that the brig could no longer be seen even from the highest point on the island, and at four bells in the afternoon changed their course, and, sailing between Scarpanto and Carso, headed north and passed before nightfall between Slazida and Placa. The crew had been busy painting a broad yellow line round the brig, in slackening the rigging, and giving the vessel the appearance of a slovenly merchant brig. They had learned from the Turks that although undoubtedly acts of piracy took place in the Western Archipelago, these were comparatively isolated acts committed upon small vessels becalmed near one or other of the islands, the attacks being made in boats, but that it was among the numerous islands lying off the coast of Asia Minor between Nicaria and Samos on the north, and Serrest and Piscopia on the south, that piracy was most frequent.

As a rule, they said, vessels coming down from the Dardanelles kept well west of Mitylene and Chios, rounded Naxos and Syra and bore south to Santorin before shaping their course east, if bound for Syria, so as to avoid the dangerous neighbourhood. To begin with, they advised that the course should be laid so as to pass a short distance east of Astropalaia. This, they said, had long been one of the headquarters of piracy. It had, before the war began, been several times attacked by Turkish or European ships of war, the craft found there burnt, and the coast villages destroyed; but since then it was believed that it had again become the headquarters of pirates from some of the other islands, as its position was a favourable one for attack, lying in the direct lines of traffic between both Constantinople and Greece and the eastern trades with Rhodes, Cyprus, Syria, or Egypt.

The night was fine, with a gentle breeze. A sharp look-out was kept for two groups of tiny islands that were scarce more than rocks, that had to be passed before nearing Astropalaia. The breeze died away at daybreak, and left the vessel becalmed at a distance of some six miles from the island.

"We could not be better placed," one of the Turks said. "You see the group of islands at the mouth of that bay; they are called the Pirate Rocks, and in the old days every one of those rocks was the stronghold of a pirate ship. Thirty years ago four Turkish frigates caught eighteen piratical craft lying at anchor behind their shelter, and destroyed every one of them, but it was not long before others took their places."

"If there were a good wind blowing, Edgar, I should like nothing better than to sail right in there," Wilkinson said, "but in this light breeze those fellows would run away from us with their big sails and their sweeps."

"If there are any of them in there now," one of the Turks remarked as Wilkinson closely surveyed the islets through his glass, "most likely they have made you out before this. I only hope there will not be too many of them."

"The more the merrier!" Wilkinson laughed as Edgar translated this. "With ten guns and sixty blue-jackets we ought to be able to beat off any number of the scoundrels. Ask him how many guns these fellows generally mount?"

The Turk shook his head.

"They are of all sizes; some are only row-boats, without guns at all, and carrying perhaps not more than a dozen men. Two will row, and the rest lie down in the bottom. They will have some fruit, perhaps, piled up in the stern, and as they row up to a small craft at anchor or becalmed, there are no suspicions of their real character until they get close alongside. Then they leap up, and carry the vessel before the crew have time to arm themselves. If she is very small and useless to them, they will take out everything of value, fasten the prisoners down below, and scuttle her; if she is larger, they will tow her into some little bay and take out the cargo in boats at their leisure, cut the throats of the prisoners, alter the appearance of the ship so that she cannot be recognized, engage a dozen more hands, and set up on a larger scale.

"Some of the craft are used as fishing-boats when times are quiet and there are ships of war about, while the larger ones may go into trade. Some of the smaller craft will carry a couple of guns, the larger ones eight or ten, but these are generally much smaller than yours, though sometimes they are armed with cannon taken from prizes; but, as a rule, they do not trust at all to their guns. They do not wish to draw attention by their sound to what is going on, and they either attack at night and carry their prey by boarding, or, if it be in the day, the crew are sent below, the guns hidden, and they have so peaceful an aspect that it is only when they change their course suddenly, when within a few hundred yards, that any alarm is excited, and they are alongside before a trader can load his guns, and, as they are crowded with men, carry her before any serious resistance can be offered."

WITH A TREMENDOUS CHEER, FLUNG THEMSELVES UPON THE PIRATES

At Rhodes they had taken on board a dozen bucket-loads of earth. The night before, some of these had been emptied into a large tub, which was then filled up with water and stirred briskly, after which the sailors had gone aloft and wetted the sails with muddy water, rendering their appearance dingy in the extreme. Here and there white patches had been left, which gave the sails the appearance of being old and recently mended, and with the yards set at different angles and slackened rigging, the Tigress would not have been recognized as the smart craft that had, twenty-four hours before, sailed from Rhodes. The sailors were all in high glee. After the hard work they had had at Acre they looked upon this as a holiday, and entered with the greatest zest into the work of disguising the ship.

"Now, lads, you must sit down," Wilkinson said, "and only five or six heads must be shown above the bulwarks. They doubtless have some good glasses taken from the ships they have captured, and if they saw that we had an unusually strong crew they might smell a rat."

It was now a dead calm, the sails hung idly down, and the brig lay almost motionless on a waveless sea.

"I am pretty sure that I can make out the upper spars of two or three craft behind that long, low islet, Wilkinson," Edgar said after, for the twentieth time, gazing long and earnestly through his telescope.

"I fancied so two or three times, Edgar, but I am by no means sure that it is not fancy. I felt more sure of it at first than I do now, for there is a slight mist rising from the water. If they don't come out to us by the afternoon we will go in and have a look at them. We have got half a dozen sweeps on board, and with those and the boats we could work her in in a couple of hours."

"I hope we sha'n't have to do that," Edgar replied. "They would guess what we were at once, and would be scattering in all directions. We might pick up one or two, the rest would get off and carry news of us to all the islands round."

"Perhaps you are right," Wilkinson agreed. "It would certainly be unfortunate to begin by giving them a scare."

"Besides," Edgar went on, "if the calm holds till night, they may come out and try to take us by surprise."

The day passed very slowly. The heat was great, and the men picked out spots on the deck where the sails threw a shade, and dosed off to sleep. They had, long before, made every preparation; the cutlasses had been ground, the boarding-pikes sharpened, and the pistols loaded and primed. Piles of shot lay by the side of the guns, and it needed only to fetch up the powder cartridges from the magazine to be ready for action. The marines had cleaned and loaded all the muskets, and placed them in the racks. At two o'clock, after dinner had been eaten, Wilkinson said to the boatswain:

"The starboard-watch can sling their hammocks and turn in if they like. If these fellows mean to come out and attack us, they will hardly do it before it becomes dark; perhaps not until two or three o'clock in the morning, and as we shall have to be watchful, there is no occasion for both watches to stay on deck now. The port watch shall go off from two bells till eight; as they take the first watch they will be all the brighter for a snooze beforehand."

"I wish the beggars would come out and have done with it," he went on to Edgar, as the boatswain turned away and blew his whistle. "I think I may as well go down, as it is your watch on deck. Have me roused when they change at two bells if I don't wake of my own accord."

Contrary to their usual custom in a calm, the earnest desire of all on board was that it should continue, for should a breeze spring up they would be forced to sail away, and the pirates might not pursue them. As soon as it got dark, Wilkinson told the boatswain that it would be as well that a song should be started occasionally, but that not more than five or six men were to join in chorus. If, as they came out, they heard a dead silence they might think it unnatural, and it was quite possible that a boat would come on ahead of them to try and make out what they really were. In the intervals between the songs silence reigned, and all on deck listened intently.

About nine o'clock Edgar exclaimed: "I can hear oars!"

"So can I," Wilkinson replied, after listening for a minute. "I don't think that they are sweeps. No, it is a boat rowed by either two or four men—four, I think."

In a minute or two they were satisfied that it was but a boat. The order was given for another song, after which three or four men were to talk and the rest to sit down below the bulwarks and to keep silence. The two Turks took their places near the officers. From the speed at which the boat was approaching it was certain that she was not deeply laden, and there was no fear, therefore, of a surprise being attempted. She passed within twenty yards of the tafrail, and they could make out that she was an ordinary fisherman's boat. There was a pile of nets in the stern, and four men were standing up rowing.

"I wish we could get a little wind!" one of them called out.

"We wish so, too," one of the Turks answered. "We have been lying becalmed all day."

"Bound for Constantinople, I suppose?" came from the boat.

"No, for Smyrna. We are bringing a cargo from Ancona, and shall load up at Smyrna with fruit."

With a Turkish good-night the men rowed on, and the singer forward at once began another song. For a quarter of an hour they could hear the sound of the oars growing fainter and fainter, then it ceased.

"They have rowed straight on till they think they are out of hearing," Wilkinson said. "Now they will make a circuit and go back to their friends with the news. There is no doubt we are in luck if we get a brush with them the first night after our arrival on our cruising ground."

About three o'clock in the morning a confused sound could be heard. In two or three minutes every man was at his post.

"There are only two, or at most three of them," Edgar said, in a tone of disappointment, "and I doubt whether they are not big rowing-boats. The strokes are too quick for either sweeps or for boats towing. What a beastly nuisance! I suppose when these fellows took back the report, that though we were a good-sized brig we did not seem to have many hands, they thought that it was not worth while to tow out a big craft when row-boats would do. They think that with twelve or fifteen hands in each boat, and the advantage of surprise, they would be able to overpower us at once."

"The surprise will be the other way," Wilkinson said angrily. "We shall send them all three to the bottom at the first broadside."

"I don't think I should do that, Wilkinson; for, if you do, there is an end of our chance of capturing any of their larger craft."

"Of course I see that; that is the annoying part of the business. What do you propose, then?"

"I should say that the best plan would be, not to hail them until they get close on board, then for a man forward to give a sudden shout, as if he had been asleep on his watch and had only just heard them. Then they will come tumbling on board, thinking that the ship is already theirs. We might divide our men, and keep them half forward and half aft. The moment they all get on board, rush down upon them. Tell off six men, with orders to jump down into their boats as soon as they can, and to push them off, so as to cut off their retreat. The boats will be very useful to us, for we can tow the brig in with them. The people in there will think that she has been captured, and we shall get right in the middle of them before they find out that they have caught a tartar."

"By Jove, that is a first-rate idea!"

To their surprise, the men were at once called away from their guns and divided into two parties. Edgar and the boatswain commanded that gathered forward, Wilkinson and the gunner that aft. Nine men were told off for the capture of the boats, for, as Edgar pointed out, when the pirates found that they were caught in a trap, a good many of them might leap overboard and try to get into the boats, and it might need fully three men to keep them off.

"Now, lads, you understand," Wilkinson said, as the parties were about to take up their places, "you must crouch down and keep yourselves perfectly quiet until the word is given; it is important to get them all on board. When they see no one on deck they will think that the one or two men who might be on the watch have run below. You can use your pistols freely when the fighting once begins. When the fellows find that they are trapped, they are likely enough to fight hard, and I don't want to lose any men. Keep your cutlasses in readiness, but trust principally to your boarding-pikes."

The boats were but four or five hundred yards away when the crew of the Tigress took up their position. A minute later one of the men in the bow shouted suddenly:

"There are boats coming!—quick, on deck!—pirates! pirates!"

Then four or five men down in the forecastle also shouted, ran up on deck, and then, with cries of alarm, ran below again, and then, but quietly this time, joined their comrades, who were crouching as closely together as possible forward of the bitts. There was a roar of voices from the boats. They could hear the oars plied desperately; then closely following this came three bumps against the side of the brig, and, clambering up the chains, the pirates poured tumultuously upon the deck, breaking into a shout of triumph as they met with no resistance. There was a pause of astonishment as the guns were seen; then their leader shouted that these could be but dummies, intended to run out and frighten people in the daytime.

"Down below, men!" one shouted; "finish with them first; it will be time to talk afterwards."

One of the Turks, who spoke a little French, crouching by the side of Wilkinson, translated his words. Some of the pirates rushed towards the forecastle, others aft to the cabins, where they would find the officers. Then some figures crawled out from below the tarpaulins that were loosely thrown over the guns, looked over the rail, and then sprang down into the boats, which were entirely deserted. As they did so there was a shout from Wilkinson; it was answered by Edgar, and then five-and-twenty seamen sprang up from each end of the vessel, and with a tremendous cheer flung themselves upon the pirates. Taken completely by surprise, and somewhat outnumbered, many of these were cut down or run through by the pikes before anything like serious resistance could be offered; then, headed by their leaders, they fought with the desperation of cornered animals.

All of them carried pistols as well as yataghans. Some few of them ran to the side, and with yells of fury leaped overboard to recapture the boats. Pistols cracked on both sides, cutlass and yataghan clashed together; but the British shouts rose high over the yells of the pirates. In three minutes the fighting was virtually over, the greater portion of the pirates lay dead on the deck; a few had jumped overboard, and the rest, throwing down their arms, fell on their knees and cried for mercy.

"That will do, men—that will do!" Wilkinson shouted; "scoundrels as they are, we cannot kill them in cold blood. Get some lengths of rope, boatswain, and tie them hand and foot."

The men who had leapt into the water and swam towards the boats did not attempt to climb in when they saw three sailors in each, standing with cutlass and pistol ready to oppose them, and they swam back towards the brig. A rope was thrown to them, and they were permitted to climb up one by one, being bound and laid by their comrades as they gained the deck. None of the sailors had been killed, though several had received ugly gashes.

"Now, boatswain, put the starboard watch into the boats; lower the two ship's boats also—we will get as many oars to work as possible till daylight."

Each of the captured boats rowed six oars, and thirty men were soon at work towing the vessel towards the bay. The port watch then set to work to clear the deck. The dead were all thrown overboard; the others were unbound, made to strip off their jackets, then bound again and carried down to the hold, the hatchway being closed on them. They found that most of the survivors were Greeks, the Turks having to a man fallen fighting.

"These mixed crews are worst of all," one of the Turks said. "The Turkish pirates are bad enough, and so are the Greeks—there is little to choose between them; but it is only the worst desperadoes who will consort together. You did wrong to spare a man."

"We could not kill them when they threw down their arms," Wilkinson said. "We will hand them over to your authorities, either at Smyrna or at Rhodes. They will make short work of them, I fancy."

As soon as the first gleam of dawn appeared in the sky the boats were called alongside. Those of the Tigress were hoisted up, and the men in the others were given the jackets of the prisoners, some having turbans and some the Greek headgear. These garments had also been stripped from the dead before the bodies were thrown overboard, and were laid in a heap in readiness for those on deck to put on when they approached the bay. When it became daylight they were not more than a mile and a half from the islands. The men in the boats had been warned not to row too regularly; and those on board had already put on their disguises. As they passed between two of the islets exclamations of satisfaction burst from Wilkinson and Edgar, for six vessels were anchored behind the largest of these. The brig's head was turned towards them, and as they approached shouts of welcome and exultation could be heard from their crews.

The craft were of various sizes, two of them were not above thirty tons burden, and each carried two light guns, the others were from fifty to a hundred and fifty tons, and carried from six to twelve guns. The Tigress was within about four hundred yards of the line when the helm was put down, as if to take her in between two of the largest craft. Then Wilkinson, who, with Edgar, were both in the Turkish disguises, waved his hand for the men in the boats to come alongside. As they did so there was a shout of surprise from the crew of the nearest vessel, for there was no mistaking the sailors' white trousers for the baggy integuments of the Turks. At the same moment the port-holes opened, the guns were run out, and before the last man had gained the deck, the ten guns poured in their broadsides.

By Wilkinson's orders three on each side were trained on the craft nearest to them, the remaining two on each broadside being aimed at the vessels next to these. The guns had all been double-shotted, and at the same moment the broadsides were fired the ensign was run up to the peak. A wild hubbub of shouts of astonishment, fury, and alarm rose from the pirate ships, and were re-echoed by numbers of men belonging to their crews, clustered on the shore, to see the prize brought in. Some ran to their guns and began to load them, others jumped into their boats or sprang overboard and swam towards the shore. As fast as the guns on board the Tigress could be loaded the fire was kept up, the forward ones sweeping the deck of the craft nearest to them with grape, while the others sent round-shot into those farther away.

It was but for a short time that the pirates thought of fighting; their light guns were no match for the heavy metal of those on board the brig, and in a quarter of an hour after the first shot was fired the largest of their craft had been sunk, and the other five were entirely deserted. The boats were manned, the brig's head was first pulled round until her broadside bore on the shore, then the anchor was dropped, and the guns on the port side opened with grape upon the pirates on shore, and at five or six houses that were perched high on the rock. Leaving the boatswain in charge, Wilkinson and Edgar both took their places in the boats and rowed from ship to ship. All were found empty, and as they agreed that only two of the largest were worth taking away, the other three were burned.

When they were fairly on fire the boats returned to the brig. Not a pirate was to be seen on the island, though they were sure that although numbers of them had been killed, there must still be fully two hundred of them there, but they must either have hidden among rocks or made their way down to the seaward face. As several boatloads might have rowed away to other islets, it was decided to take a landing party of five-and-thirty men on shore, for as their operations would be covered by the guns of the brig, there was little probability of the pirates attempting to attack them. As soon as they landed, the sailors, led by the two midshipmen, climbed rapidly up the hill, and without a shot being fired approached the houses on the top. From these a heavy musketry fire suddenly broke out. The men would have rushed forward at once, but Wilkinson called out to them to throw themselves down behind shelter, and as they did so a shell flew overhead, struck the largest of the houses and exploded.

Shot followed shot rapidly, the fire of the pirates ceased, then Wilkinson gave the word, and the sailors leapt up and with a cheer rushed forward. Save for a few women the houses were entirely deserted, but some fifty men were seen running down the seaward face. A couple of volleys were poured into these, and then, placing a dozen of the men on guard, the midshipmen entered the houses. The shells had worked great damage. Over a score of men lay dead within them, and as many others wounded. The women had been in the cellars, and they were glad to find that none of them had been hurt. These cellars were very extensive, each house having one. Several of them were crammed with goods of all sorts, evidently the proceeds of prizes, and of such varied description that they judged that each house formed a storehouse to one vessel, as otherwise the more valuable goods would have been collected together, instead of sails, ship-gear, bales of valuable silks and embroideries from Constantinople, Broussa, Smyrna, Chios, Alexandria, and Syria being mixed promiscuously together.

Here too were a quantity of European manufactures, showing that it was not only native craft that had suffered from their depredations. There were numbers of barrels of Greek wine, puncheons of rum, cases of bottled wines of different kinds evidently taken from English ships, great quantities of Smyrna figs, and of currants, Egyptian dates, and sacks of flour.

"This will bring us in a nice lot of prize-money, Blagrove," Wilkinson said, after they had roughly examined the contents of the great subterranean storehouses. Presently a still larger find was made. There was, close to the houses, what appeared to be a well. One of the sailors let down a bucket, and hauling it up found, to his surprise, that it was salt water. The well was deep, but certainly not deep enough to reach down to the sea level, and he carried the bucket to Wilkinson and pointed out where he had got the water from.

"There is something curious about this," the latter said. "Lower me down in the bucket, lads." As he descended he saw that the well was an ancient one, and probably at one time had been carried very much lower than at present. In some places the masonry had fallen in. At one of these points there was an opening cut into the rock. He called to those above to hoist him up again, and procuring a lamp at one of the houses, he and Edgar descended together. Entering the passage they found that it widened into a great chamber some forty feet square and thirty high, which was literally crammed with goods.

"I should never have given the fellows credit for having taken the trouble to cut out such a place as this," Wilkinson said.

"I have no doubt that it is ancient work," Edgar remarked. "I should say that at some time, perhaps when the Genoese were masters here, a castle may have stood above, and this was cut either as a storehouse or as a place of confinement for prisoners, or one where the garrison might hide themselves, with provisions enough to last for a long time, in case the place was captured. The pirates may have discovered it in going down to see if the well could be cleared out, and saw that it would make a splendid place of concealment."

"But how about the salt water, Edgar?"

"I should say that they cemented the bottom or rammed it with clay to make it water-tight, and that as fresh water was scarce they brought up sea water, so that anyone who happened to look down would see that there was water in it. If, as was probable, it would be the Turks who captured the place, they would, when they found that it was salt, not trouble their heads further about the matter. Possibly even these pirates may know nothing of the existence of this store, which may have lain here since the last time the Turks broke up this nest of pirates, and who, you may be sure, left none of them alive to tell the tale. Well, this is a find."

A thorough search was now made of the island, but it was found that the whole of the pirates had made their escape in boats. These had rowed away from the seaward face of the island, so that they were unseen by those on board the brig. Before taking any step to carry away the goods, the other islets were all visited and found to be deserted. Five or six more magazines of spoil were discovered. These were emptied of their most valuable contents, and the houses all burned to the ground. This operation took two days, and it required six more to transfer the contents of the cellars and great store cavern to the brig. Boats had come off on the first day of their arrival from various villages in the bay, conveying one or more of the principal inhabitants, who assured Wilkinson that they had no connection whatever with the pirates, and that they were extremely glad that their nest had been destroyed.

Wilkinson had little doubt that, although they might not have been concerned in the deeds committed by these men, they must have been in constant communication with them, and have supplied them with fruit and fresh meat and vegetables. However, he told them that he should report their assurances to the Turkish authorities, who would, when they had a ship of war available, doubtless send down and inquire into the whole circumstances, an intimation which caused them considerable alarm, as they had no doubt that, if no worse befell them, they would be made to pay heavy fines.

"The only way that you have to show your earnestness in the matter," Wilkinson said, "is to organize yourselves. You have no doubt plenty of boats, and the first time that a pirate comes in here row out from all your villages, attack and burn it, and don't leave a man alive to tell the tale. In that way the pirates will very soon learn that they'd better choose some other spot for their rendezvous, and the authorities will be well content with your conduct."

The amount of spoil taken was so great that the Tigress, when she set sail again, was nearly a foot deeper in the water than when she entered the bay. The prisoners had been the subject of much discussion. It was agreed that they were probably no worse than their comrades who had escaped, and they did not like the thought of handing them over to be executed. They were, therefore, on the third day after the arrival of the brig, brought up on deck. Three dozen lashes were administered to each, then they were given one of the boats in which they had attacked the ship, and told to go.

CHAPTER XV.

CRUISING.

Before sailing, the yellow band was painted out, for the pirates who escaped would probably carry the news of what had happened over the whole archipelago. Ten men were put on board each of the prizes, and the Tigress sailed up through the islands and escorted them to Smyrna, where the pasha, after hearing an account of their capture, at once gave permission for them to be sold as prizes, and as the news of the retreat of the French had given a considerable impetus to trade, they fetched good prices. As soon as this was arranged, the Tigress sailed away again. For some months they cruised among the islands, putting into every little bay and inlet, boarding every craft found there, and searching her thoroughly to see if there was any property belonging to plundered vessels on board.

Once or twice she came upon two or three large craft together, and had some hard fighting before she captured or sank them; but, as a rule, the crews rowed ashore as soon as they saw the real nature of the new-comer. Some thirty craft were sent as prizes into Smyrna or Rhodes, and there sold, as many more were sunk or burned. They had, in no case, found spoil at all equal to that which had been captured at Astropalaia, but the total was nevertheless considerable. Once or twice they were attacked by boats when anchored in quiet bays, but as a vigilant watch was always kept they beat off their assailants with heavy loss. The rig of the brig was frequently altered. Sometimes she was turned into a schooner with yards on her foremast, sometimes into a fore-and-aft craft; and as the time went on and captures became fewer and fewer, it was evident that she had established a thorough scare throughout the archipelago, and that for the time the pirates had taken to peaceful avocations, and were indeed completely crippled by the loss of so large a number of their craft.

The Tigress had but one awkward incident during the voyage. The day was bright and clear. The two Turks had been, as was their custom, squatting together on the deck, smoking their pipes. Wilkinson and Edgar were pacing together up and down, when the latter said:

"Look at these two native craft; they have both let their lateen sails run down. I am sure I don't know why; there is not a cloud in the sky, except that little white one over there."

They were passing the Turks at the moment, and Edgar said to one of them:

"The two craft over there have just let their sails run down. What can that mean?"

The Turk leapt to his feet with a quickness very unusual to him.

"It is a white squall!" he shouted. "Down with every stitch of canvas, sir. Quick, for your lives! the squall will be upon us in five minutes."

It was Wilkinson's first experience of the terribly sudden squall of the Levant, but he had heard of them and knew their danger, and he shouted at the top of his voice:

"All hands take in sail! Quick, lads, for your lives!"

The boatswain's whistle rang loudly in the air, and he repeated the order at the top of his voice. The men on deck, who had been engaged on various small jobs since they came up from dinner, looked astounded at the order, but without hesitation ran up the ratlines at the top of their speed, while the watch below looked equally surprised as they glanced upwards and around at the deep blue of the sky.

"Quick, quick!" the Turk exclaimed. "Let go all sheets and halliards!"

Wilkinson shouted, "Do the sails up anyhow, men."

Although the sky was unchanged they could see the light cloud Edgar had noticed advancing towards them at an extraordinary rate of speed, while a white line on the sea kept pace with it.

"Hard up with the helm—hard up!" Wilkinson shouted. "Hold on a moment with those head sails; that will do, that will do. Let go the halliards; down staysails and jib."

The sailors, now conscious of the coming danger, worked desperately. The light upper sails were secured, the courses had been clewed up, but the topsails were still but half-lashed when Wilkinson shouted again:

"Down for your lives! Down on the weather side; slip down by the back-stays. You men to leeward, hold on—all hold on," he shouted a few seconds later.

There was a dull roaring sound, rising to a shriek as the squall struck the vessel.

Most of the men had gained the deck in safety, but many of those coming down by the ratlines were still some distance from the deck. It was well for them that they were on the weather side; had they been to leeward they would have been torn from their grasp, whereas they were now pinned to the rigging. Two sounds like the explosion of cannon were heard. The main and foretopsails both blew out of their gaskets, bellied for an instant, and then burst from the bolt-ropes and flew away, and were speedily lost to sight. So great was the pressure that the brig was driven bodily down until the water was almost level with the rail at the bow, and it looked for a moment as if she would go down by the head.

One of the jibs was run up, but only to be blown away before it was sheeted home. Another was tried, the sheet being kept very slack. This held, her head lifted, and in a minute the Tigress was flying along dead before the wind. The storm-jib was brought up, hooked on, and hoisted. This, being of very heavy canvas, could be trusted, and as soon as it was set the other was hauled down.

"Thank God, that is over!" Wilkinson said, "and we have not lost a hand."

By this time all the men had gained the deck.

"How long will this last?" Edgar shouted in one of the Turks' ears.

"Perhaps one hour; perhaps four."

"Let us have a look at the chart," Wilkinson said. "When we last looked there was a group of rocks ten miles ahead, and at the rate we are going the Tigress will be smashed into matchwood if she keeps on this course for long."

Edgar nodded.

"We must get trysails on the main and foremast," Wilkinson went on, "and manage to lay her course a couple of points to the west. I wish we had those upper spars down on deck, but it is of no use talking of that now."

Wilkinson went down to the sail-room with the boatswain and four seamen to bring up the two heaviest and strongest of the triangular sails.

"We must sheet them home before we hoist them," he said, as they returned on deck. "We should never be able to haul the sheets in when the sails once fill."

Twenty men went aft with them and commenced the task. The fore-trysail was bent to some of the mast-hoops, and the sheet fastened to a cavel on the port side.

"Port your helm a little, my man," Wilkinson said. "That will do, just enough to keep the wind on the starboard quarter. Keep her at that, keep her at that." Edgar had the sail ready to hoist. "Slacken the tack a little. Now, half a dozen of you tail on here, and get ready to haul it down as soon as the sail is up to its full height and the halliards secured. Now, lads, tail on to the halliards. Away with her."

The sailors ran forward with the rope, but as the sail rose the strain was so great that once or twice they were brought to a standstill. At last the boatswain shouted:

"That is enough. Come back a little, but keep a firm grip of it. That is right!" he shouted, as he twisted the slack of the rope over the cleet. "Now, lads, down with the tack; down with it! Belay!"

The main-trysail was hoisted as successfully. Small as were the sails, and slight the angle with the wind, the pressure brought the ship down nearly to her covering-board. Wilkinson and the boatswain took their places by the wheel.

"Keep her full, lads, but not a bit more. She will do at that. By Jove, Blagrove," he said, as Edgar came aft and glanced at the compass, "that was a narrow squeak! If you hadn't noticed those native craft lower their sails and called our attention to it, we should have turned turtle as sure as fate. We have got her snug now. If we were right as to our position at noon we shall clear those rocks nicely."

"I don't think we can have been far wrong, by the position of the islands. At the same time I will go up to the foretop," Edgar said; "I shall be able to make them out some distance away, for, if you remember, two of them are thirty or forty feet above the water."

"Mind how you go," Wilkinson said. "You had better take one of the men up with you; you can hold each other on then."

Edgar went forward and told one of the best of the hands to go aloft with him.

"All right, your honour!"

"It will be a tight job, but I daresay we can do it. Get a couple of lines seven or eight feet long; we will fasten them under our arms, and if a puff comes harder than usual we can twist the end round a shroud or ratline."

In a couple of minutes both were roped and ready to mount. It was hard work, and several times they had to use the rope to prevent their being torn from their hold. But at last they reached the top, and fastened themselves securely there. The scene was a singular one. Overhead was a cloudless sky, somewhat paler in tint than it had been before the squall burst. Below was a white mass of foam, which, from the height on which they stood, seemed almost pressed level by the force of the wind. On deck they had been drenched with the sheets of spray torn off the heads of the waves as soon as they began to lift themselves, but here they were above this, and there was nothing to prevent their looking round in all directions.

"There are the rocks, sir," the top-man said, after they had been some twenty minutes in their position, "over the lee bow, about two points off our course."

"I see them now," Edgar said. "I thought we should have made them out by the white foam round them, but it is white everywhere."

He shouted down to the deck, but it was some time before he could make his voice heard above the roar of the squall. He pointed aft when at last one looked up. The sailor ran aft to the helm, and called Wilkinson's attention to Edgar. The latter pointed in the direction of the rocks. Wilkinson waved his hand, and Edgar, then leaving the sailor on watch, made his way down to the deck.

"We shall go within half a mile of them," he said, when he joined his comrade.

"It is lucky that we looked at the chart as soon as we did," Wilkinson shouted back, "for even with this rag of sail I should not have liked to bring her nearer to the wind than we are now."

"I don't think it is blowing quite as hard as it was," Edgar said. "I certainly got down more easily than I went up."

"I was thinking so myself, Blagrove, though there is not much difference. I don't care, now that we are clear of those rocks, how long it keeps on. Directly we pass them we can keep her off the wind again, and there is nothing in our course then for over forty miles, and then it is only a small island with deep water all round. I have just been taking another look at the chart."

By another hour the strength of the wind had considerably abated, the fore-staysail was reefed and hoisted, and before sunset sail was on her again, and the hands were aloft preparing to get up fresh topsails.

At the end of six months, on their going into Rhodes they found that a small gun-boat had arrived with orders from Sir Sidney Smith for them to rejoin him.

"You have done exceedingly well," the latter said in his letter. "The pashas both of Smyrna and Rhodes have written to me expressing their admiration at the work that you have accomplished, and indeed your report of the number of pirate vessels taken or destroyed speaks for itself."

They were not sorry at the receipt of the order. During the past month they had only made two or three captures, and these were craft of small size, and they were well content to give up their independent life, and return to regular duty. A week later they made out the Tigre lying off the Damietta mouth of the Nile. The man-of-war signalled to them to anchor near her. As soon as they did so Wilkinson went on board.

"I am glad to see you back, Mr. Wilkinson," Sir Sidney said cordially. "You have fully justified my confidence in your energy and discretion. The pashas write to me saying that piracy seems to be completely suppressed, and that it is two months since either of them received a complaint of a vessel being chased or missing. Therefore, as I wanted you here, where we have not half enough ships for the work, I thought it as well to recall you. Your craft seems," he went on, as he surveyed the Tigress through his glass, "a good deal lower in the water than she was?"

"Yes, sir, she is down nearly two feet and a half. I reported to you that we gained a considerable amount of booty at Astropalaia, and of course we have added gradually to that, but never had anything like so good a haul. The hold up to the level of the main deck is full."

"Full of what, Mr. Wilkinson?"

"Miscellaneous cargo, sir—dried fruit, Manchester goods, and Eastern goods of all sorts. I have not taken an exact inventory of them, sir, for we were generally pressed for time, and I thought that the things were less likely to be damaged if I did not open the bales. I really do not know exactly what we have got, but there is certainly a good deal of silk and a quantity of embroidered things."

"That sounds well, anyhow," Sir Sidney said, smiling, "but I am afraid that it will not turn out so well for you personally as it ought to do. You see the craft herself was a prize of the Tigre, and her officers and crew are still borne on our books; therefore, although you were detached on altogether independent work, you still rank as a tender of the Tigre, and we all share with you, and indeed all your names have been sent in on the list of those entitled to share in the prizes that we have made here. As these have been generally laden partly with ammunition and partly with luxuries for the use of the army, they were for the most part valuable, and up to this time we calculate that a sum of fifty or sixty thousand pounds will be shared."

"We quite understood, sir, that we should share with the Tigre in all that we captured. It would have been too bad if, in addition to our luck in having an independent cruise on board the Tigress, we were to get an advantage over our comrades in the way of prize-money. We have, as I told you in my last report, received twelve thousand five hundred pounds, the result of the sale of the thirty-two craft we sent into Smyrna and Rhodes. It is in gold, and I thought that it would be better for you to send off a boat for it than for me to bring it myself now. What are we to do with the cargo, sir?"

"I must think that over, Mr. Wilkinson. You have not lost many hands, I hope, while you were away?"

"No, sir, we have not done any very hard fighting. We had two men shot in the attack of the pirates' hold at Astropalaia, and more than half the crew have been wounded more or less seriously, but fortunately all got over it."

"That is very satisfactory, Mr. Wilkinson. In giving me a full report of your work, give a list of the casualties in each case. Some of the people at the Admiralty seem to have an idea that the credit of any affair depends largely on the size of the butcher's bill, whereas, in point of fact, it should be exactly the other way, for not unfrequently heavy loss means that measures were badly taken by the officers in command, whereas a light one shows that the arrangements were all excellent, and the work carried out without a hitch. I shall be glad if you and Mr. Blagrove will dine with me. It is not very regular for you both to leave the ship together, but there are no signs whatever of change of wind, and one can reckon with some certainty here upon the weather for at any rate twenty-four hours in advance. If you should see any change before you come off, or any fall in the glass, Mr. Blagrove must stay on board."

Wilkinson now joined his comrades, who were gathered a short distance away waiting until he had finished his talk with Sir Sidney. "Come down below, Wilkinson, and give us the news. We heard that you had taken some prizes from the pirates; we want to hear all about it. Is Blagrove all right?"

They were soon gathered in the cockpit. "I have not much time to stay," Wilkinson said, "and, before I tell you my story, I want to hear your news, for beyond a few rumours current at Smyrna and Rhodes, we really know hardly anything of what has taken place since we left you at Acre."

"We have had rather a dull time," one of them said; "the only excitement was a fight between the Turks, aided by our boats, and the French. When we returned here, we found that instead of being fifteen thousand strong, as promised, the Turks on board their transports under Mustapha Pasha were but five thousand strong, which was raised to seven thousand by the two thousand we brought with us from Acre. On the 15th of July they landed, attacked the redoubt and castle of Aboukir with great pluck, and carried it by assault. A week later, we heard that Bonaparte was at Ramanieh, and had no doubt that the Turks would soon have him on them. Sir Sidney tried hard to get them to erect a strong line of works across the spit of ground on which the fort stands.

"Had they done so they could, with the assistance of our boats and their own gun-boats, have maintained their ground. The chief set to work at once to endeavour to get things into shape. The Chiflick regiment, that we had brought with us from Acre, was posted in the village at the end of the spit. The Turkish gun-boats were ordered to take their places directly the assault began on each side of the isthmus, so as to sweep it with their fire, but when that time came the beggars would not move, and did not arrive until it was all over.

"The Turks in the village were attacked several times, but made a magnificent defence. We helped them with our guns as much as we could, but could render them very little assistance. At last we saw that an attack was to be made in earnest; peremptory orders were sent to the Turkish gun-boats to go in and take up their stations, and our boats all went in to the west side of the spit. Nothing could be worse than the arrangements of the Turks. They had sent very little provisions and next to no water on shore, and their troops were nearly half-mad with thirst, and more than half-mutinous. However, they moved forward to the village, and they there repulsed three attacks made by the French columns. Probably no more attacks would have been made, if it had not been for their beastly custom of cutting off the heads of the fallen. Lots of them ran out of the village to do this, and this so infuriated the French that they came on again with such a rush that they entered the village with the flying Turks.

"The confusion was terrible, and the Turks were driven out. The spit of sand was covered with fugitives, hundreds threw themselves into the water and swam out to us. The castle, which, as you know, is a little bit of a place, was crowded almost to suffocation, and thousands could not get in. The fire of our boat guns kept the French back for a time, and when at last the Turkish gun-boats got into position, they had to fall back and make advances against the castle in a regular way. Unfortunately Mustapha Pasha had been taken in the village, and the garrison had no one to command them, still they resisted for two days, and then surrendered, being almost mad with thirst, for, although we spared as much water as we could, it was impossible for us to find sufficient for six or seven thousand extra men.

"Our marines saved the castle the first day, Colonel Douglas landing and taking command and restoring order, for the Turks were fighting fiercely among themselves when we got in, and during the night he managed to send off about a thousand of them to their ships. The whole business was brought about owing to Mustapha Pasha not acting in accordance with the advice that Sir Sidney had sent him to act against either Damietta or Rosetta, as our ships would station themselves in the Bay of Aboukir, and so threaten Alexandria that the French would not care to weaken their force there by sending any considerable number of men to act against the Turks. There, that is all that has happened. Now let us hear your yarn."

Wilkinson gave a brief account of the trip of the Tigress.

"You see," he said, "we have not done much fighting; indeed, with the exception of the first scrimmage at Astropalaia we can scarcely have said to have had anything worth calling fighting at all. We picked up a lot of small piratical craft, destroyed the majority of them, and sold the others at Smyrna or Rhodes. We got altogether twelve thousand five hundred for them, and as, of course, that will be shared by the Tigre, we have done pretty well our share in the way of earning prize-money for the ship. More, indeed, for the Tigre's share of the prizes that you have taken here won't come to more than fifteen or twenty thousand at the outside. Besides that, we have got some booty on board the Tigress, but what it is worth I have no idea, for we simply bundled the things down below without opening anything. Still, no doubt it will be enough to give you a few pounds a head."

As soon as he could get away Wilkinson returned to the brig. That evening, at the admiral's table, he gave a much more detailed account of their doings than he had done in his reports. When he had finished, Sir Sidney Smith said:

"That attack upon the pirates' hold was extremely well managed, Mr. Wilkinson, and does you and Mr. Blagrove great credit. You were very brief in your account of it, and only said that a considerable amount of booty, which had evidently been taken from plundered ships, was found concealed, and that the more valuable portion was shipped on the Tigress. I will come on board in the morning, and you can have a few of those bales brought up on to the main deck, and we can see what is in them."

A dozen bales were opened the next day; two contained European goods, the rest Eastern manufactures, silks and embroideries, Turkish, Syrian, and Persian carpets and rugs.

"That is enough!" Sir Sidney said. "Now, can you roughly give me an idea what proportion of European goods, dried fruits, and what we may call generally Eastern goods, you have?"

"There are about twenty tons of fruit, sir, thirty tons of European bales, and fifty or sixty tons of Eastern goods. Of these, I should say that two-thirds are carpets and rugs, we could pretty well tell these from the others by the size and feel of the bales; the rest are, judging from the few we opened, cloth for female garments—muslin, silks, scarves, sashes, and embroidered goods.

"It is extraordinary how so great a collection could have been made."

"There have been a great many vessels employed in the making of it, sir, and we may say that we have here the pick from at least a hundred, perhaps several times that number, of captured craft of several sizes. No doubt the pirates would, in all cases, put aside goods of this kind, for although of no use to themselves, and no doubt very difficult to sell, they would store them away under the idea that some time or other an opportunity would occur of turning them into money."

"Well, there is no doubt that you have an extremely rich prize. I should be afraid to give even an approximate calculation of what all this is worth. Some of our East-Indiamen bring very valuable cargoes home; but I should doubt whether any one ship ever carried as much costly merchandise as you have stored here. I will think over how they had best be got to England. The things will require careful handling, for if they were consigned to an ordinary prize agent they might be sold anyhow and for half their value."

On the following day the two midshipmen were signalled to come on board the Tigre.

"I have been thinking your matter over, gentlemen," Sir Sidney said when they had entered his cabin. "I have power to appoint a prize agent in England. As a matter of fact I have not done so. Coming out here, as I did, on a diplomatic mission, I had no thought of taking prizes. Those we have picked up here I simply sent to the agent at Gibraltar, which, by the way, is one of the very worst places one can send them to, as the vessels are sold at ridiculous prices. Ordinarily Malta would be the port we should have sent them to from here, but as it is still in the possession of the French, Gibraltar is the only port in the Mediterranean. Of course they might be sent to England; but there is the difficulty of detaching men and officers, and the risk of their being captured by French privateers, so that practically we are driven to Gibraltar.

"Of course the prize court will have the disposal of the cargo, but I will write to the head of the court, who is a personal friend of mine, asking him to intrust the sale of the Eastern goods to your father, Mr. Blagrove, saying that as he has been for years engaged in trade in the East, and must therefore be acquainted with the value of these things, is in the habit of sending Egyptian silks and so on to London for sale, he must know the channels in which they could be best disposed of. Of course the dried fruits and the English goods could be sold by the court, but it would never do to throw such a quantity of Eastern goods on the market at once. Among the prizes that have been taken is a smart brig of about the same size as the Tigress. She was caught making for Alexandria with powder and ball for the French army. Fortunately for us her captain was not a first-class navigator, and so missed his mark by about ten miles, and found himself, to his consternation and our satisfaction, close under our guns.

"I was going to send her to Gibraltar to be sold. I do not think that we can do better than buy her to carry home your cargo. I will call a court of four officers to put on her the price they consider it probable that she will fetch, which, I should say, if she were sold at Gibraltar, would not be over eight or nine hundred pounds. You, Mr. Blagrove, can buy her in the name of your father, and I will take your bill at three months upon him. Then there is the question of the crew. As to the officers, I can send you home, Mr. Wilkinson, with despatches. I have not had an opportunity of forwarding any for some weeks now; and to you, Mr. Blagrove, I can give three months' leave on urgent private business. As to men, we have small craft coming over here constantly from Sicily with fruit and fresh provisions, and I have no doubt that, with the offer of good wages, you would be able to pick up ten or twelve men without much difficulty.

"On board our ships there are, I should say, at least twenty men who have been invalided by boards of doctors as being unfit for service, either from the effects of wounds or climate, and this would be a good opportunity for sending them home. Many of them are still fit for easy work, and would, at any rate, counterbalance your Italian crew. Of course I should formally take a passage for them in Mr. Blagrove's ship. The prize mounts six guns, but I would advise you to keep well out of the way of French privateers. Of course the final result of the sale of the merchandise would have to be paid by your father, Mr. Blagrove, into the prize court for division among those entitled to it.

"With the ship, as your father's property, the case is different; that is his private venture. He will, of course, charge freight on the merchandise, and he will get two or three pounds a head for taking the invalids home. As he will certainly get double the price the brig would fetch at Gibraltar, that and the freight would a good deal more than clear all expenses, and he will of course have the usual prize-agent's commission on the sales he effects. What do you think of that plan?"

Both the midshipmen were highly pleased with the proposal, and thanked their commander very heartily for his kindness. A board of officers assembled on the following day and assessed the value of the French brig at £850, and Edgar formally bought her in his father's name for that sum, and drew a bill upon him for payment in three months.

He had several times heard from him since he had entered on board the Tigre, and in the first letter Mr. Blagrove gave a hearty approval of the course that he had adopted, and said that a year or two at sea would give him a thorough knowledge of ships and be a considerable advantage to him in their business. The receipt of Edgar's first letter, and of a heavy budget containing the account of his doings in Egypt from the day on which he was left behind to that on which he sailed, had been an immense relief to them all, for hitherto they had been in absolute ignorance of what had taken place. His father, however, thought that he had, even according to his own account, run a very needless risk in taking part in the rising at Cairo, although he saw that, having for the time become so thoroughly associated with the Arabs, it would have been difficult for him to avoid acting with them when there was danger in so doing.

CHAPTER XVI.

A VISIT HOME.

The new purchase, which was named the Suzanne, was towed alongside the Tigress, and the crew began at once to get up the cargo and transfer it to her hold. More method was observed in restowing the cargo than had before been possible. The dried fruit, as the heaviest of the goods, was placed in the middle of the brig; the European goods, whose brands and packing enabled them to be easily distinguished from the rest, were placed forward; and the Eastern bales packed aft. This was done under the direction of the petty officers.

During the four days that it took to complete the work, Edgar boarded several of the Italian craft, and succeeded in inducing ten active young sailors to join him, by the offer of a rate of pay several times higher than that they earned in their native craft, and of a free passage back on the first opportunity. Condor was appointed to the command of the Tigress, as two supernumerary lieutenants and four midshipmen had been sent out from home to the Tigre, and two midshipmen received acting orders as his lieutenants. There was much satisfaction among the junior officers of the Tigre when they heard from Wilkinson the nature of the spoil he had gathered, and all sorts of guesses were hazarded as to its value.

"I cannot help you there in the least," he said. "I know that Turkish and Eastern carpets fetch a big price at home; and of course silk, and gold and silver embroideries, are valuable; but, as I only know the contents of about a hundred bales, I have no more idea of what the total is likely to come to than you have."

"You did not get any money, Wilkinson, or jewels?"

"Neither one nor the other. I suppose that the money was divided when captured, and the jewels either given to the women or sold. They were things that might be disposed of anywhere. At any rate we found none of them, and the only cash is, as I told you, the twelve thousand five hundred pounds that the prizes fetched, out of which our share is not likely to be more than twenty or thirty pounds each. Still, that is not to be despised."

"It will come to more than that," one of the party said. "I have calculated it up, and though I have not the exact rules—"

"Well, if you haven't got the exact rules, Macleod, your calculations are not worth more than our guesses. It won't be much more than forty pounds anyhow, and I suppose a bit more than that for our share of the prizes captured here. Of course they were worth a good deal more, but then there are all the ships-of-war to share. If our prize turns out as well as I hope, it will come to a good bit more, as it is only to be divided among the Tigre's crew."

"You and Blagrove are going home in the prize, are you not?"

"Yes, I carry Sir Sidney's despatches; Blagrove gets three months' leave."

"Who is going to command the craft that you have bought for your father, Blagrove?"

"I have persuaded the captain of that store-ship that came in yesterday to let me have his second officer for two or three months. She is likely to be here some time; and if we have luck, and his mate gets a return passage soon after he arrives in England, he may be back again in six weeks. From another ship of the same sort I got a young fellow for mate. The ships are chartered by government, and will likely enough be here for months, as they will furnish stores not only to the ships on the coast, but to any that may come down here from the fleet blockading Toulon. In fact they will act as general shore-ships, until they have cleared out their cargo."

"Then he will be your captain?"

"He will be entered on the ship's books as captain," Edgar replied with a laugh; "but I fancy that Wilkinson and myself will not care to be idle on the voyage."

Three days after the cargo was transferred, twenty invalids were placed on board. Two or three had lost limbs, but the rest were men who had been pulled down by fever and could not shake it off so long as they were on the coast. On the following morning the anchor was got up and the Suzanne sailed for England. The nominal captain was a smart young sailor, who was glad indeed of the opportunity, for three or four months of enforced idleness on the Egyptian coast was not at all to his taste. The extra pay that he would receive was a consideration, but the fact that he was to be nominally—for Edgar had explained the situation to him—in command was the great inducement.

He had fortunately passed his examination and obtained his certificate as captain before sailing on the present voyage. Had it not been for this he could not have accepted Edgar's offer. The voyage was a rapid one. They stopped for two days at Gibraltar to take in water. They had some little trouble with the prize-agent there, for of course the ship's papers showed that she had been a prize, and she should have been sent there to be condemned and sold. Sir Sidney Smith, however, had written, saying that as the ships on the station were already short-handed, he could not spare a prize crew, and that he had therefore only the choice of burning the prize or of selling her there, and that a court of officers from the various ships-of-war had fixed her value at £850, and a purchaser having been found at that price, he had deemed it expedient to sell her, and now forwarded his bill for the amount, to be divided in the usual course by the prize officials at Gibraltar, as if they had sold her themselves. He stated that as she had been loaded with munitions of war for the French army, no question could arise as to the lawfulness of her capture.

The officials shook their heads over the irregularity, but as the defence of Acre had made a great sensation in England, and a vote of thanks had been passed by both Houses of Parliament, and by many of the corporate bodies in England, to Sir Sidney and those serving under him, they agreed to set the matter right; and thereupon, on the evidence given by Wilkinson and Edgar as to the circumstances of the capture, they formally condemned the ship and authorized the sale that had been effected. That point satisfactorily settled, they sailed at once, shaped their course, after issuing from the Straits, a hundred miles west of the usual ship track, and met with no suspicious sail until they entered the Chops of the Channel. Then one or two craft that looked like French privateers were observed; but the Suzanne was a fast vessel and kept her distance from them, holding her course up Channel, and one morning, soon after daybreak, dropped anchor among a number of other merchantmen on the Mother bank off Ryde.

Directly the anchor was down the gig was lowered, and Wilkinson, Edgar, and the captain were rowed into Portsmouth, the brig being left in charge of the mate. The former went to the dockyard and reported to the admiral that he had brought home despatches from Sir Sidney Smith for the Admiralty.

"In what ship have you brought them?"

"As there was no ship of war likely to be sailing, a passage was taken for me in a trader, a prize that had been sold, and was being brought home."

"Very well, sir. You will, of course, post with it at once for London. Have any particular events happened there?"

"No, sir. Beyond the fact that a few prizes have been picked up there is nothing doing. But I understood from Sir Sidney that there had been no opportunity of sending home reports for a month, and that therefore he thought it best to take the opportunity of forwarding his despatches by a private ship. She is also bringing home some goods captured from pirates in the Levant by the Tigre's tender, the Tigress, which I had the honour to command. There are also twenty men on board invalided home."

"Very well, Mr. Wilkinson. I have nothing further to say to you, and you will doubtless wish to start without delay. I will send off for the sick men at once."

The captain returned on board to take the brig round to London. The two friends reached town late that night, and Wilkinson went straight to the Admiralty with the despatches. He was at once taken to the room where one of the junior officials was on duty.

"Despatches from Sir Sidney Smith, sir," Wilkinson said.

"Anything important?"

"I believe not. There was an opportunity for sending them, and Sir Sidney availed himself of it."

"Then it will not be worth while to wake up the admiral at this time of night?"

"I should say certainly not. But I thought it my duty to bring them here at once."

The other nodded.

"Where do you put up, Mr. Wilkinson?"

"At the Golden Cross."

"Very well. If you are wanted you can be sent for in the morning. You had best call here about eleven, so that you can answer any questions that the admirals may ask."

In the morning the midshipman went across. Half an hour later his name was called out, and he was at once shown into a room in which two of the naval lords were sitting.

"You are the bearer of the despatches from Sir Sidney Smith, Mr. Wilkinson?"

"Yes, sir."

"He has sent us the report you gave him of your cruise in the brig Tigress among the Greek and Turkish islands. There can be no doubt that you did your work exceedingly well, as is shown by the long list of prizes captured or destroyed. He mentions that he has received also reports from the Pasha of Smyrna and the Governor of Rhodes, speaking in high terms of the services that you have rendered, and saying that for the time piracy appears to have entirely ceased and the seas to be open to peaceful traders. What time have you to serve?"

"I have another six months, sir."

"Well, I think, if you feel prepared, it would be as well for you to take advantage of your being at home to pass, and we will take care that you shall get your promotion as soon as you have served your full time. You would like a couple of months' leave, no doubt, before you return. Would you rather wait before going in to be examined, or would you prefer going in at once?"

"I would rather go in at once, sir. I should enjoy my holiday much better if it was over."

"I do not think it will take very long," the admiral said with a smile. "After having been in command of a ten-gun brig for six months you should be able to satisfy the requirements of the examiners without difficulty. You will be good enough to wait in the ante-room."

The delay was not long. In ten minutes the official messenger requested him to follow him, and took him to a room where three naval captains were sitting. The one in the centre looked up from the papers that he was examining.

"Good-morning, Mr. Wilkinson! I see by these papers that you have for six months been in command of the ten-gun brig Tigress, cruising for pirates among the Turkish and Greek islands."

"Yes, sir."

"I suppose during that time you met once or twice with bad weather?"

"We had one tremendous squall, sir."

"It came suddenly upon you?"

"Yes, sir. Our first intimation of it was that we saw two native craft suddenly lower their sails."

"Let us know exactly the measures that you took and the orders you gave."

Wilkinson described what had passed from the time that the first order was given until the violence of the squall abated.

"That will do as far as seamanship is concerned," the officer said.

Another now asked him a few questions as to navigation, and these being answered correctly, the president, after a word with the others, said:

"That will do, Mr. Wilkinson. You have answered creditably, and, indeed, the mere fact that Sir Sidney Smith should have considered you fit to command the Tigress in so difficult and dangerous a work as cruising among those islands is in itself a better guarantee of your fitness for promotion than the most rigid examination could be."

A few further questions were asked, and then Wilkinson was congratulated upon having passed successfully. He then went to the prize court, saw the President, and presented Sir Sidney Smith's note to him. He read it through, and then glanced at a copy of the bill of lading which had been taken when the cargo was transferred.

"You do not know the contents of all those bales and casks, Mr. Wilkinson?"

"No, sir. The greater portion of them have never been opened. Some, of course, one could recognize from the nature of the packing, and I put them down as nearly as I could guess—Manchester goods, woollen, hardware, and so on; but, as we wanted to be off, and it was better that the things should remain in their original packing, we did not trouble to open them, and they were received as cargo consigned to you."

"The Eastern goods you know nothing about, I suppose?"

"Nothing whatever."

"Well, when the brig arrives in the river the captain will, of course, call here, and I will give him instructions where to land them."

"I understand," he went on, looking again at the letter, "that Mr. Blagrove, to whom Sir Sidney asks me to intrust the sale of these goods, is an expert in this special line?"

"Yes, sir; he has been for many years established as a merchant in Alexandria, and Sir Sidney thought that he would not only be able to estimate accurately the value of the goods, but would know exactly where to place them, and would, by bringing them gradually forward, get far larger sums for them than if they were thrown all at once upon the market."

"I see the vessel is his property, Mr. Wilkinson?"

"It is so, sir, his son purchased it in his name. He is a fellow-midshipman of mine in the Tigre, and was with me in the craft with which we captured all these goods and the vessels that have been sold for twelve thousand five hundred. This I have brought up with me in gold, and will pay into the hands of anybody you may appoint, to be added to the proceeds of the sales, for division by the court."

"Have you any idea of the value of these Eastern goods?"

"Not in the slightest, sir; only a few of the bales were opened in the presence of Sir Sidney Smith. He himself said that it would be better not to open more, as there were no facilities for repacking."

"I think that it was a very good idea of Sir Sidney's to suggest that it would be for the advantage of all concerned to vary the usual course, and to place these goods in the hands of an expert instead of selling them by auction. I should like to see Mr. Blagrove. I suppose you know his address. Is he in town?"

"He is living in Dulwich, sir."

"Well, will you let him know that if he calls upon me to-morrow morning I will give him full authority to act in the matter, and then we can settle whether to stow that portion of the cargo in our warehouses or whether to make other arrangements. I will myself write to Sir Sidney Smith to thank him for his suggestion with respect to the sale of these goods, and to say that I have so arranged it. The question of freight is, of course, a matter altogether separate, and I shall give Mr. Blagrove a cheque for the amount arranged between his representative and Sir Sidney Smith at the rate of three pounds per ton when he brings me the receipt of the officer in charge of the warehouse of his having received the stores in good order from the ship."

Edgar had, on reaching London, stopped at the Golden Cross for the night, and the first thing in the morning taken a hackney-coach and driven at once to Dulwich, where his father had taken a house close to that of his brother. It was now the first week in December. Edgar drove up to the entrance to the garden in which the house stood, paid the coachman, and then rang the bell. The servant opened it, and looked somewhat surprised at seeing a young naval officer standing there.

"Are Mr. and Mrs. Blagrove in?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, they are both in."

"All right!" he said; "show me to the room where they are. You need not announce me; I am their son."

The girl at once led the way into the house, and Edgar walked into the room, where the party were seated at breakfast. Mr. Blagrove was sitting with his back to the door, and did not see him come in. His mother and sisters looked up in surprise as he entered unannounced. It was two years since they had seen him, and they scarcely recognized in the tall young officer the lad whom they had last seen at Alexandria on their departure for England. Mr. Blagrove, on seeing their eyes fixed on the door, turned round, and leapt to his feet.

"My dear Edgar," he exclaimed as he warmly embraced him, "where have you sprung from? Your last letter was from Smyrna three months ago. Mother," he went on, turning round, "let me introduce your boy to you."

For some minutes there was little coherent conversation.

"Now, sit down, Edgar," Mr. Blagrove said at last, "and let us hear what unexpected chance has brought you home. I suppose, as you are in uniform, that you have not left the service."

"Not at all, sir; I am home on three months' leave, having come home in the Suzanne, a brig belonging to yourself."

"Belonging to me!" Mr. Blagrove said in astonishment. "What on earth do you mean?"

"I bought her in your name, father, and you will have a bill presented in the course of a couple of months or so for eight hundred and fifty pounds. At any rate you will not be a loser by her. There will be from six to seven hundred pounds, I cannot say how much exactly, for the cargo was not weighed, but it is somewhat over two hundred tons at three pounds a ton, and there is, besides, a hundred pounds for the passage-money of twenty invalid sailors, so you see you get the ship for practically about a hundred pounds, to which there will have to be added the payment of a captain, mate, and ten Italian sailors. She was valued by a court of naval officers at eight hundred and fifty pounds, that being the price they considered that she might fetch if sold there. I should say that she is worth quite double that. She is about three hundred tons, and carried six guns, so at any rate you are likely to make a thousand by the transaction.

"Then I have to inform you that, at Sir Sidney Smith's request, which I have no doubt will be complied with, you will be appointed, by the president of the prize court, agent for the sale of what Eastern goods there are on board her. The cargo is made up of European goods, dried fruits, and Eastern goods. They are what we captured from the pirates, and Sir Sidney Smith suggested that it would be as well to intrust to one who knew the value of the Eastern goods the work of selling them privately, instead of putting them up to auction, and he requested that the agency should be given to you. Wilkinson, who has come home with me, is going to see the president of the prize court this morning, and he is to come up here afterwards. Of course Sir Sidney did it chiefly to oblige me, but he thought that the goods would really fetch more if sold in that way. He said, of course, that you would get a commission on the sale, and as you said in the last letter that I received that you were getting very sick of having nothing to do, I thought you might like the job."

"Certainly I should like it, Edgar, and that purchase of the ship seems a very satisfactory one, though, of course, the profit will be yours and not mine, as I had nothing to do with it."

"Oh, yes, it is your business, father; she is bought with your money, and I am glad that I have been able to do something for the firm. I shall soon be getting my prize money, which will keep me in cash for a very long time."

"We won't argue about that now, Edgar. At any rate I shall be glad to see to the sale of these Eastern goods, though, of course, it will be but a small thing."

"I don't know, father. I think that it will be rather a large thing. At any rate there is something between eighty and a hundred tons of them."

"Between eighty and a hundred tons!" his father replied. "You mean with the dried fruits, of course."

"Not at all, father! The fruits will be sold in the ordinary way in the prize court."

"Then, what can these things be?"

"I should say the great proportion of them are carpets—Turkish, Persian, and Syrian."

"A hundred tons of such carpets as those, Edgar, would be worth a very large sum, indeed; surely you must be mistaken?"

"It's the accumulation of years of piracy, father; perhaps from hundreds of ships captured by those scoundrels. But, of course, they are not all carpets. There are silks, muslins, embroidered robes, Egyptian scarves and manufactures, and other sorts of things. We have not opened above a dozen bales out of some twelve hundred, and have, therefore, no idea of the relative value of the others. We were a tender of the Tigre's, our craft being a prize taken by her, and all of us, officers and men, being borne on her books, the whole ship divides. Still, if the things are worth as much as we think, it will bring us in a handsome sum. And there is, besides, twelve thousand five hundred in cash, the proceeds of the sale of the vessels we captured; and we also share with the other ships under Sir Sidney Smith's command in the value of the vessels and cargoes they have captured as they tried to reach an Egyptian port. They say they were worth something like forty thousand, of which the Tigre's share will be about half."

"Well, Edgar, if there are a hundred tons of such goods as you describe, your cargo must be a valuable one indeed. Of course I can tell nothing about it until I see them opened. At any rate it will give me occupation, and I should say a good paying occupation, for some time."

"I suppose you got that letter, father, that I sent from Constantinople, from Mr. Muller?"

"Yes, and a very satisfactory one it was. It reconciled me to some extent to staying here. It was not pleasant to think that one was living upon one's capital, but I found from his statement that my share of the business he was doing would fully cover my expenses here. And now, let us hear something more about your doings. Your letter from Constantinople told us about your adventures in Egypt; then we had one written the day after the French had retreated from before Acre, and the one that we received from Smyrna two months since; but that was a short one, and beyond saying that you had been very lucky in capturing and destroying a number of pirates, and that you were enjoying your cruise very much, you did not give us any detail. You may as well tell us that part first."

Early in the afternoon Wilkinson arrived. As Edgar had spoken warmly of his kindness to him when he had first joined the Tigre, and of the friendship that had sprung up between them, he was very cordially received by Mr. and Mrs. Blagrove. The former was well pleased when he heard the details of the interview with the president of the prize court, and said that he would go up and see him in the morning.

"I will hire a warehouse for a month or two," he said. "It will be much more satisfactory than working in a place where a lot of other business is being transacted. The bales will all have to be opened and examined, the goods classed and assorted, and I shall have to bring people down there to examine them. The expense will be nothing in comparison to the advantage of having a quiet place to one's self."

On the following morning Mr. Blagrove went up and had a very satisfactory talk with the president of the prize court. The Suzanne arrived four days later, having made a fast run from Portsmouth. By that time Mr. Blagrove had engaged a warehouse, where, in a short time, the whole of the goods of which he was to dispose were safely stored. Wilkinson went down on the day after his arrival to his people in Devonshire, and Edgar established himself as assistant to his father. As bale after bale was opened, the latter was astonished at the beauty and value of some of the contents. A few only of the bales contained common country cloths, and it was evident that such goods of this sort as had fallen into the hands of the pirates had been sold at once, as there was a ready market for them at the towns and villages of the islands and the mainland. Many of the carpets were of great size. Some of the very large ones Mr. Blagrove valued at fully £500, and there were scores worth from £50 to £100. Some of the silks and embroideries he pronounced to be almost priceless.

"They must," he said, "have been specially woven and worked for the ladies of the Sultan's harem."

When, after a month's stay, Edgar prepared to rejoin with his friend Wilkinson, not more than one-third of the contents of the warehouse had been sold, but these had fetched over £40,000, and his father had no doubt that he should obtain a proportionate sum for the remainder. The Italian sailors who had aided to bring the Suzanne home had been sent off a week after her arrival by a vessel bound for Naples, and the brig herself had, as soon as the cargo was all cleared out, fetched £1800 by auction, being almost a new vessel.

"I have no doubt," Mr. Blagrove said, "that ere long a British army will be sent out, and the French compelled to leave Egypt. If I thought that the war was likely to go on for some time as at present, I should say that you had better leave the service. As it is, you would not be doing much good if you stayed here, and so may as well hold on."

It was the first day of March, 1800, when the vessel with supplies for the troops, in which Wilkinson and Edgar had taken their passage, joined the fleet off Alexandria, and until the beginning of December they took part in the somewhat tedious work of blockading the Egyptian coast. In spite of their efforts the fleet were not always successful, for from time to time one or other of the ships was forced to sail to Cyprus to obtain fresh supplies, although quite a fleet of small vessels was employed in bringing water, fresh meat, and vegetables for the use of the fleet, as the health of the seamen would have suffered much from living for so long a period upon salt meat.

In November news was received that the army under Sir Ralph Abercrombie, which had for so long been engaged in watching Cadiz, was to sail upon an expedition for the reconquest of Egypt. It was stated that the expedition would, in the first place, sail for Syria, there to join the army that the Sultan assured the English government was in readiness to advance. Sir Sidney Smith was ordered to sail at once for that coast, to ascertain the real state of things, and to decide upon the spot where the fleet had best assemble, for, from its long absence from England, there were many repairs needed, and it was desirable that the situation should be such that the ships could be careened, and a portion at least of the weeds that had accumulated be scraped off.

His absence was in one respect unfortunate, for some of the other blockading ships were, after a very heavy gale, obliged to go to Cyprus to repair damages; and two French men-of-war heavily laden with troops and ammunition managed to run safely in to Alexandria, thereby increasing the strength of the French army by four thousand seasoned soldiers, and by an ample supply of ammunition. It was a great disappointment to the crews when, on their return to their stations off the coast, they found that the French had taken advantage of their absence, and that the result of their eighteen months of incessant vigil had been wasted.

Wilkinson had by this time served his full time, and Condor having been appointed to the Theseus, Sir Sidney Smith again gave the command of the Tigress to him, with the rank of acting lieutenant, which would, he was sure, be confirmed.

"I suppose you would like to have Mr. Blagrove with you?"

"Certainly, sir. There is no one I would rather have."

"It is a pity that he has not served his time yet," Sir Sidney said. "He is a most active young officer, and his knowledge of so many languages is of immense advantage. I would gladly give him an independent command, but as there are so many midshipmen senior to him, I could not do so. You know the coast of Anatolia probably better than anyone else here. Which harbour would you recommend as the most suitable for the entry of a large fleet? It must be well sheltered, and the shore should offer facilities for heeling the vessels over as far as possible in order to clean them. I know that at Rhodes there is not enough water for first-class men-of-war."

"By far the best place I know, sir, is the Bay of Marmorice. It is on the mainland almost opposite Rhodes, and within a day's easy sail. We went into it quite by accident, for the entrance might be passed without notice, but we had been chasing a suspicious craft, and saw her disappear, and, following her, found ourselves in a great landlocked harbour, big enough to hold a hundred ships-of-war, and absolutely sheltered. It is by far the finest harbour that I have ever seen."

"I am sailing for Rhodes in the first place. Lord Keith, who commands the fleet, has written to request me to meet him there; and if your report is correct, it will save me the trouble of examining the whole line of coast between Rhodes and Acre."

Edgar was glad to be again on board the Tigress. The account of the sale of the goods she had captured had now been received; the total amounted to £133,000, of which £110,000 had been paid in to the prize court by Mr. Blagrove, the other £23,000 had been the proceeds of the fruits and other goods. There were in addition the sums received for vessels sold. The astonishment of the officers of the Tigre was great indeed when they heard the result, for very little had been said about the value of the cargo, and the sum realized was at least three times as great as the most sanguine had hoped.

"It was an excellent plan getting your father to undertake the business," Sir Sidney Smith said to Edgar, when the latter informed him that he had received a communication from his father saying how much the goods he had sold had realized. "I don't suppose they would have fetched a third of that amount had they been sold in the ordinary way by auction by the prize court. I am sure that we must all feel greatly obliged to him."

"And he must feel greatly obliged to you, Sir Sidney; for, as he told me, his commission had been fixed at three per cent, so he has, after paying his expenses, done a fine stroke of business for himself."

"He has managed extremely well, Mr. Blagrove, and it has been a fortunate affair for us all."

CHAPTER XVII.

ABERCROMBIE'S EXPEDITION.

On arriving at Rhodes Sir Sidney Smith left the Tigre, and in the Tigress sailed across to the Bay of Marmorice, preferring to explore it, in the first place, in a craft drawing but little water. He was delighted with the harbour, and after a day spent in sounding in various parts of it, found that there was ample depth of water for the larger ships, and that there were spots where these could lie alongside, run the upper-deck guns directly ashore, and careen the ships over to a point that would enable them to be freed of a considerable proportion of their weeds and barnacles. Returning to Rhodes, he then started in the Tigre for Syria. He took Edgar with him as interpreter, replacing him temporarily by another midshipman, and leaving Wilkinson with a report from himself to Lord Keith strongly recommending Marmorice as being suitable in all respects for a rendezvous for the fleet and transports.

On the 28th of December the first division of the fleet arrived, and was at once ordered to proceed to Marmorice, the Tigress sailing ahead to show the way. The second division arrived four days later. Tents were at once erected ashore. The sick were landed and encamped; whole regiments were also put under canvas, while the ships which carried them were careened and cleaned. Sir Sidney Smith had already returned with the news that there was practically nothing that could be called an army in Syria, and his report was so discouraging that General Abercrombie and Lord Keith resolved that it would be far better to land the army in Egypt than to disembark at Jaffa and take the long and fatiguing march across the desert, merely in order to gain the aid of a few thousand useless Turkish troops.

Great disappointment was occasioned by the remounts for the cavalry that had been purchased at Constantinople, for when these arrived they were such wretched animals that they were for the most part found to be absolutely useless, and the greater portion were either shot or sold for a dollar each. On the 8th of February one of the most terrible hail-storms that ever was experienced, took place, and lasted for forty-eight hours. The thunder rolled without intermission; the hailstones were as big as large walnuts, and lay two feet deep in the camp. The scene of confusion there was terrible; horses broke loose and rushed wildly about seeking shelter from the hail. The men dared not venture out, so terrible was the force with which the lumps of ice came down. Ships drove at their anchors, and many lost their upper spars, and the Swiftsure was struck by lightning.

The weather continued violent for some time, and it was not until the 23rd of February that the ships weighed anchor, and, numbering a hundred and seventy-five, set sail, and made their way out of the harbour. The expedition on which the troops were about to embark was a most adventurous one. They had by this time learned that the French had received very considerable reinforcements, and that the force was a much larger one than had been reported. The Turkish army with which they were to operate was non-existent, and the only gleam of satisfaction was that Bonaparte himself had managed to get through the blockading force in a small craft, and had arrived in France, and that, therefore, the French army would not have the benefit of his leading, or be animated by his presence among them.

Edgar found himself brought unexpectedly into notice. The fleet was entirely unprovided with reliable maps of Egypt, and none of the officers had any previous knowledge of it beyond the port of Alexandria. Sir Sidney Smith was able to give every information regarding the coast, but had never set foot on shore.

"It is most unfortunate," General Abercrombie said, when he, Lord Keith, and Sir Sidney Smith were discussing the matter. "Here we are about to land in a country of which we know absolutely nothing. If we had, as originally intended, landed at Jaffa and marched through El A'rich with the Turks, we should have had the benefit of their knowledge and that of the Arabs of the country. As it is, we are totally ignorant of its features, while the enemy are thoroughly acquainted with them. It is like a blind man fighting in the dark against one who can see perfectly."

"By the way," Sir Sidney exclaimed suddenly, "I have a young officer who knows the country well. He has been a resident at Alexandria for years, and, riding about, knows every foot of the country within many miles of it. He has been up to Cairo, was with the Arabs who harassed the French march, was present at the battle of the Pyramids, and at the fighting in Cairo, and knows the position of all the French forts round that city. He was on his way to England when I overhauled the craft he was in, on my way out, and as he speaks Arabic perfectly, to say nothing of French and Italian, I offered him a berth as midshipman and to act as my interpreter. In the latter capacity he was invaluable both in Constantinople and at the siege of Jaffa. He is, moreover, a most gallant young officer, and was second in command of the Tigress when she did such good service in eradicating piracy among the islands, capturing and destroying over a hundred piratical craft."

"That is good news indeed!" the general said. "Will you send for him now? His knowledge would be invaluable to me."

A boat was sent off at once to the Tigre with an order for Edgar to come on board the flagship immediately. Much surprised, but supposing that he was wanted to act as interpreter between Sir Sidney and some Turkish official who had come on board, he at once took his place in the gig and was rowed to the flagship. As soon as he reached the deck an officer told him that he was wanted in the admiral's cabin. There he was again surprised at seeing not only the admiral, but General Abercrombie and Sir Sidney Smith.

"This is Mr. Blagrove, Lord Keith," Sir Sidney said. "I can speak most highly of him, as a most gallant and able young officer, and as a master of four or five languages. In the capacity of interpreter he has rendered signal services."

"Take a seat, sir," the admiral said. "How long has he served, Sir Sidney?"

"About two years and two months, sir, and therefore I have been unable to recognize the services that he has rendered me in his double capacity, beyond mentioning them in my reports."

"I hear, Mr. Blagrove," Lord Keith went on, "that you are intimately acquainted with the country round Alexandria, have visited Cairo, and know the city and its defences. How did you go to Cairo?"

"I rode, sir, in company with a party of Arabs with whom I was living after the sudden and unexpected departure of my father when the French fleet first appeared in sight. I may say I went up and down twice, for we went back to fetch the women of the tribe."

"Sir Ralph Abercrombie will be glad to learn from you all the information that you can give him respecting the country round Alexandria, and also what you can tell him of the route between that place and Cairo. As we were in the Mediterranean when we received orders to undertake the invasion of Egypt, we have no maps of the country, and practically know nothing whatever about it. However, of course, in the first place the most important part of the affair is to learn the positions round Alexandria."

"I shall be very glad to answer any questions, sir."

The general then began to examine him. "Can you draw, sir?"

"I have no knowledge of military drawing," Edgar replied, "but I could point out the position of the villages."

The general pushed a large sheet of paper towards him.

"The position of the villages will, of course, be useful," he said, "as these are points that would be naturally defended; but what is of most importance is the position of the sand-hills and other eminences, the points at which artillery would command the surrounding country, prepare the way for a force advancing to attack the French, or to check columns advancing against us, the line which the enemy would be most likely to occupy, those by which we might best attack him in front or turn his position."

Edgar looked at the paper in doubt.

"I am afraid, sir, that is beyond me altogether; but if you will tell me where the landing would probably be effected, I could go on from that spot and indicate the various risings and falls of the ground."

"Of course you know the Castle of Aboukir?"

"Certainly, sir. I was on the sand-hills for two days, within half a mile of it, watching the approach of Lord Nelson's fleet and the battle of Aboukir."

"Good!" the general said; "we shall probably land near there."

"The sand-hills rise sharply from the water's edge, and a short distance behind there are several points on which the French would probably place batteries to oppose the landing."

He sketched the line of coast, drew a few lines indicating the trend of the sand-hills, and marked the special eminences. Then step by step he showed the line where the French would probably post themselves, were a successful landing effected, between the heights of Ramleh and the sea, described the country, and, as far as he could, the lay of the land.

"How about water?" the general asked after he had questioned Edgar for more than half an hour.

"There are wells at several points," he said, "but for the most part they are too near the French position for them to be useful to you until you have driven them into the town. There is, however, a well here," and he marked a spot about a mile from the landing-place. "I cannot tell you its exact position. There is a peasant's hut there. He was speaking to us while we were watching the battle, and he told us that he so hated the French that he had filled up his well so that they should not fetch water from it for the garrison of the castle. I have no doubt that I could find the hut, and the man will, I am sure, show you where the well has been, and it will probably take but little trouble to clear it out. The Arabs, however, told me that wherever you find clumps of trees you will be sure to find water at no great depth."

"That is very valuable information," the general said. "It is bad enough to have to depend upon the fleet for provisions; but the difficulties of transporting water sufficient for some 12,000 men, with the cavalry and artillery horses, would be enormous.

"Thank you, Mr. Blagrove. I must have some more conversation with you."

Edgar bowed and retired.

"You must let me have that young fellow," the general said to Sir Sidney Smith. "He is evidently thoroughly acquainted with the country. As he knows nothing of military drawing, one cannot get the full advantage of his information here; but if I had him on shore with me his knowledge would be invaluable, for he could then point out to me the nature of the country beyond the points we can see."

"I should be very happy to lend him to you, Sir Ralph, and I am sure he will be glad to go, for really a midshipman's pay is absurd as a consideration for the services that he has rendered as interpreter. Fortunately his father was a merchant at Alexandria, and money is of no great importance to him, and he really entered the navy only for the pleasure of seeing service, and to pass the time until the departure of the French would enable his father to return to his business. Of course if he had served his time and passed I should most strongly recommend him for promotion to lieutenant at once. As it is, I am powerless."

"There are exceptions to every rule," Lord Keith said, "and as commander-in-chief in the Mediterranean, I think that I might overstep the line. Could he pass?"

"I have no doubt whatever that he could do so," Sir Sidney said. "Certainly he could in practical knowledge of seamanship, after being second in command of a ten-gun brig for six months among the islands, the commander being a midshipman only a few months older than himself. Owing to the loss of so many officers at Acre, I was unable to spare one of higher rank, and the complaints of piracy were so urgent and frequent, that I felt it absolutely necessary to send a ship up to try and put a stop to it. I had some misgivings at the time, but my choice was more than justified, as was shown by the number of craft captured; and when I say that the plunder taken sold for over one hundred and thirty thousand pounds, it speaks well for both their skill and activity, for navigation among those islands is a very ticklish business."

"I will call a board to-morrow to examine him," the admiral said, "and will at once, if he passes, appoint him as acting lieutenant, and send home a report, if you will get one drawn up, Sir Sidney, as to his exceptional services, and saying that I was partly influenced in taking so exceptional a step by the consideration that Sir Ralph Abercrombie had asked that he should be appointed to his staff, both from his knowledge of the country and of the Arab and Turkish languages."

The next morning the flagship signalled to the Tigre. The flag midshipman, after spelling out the message and reporting to Sir Sidney, ran forward to Edgar.

"You are to go on board the admiral's ship at once; the signal has been made for you."

On reaching the ship he was conducted down to the wardroom, where, to his surprise, three naval captains were seated at a table.

"Please to sit down, Mr. Blagrove," the one in the centre said, "we want to ask you a few questions."

Supposing that he was about to be asked more about Egypt, or perhaps the depth of water in the port of Alexandria, Edgar prepared to answer, and the first questions justified his anticipations, for he was questioned minutely as to the point for which a ship would head to round the dangerous reef extending from the outer point of the western port. Then he was asked as to the depth of water between this and the shore, the guns that could be brought to bear upon it, and the depths at various points in the harbour itself. All these he was able to answer at once. Then he was asked various questions as to harbours in the Turkish and Greek islands, and as he had constantly consulted the charts during his cruise in the Tigress, he was able to reply readily on all these points. The next question surprised him.

"Now, Mr. Blagrove, if caught by a sudden and heavy squall, when under full sail, among these islands, and having but three or four minutes to strip the ship, what orders would you give?"

As he had in his mind every order that Wilkinson had given on the approach of the squall, he was able to repeat them with accuracy.

"You are cutting them rather short, Mr. Blagrove."

"Yes, sir; but the time is very short. When cruising there we were struck by a squall less than three minutes after we had notice of its coming, and everything had to be done at once and with the greatest possible speed. As it was, the men were not out of the rigging when the squall struck us."

"Supposing you had had ten minutes' notice, how would you have proceeded?"

Edgar gave the orders as laid down in the text-book, for after the narrow escape they had had, he and Wilkinson had especially learnt these by heart.

"Very good indeed, Mr. Blagrove."

Two or three questions in navigation were then asked, and these were also answered well, as they had found it absolutely necessary to be able to find their exact position when cruising in such dangerous waters.

"Thank you, sir," the officer said when the last question had been answered; "we shall have much pleasure in certifying that you have passed your examination in a most creditable manner."

Edgar looked a little bewildered.

"Sir Sidney Smith perhaps did not inform you, Mr. Blagrove, that, by Lord Keith's orders, you were to be examined to-day, and that we have sat as a board for that purpose?"

"No, indeed, sir, I had no thought of such a thing. I shall not have served my time for nearly three years."

"I suppose Lord Keith had some special reason for having you examined now. It was a good opportunity, you see. You will please remain on deck for a few minutes while we draw out the certificate."

He was soon called in again and presented with a certificate, saying that he had passed the examination most satisfactorily.

"You will now go to the admiral's cabin," the president said; "he desires to speak to you."

Still greatly puzzled why he should be examined so long before his time, Edgar sent in his name to the admiral, and was at once shown in. Sir Sidney Smith was with him.

"I am very glad to hear from the examining board that you have passed your examination with great credit, Mr. Blagrove," the admiral said. "Sir Sidney Smith has spoken to me in very high terms of the services you have rendered him, and the general commanding the troops has requested that you should be told off to his staff, where your knowledge of the country will be of great service to him. Under these very exceptional circumstances I have taken the exceptional step of having you examined at once, and as you have passed with flying colours I now hand you your appointment as acting lieutenant. The appointment is, of course, a temporary one, but when I explain to the Admiralty my reasons for making it, and inclose the report of your services that Sir Sidney Smith has handed to me, I have no doubt that the step will be confirmed. I may say that one reason for my doing this at the present moment is that as you will be on Sir Ralph Abercrombie's staff, I think that, as the navy is to be represented, it should be represented by an officer with at least the rank of lieutenant, so as to give him a proper status. I congratulate you, Lieutenant Blagrove, on the promotion that you have, in my opinion and in that of your immediate superior, most worthily won."

Thereupon he shook Edgar warmly by the hand. Sir Sidney Smith did the same, and with a smile stopped Edgar's disjointed words of thanks and pointed to the door. Some of the middies of the flagship nudged each other and smiled at his pale face as he walked to the gangway.

"He has been getting a wigging and no mistake," one said to another. "He looked all right when he went in, for I noticed him as he came on deck; but he has evidently got into some awful scrape, and will be court-martialled and sent home, I should say, or his captain would have kept the affair in his own hands instead of bringing him up before the admiral."

"Anything the matter, Mr. Blagrove?" Mr. Knight, who was still second lieutenant on the Tigre, asked him, as he came on board. "'Tis not often that a midshipman is signalled for by an admiral's flagship, and you are looking rather shaky."

"No, sir, there is nothing wrong, but I do feel a little queer. When I got there I was taken down to the wardroom, where three captains were sitting. They asked me a number of questions about the port of Alexandria, the depth of water, the batteries, and so on. Of course I knew about that from going so often on board ship in the harbour and from sailing in and out. Then, to my surprise, they asked me what I should do if the ship I was in command of was caught in a sudden squall. As we had been caught in a white squall in the islands, of course I was able to answer. They asked me some other questions as to navigation, and I could not for the life of me make out what they were doing, and was thunderstruck when they told me that they were a board, and that I had passed my examination with great credit. When they gave me the certificate I was taken to the admiral's cabin;" and he then repeated the substance of what the admiral had said.

"I congratulate you, Blagrove. You are a lucky young dog; but I don't think that luck is the proper word, for you owe it entirely, first to your knowledge of languages, then to your own behaviour and pluck. It is rare indeed, I can tell you, that a midshipman of two years' standing is passed and promoted. I have no doubt that, as the admiral said, your going on Abercrombie's staff had a good deal to do with it, because, for the credit of the navy, one would not like to be represented by a midshipman on such service. Well, you must borrow an epaulette;" for at that time a naval officer did not mount two epaulettes until he had obtained the rank of commander.

At first Edgar's story was altogether disbelieved in the cockpit, where his arrival was anxiously expected, as all were curious to learn what he had been signalled for. When at last they understood that he was in earnest, he was very warmly congratulated. Three of them were senior to him; but he was so generally liked, and his acquirements in the way of languages so fully acknowledged, that there was no feeling of jealousy, especially as they felt sure that, when the campaign was over, Sir Sidney Smith would get him appointed to another ship. Two of them that evening got a boat and rowed to several other men-of-war, and at last succeeded in buying an epaulette from an officer who had bought the kit of another who had died some time before, and this they formally presented to Edgar that evening.

While at Marmorice Bay the latter had almost daily interviews with the general. At these the quarter-master and adjutant-generals and several other superior officers were often present, and he was asked innumerable questions as to the country between Alexandria and Cairo, the probabilities of obtaining animals for the baggage-waggons and artillery, the amount of provisions that could be obtained from the country, the length of the marches and the nature of the ground, and whether the Arabs were likely to render any efficient assistance. All these questions he answered to the best of his power, saying, however, that it would be absolutely necessary to depend to a large extent on the boats for provisions as the French had done, for that comparatively few horses could be obtained, as the French had purchased all that they could lay their hands on.

Then to an engineer officer he described the position of the old and newly-erected works at Cairo, saying that the latter were intended solely to overawe the town, and that some of them were open works in the rear, although no doubt they would be much strengthened, and some of the guns turned outward, as soon as news was received of the landing of the British army. He pointed out that many of the guns must, however, be retained in their present position, in case the population should rise as soon as the army approached, and that the guns were in most cases small, as the French had brought no battering-train with them.

"There is no doubt," the general said, "that Damietta and Rosetta must be taken before we advance, and that a strong force of our gun-boats and armed ships' boats must convoy the native craft laden with provisions and stores, for from what you describe of the country, and the difficulty of obtaining animals, it is clear that we shall have to depend upon the river for food."

On the 24th the great fleet sailed, and on the 1st of March anchored in Aboukir Bay. The weather was boisterous and a landing was impossible. The next morning, to their mortification, a French frigate was seen to enter Alexandria. She had passed near several of the blockading squadron, but was in some way furnished with a British naval signal-book, and answered all the signals made to her without attracting the slightest suspicion. During that night a French brig also ran in. Not until the 8th did the sea moderate sufficiently for a disembarkation to be attempted. This delay of seven days was most unfortunate, as it enabled the French general to make every preparation for opposing the landing.

On the morning of the 8th the brigade of Guards, and part of the 1st brigade, amounting in all to 5500 men, under the command of Major-general Coote, embarked in boats, and at three started for the spot where they were to gather for the landing. But the ships were widely scattered, and it was not until nine o'clock that the boats were all marshalled in order.

In the meantime the remainder of the 1st and the 2nd brigades were taken to the ships close inshore, so that no time might be lost after the boats had landed the other division.

Edgar had the night before been rowed to the ship on which were the general and his staff, and accompanied them to the vessel near the shore on which he took his post. On either flank of the transport's boats were posted three gun-vessels and two of the fleet's launches. Two bomb-vessels were placed close to them, and three sloops-of-war were moored with their broadsides to the shore.

Sir Sidney Smith had charge of the launches which contained the field-artillery. As the signal-gun fired, the oars all dipped in the water together, and the men burst into a tremendous cheer.

For a moment the French remained passive; 2000 men were posted on the top of the sand-hills, which here formed a crescent. In the centre rose two hills, to a height of 180 feet, apparently inaccessible. Twelve guns were posted on the sand-hills, and the Castle of Aboukir was able to assist with the fire of its guns. So strong was the position that the French had hardly deemed it possible that the British would decide to attack them here; but as the boats dashed forward, every man rowing as if his life depended upon his efforts, they could no longer doubt the intentions of the British, and a tremendous fire of grape and musketry, shot and shell, was opened.

Some of the boats were sunk, but most of those on board were saved by the others, and the greater part of the line, without a check, pressed on until they reached the beach. The 23rd and 40th, whose boats were the first to land, rushed up the height without stopping to fire a shot, and, charging the two French battalions with the bayonet, carried it and two hills in the rear, taking three pieces of cannon posted there. The 42nd Regiment formed up as if on parade, and mounted the sand-hills under the fire of two pieces of artillery and a battalion of infantry. The moment they reached the crest 200 French cavalry advanced to charge, but fell back under the heavy fire opened upon them.

They rallied behind the hills, and charged down upon the Guards as the latter were beginning to land. The 58th, however, poured a volley into them, and gained time for the Guards to form up, when the cavalry again rode off. The 54th and the Royals, being in heavy transport boats, arrived a little later, but were in time to check a French column advancing through a hollow against the left flank of the Guards. The British were now in full possession of the heights, and the French everywhere fell back, keeping up, however, a fire from another range of sand-hills for an hour and a half, when, as the troops got into motion against them, they retreated, having lost 300 men and eight pieces of cannon.

The advance of the boats had been anxiously watched by Sir Ralph Abercrombie's staff from the deck of the Mondovi. It seemed to Edgar well-nigh impossible that any of these could reach the shore, so torn up was the water by shot, shell, and bullets. A hearty cheer broke from all on board as the men in the boats that first arrived were seen to jump out on to the shore. These were repeated again and again as the 23rd, 40th, and 42nd won their way up the hill, and the French could be seen hastily retiring. But it was not until the Guards and the three other regiments were seen formed up in order ashore—for the French might, for aught it was known, be preparing to take the offensive and recover the ground that they had lost—that it was felt that full success had attended the operation. The moment they had landed their freight the boats returned to their ships, and by evening the navy succeeded, with the greatest exertions, in conveying the whole of the remainder of the force to the shore.

As soon as the fight was over, the troops were set to dig for water wherever there were clumps of trees, and succeeded in finding it in several places. Edgar was requested by the general to ride with a troop of cavalry to find out the hut where the peasant who had spoken to him lived. He took them almost straight to the spot. The peasant was there, but had difficulty in recognizing in the young officer, the apparent Arab with whom he had spoken on the day of the battle of Aboukir. However, on being told that the French had been defeated, and that the British intended to drive them out of the country altogether, he at once pointed out where the well stood.

Some of the troopers had been provided with shovels. All dismounted and worked by turns, and late in the evening the officer in command of the party rode into camp with the welcome news that a large supply of water could be drawn from the well. The army advanced some little distance the next day, and established itself on the narrow strip of land between the sea and the Lake of Aboukir; while the stores were brought ashore and a hospital established on the beach. On the 12th the force moved four miles farther, and on the following day marched to attack the French, who were encamped on a ridge. They had received reinforcements from Cairo, bringing up their strength to 6000 men. They had some thirty guns, and the ground, which sloped regularly and smoothly down, afforded a natural glacis, which would be swept by their fire.

The army marched in two columns against the French right, their advance being supported by the guns of some of the ships' launches, which had entered the Lake of Aboukir. The French guns played rapidly, and the 92nd, which was the leading regiment, pushed forward, while the French cavalry, which charged the 90th, were received with a heavy fire and driven back. The columns now formed into line, and, pressing steadily forward, the French were compelled to abandon their position, and to retreat to the works on the heights before the town itself. Unfortunately, the British general, from the ease with which he had turned the enemy from their first position, thought that he might carry the second by a sudden attack. But, although the troops fought gallantly, they were unable to win the position, which was strong and well armed, and after some hours' fighting they were called off. Their loss during the day had been about 1100 killed and wounded, while that of the French was not more than half this number.

The ground on which the army now took up its position was a strong one. The right was on high ground, and extended to the ruins of a Roman palace within fifty yards of the sea. The left was on the canal that supplied Alexandria with water; here two batteries were ordered to be constructed, the lake protected its rear from attack. The distance from the sea to the lake was about a mile, and the position occupied was high and commanding. In front of this line was a plain on which cavalry could act, and beyond this was the French position, a high and steep ridge, extending from the sea to the canal. The army laboured unceasingly at the work of constructing batteries, and bringing up guns and provisions. Water was fortunately found in abundance, and the nights being cold, tents were landed and set up. The castle of Aboukir had been left unattacked as the army moved forward, but was now besieged and surrendered on the eighteenth.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE BATTLE OF ALEXANDRIA.

On the afternoon following the capture of Aboukir Castle, an Arab was seen riding at full speed towards the British left. He was pursued by some French cavalry, and another party endeavoured to cut him off. The general happened to be at the time watching the troops at work completing the batteries on that flank.

"That Arab is well mounted," he said, as he and those around him watched the chase. "I believe he will get through if he is not shot," for, at this moment, the cavalry behind him, seeing that he was leaving them fast, began to use their carbines. Waving his gun over his head, and from time to time giving a yell of derision and defiance, the Arab swept round towards his right, and so passed ahead of the troop that had endeavoured to cut him off, then bore round again, until he reached the bank of the canal, and galloped along it, slackening his pace as a musketry fire was opened from the battery, and the French cavalry turned and rode away. The Arab rode across the bridge over the canal, and then cantered up to the battery. As he was crossing the bridge, the idea that had for a minute or two previously been in Edgar's mind rose to a certainty.

"It is Sidi!" he exclaimed.

The general turned and looked at him interrogatively.

"It is the young chief of the Beni Ouafy, the tribe I was with when I was here, sir; we call each other brother, and indeed are that in feeling. We have saved each other's life more than once."

"Go and meet him then, and bring him here," the general said. "You spoke frequently of him when describing your journeys to and from Cairo."

Sidi had checked his horse as he approached the battery, not seeing any entrance to it, and was pausing, irresolute which way to turn, when Edgar leapt from an embrasure and ran towards him. The Arab did not in the least recognize his friend in the naval officer who advanced to meet him. He had supposed him to be in England, and, indeed, as it was now some months over two years since they had parted, and Edgar had grown and widened out into a fine manly figure, Sidi would hardly have recognized him had he come across him suddenly in a civilian dress. He was astounded, when, on coming close to him, Edgar held out both hands and cried:

"Sidi, my brother!"

The voice was unchanged. Sidi, with the shout of "All praise be to Allah!" flung himself from his saddle, grasped Edgar's hands, and stood there speechless with joy and emotion, and with tears standing in his eyes. Edgar himself was much moved.

"Is all well with you, Sidi?" he asked; "the chief and your mother?"

"It is well with us all," Sidi answered. "We talk of you always, but had not hoped to see you so soon. Little did I dream that I should not know you when we met, though, when we heard that your people had landed and had beaten the French, we thought that the time might not be very far off when the Franks would go, and you might return. So you are an officer, one of the ship officers?"

"Yes, Sidi. We met a ship-of-war as I sailed from here, and since I could speak Arabic and Turkish I was made an officer, and was at the siege of Acre, where we beat off the French; but we will talk of all that afterwards. Our general saw you coming, and thinking that you might have news for us, requested me to bring you to him."

"I have news," Sidi said.

"Do not tell me now, it is best that you should tell him first."

Walking side by side, Sidi leading his horse, they went round to the entrance to the battery. As they entered, Edgar told one of the general's orderlies to hold the horse, and then took Sidi up to Sir Ralph Abercrombie.

"This is the English general, Sidi," he said. Sir Ralph held out his hand to the young sheik, who raised it to his forehead.

"Our hearts are rejoiced," he said, "that you have come at last to fight for us against the Franks. I bring you news, my lord. Late yesterday their general, Menou, with a large force, arrived at Damanhour. I have been among them. There must be five thousand men. His intentions are to march to-day and to attack with all his force to-morrow morning."

"This is important news, indeed!" the general said, as Edgar translated the message. "Ask him if he speaks merely from report or from his own knowledge."

Sidi then said that some of the tribe had early that morning started with a number of sheep, intending to bring them round into the British camp. They were surprised by a body of French cavalry coming from Damanhour. Several of the tribesmen were killed, but two escaped, being well mounted, and brought the news to their camp. On the way they met him, he having started some hours later, knowing that he could easily overtake them before they reached the British camp. Seeing the importance of the matter, he told them to tell his father that he should try and find out how many of the French were at Damanhour, and take the news to the British. He had then ridden toward that place, and remembering how he had passed unsuspected before, had left his horse there, had obtained the loan of a peasant's dress, had bought half a dozen sheep, and had driven them into the town.

He found it crowded with the French. Having sold his sheep, he had wandered about among the soldiers, and had entered into conversation with some of the natives who had been engaged at Cairo as drivers of the baggage-carts. From them he had learned that the French general-in-chief, Menou, who had succeeded Kleber on the latter's assassination at Cairo, was himself there, and that he intended to attack at once with the troops he had brought, and with those in the city. As soon as he obtained this news he returned to the village, changed his dress, mounted, and rode off at full speed.

The party that had been seen chasing him was a cavalry squadron, whom he had come upon suddenly while they were dismounted and sitting down in the shade of a grove, and who, judging that he was making for the British camp, had started in pursuit. Knowing well enough that they could not catch him, he had amused himself by keeping but a short distance in advance, and had not put his horse to its full speed until he saw the mounted party coming out from the French lines to cut him off.

The general listened attentively to Edgar as he translated the story.

"Please to question him again, Lieutenant Blagrove, as to the report that Menou intends to attack us as soon as he gets here. It is, as you see, of the greatest importance. Late as it is this afternoon, and formidable as are the French lines, I should endeavour to carry them as soon as the troops can form up, for it would be hopeless to try to do so to-morrow when Menou arrives. If, on the other hand, he really means to take the offensive, I should prefer remaining in our present position, for I think that we could maintain it against the whole of the French army, and that more easily than we could carry their line of defences held by only the troops at present in front of us."

Edgar questioned Sidi again. The latter said that he had heard the same story from three different persons. The French had arrived late the evening before, and when he left, the bugles were sounding and they were beginning to fall in for their march, and would probably reach Alexandria by ten at night. The men had said that it was the talk among the soldiers that they should take the English by surprise at daybreak and drive them into the sea.

"That certainly seems to decide it," the general said. "They have made a mistake indeed, if they think that they will catch us napping."

Orders were at once issued for a number of the troops to set to work to complete the defences. Another battery was, during the night, erected in front of the Roman ruins. A redoubt in front of the position of the Guards was strengthened, and other points seen to.

At three o'clock in the morning the army was, as usual, under arms. Half an hour later there was a sudden outburst of firing on the extreme left. The firing continued, but it did not increase in strength, as would have been the case had a serious attack been made, and General Moore, who was the general officer of the night, remained on the right, against which portion of the line he believed the real attack would be delivered. It was still dark, and all waited anxiously for some sign of the spot against which the storm was to burst.

Suddenly loud shouts were heard in advance of the right. A roar of musketry immediately broke out. Covered by the inequalities of the ground, the French had crept up unobserved by the sentries until close at hand, and the moment the alarm was given, sprang forward in great force, and the advanced pickets fell back on the main position at once. A heavy column of French advanced against a ruined wall, behind which the 58th were lying. The wall was of considerable length, and in many places had fallen and left wide openings. Here the 58th were posted. Their colonel made his men hold their fire until the enemy were close to them, when volley after volley was poured into them, so well aimed and deadly that the enemy retired quickly into a hollow in their rear, then wheeled round to the right, and while one column marched straight at the newly-formed battery, another endeavoured to force its way round its left and take it in rear.

The 28th Regiment stationed there opened a heavy fire on the force attacking them in front, but the flanking column, now joined by a third, forced its way in behind the battery. While some attacked it in the rear, the rest penetrated into the ruins held by the 58th. Its colonel wheeled back the left wing of the regiment, and after two or three volleys, fell on the French with the bayonet. At this moment the 23rd came up in support, and the 42nd advanced from the left, and, keeping on the outside of the ruins, cut off the troops which had entered, and after suffering heavy loss they were compelled to surrender.

The 28th had remained firmly at the front line of the redoubt, and they and the 58th had hitherto been supporting simultaneously attacks in front, flank, and rear. The arrival of the 42nd for a time relieved them, but as the latter regiment approached the right of the redoubt, the enemy's cavalry, which had passed round by its left, charged them furiously and broke them. The Highlanders, however, gathered in groups, and fought desperately until relieved by the fire of the flank companies of the 40th, and the cavalry, passing on, were about to charge this small force, when the foreign brigade came up from the second line and poured such a heavy fire into the French cavalry that they fled.

GIVING A YELL OF DERISION AND DEFIANCE

As soon as the fire broke out, General Abercrombie, with his staff, mounted and proceeded towards the point where the battle was raging. On the way he detached his aides-de-camp with orders to different brigades, and while thus alone with an escort of dragoons, some of the French cavalry dashed at him and he was thrown from his horse. A French officer rode up to cut him down, but he sprang at him, seized his sword, and wrested it from his hand. At that instant the officer was bayoneted by one of the 42nd.

Battle of ALEXANDRIA

arst. March 1801.

While this incident was proceeding Sir Ralph received a musket-ball in the thigh, and also a severe contusion on the breast, probably by a splinter of stone struck by a cannon-ball. In the heat of the action he was unconscious of the first wound, but felt much pain from the contusion. At this moment Sir Sidney Smith rode up; he had accidentally broken his sword, and the general discerning it, at once presented him with the one that he had wrested from the French officer. He then took up his station in the battery, from which he could obtain a view of the whole scene of the battle, for by this time it was daylight. The contest still raged. Another body of cavalry charged the foreign brigade, but were received with so heavy a fire that they did not press the charge home. The French infantry were now no longer in column, but spread out everywhere in skirmishing order. The ammunition of the English on the right was by this time totally exhausted, and but one cartridge remained for each of the guns in the battery.

The chief point of attack was now the centre. Here a column of grenadiers, supported by a heavy line of infantry, advanced to the assault, but the Guards stoutly maintained themselves until General Coote, with his brigade, came up, and the French were then driven back. All this time the French guns kept up an incessant cannonade on the British position. The attack on the British left, which had been but a feint, was never seriously pursued, but was confined to a scattered fire of musketry and a distant cannonade. General Hutchinson, who commanded here, kept his force in hand; for, had he moved to the assistance of the centre and right, a serious attack might have been made on him, and the flank being thus turned, the position would have been taken in rear.

On the right the French as well as the British had exhausted their ammunition, and the singular spectacle was presented of two hostile forces pelting each other with stones, by which many heavy blows were given on both sides, and some killed, among them a sergeant of the 28th. The grenadiers and a company of the 40th presently moved out against the assailants, and the French then fell back. General Menou, finding that all his attacks had failed, now called off his troops. Fortunately for them the artillery ammunition was now exhausted, but they lost a good many men by the fire of some British cutters, which had during the whole action maintained their position a short distance in advance of the British right, and greatly aided the defenders of the redoubt by their fire.

By ten o'clock the action was over. Until the firing ceased altogether Sir Ralph Abercrombie remained in the battery paying no attention to his wounds, and, indeed, the officers who came and went with orders were ignorant that he had been hit. Now, however, faint with loss of blood, he could maintain his position no longer, and was placed in a hammock and carried down to the shore, and rowed off to the flagship. As soon as the French had withdrawn, attention was paid to the wounded. The total loss was 6 officers and 230 men killed, 60 officers and 1190 men wounded. The French loss was heavier. 1700 French, killed and wounded, were found on the battlefield, and 1040 of these were buried on the field. Taking the general proportion of wounded and killed, the French loss, including the prisoners, amounted to 4000 men; one French standard and two guns were captured.

The total British force was under 10,000 men, of whom but half were seriously engaged. The French were about 11,000 strong, of whom all, save the 800 who made the feint on the British left, took part in the fighting. On the 25th the Capitan Pasha, with 6000 men, arrived in the bay, and landed and encamped. Three days later the army was saddened by the news of the death of Sir Ralph Abercrombie. He was succeeded in his command by General Hutchinson. For some time Edgar had an idle time of it. The French had failed in their attack, but they had not been defeated, and their position was too strong to be attacked. The Capitan Pasha had with him an excellent interpreter, and therefore his services were not required in that capacity.

The night before the battle he stopped up all night talking with Sidi, relating all that had happened since he had left him, and hearing from him what had taken place on land. This was little enough. A great number of the Arabs had gathered in readiness to sweep down upon the French when they attacked the Turkish army at Aboukir, but when the latter had, with terrible slaughter, been driven into the castle, they had scattered to their homes. The next day the young Arab witnessed with delight the repulse of the French attack, and at the conclusion of the fight rode away to tell his father of Edgar's return, and of the events that he had witnessed. The sheik had come back with him on the following day, accompanied by some of his followers, and their tents were pitched on a sand-hill a short distance in the rear of the British lines.

Until April 13th nothing was done. The army was too small to undertake any operations, and was forced to remain in its position, as it might at any moment be again attacked.

In the pocket of General Roiz, who had been killed in the battle, was found a letter from General Menou, expressing fear that the English would cut the Canal of Alexandria and let the waters of it and Lake Aboukir into the old bed of Lake Mareotis. It was evident that an immense advantage would be gained by this. Our own left would be secure against attack. The French would be nearly cut off from the interior, and the British army be enabled to undertake fresh operations. General Hutchinson, however, hesitated for a long time before taking the step. A tract of rich country would be overwhelmed, and none of the Arabs could say how far the inundations would reach. However, the step was evidently so much to the advantage of the army that at last he gave the order, and on the 13th of April the work began, and that evening the water rushed out from Lake Aboukir through two cuts. Others were opened the next day. The rush of water quickly widened these, and soon the inundation spread over a large tract of country behind Alexandria.

A considerable force was at once detached to support Colonel Spencer, who was menacing Rosetta, and marched to El Hamed. Sir Sidney Smith ascended the Nile with an armed flotilla as far as El Aft, and on the 19th aided the Turks in capturing Fort St. Julian, a strong place between Rosetta and the mouth of the Nile. After the fall of St. Julian, Rosetta was taken possession of with but little difficulty. Soon after this, to the deep regret of the navy, Sir Sidney Smith was recalled to his ship. The Grand Vizier had a serious grudge against him. This arose from a capitulation that had, shortly after the retreat of the French from Acre, been agreed upon between the Turkish authorities and the French, by which the latter were to be permitted to evacuate Egypt.

Sir Sidney Smith had not been consulted, but considering, and justly, that the advantages were great, had signed it. Lord Keith, as commander-in-chief, had refused to ratify the treaty, and the English government, who were in high spirits at the blow struck at the French at Acre, agreed with his action. Sir Sidney Smith, as soon as he received Lord Keith's despatch, sent a mounted messenger to Cairo to inform General Kleber that the terms of the convention were rejected. The despatch reached the French just as they were preparing to evacuate Cairo. Unfortunately, the Grand Vizier, who, with his army, was but a short distance away from the town, did not receive a similar intimation, and approaching the city with his troops, but without guns, was attacked by the French, and suffered a disastrous defeat.

The Turks had not forgiven Sir Sidney Smith for this misfortune, but the latter had not supposed for a moment that the Turks themselves would have neglected to apprise the Grand Vizier of the news, and only thought of warning the French. The Grand Vizier now demanded that Sir Sidney Smith should not take part in any operations in which he and the Turkish army were concerned, or retain the command of the naval flotilla that he had created, and with which he had performed such excellent service in opening the Nile for the ascent of the gun-boats and the native craft laden with stores for the supply of the troops that were to advance against Cairo. General Hutchinson, very weakly and unworthily, and to the indignation and regret both of the army and fleet, at once gave way, and Admiral Keith, instead of supporting his subordinate, who had gained such renown and credit, and had shown such brilliant talent, acquiesced, and appointed Captain Stevenson of the Europa to succeed Sir Sidney in command of the flotilla that was to ascend the Nile to Cairo.

This surrender of one of our most distinguished officers to the prejudices of a Turkish commander was, in all respects, a disgraceful one, but from Sir Sidney Smith's first appointment Admiral Keith had exhibited a great jealousy of his obtaining a command that rendered him to some extent independent, and had lost no opportunity of showing his feeling. Indeed, there can be little doubt that the discourteous manner in which he repudiated, without any authority from the English government, the convention that would have saved all the effusion of blood and cost of the British expedition was the result of his jealousy of the fame acquired by Sir Sidney Smith. The latter, greatly hurt at the unjust and humiliating manner in which he had been treated, at once returned to the Tigre, where the delight of the crew at being again under his command was at least some alleviation to the pain he felt.

Edgar, who had obtained leave of absence for a week, and who had ridden with the sheik for a stay of a few days at his camp, had not heard of the slight inflicted upon his kind friend until his return. He at once went on board the Tigre and sent in his name to his commander.

"I have come, Sir Sidney," he said when he was shown into the latter's cabin, "to say that I desire to be recalled from service on shore. After the manner in which you have been deprived of your command, I feel that I could not remain for a day upon the staff of General Hutchinson."

Sir Sidney smiled.

"You are too impetuous, Blagrove. I have received too many assurances from the officers of the fleet to doubt what their feelings are at the course that has been taken, but that can make no difference in their duty. It is to do their best in the various positions they occupy, without allowing the question whether they consider that an individual has been unjustly treated to influence them in any way. The service comes before everything. It is distinctly for the benefit of the service that General Hutchinson should have the advantage of your knowledge of the country and of its languages, and, moreover, you really received your promotion in no small degree owing to the fact that you were going to act as a sort of interpreter and guide to the general commanding the expedition, and although unhappily Sir Ralph Abercrombie's death has caused a change in that command, that in no way alters the arrangements.

"In the next place I think that you would be foolish to resign, because there can be no doubt that there will very shortly be an advance against Cairo. The inundations and the strong defences that the troops have been throwing up will enable a comparatively small number to hold the garrison here in check. The Capitan Pasha's men have fought bravely at Rosetta, and the Grand Vizier's army is making its way down to join him. From what they say these are a mere rabble, but with five thousand or six thousand of our troops and Capitan Pasha's force, we ought to be able to make a good fight, even without the Vizier's people. At any rate, you would like afterwards to have gone to Cairo with our troops, and there is no doubt that your knowledge of the country will be very valuable. It would be a pity not to see the thing through when you have been in it from the very beginning.

"Lastly, Mr. Blagrove, I should be sorry, indeed, that any naval officer should evince any feeling whatever with regard to a matter purely personal to myself. I should therefore take it as a particular favour to me that you should continue to hold the appointment to which you have been posted."

"Thank you, Sir Sidney," Edgar said; "of course I will in that case retain the appointment. Now that I think of it, indeed, I feel that it was an impertinence to manifest in any way my feeling at General Hutchinson's conduct; my excuse must be that I only returned from my trip with the sheik half an hour since, and on hearing the news was so stirred that I ran down to the landing-place and came off on the impulse of the moment. You have shown me such extreme kindness, sir, that at the time it seemed to me a matter almost personal to myself."

"Do not apologize," Sir Sidney Smith said kindly; "the feeling did you credit as a man, though as an officer personal feelings cannot be permitted to sway the actions. Now go ashore again and report yourself as returned from leave."

The advance up the Nile did not take place for some little time, as great preparations were necessary. Fortunately large numbers of native craft had been captured from the French, and stores were landed and placed on board these for the use of the troops. Colonel Stewart was in command of the British advanced force which accompanied the Capitan Pasha's division. A large force of gun-boats and rowing-boats were furnished by the fleet, and following the river banks the expedition proceeded up the river. The French resistance was very feeble. Detached parties were taken or driven off, but there was no fighting of a serious character. For a time Edgar remained with General Hutchinson before Alexandria, then he accompanied him to Rosetta, and, joining the main British division, came up with the Turkish army, that had now been joined by that of the Vizier, and the whole advanced towards Cairo.

They met with no real resistance on the march. There can be little doubt that the French generals were hampered by the intense longing among the troops to return to France. Their disasters in Syria had to some extent been retrieved by the defeat of the Turks at Aboukir, but the appearance of the great fleet of men-of-war and transports on the coast, followed by the failure of Menou to drive, as was confidently expected, his assailants back to their ships, produced a profound effect. The report that Alexandria had been almost cut off from the rest of Egypt by the inundation of Lake Mareotis, and that to regain the city an army would have to force its way along the narrow neck of land between the lakes Mareotis and Aboukir, seemed to diminish still further their hope of ever getting away.

The news, therefore, that a great force of British and Turks, supported by gun-boats, and accompanied by an immense flotilla carrying stores, was ascending the Nile, reduced them almost to despair, and so unwilling were they to fight, that when, on the approach of the Vizier's army to Cairo, it was met by four thousand French, these suffered themselves to be repulsed by the rabble and fell back to Cairo.

They were well aware that if they surrendered they would be guaranteed a passage back to France. Better terms than this they could not hope to obtain after the most vigorous resistance, involving a great and useless loss of life. Therefore as soon as the whole allied force approached Cairo, negotiations were begun, and on the 28th of June (1801) these were concluded, and one of the gates of the town occupied by the Capitan Pasha's body-guards, and a fort by the 30th Regiment, and on the 10th the French evacuated the city, and the next day the Turkish troops took possession of it.

In the meantime fighting had been going on almost incessantly in front of Alexandria. General Coote, who was in command of the besieging force, gradually gained ground. The French lines were forced backward, and on September 2nd, finding the contest altogether hopeless, and most of the British troops from Cairo having returned, reinforced by a British native Indian army, the garrison capitulated. The number of troops, including the sick, who surrendered in Alexandria, were 10,528, while the force that surrendered at Cairo, which, like the other, was embarked in British ships and taken to France, was 13,672; included among them were 1900 sailors who had for the most part been landed after the battle of Aboukir, while some had been drawn from the French war-ships that had succeeded in running the blockade.

The Indian force arrived in time to witness the surrender of Alexandria, but the fact that the work was practically accomplished by the 12,000 men who landed under General Abercrombie, aided after their work was half done by a Turkish force of no great value, renders the operation one of the most brilliant in our military history, and redounds equal credit upon the gallant soldier who died in the hour of victory, on his successor whose operations were most skilfully conducted, and on the British officers and soldiers who endured no ordinary amount of privation and labour under a burning sun.

Upon the advance to Cairo Edgar had been accompanied by the sheik and his son with a score of their followers. The information that they were enabled to give the general was of the greatest importance and value. The sheik was intimately acquainted with every foot of the ground, and on the force halting in the afternoon he was able to inform the quartermaster-general of the most likely spot for the next camping-ground, and of the distance and nature of the country to be traversed. At daybreak he would start ahead with his party, ascertain from the inhabitants of the villages whether any bodies of the enemy were in the neighbourhood, and arrange with them to forward such supplies of food and vegetables as remained at their disposal for sale, to the spot selected for the camping-ground that afternoon.

The supplies were but small, for the French had well-nigh made the whole country below Cairo a desert. Nevertheless, such as could be produced were gladly purchased by the commissariat for the use of the troops, and owing to the custom prevalent throughout the East of storing grain in covered pits, the supply obtained as forage for the horses largely exceeded expectations, for the peasants regarded the British as deliverers from their oppressors, and upon being assured by the sheik that they paid well for everything that they required, the pits that had escaped the French searchers were thrown open at once. General Hutchinson, on his return to carry out the siege of Alexandria to a conclusion, reported to Admiral Keith his very warm appreciation of the services that Lieutenant Blagrove had rendered him. Long before that time the admiral had received from England a confirmation of the acting rank he had given Edgar. As soon as the capitulation was signed, although it had been stipulated that the British troops were not to go into the town until the French took their departure, many officers did so, as General Menou freely gave permission to enter to anyone who applied for it. Edgar was one of the first of these, and, riding in, alighted at his father's house.

CHAPTER XIX.

QUIET AND REST.

Mr. Muller came forward to meet his visitor as he entered, thinking it probable that this naval officer had come in reference to some arrangements to be made with regard to the transports that would carry the French army away. It was three years since he had last seen Edgar, and the latter had grown from a boy into a young man, and the uniform had altered him beyond recognition, for no news had been received from England since he had left, and Mr. Muller had supposed that he was all this time there with his father. Edgar smiled as he saw the absence of recognition in his face.

"Don't you know me, Mr. Muller?" he asked. "I have no doubt changed a good deal since you saw me last in the dress of an Arab."

"Mr. Edgar Blagrove!" the latter exclaimed in astonishment. "Your disguises are endless, sir, and I think that this is the best of them, though why you should have adopted it I do not know."

"It happens that it is not a disguise at all this time. I am what I seem to be, a naval lieutenant. I have been serving in the navy ever since I joined it, ten days after I sailed from here, and was through the siege of Acre with Sir Sidney Smith. As you see, I have had the good fortune to be promoted. I have been serving ashore since we first landed here, and have been up to Cairo with the force that marched there as a sort of guide and interpreter."

"I am sure I congratulate you heartily. But you don't intend to stop in the navy, do you?"

"No, I think not. Of course I like the life, and have been so fortunate in getting early promotion and in being mentioned in despatches that I ought to rise very rapidly if I stayed in it, and I am sure that Sir Sidney Smith would interest himself for me. But I do not think that it would be fair to my father. He has reckoned on taking the management of the business at home, and that I should be established here with you, and probably it would be the best thing for me in the long run. The war with France cannot last many years, and when peace comes there will, of course, be a great reduction of the navy, and an immense number of officers put upon half-pay, without much chance of again obtaining employment. My time during the last three years will not have been misspent. As a lieutenant in the service who had obtained exceptionally rapid promotion I should be able to secure orders for stores or repairs to any men-of-war who might put in, and the knowledge I have gained of ships, their fittings, rigging, and so on, would render me far more useful to you in superintending the harbour work than I would have been had I not had that experience."

"Certainly, Mr. Blagrove. I myself have, as you know, always been in charge of the office here, and as far as books and accounts go I think I know my work thoroughly, but in the last three years I have felt that my want of knowledge of the practical side of the business has been a serious drawback. I have been able to have the repairs necessary to French transports and so on carried out, for the two shipwrights are good workmen, and after it was done I could, of course, calculate what had been the cost, and charge it with a percentage for profit; but, as a rule, captains want an estimate before we begin, and I was unable to give one.

"On a few occasions I did so after consulting the shipwrights, but I burnt my fingers badly in each case, for it turned out that the defects were much more serious than met the eye; so after that, I refused to give an estimate at all, and lost some business in consequence, for a French firm here snapped up all the work they could get, and were always ready to give an estimate, though I believe in nine cases out of ten they either did not carry out their work thoroughly or else when half-way through were obliged to ask for considerable increase on the ground that the amount to be done far exceeded what they supposed. This has been so notorious that for the past year we have had our hands full, and I believe that they intended to leave even if the French occupation had continued. Indeed, they came to me three months ago and asked if I should be inclined to buy their yard and appliances and stock. I refused at that time, but I am of opinion that the matter is well worth thinking over. Since trade increased again we have been very cramped for room. Of course it formed but a small portion of your father's business, but I think that in future it could be made at least as important a part as the inland trade, and certainly with you at the head it could be largely extended."

"That would quite suit me. As you know, I have always been fond of ships, and now, after being three years at sea, am naturally more fond of them than before; and although I could make myself very happy in looking after the work of a ship-yard and superintending the business afloat, I should feel altogether like a fish out of water if I were to be kept to book-keeping inside. I know that there is a ship sailing for England to-night with despatches. I will sit down at once and write to my father, and say that I am ready to leave the navy at once and fall to work here. He is certain to come out as soon as he hears the news that the place has surrendered, and that the French are going.

"I will tell him what you say about the other ship-yard, and ask him to go to the Admiralty. I have no doubt that the president of the prize court, who had some business with my father, and has since been on very friendly terms with him, will give him a good introduction, and may possibly go with him to urge that as I am going to undertake the superintendence of a ship-yard here, and that we hope to be of service to ships of war putting in for repairs, they will consent to my going on half-pay instead of retiring altogether. It would certainly strengthen my position here so far as our ships of war are concerned. I daresay that you will be sending off too."

"Yes; I have kept everything written up and copies made so that I could send them off should an opportunity offer; and a couple of hours' work will enable me to bring matters pretty well up to date."

"I suppose, except for the ship work, everything has been of late very dull?"

"Very dull indeed. We have had literally no goods whatever from the interior. Of course production has fallen off very greatly, and the sale of Egyptian products at Cairo, to the troops, has been considerable. Then, too, the disturbed state of the country has prevented the manufacturers from sending valuable goods down here, so that practically that part of the business has been at a standstill, and I have not attempted to accumulate a stock. However I have lately purchased many large lots from native traders here who feared that their shops might be pillaged in the event of a riot, and especially lately when they were afraid that if your people took the town by storm there might be a general sack. So as I was certain that the French must go before long, and I got all these goods at a bargain, I have bought freely. Then I have not done badly with goods run in by French ships that managed to slip through the blockade, and which were laden with speculative cargoes of luxuries for the army. As we are almost the only European house open, and I was able to pay cash, I bought things up largely, and realized very good profits by supplying the native shops here and the officers of the garrison, and also sent a great deal of wine and goods of that sort up to Cairo, getting leave from the commandant here for them to go up under the guard of any body of troops that happened to be proceeding there, so that altogether the firm had not done badly, all things considered."

"Are you short of cash now, Mr. Muller? for if so I can give you a draft on my father, who has some money of mine in his hands, for a thousand pounds, the result partly of prize-money, partly of a speculation I made in the purchase of a prize which I went home in. I bought it in his name, but he insists that as it was purely my speculation he should put the profit to my account."

"Thank you; I do not require it. I have had no opportunity of sending the money home for the last three years, and have therefore an abundance of funds for all purposes."

"I suppose that you must be very short of timber, cordage, and ship stores?"

"Not so much so as you would think. I am indeed very short of timber, and would gladly take the whole cargo of a ship laden with it should it arrive, but in other respects I am well off, for I boarded every transport and merchantman before they left the port, and bought up all their spare stores, which they were glad enough to part with on reasonable terms, for there was no advantage in carrying them back to France, and of course I could well afford to pay a considerable advance on the prices they would obtain there. I hope that you will stay here for the night, Mr. Blagrove, for I am anxious to hear all that you have been doing. I can offer you nothing but horse-flesh for dinner, for the town is in a state of starvation."

"I cannot do that. I have only leave till five o'clock, and indeed I only obtained permission to enter the town for two hours, and the French might object were I to stop here to-night."

Edgar wrote a long letter to his father. An hour after he had done so he left, taking it and the trader's packet away with him. These he placed in the headquarter-staff mail-bag. The letters were to be taken the next morning by the Carmine, which carried Sir Sidney Smith and Colonel Abercrombie, who were in charge of the naval and military official despatches, giving an account of the successful termination of the campaign, to England. Lord Keith was most anxious that the men-of-war should get away from the coast before bad weather set in, and accordingly 5000 of the troops, under the command of General Craddock, embarked on board the ships of war, and sailed on the 12th of September, and two days later the first division of French marched to Aboukir, and embarked on board transports.

Keith was in command of the fleet, and on the way fell in with a ship bringing despatches which had been sent out in anticipation of an early fall of Alexandria. The fleet was ordered to rendezvous at Malta. General Coote, with 6000 of the troops, were to be taken to Gibraltar. General Moore was ordered to England. General Hutchinson had leave to return home, and Lord Cavan was to remain in command in Egypt. Edgar had, two days after his visit to the city, been appointed as third lieutenant to one of the frigates that sailed with the first division of the army, and convoyed it to Gibraltar. It arrived there at the end of September, but as no orders had been received as to the destination of the force, the sick were landed, to be cared for in the hospitals, and the rest of the troops remained on board ship until the middle of November, when a vessel brought the news that a general peace had been virtually concluded.

England gave up all her conquests with the exception of Ceylon and Trinadad, while France was permitted to retain all hers. The treaty of Amiens, which was finally signed in the following March, was one of the most humiliating ever made by England. With it came an order for the ships at Gibraltar to carry the greater portion of the troops retained on board, to England. The wind was favourable, and on the last day of the month the fleet cast anchor in Spithead. It was soon known that almost the whole fleet were to be paid off and the ships laid up at once. The men were pleased at the news, for most of the vessels had been engaged in arduous service in the Mediterranean for years, and the men were glad at the prospect of an opportunity of a turn ashore, until they had got rid of the prize-money that had accrued to them.

The officers, on the other hand, were depressed at the news. To them it meant that they might be years before they again obtained employment, that all chances of gaining distinction or promotion were at an end, and that they would be reduced to live on their scanty half-pay for an indefinite time. Mr. Addington indeed, who was now in power, thought only of retrenchment, and although it was evident to every thinking person that such a peace could only be of short duration, he crippled the country by paying off the greater portion of her ships-of-war; and when in May in the following year war again broke out, and Pitt returned to power, the whole work of getting the navy into fighting order had to be done over again. Two days after the fleet anchored at Spithead, Edgar was delighted to see his father on board a shore-boat that came alongside.

"Everything has turned out well," he said as soon as the first greeting was over. "On the very day that I got your letter, I had an intimation that the war was likely to come to an end shortly. I thought it better, therefore, to wait before moving in your matter until things were definitely settled, as it was infinitely better that you should be put on half-pay because the war had come to an end than to apply to give up active service while the war lasted."

"Certainly, father. There can be no doubt of that."

"Of course I got the letter that you wrote when you were at Gibraltar, saying what ship you were on, and learned from my friend Captain Harrington of the prize court, that unless some hitch occurred in the negotiations, the fleet there, with the troops on board, would at once be ordered home, and on arrival would be paid off. There was, therefore, no occasion for me to make any application in the matter. The troops are, I see, landing to-day, and I suppose that in a week at latest the ships will be taken to the harbour and you will all be paid off."

"Nothing could be better, father."

"At any rate, there would be no chance whatever of your obtaining employment until the war breaks out again. When it does, my friend Harrington says that he has no doubt that he will be able to obtain for you an official post at Alexandria, with special instructions to aid in the provisioning and general repairs of any ships-of-war that may put in there, and that indeed he has no doubt that he will be able to get you the post of vice-consul there at once, for this, as you know, is as a rule given to merchants of standing, and as Sir Sidney Smith is in London, he would no doubt be able to support you in the matter. Of course there will be a consul-general in Egypt, and a vice-consul at each of the ports. So far, no appointments of the kind have been made, and, as he says, from your knowledge of the country, with our firm being long established as merchants there, with your knowing so many languages and your naval record, there can be little doubt that, if you apply, and are backed by Sir Sidney Smith, you will get the appointment at once."

"That would be capital, father. I hope that Muller's account of the work of the last three years has been satisfactory?"

"Perfectly so. We have done much better than I could have expected under the circumstances; and indeed the profits of the last three years have been nearly as large as those of the years before the French landed."

Four days later the order arrived for the ship to pay off, and Edgar at once posted up to town, for the number of officers wanting to go up was so large that it was impossible to secure a place by a coach to London for a week to come. The next day he called upon Sir Sidney Smith and stated to him the plans he had formed.

"They could not get a better man for the place," the admiral said warmly, for he had now been promoted to that rank. "If you will bring me your formal application for the post of vice-consul at Alexandria, I will myself take it to the proper quarter. Put your qualification as a resident merchant and as a linguist as strongly as you like. I will urge your naval record, and myself testify to your abilities as a linguist and to the services which you have rendered."

A week later Edgar received his formal appointment as His Majesty's vice-consul at the port of Alexandria, and was given a fortnight's leave before starting to take up his work. Wilkinson, who had also been ordered home and placed upon half-pay, stayed with Mr. Blagrove during the time Edgar was at home, and was much more communicative as to the work his comrade had done than the latter had himself been.

"I can tell you," he said, "that for a midshipman to be promoted after only two years and a half service is an almost unknown thing in the navy, and shows what was thought by Lord Keith and Sir Sidney of his work."

Mr. Blagrove returned to Alexandria with his son, having before he started freighted a ship with timber, principally oak, of the kinds and sizes that would most frequently be in demand for the execution of repairs, together with an apparatus for steaming and bending them. He had already, directly after receiving Edgar's letter from Gibraltar, sent out directions to Mr. Muller to take over the yard and premises of the French firm. The old name had not been replaced at the entrance of the offices, but now read Blagrove, Son, & Muller, while over the door of the premises recently acquired was now placed the words, "British Vice-consulate," and an office here was set apart for consular business, an Italian clerk, who spoke English well, being established there. As there were still some thousands of British soldiers in Alexandria, among whom were many officers who had been personally acquainted with Edgar while he had served on the staff of the general, his position was a very pleasant one. The Egyptian governor of the city, a Turkish general, who had been with the army of the Capitan Pasha, and to whom Edgar had frequently carried communications, also received him warmly.

"I am glad, indeed, to have a British vice-consul here," he said, "who speaks our language so perfectly, and who is a British officer. So often these posts are given to small traders, who, instead of endeavouring to smooth over difficulties, seem to delight in causing them. Whenever you have any complaint to make, sir, I hope that you will come direct to me, and I will see that right is done."

After spending a month at Alexandria, Mr. Blagrove returned to England, perfectly satisfied that matters would go on well, with his steady-going partner controlling the commercial part of the business, and Edgar taking the management of the shipping side. The business indeed flourished greatly, and when, some time afterwards, the Turks were forced to join in the European coalition against England, the firm was enabled to continue their business without molestation, as the Capitan Pasha himself took him under his special protection. Four years after his appointment Edgar returned to England on a short visit, and was present at the marriage of one of his sisters with Wilkinson, who had returned home wounded after the battle of Trafalgar; though only a month at home, he persuaded a friend of his sisters to return as his wife to Alexandria.

Ten years later Mr. Muller died. Mr. Blagrove, who was now getting on in years, wished to have Edgar at home with him; and as moreover the climate was telling upon the latter's wife, the business was wound up and the premises and good-will disposed of for a considerable sum of money to another firm doing business there. Scarce a week had passed during Edgar's stay in Alexandria without either the sheik or Sidi riding into Alexandria to see him. He on his part purchased a large tent from a Turkish general who had been recalled to Constantinople. This was large and commodious, divided by hangings into two or three compartments. It was set up in the Beni Ouafy's oasis, and there he and his wife sometimes went out with their two children and spent a few days. It was with the deepest regret that he and his Arab friends bade farewell to each other when he finally left for England.

Before sailing he made an advantageous arrangement with the firm that had purchased the business, that his father should act as their agent in London, and by the influence of Sir Sidney Smith he himself obtained an appointment in the Admiralty. As his father's savings during many years, and his own share of the property during the time that he had been partner amounted to a considerable sum, he cared less for the increase of his income by going on full pay again than for the employment that it afforded him. His father and mother died within a few months of each other in 1825. His second sister had been married some fifteen years before to a London merchant.

At the general reduction of the navy after the great war, Wilkinson was retired with the rank of commander, and he and his wife settled down in a pretty house within a few hundred yards of that of Edgar at Hampstead, and the two friends often talked over their experience at Acre, and of the cruise in search of pirates among the islands of the Archipelago.

THE NEW POPULAR HENTY

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At Agincourt: A Tale of the White Hoods of Paris.

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Bonnie Prince Charlie: A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden.

Both Sides the Border: A Tale of Hotspur and Glendower.

The Bravest of the Brave: or, With Peterborough in Spain.

By Conduct and Courage: A Tale of the Days of Nelson.

By England's Aid: A Story of the Freeing of the Netherlands.

By Pike and Dyke: A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic.

By Right of Conquest: or, With Cortez in Mexico.

By Sheer Pluck: A Tale of the Ashanti War.

Captain Bayley's Heir: A Tale of the Goldfields of California.

The Cat of Bubastes: A Tale of Ancient Egypt.

Condemned as a Nihilist: A Story of Escape from Siberia.

The Dash for Khartoum: A Tale of the Nile Expedition.

The Dragon and the Raven: A Story of the Days of King Alfred.

Facing Death: or, The Hero of the Vaughan Pit.

A Final Reckoning: A Tale of Bush Life in Australia.

For Name and Fame: or, To Kabul with Roberts.

For the Temple: A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem.

Held Fast for England: A Tale of the Siege of Gibraltar.

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In Greek Waters: A Story of the Grecian War of Independence.

In the Heart of the Rockies: A Tale of Adventure in Colorado.

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The Lion of St. Mark: A Tale of Venice in the fourteenth century.

The Lion of the North: A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus.

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One of the 28th: A Tale of Waterloo.

On the Irrawaddy: A Story of the First Burmese War.

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A Roving Commission: or, Through the Black Insurrection of Hayti.

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St. George for England: A Story of Cressy and Poitiers.

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Through the Fray: A Tale of the Luddite Riots.

Through the Sikh War: A Tale of the Conquest of the Punjaub.

The Tiger of Mysore: A Story of the War with Tippoo Saib.

To Herat and Cabul: A Story of the First Afghan War.

True to the Old Flag: A Tale of the American War of Independence.

Under Drake's Flag: A Tale of the Spanish Main.

Under Wellington's Command: A Story of the Peninsular War.

With Frederick the Great: A Story of the Seven Years' War.

When London Burned: A Tale of Restoration Times.

With Clive in India: or, The Beginnings of an Empire.

With Cochrane the Dauntless: A Tale of his Exploits.

With Kitchener in the Soudan: A Tale of Atbara and Omdurman.

With Lee in Virginia: A Tale of the American Civil War.

With Moore at Corunna: A Tale of the Peninsular War.

With the Allies to Pekin: A Tale of the Boxer Rising.

With Wolfe in Canada: or, The Winning of a Continent.

Won by the Sword: A Tale of the Thirty Years' War.

Wulf the Saxon: A Story of the Norman Conquest.

The Young Carthaginian: A Story of the Times of Hannibal.

Orange and Green: A Tale of the Boyne and Limerick.

Through Three Campaigns: A Story of Chitral, Tirah, and Ashantee.

With the British Legion: A Story of the Carlist Wars.

Table of Contents

With Moore at Corunna

TITLE PAGE

PREFACE

CHAPTER I. THE MAYO FUSILIERS

CHAPTER II. TWO DANGERS

CHAPTER III. DISEMBARKED

CHAPTER IV. UNDER CANVAS

CHAPTER V. ROLICA AND VIMIERA

CHAPTER VI. A PAUSE

CHAPTER VII. THE ADVANCE

CHAPTER VIII. A FALSE ALARM

CHAPTER IX. THE RETREAT

CHAPTER X. CORUNNA

CHAPTER X. AN ESCAPE

CHAPTER XII. A DANGEROUS MISSION

CHAPTER XIII. AN AWKWARD POSITION

CHAPTER XIV. AN INDEPENDENT COMMAND

CHAPTER XV.THE FIRST SKIRMISH

CHAPTER XVI. IN THE PASSES

CHAPTER XVII. AN ESCAPE

CHAPTER XVIII. MARY O'CONNOR

CHAPTER XIX. CONFIRMED IN COMMAND

CHAPTER XX. WITH THE MAYOS

CHAPTER XXI. PORTUGAL FREED

CHAPTER XXII. NEWS FROM HOME

With Moore at Corunna

PREFACE

From the termination of the campaigns of Marlborough--at which time the British army won for itself a reputation rivalled by that of no other in Europe--to the year when the despatch of a small army under Sir Arthur Wellesley marked the beginning of another series of British victories as brilliant and as unbroken as those of that great commander, the opinion had gained ground in Europe that the British had lost their military virtues, and that, although undoubtedly powerful at sea, they could have henceforth but little influence in European affairs. It is singular that the revival of Britain's activity began under a Government which was one of the most incapable that ever controlled the affairs of the country. Had their deliberate purpose been to render nugatory the expedition which-- after innumerable vacillations and changes of purpose--they despatched to Portugal, they could hardly have acted otherwise than they did.

Their agents in the Peninsula were men singularly unfitted for the position. Then the Government divided the commands among their generals and admirals, sending to each absolutely contradictory orders, and when at last they brought themselves to appoint one to the supreme command, they changed that commander six times in the course of a year. While lavishing enormous sums of money, arms, clothing, and materials of war upon the Spaniards, who wasted or pocketed them, they kept their own army unsupplied with money, transport, or clothes. Unsupported by the home authorities, the British commanders had yet to struggle with the faithlessness, mendacity, and inertness of the Portuguese and Spanish authorities, and were hampered with obstacles such as never beset a British commander before. Still, in spite of this, British genius and valour triumphed over all difficulties, and Wellesley delivered Lisbon and compelled the French army to surrender.

Then again, Moore, by his marvellous march, checked the course of victory of Napoleon and saved Spain for a time. Cradock organized an army, and Wellesley hurled back Soult's invasion of the north, and drove his army, a dispirited and worn-out mass of fugitives, across the frontier, and in less than a year from the commencement of the campaign carried the war into Spain. So far I have endeavoured to sketch the course of these events in the present volume. But the whole course of the Peninsular War was far too long to be condensed in a single book, except in the form of history pure and simple; therefore, I have been obliged to divide it into two volumes; and I propose next year to follow up the adventures of my present hero, who had the good fortune, with Trant, Wilson, and other British officers, to attain the command of a body of native irregulars, acting in connection with the movements of the British army.

Yours sincerely,

G. A. HENTY.

CHAPTER I. THE MAYO FUSILIERS

"What am I to do with you, Terence? It bothers me entirely; there is not a soul who will take you, and if anyone would do so, you would wear out his patience before a week's end; there is not a dog in the regiment that does not put his tail between his legs and run for his bare life if he sees you; and as for the colonel, he told me only the other day that he had so many complaints against you, that he was fairly worn out with them."

"That was only his way, father; the colonel likes a joke as well as any of them."

"Yes, when it is not played on himself; but you haven't even the sense to respect persons, and it is well for you that he could not prove that it was you who fastened the sparrow to the plume of feathers on his shako the other day, and no one noticed it till the little baste began to flutter just as he came on to parade, and nigh choked us all with trying to hold in our laughter, while the colonel was nearly suffocated with passion. It was lucky you were able to prove that you had gone off at daylight fishing, and that no one had seen you anywhere near his quarters. By my faith, if he could have proved it was you he would have had you turned out of the barrack gate, and word given to the sentries that you were not to be allowed to pass in again."

"I could have got over the wall, father," the boy said, calmly; "but mind, I never said that it was I who fastened the sparrow in his shako."

"Because I never asked you, Terence; but it does not need the asking. What I am to do with you I don't know. Your Uncle Tim would not take you if I were to go down upon my knees to him. You were always in his bad books, and you finished it when you fired off that blunderbuss in his garden as he was passing along in the twilight, and yelled out 'Death to the Protestants!'"

The boy burst into a fit of laughter. "How could I tell that he was going to fall flat upon the ground and shout a million murders, when I fired straight into the air?"

"Well, you did for yourself there, Terence. Not that the old man would ever have taken to you, for he never forgave my marriage with his niece; still, he might have left you some money some day, seeing that there is no one nearer to him, and it would have come in mighty useful, for you are not likely to get much from me. But we are no nearer the point yet. What am I to do with you at all? Here is the regiment ordered on foreign service and likely to have sharp work, and not a place where I can stow you. It beats me altogether!"

"Why not take me with you, father?"

"I have thought of that, but you are too young entirely."

"I am nearly sixteen, father. I am sure I am as tall as many boys of seventeen, and as strong too. Why should I not go? I am certain I could stand roughing it as well as Dick Ryan, who is a good bit over sixteen. Could I not go as a volunteer? Or I might enlist; the doctor would pass me quick enough."

"O'Flaherty would pass you if you were a baby in arms; he is as full of mischief as you are, and has not much more discretion; but you could not carry a musket, full cartridge-box, and kit for a long day's march."

"I can carry a gun through a long day's shooting, dad; but you might make me your soldier servant."

"Bedad, I should fare mighty badly, Terence; still as I don't see anything else for you, I must try and take you somehow, even if you have to go as a drummer. I will talk it over with the colonel, though I doubt whether he has forgotten that sparrow yet."

"He would not bear malice, dad, even if he were sure that it was me-- which he cannot be."

The speaker was Captain O'Connor of his Majesty's regiment of Mayo Fusiliers, now under orders to proceed to Portugal to form part of the force that was being despatched under Sir Arthur Wellesley to assist the Portuguese in resisting the advance of the French. He was a widower, and Terence was his only child. The boy had been brought up in the, regiment. His mother had died when he was nine years old, and Terence had been allowed by his father to run pretty nearly wild. He picked up a certain amount of education, for he was as sharp at lessons as at most other things. His mother had taught him to read and write, and the officers and their wives were always ready to lend him books; and as, during the hours when drill and exercise were going on, he had plenty of time to himself, he had got through a very large amount of desultory reading, and, having a retentive memory, knew quite as much as most lads of his age, although the knowledge was of a much more irregular kind.

He was a general favourite among the officers and men of the regiment, though his tricks got him into frequent scrapes, and more than one prophesied that his eventual fate was likely to be hanging. He was great at making acquaintances among the country people, and knew the exact spot where the best fishing could be had for miles round; he had also been given leave to shoot on many of the estates in the neighbourhood.

His father had, from the first, absolutely forbidden him to associate with the drummer boys.

"I don't mind your going into the men's quarters," he said, "you will come to no harm there, but among the boys you might get into bad habits; some of them are thorough young scamps. With the men you would always be one of their officers' sons, while with the boys you would soon become a mere playmate."

As he grew older, Terence, being a son of one of the senior officers, became a companion of the ensigns, and one or other of them generally accompanied him on his fishing excursions, and were not unfrequently participators in his escapades, several of which were directed against the tranquillity of the inhabitants of Athlone. One night the bells of the three churches had been rung simultaneously and violently, and the idea that either the town was in flames, or that the French had landed, or that the whole country was up in arms, brought all the inhabitants to their doors in a state of violent excitement and scanty attire. No clew was ever obtained as to the author of this outrage, nor was anyone able to discover the origin of the rumour that circulated through the town, that a large amount of gunpowder had been stored in some house or other in the market- place, and that on a certain night half the town would be blown into the air.

So circumstantial were the details that a deputation waited on Colonel Corcoran, and a strong search-party was sent down to examine the cellars of all the houses in the market-place and for some distance round. These and some similar occurrences had much alarmed the good people of Athlone, and it was certain that more than one person must have been concerned in them.

"I have come, Colonel," Captain O'Connor said, when he called upon his commanding officer, "to speak to you about Terence."

The colonel smiled grimly. "It is a comfort to think that we are going to get rid of him, O'Connor; he is enough to demoralize a whole brigade, to say nothing of a battalion, and the worst of it is he respects no one. I am as convinced as can be that it was he who fastened that baste of a bird in my shako the other day, and made me the laughing stock of the whole regiment on parade. Faith, I could not for the life of me make out what was the matter, there was a tugging and a jumping and a fluttering overhead, and I thought the shako was going to fly away. It fairly gave me a scare, for I thought the shako had gone mad, and that the divil was in it. I have often overlooked his tricks for your sake, but when it comes to his commanding officer, it is too serious altogether."

"Well, you see, Colonel, the lad proved clearly enough that he was out of the way at the time; and besides, you know he has given you many a hearty laugh."

"He has that," the colonel admitted.

"And, moreover," Captain O'Connor went on, "even if he did do this, which I don't know, for I never asked him" ("Trust you for that," the colonel muttered), "you are not his commanding officer, though you are mine, and that is the matter that I came to speak to you about. You see there is no one in whose charge I can leave him, and the lad wants to go with us; he would enlist as a drummer, if he could go no other way, and when he got out there I should get the adjutant to tell him off as my soldier servant."

"It would not do, O'Connor," the colonel laughed.

"Then I thought, Colonel, that possibly he might go as a volunteer-- most regiments take out one or two young fellows, who have not interest enough to obtain a commission."

"He is too young, O'Connor; besides, the boy is enough to corrupt a whole regiment; he has made half the lads as wild as he is himself. Sure you can never be after asking me to saddle the regiment with him, now that there is a good chance of getting quit of him altogether."

"I think that he would not be so bad when we are out there, Colonel; it is just because he has nothing to do that he gets into mischief. With plenty of hard work and other things to think of I don't believe that he would be any trouble."

"Do you think that you can answer for him, O'Connor?"

"Indeed and I cannot," the captain laughed; "but I will answer for it that he will not joke with you, Colonel. The lad is really steady enough, and I am sure that if he were in the regiment he would not dream of playing tricks with his commanding officer, whatever else he might do."

"That goes a long way towards removing my objection," the colonel said, with a twinkle in his eye; "but he is too young for a volunteer--a volunteer is the sort of man to be the first to climb a breach, or to risk his life in some desperate enterprise, so as to win a commission. But there is another way. I had a letter yesterday from the Horse Guards, saying that as I am two ensigns short, they had appointed one who will join us at Cork, and that they gave me the right of nominating another. I own that Terence occurred to me, but sixteen is the youngest limit of age, and he must be certified and all that by the doctor. Now Daly is away on leave, and is to join us at Cork; but O'Flaherty would do; still, I don't know how he would get over the difficulty about the age."

"Trust him for that. I am indeed obliged to you, Colonel."

"Don't say anything about it, O'Connor; if we had been going to stay at home I don't think that I could have brought myself to take him into the regiment, but as we are going on service he won't have much opportunity for mischief, and even if he does let out a little--not at my expense, you know--a laugh does the men good when they are wet through and their stomachs are empty." He rang a bell. "Orderly, tell the adjutant and Doctor O'Flaherty that I wish to see them. Mr. Cleary," he went on, as soon as the former entered, "I have been requested by the Horse Guards to nominate an ensign, so as to fill up our ranks before starting, and I have determined to give the appointment to Terence O'Connor."

"Very well, sir, I am glad to hear it; he is a favourite with us all, but I am afraid that he is under age."

"Is there any regular form to be filled up?"

"None that I know of in the case of officers, sir. I fancy they pass some sort of medical examination at the Horse Guards, but, of course, in this case it would be impossible. Still, I should say that, in writing to state that you have nominated him, it would be better to send a medical certificate, and certainly it ought to be mentioned that he is of the right age."

At this moment the assistant-surgeon entered. "Doctor O'Flaherty," the colonel said, "I wish you to write a certificate to the effect that Terence O'Connor is physically fit to take part in a campaign as an officer."

"I can do that, Colonel, without difficulty; he is as fit as a fiddle, and can march half the regiment off their legs."

"Yes, I know that, but there is one difficulty, Doctor, he is under the regulation age."

O'Flaherty thought for a moment and then sat down at the table, and taking a sheet of paper, be began:

I certify that Terence O' Connor is going on for seventeen years of age, he is five feet eight in height, thirty-four inches round the chest, is active, and fully capable of the performance of his duties as an officer either at home or abroad.

Then he added another line and signed his name.

"As a member of a learned profession, Colonel," he said, gravely, "I would scorn to tell a lie even for the son of Captain O'Connor;" and he passed the paper across to him.

The colonel looked grave, and Captain O'Connor disappointed. He was reassured, however, when his commanding officer broke into a laugh.

"That will do well, O'Flaherty," he said; "I thought that you would find some way of getting us out of the difficulty."

"I have told the strict truth, Colonel," the doctor said, gravely. "I have certified that Terence O'Connor is going on for seventeen; I defy any man to say that he is not. He will get there one of these days, if a French bullet does not stop him on the way, a contingency that it is needless for me to mention."

"I suppose that it is not strictly regular to omit the date of his birth," the colonel said; "but just at present I expect they are not very particular. I suppose that that will do, Mr. Cleary?"

"I think that you can countersign that, Colonel," the adjutant said, with a laugh. "The Horse Guards do not move very rapidly, and by the time that letter gets to London we may be on board ship, and they would hardly bother to send a letter for further particulars to us in Spain, but will no doubt gazette him at once. The fact, too--which of course you will mention--that he is the son of the senior captain of your regiment, will in itself render them less likely to bother about the matter."

"Well, just write out the letter of nomination, Cleary; I am a mighty bad hand at doing things neatly."

The adjutant drew a sheet of foolscap to him and wrote:--

To the Adjutant-general, Horse Guards,

Sir, I have the honour to inform you that, in accordance with the privilege granted to me in your communication of--

and he looked at the colonel.

"The 14th inst.," the latter said, after consulting the letter.

--I beg to nominate as an ensign in this regiment, Terence O' Connor, the son of Captain Lawrence O' Connor, its senior captain. I inclose certificate of Assistant-surgeon O' Flaherty,--the surgeon being at present absent on leave--certifying to his physical fitness for a commission in his Majesty's service. Mr. O' Connor having been brought up from childhood in the regiment is already perfectly acquainted with the work, and will therefore be able to take up his duties without difficulty. This fact has had some influence in my choice, as a young officer who had to be taught all his duties would have been of no use for service in the field for a considerable time after landing in Portugal. Relying on the nomination being approved by the commander-in-chief, I shall at once put him on the staff of the regiment for foreign service, as there will be no time to wait your reply.

I have the honour to be

Your humble, obedient servant,

Then he left a space, and added:

Colonel Mayo Fusiliers.

"Now, if you will sign it, Colonel, the matter will be complete, and I will send it off with O'Flaherty's certificate today."

"That is a good stroke, Cleary," the colonel said, as he read it aloud. "They will see that it is too late to raise any questions, and the 'going on for seventeen' will be accepted as sufficient."

He touched a bell.

"Orderly, tell Mr. Terence O'Connor that I wish to see him."

Terence was sitting in a state of suppressed excitement at his father's quarters. He had a strong belief that the matter would be managed somehow, for he knew that the colonel had no malice in his disposition, and would not let the episode of the bird--for which he was now heartily sorry-- stand in the way. On receiving the message he at once went across to the colonel's quarters. The latter rose and held out his hand to him as he entered.

"Terence O'Connor," he said, "I am pleased to be able to inform you that from the present moment you are to consider yourself an officer in his Majesty's Mayo Fusiliers. The Horse Guards have given me the privilege of nominating a gentleman to the vacant ensigncy, and I have had great pleasure in nominating your father's son. Now, lad," he said, in different tone of voice, "I feel sure that you will do credit my nomination, and that you will keep your love of fun and mischief within reasonable bounds."

"I will try to do so, Colonel," the lad said, in a low voice, "and I am grateful indeed for the kindness that you have shown me. I have always hoped that some day I might obtain a commission in your regiment, but never even hoped that it would be until after I had done something to deserve it. Indeed I did not think that it was even possible that I could obtain a commission until----"

"Tut, tut, lad, don't say a word about age! Doctor O'Flaherty had certified that you are going on for seventeen, which is quite sufficient for me, and at any rate you will see that boyish tricks are out of place in the case of an officer going on for seventeen. Now, your father had best take you down into the town and get you measured for your uniforms at once. You must make them hurry on with his undress clothes, O'Connor. I should not bother about full-dress till we get back again; it is not likely to be wanted, and the lad will soon grow out of them. If there should happen to be full-dress parade in Portugal, Cleary will put him on as officer of the day, or give him some duties that will keep him from parade. We may get the route any day, and the sooner he gets his uniform the better."

Two days later Terence took his place on parade as an officer of the regiment. He had witnessed such numberless drills that he had picked up every word of command, knew his proper place in every formation, and fell into the work as readily as if he had been at it for years. He had been heartily congratulated by the officers of the regiment.

"I am awfully glad that you are one of us, Terence," Dick Ryan said. "I don't know what we should have done without you. I expect we shall have tremendous fun in Portugal."

"I expect we shall, Dick; but we shall have to be careful. We shall be on active service, you see, and from what they say of him I don't think Sir Arthur Wellesley is the sort of man to appreciate jokes."

"No, I should say not. Of course, we shall have to draw in a bit. It would not do to set the bells of Lisbon ringing."

"I should think not, Dick. Still, I dare say we shall have plenty of fun, and at any rate we are likely, from what they say, to have plenty of fighting. I don't expect the Portuguese will be much good, and as there are forty or fifty thousand Frenchmen in Portugal, we shall have all our work to do, unless they send out a much bigger force than is collecting at Cork. It is a pity that the 10,000 men who have been sent out to Sweden on what my father says is a fool's errand are not going with us instead. We might make a good stand-up fight of it then, whereas I don't see that with only 6,000 or 7,000 we can do much good against Junot's 40,000."

"Oh, I dare say we shall get on somehow!" Dick said, carelessly. "Sir Arthur knows what he is about, and it is our turn to do something now. The navy has had it all its own way so far, and it is quite fair that we should do our share. I have a brother in the navy, and the fellows are getting too cheeky altogether. They seem to think that no one can fight but themselves. Except in Egypt we have never had a chance at all of showing we can lick the French just as easily on land as we can at sea."

"I hope we shall, Dick. They have certainly had a great deal more practice at it than we have."

"Now I think we ought to do something here that they will remember us for before we start, Terence."

"Well, if you do, I am not with you this time, Dick. I am not going to begin by getting in the colonel's bad books after he has been kind enough to nominate me for a commission. I promised him that I would try and not get into any scrapes, and I am not going to break my word. When we once get out there I shall be game to join in anything that is not likely to make a great row, but I have done with it for the present."

"I should like to have one more good bit of fun," Ryan said; "but I expect you are right, Terence, in what you say about yourself, and it is no use our thinking to humbug Athlone again if you are not in it with us; besides, they are getting too sharp. They did not half turn out last time, and, indeed, we had a narrow escape of being caught. Well, I shall be very glad when we are off; it is stupid work waiting for the route, with all leave stopped, and we not even allowed to go out for a day's fishing."

Three days later the expected order arrived. As the baggage had all been packed up, that which was to be left behind being handed over to the care of the barrack-master, and a considerable portion of the heavy baggage sent on by cart, there was no delay. Officers and men were alike delighted that the period of waiting had come to an end, and there was loud cheering in the barrack-yard as soon as the news came. At daybreak next morning the rest of the baggage started under a guard, and three hours later the Mayo Fusiliers marched through the town with their band playing at their head, and amid the cheers of the populace.

As yet the martial spirit that was roused by the struggle in the Peninsula had scarcely begun to show itself, but there was a strong animosity to France throughout England, and a desire to aid the people of Spain and Portugal in their efforts for freedom. In Ireland, for the most part, there was no such feeling. Since the battle of the Boyne and the siege of Limerick, France had been regarded by the greater portion of the peasantry, and a section of the population of the towns, as the natural ally of Ireland, and there was a hope that when Napoleon had all Europe prostrate under his feet he would come as the deliverer of Ireland from the English yoke. Consequently, although the townspeople of Athlone cheered the regiment as it marched away, the country people held aloof from it as it passed along the road. Scowling looks from the women greeted it in the villages, while the men ostentatiously continued their work in the fields without turning to cast a glance at them.

Terence was not posted to his father's company, but was in that of Captain O'Driscol, although the lad himself would have preferred to be with Captain O'Grady, with whom he was a great favourite. The latter was one of the captains whose companies were unprovided with an ensign, and he had asked the adjutant to let him have the lad instead of the ensign who was to join at Cork.

"The matter has been settled the other way, O'Grady; in the colonel's opinion he will be much better with O'Driscol, who is more likely to keep him in order than you are."

O'Grady was one of the most original characters in the regiment. He was rather under middle height, and had a smooth face, a guileless and innocent expression, and a habit of opening his light-blue eyes as in wonder. His hair was short, and stuck up aggressively; his brogue was the strongest in the regiment; his blunders were innumerable, and his look of amazement at the laughter they called forth was admirably feigned, save that the twinkle of his eye induced a suspicion that he himself enjoyed the joke as well as anyone. His good-humour was imperturbable, and he was immensely popular both among men and officers.

"O'Driscol!" he repeated, in mild astonishment. "Do you mean to say that O'Driscol will keep him in better order than meself? If there is one man in this regiment more than another who would get on well with the lad it is meself, barring none."

"You would get on well enough with him, O'Grady, I have no doubt, but it would be by letting him have his own way, and in encouraging him in mischief of all kinds."

O'Grady's eyebrows were elevated, and his eyes expressed hopeless bewilderment.

"You are wrong entirely, Cleary; nature intended me for a schoolmaster, and it is just an accident that I have taken to soldiering. I flatter meself that no one looks after his subalterns more sharply than I do. My only fear is that I am too severe with them. I may be mild in my manners, but they know me well enough to tremble if I speak sternly to them."

"The trembling would be with amusement," the adjutant grumbled. "Well, the colonel has settled the matter, and Terence will be in Orders to- morrow as appointed to O'Driscol's company, and the other to yours."

"Thank you for nothing, Cleary," O'Grady said, with dignity. "You would have seen that under my tuition the lad would have turned out one of the smartest officers in the regiment."

"You have heard of the Spartan way of teaching their sons to avoid drunkenness, Captain O'Grady?"

"Divil a word, Cleary; but I reckon that the best way with the haythens was to keep them from touching whisky. It is what I always recommend to the men of my company when I come across one of them the worse for liquor."

The adjutant laughed. "That was not the Spartan way, O'Grady; but the advice, if taken, would doubtless have the same effect."

"And who were the Spartans at all?"

"I have not time to tell you now, O'Grady; I have no end of business on my hands."

"Thin what do you keep me talking here for? haven't I a lot of work on me hands too. I came in to ask a simple question, and instead of giving me a civil answer you kape me wasting my time wid your O'Driscols and your Spartans and all kinds of rigmarole. That is the worst of being in an Irish regiment, nothing can be done widout ever so much blather;" and Captain O'Grady stalked out of the orderly-room.

On the march Terence had no difficulty in obtaining leave from his captain to drop behind and march with his friend Dick Ryan. The marches were long ones, and they halted only at Parsonstown, Templemore, Tipperary, and Fermoy, as the colonel had received orders to use all speed. At each place a portion of the regiment was accommodated in the barracks, while the rest were quartered in the town. Late in the evening of the fifth day's march they arrived at Cork, and the next day went on board the two transports provided for them, and joined the fleet assembled in the Cove. Some of the ships had been lying there for nearly a month waiting orders, and the troops on board were heartily weary of their confinement. The news, however, that Sir Arthur Wellesley had been at last appointed to command them, and that they were to sail for Portugal, had caused great delight, for it had been feared that they might, like other bodies of troops, be shipped off to some distant spot, only to remain there for months and then to be brought home again.

Nothing, indeed, could exceed the vacillation and confusion that reigned in the English cabinet at that time. The forces of England were frittered away in small and objectless expeditions, the plans of action were changed with every report sent either by the interested leaders of insurrectionary movements in Spain, or by the signally incompetent men who had been sent out to represent England, and who distributed broadcast British money and British arms to the most unworthy applicants. By their lavishness and subservience to the Spaniards our representatives increased the natural arrogance of these people, and caused them to regard England as a power which was honoured by being permitted to share in the Spanish efforts against the French generals. General Spencer with 5,000 men was kept for months sailing up and down the coast of Spain and Portugal, receiving contradictory orders from home, and endeavouring in vain to co- operate with the Spanish generals, each of whom had his own private purposes, and was bent on gratifying personal ambitions and of thwarting the schemes of his rivals, rather than on opposing the common enemy.

Not only were the English ministry incapable of devising any plan of action, but they were constantly changing the naval and military officers of the forces. At one moment one general or admiral seemed to possess their confidence, while soon afterwards, without the slightest reason, two or three others with greater political influence were placed over his head; and when at last Sir Arthur Wellesley, whose services in India marked him as our greatest soldier, was sent out with supreme military power, they gave him no definite plan of action. General Spencer was nominally placed under his orders by one set of instructions, while another authorized him to commence operations in the south, without reference to Sir Arthur Wellesley. Admiral Purvis, who was junior to Admiral Collingwood, was authorized to control the operations of Sir Arthur, while Wellesley himself had scarcely sailed when Sir Hew Dalrymple was appointed to the chief command of the forces, Sir Harry Burrard was appointed second in command, and Sir Arthur Wellesley was reduced to the fourth rank in the army that he had been sent out to command, two of the men placed above him being almost unknown, they never having commanded any military force in the field.

The 9,000 men assembled in the Cove of Cork knew nothing of these things; they were going out under the command of the victor of Assaye to measure their strength against that of the French, and they had no fear of the result.

"I hope," Captain O'Grady said, as the officers of the wing of the regiment to which he belonged sat down to dinner for the first time on board the transport, "that we shall not have to keep together in going out."

"Why so, O'Grady?" another captain asked.

"Because there is no doubt at all that our ship is the fastest in the fleet, and that we shall get there in time to have a little brush with the French all to ourselves before the others arrive."

"What makes you think that she is the fastest ship here, O'Grady?"

"Anyone can see it with half an eye, O'Driscol. Look at her lines; she is a flyer, and if we are not obliged to keep with the others we shall be out of sight of the rest of them before we have sailed six hours."

"I don't pretend to know anything about her lines, O'Grady, but she looks to me a regular old tub."

"She is old," O'Grady admitted, reluctantly, "but give her plenty of wind and you will see how she can walk along."

There was a laugh all round the table; O'Grady's absolute confidence in anything in which he was interested was known to them all. His horse had been notoriously the most worthless animal in the regiment, but although continually last in the hunting field, O'Grady's opinion of her speed was never shaken. There was always an excuse ready; the horse had been badly shod, or it was out of sorts and had not had its feed before starting, or the going was heavy and it did not like heavy ground, or the country was too hilly or too flat for it. It was the same with his company, with his non-commissioned officers, with his soldier servant, a notoriously drunken rascal, and with his quarters.

O'Grady looked round in mild expostulation at the laugh.

"You will see," he said, confidently, "there can be no mistake about it."

Two days later a ship-of-war entered the harbour, the usual salutes were exchanged, then a signal was run up to one of her mast-heads, and again the guns of the forts pealed out a salute, and word ran through the transports that Sir Arthur Wellesley was on board. On the following day the fleet got under way, the transports being escorted by a line-of-battle ship and four frigates, which were to join Lord Collingwood's squadron as soon as they had seen their charge safe into the Tagus.

Before evening the Sea-horse was a mile astern of the rearmost ship of the convoy, and one of the frigates sailing back fired a gun as a signal to her to close up.

"Well, O'Grady, we have left the fleet, you see, though not in the way you predicted."

"Whist, man! don't you see that the captain is out of temper because they have all got to keep together, instead of letting him go ahead?"

Every rag of sail was now piled on to the ship, and as many of the others were showing nothing above their topgallant sails she rejoined the rest just as darkness fell.

"There, you see!" O'Grady said, triumphantly, "look what she can do when she likes."

"We do see, O'Grady. With twice as much sail up as anything else, she has in three hours picked up the mile she had lost."

"Wait until we get some wind."

"I hope we sha'n't get anything of the sort--at least no strong winds; the old tub would open every seam if we did, and we might think ourselves lucky if we got through it at all."

O'Grady smiled pleasantly, and said it was useless to argue with so obstinate a man.

"I am afraid O'Grady is wrong as usual," Dick Ryan said to Terence, who was sitting next to him. "When once he has taken an idea into his head nothing will persuade him that he is wrong; there is no doubt the Sea- horse is as slow as she can be. I suppose her owners have some interest with the government, or they would surely never have taken up such an old tub as a troop-ship."

CHAPTER II. TWO DANGERS

The next day, in spite of the sail she carried, the Sea-horse lagged behind, and one of the frigates sailed back to her, and the captain shouted angry orders to the master to keep his place in the convoy.

"If we get any wind," O'Grady said, as the frigate bore up on her course again, "it will take all your time to keep up with her, my fine fellow. You see," he explained to Terence, "no vessel is perfect in all points; some like a good deal of wind, some are best in a calm. Now this ship wants wind."

"I think she does, Captain O'Grady," Terence replied, gravely. "At any rate her strong point is not sailing in a light wind."

"No," O'Grady admitted, regretfully; "but it is not the ship's fault. I have no doubt at all that her bottom is foul, and that she has a lot of barnacles and weeds twice as long as your body. That is the reason why she is a little sluggish."

"That may be it," Terence agreed; "but I should have thought that they would have seen to that before they sent her to Cork."

"It is like enough that her owners are well-wishers of Napoleon, Terence, and that it is out of spite that they have done it. There is no doubt that she is a wonderful craft."

"I am quite inclined to agree with you, Captain O'Grady, for as I have never seen a ship except when the regiment came back from India ten years ago, I am no judge of one."

"It is the eye, Terence. I can't say that I have been much at sea myself, except on that voyage out and home; but I have an eye for ships, and can see their good points at a glance. You can take it from me that she is a wonderful vessel."

"She would look all the better if her sails were a bit cleaner, and not so patched," Terence said, looking up.

"She might look better to the eye, lad, but no doubt the owners know what they are doing, and consider that she goes better with sails that fit her than she would with new ones."

Terence burst into a roar of laughter. O'Grady, as usual, looked at him in mild surprise.

"What are you laughing at, you young spalpeen?"

"I am thinking, Captain O'Grady," the lad said, recovering himself, "that it is a great pity you could not have obtained the situation of Devil's Advocate. I have read that years ago someone was appointed to defend Old Nick when the others were pitching into him, and to show that he was not as black as he was painted, but was a respectable gentleman who had been maligned by the world."

"No doubt there is a good deal to be said for him," O'Grady said, seriously. "Give a dog a bad name, you know, and you may hang him; and I have no doubt the Old One has been held responsible for lots of things he never had as much as the tip of his finger in at all, at all."

Seeing that his captain was about to pursue the matter much further, Terence, making the excuse that it was time he went down to see if the men's breakfast was all right, slipped off, and he and Dick Ryan had a hearty laugh over O'Grady's peculiarities.

"I think, O'Grady," Captain O'Driscol said, two days later, "we are going to have our opportunity, for unless I am mistaken there is going to be a change of weather. Those clouds banking up ahead look like a gale from the southwest."

Before night the wind was blowing furiously, and the Sea-horse taking green sea over her bows and wallowing gunwale under in the waves. At daylight, when they went on deck, gray masses of cloud were hurrying overhead and an angry sea alone met the eye. Not a sail was in sight, and the whole convoy had vanished.

"We are out of sight of the fleet, O'Grady," Captain O'Driscol said, grimly.

"I felt sure we should be," O'Grady said, triumphantly. "Sorra one of them could keep foot with us."

"They are ahead of us, man," O'Driscol said, angrily; "miles and miles ahead."

"Ahead, is it? You must know better, O'Driscol; though it is little enough you know of ships. You see we are close-hauled, and there is no doubt that that is the vessel's strong point. Why, we have dropped the rest of them like hot potatoes, and if this little breeze keeps on, maybe we shall be in the Tagus days and days before them."

O'Driscol was too exasperated to argue.

"O'Driscol is a good fellow," O'Grady said, turning to Terence, "but it is a misfortune that he is so prejudiced. Now, what is your own opinion?"

"I have no opinion about it, Captain O'Grady. I have a very strong opinion that I am not going to enjoy my breakfast, and that this motion does not agree with me at all. I have been ill half the night. Dick Ryan is awfully bad, and by the sounds I heard I should say a good many of the others are the same way. On the main deck it is awful; they have got the hatches battened down. I just took a peep in and bolted, for it seemed to me that everyone was ill."

"The best plan, lad, is to make up your mind that you are quite well. If you once do that you will be all right directly."

Terence could not for the moment reply, having made a sudden rush to the side.

"I don't see how I can persuade myself that I am quite well," he said, when he returned, "when I feel terribly ill."

"Yes, it wants resolution, Terence, and I am afraid that you are deficient in that. It must not be half-and-half. You have got to say to yourself, 'This is glorious; I never enjoyed myself so well in my life,' and when you have said that and feel that it is quite true, the whole thing will be over."

"I don't doubt it in the least," Terence said; "but I can't say it without telling a prodigious lie, and worse still, I could not believe the lie when I had told it."

"Then I am afraid that you must submit to be ill, Terence. I know once that I had a drame, and the drame was that I was at sea and horribly sea- sick, and I woke up and said to myself, 'This is all nonsense, I am as well as ever I was;' and, faith, so I was."

Ill as Terence was, he burst into a fit of laughter.

"That was just a dream, Captain O'Grady; but mine is a reality, you know. I don't think that you are looking quite well yourself."

"I am perfectly well as far as the sea goes, Terence; never was better in my life; but that pork we had for dinner yesterday was worse than usual, and I think perhaps I ought to have taken another glass or two to correct it."

"It must have been the pork," Terence said, as seriously as O'Grady himself; "and it is unfortunate that you are such an abstemious man, or, as you say, its effects might have been corrected."

"It's me opinion, Terence, my boy, that you are a humbug."

"Then, Captain O'Grady, it is clear that evil communications must have corrupted my good manners."

"It must have been in your infancy then, Terence, for divil a bit of manners good or bad have I ever seen in you; you have not even the good manners to take a glass of the cratur when you are asked."

"That is true enough," Terence laughed. "Having been brought up in the regiment, I have learned, at least, that the best thing to do with whisky is to leave it alone."

"I am afraid you will never be a credit to us, Terence."

"Not in the way of being able to make a heavy night of it and then turn out as fresh as paint in the morning," Terence retorted; "but you see, Captain O'Grady, even my abstinence has its advantages, for at least there will always be one officer in the corps able to go the round of the sentries at night."

At this moment the vessel gave such a heavy lurch that they were both thrown off their feet and rolled into the lee-scuppers, while, at the same moment, a rush of water swept over them. Amidst shouts of laughter from the other officers the two scrambled to their feet.

"Holy Moses!" O'Grady exclaimed, "I am drowned entirely, and I sha'n't get the taste of the salt water out of me mouth for a week."

"There is one comfort," Terence said; "it might have been worse."

"How could it have been worse?" O'Grady asked, angrily.

"Why, if we hadn't been in the steadiest ship in the whole fleet we might have been washed overboard."

There was another shout of laughter. O'Grady made a dash at Terence, but the latter easily avoided him and went down below to change his clothes.

The gale increased in strength, and the whole vessel strained so heavily that her seams began to open, and by one o'clock the captain requested Major Harrison, who was in command, to put some of the soldiers at the pumps. For three days and nights relays of men kept the pumps going. Had it not been for the 400 troops on board, the Sea-horse would long before have gone to the bottom; but with such powerful aid the water was kept under, and on the morning of the fourth day the storm began to abate, and by evening more canvas was got on her. The next morning two vessels were seen astern at a distance of four or five miles. After examining them through his glass, the captain sent down a message to Major Harrison asking him to come up. In three or four minutes that officer appeared.

"There are two strange craft over there, Major; from their appearance I have not the least doubt that they are French privateers. I thought I should like your advice as to what had best be done."

"I don't know. You see, your guns might just as well be thrown overboard for any good they would be," the major said. "The things would not be safe to fire a salute with blank cartridge."

"No, they can hardly be called serviceable," the master agreed. "I spoke to the owner about it, but he said that as we were going to sail with a convoy it did not matter, and that we should have some others for the next voyage."

"I should like to see your owner dangling from the yardarm," the major said, wrathfully. "However, just at present the question is what had best be done. Of course they could not take the ship from us, but they would have very little difficulty in sinking her."

"The first thing is to put on every stitch of sail."

"That would avail us nothing; they can sail two feet to our one."

"Quite so, Major; I should not hope to get away, but they would think that I was trying to do so. My idea is that we should press on as fast as we can till they open fire at us; we could hold on for a bit, and then haul up into the wind and lower our top-sails, which they will take for a proof of surrender."

"You won't strike the flag, Captain; we cannot do anything treacherous."

"No, no, I am not thinking of doing that. You see, the flag is not hoisted yet, and we won't hoist it at all till they get close alongside, then we can haul it up, and sweep their decks with musketry. Of course your men will keep below until the last moment."

"That plan will do very well," the major agreed, "that is, if they venture to come boldly alongside."

"One is pretty sure to do so, though the other may lay herself ahead or astern of us, with her guns pointed to rake us in case we make any resistance; but seeing what we are, and that we carry only four small guns each side, they are hardly likely to suspect anything wrong. I am not at all afraid of beating them off; my only fear is that after they have sheared away they will open upon us from a distance."

"Yes, that would be awkward. However, if they do, we must keep the men below, and in the meantime you had better get your carpenter to cut up some spars and make a lot of plugs in readiness to stop up any holes they make near the water-line. I don't think they are likely to make very ragged holes, the wood is so rotten the shot would go through the side as if it were brown paper; still, you might get a lot of squares of canvas ready, with hammers and nails."

The strange craft were already heading towards the Sea-horse. No time was lost in setting every stitch of canvas that she could carry; the wind was light now, but the vessel was rolling heavily in a long swell. The major examined the guns closely and found that they were even worse than he had anticipated, the rust holes eaten in the iron having been filled up with putty, and the whole painted. He was turning away, with an exclamation of disgust, when Terence, who was standing near, said to him:

"I beg your pardon, Major, but don't you think that if we were to wind some thin rope very tightly round them three or four inches thick, they might stand a charge or two of grape to give them at close quarters; we needn't put in a very heavy charge of powder. Even if they did burst, I should think that the rope would prevent the splinters from flying about."

"The idea is not a bad one at all, Terence. I will see if the captain has got a coil or two of thin rope on board."

Fortunately the ship was fairly well supplied in this respect, and a few of the sailors who were accustomed to serving rope, with a dozen soldiers to help them, were told off to the work. The rope was wound round as tightly as the strength of a dozen men could pull it, the process being repeated five or six times, until each gun was surrounded by as many layers of rope. A thin rod had been inserted in the touch-hole. The cannon was then loaded with half the usual charge of powder, and filled to the muzzle with bullets. The rod was then drawn out, and powder poured in until it reached the surface.

While this was being done, all the soldiers not engaged in the work went below, and the officers sat down under shelter of the bulwarks. The two privateers, a large lugger and a brig, had been coming up rapidly, and by the time the guns were ready for action they were but a mile away. Presently a puff of smoke burst out from the bows of the lugger, and a round shot struck the water a short distance ahead of the Sea- horse. She held on her course without taking any notice of it, and for a few minutes the privateer was silent; then, when they were but half a mile away the brig opened fire, and two or three shots hulled the vessel.

"That will do, Captain," the major said. "You may as well lay-to now."

The Sea-horse rapidly flew up into the wind, the sheets were thrown off, and the upper sails were lowered, one after the other, the job being executed slowly, as if by a weak crew. The two privateers, which had been sailing within a short distance of each other, now exchanged signals, and the lugger ran on, straight towards the Sea-horse, while the brig took a course which would lay her across the stern of the barque, and enable them to rake her with her broadside. Word was passed below, and the soldiers poured up on deck, stooping as they reached it, and taking their places under the bulwarks. The major had already asked for volunteers among the officers, to fire the guns. All had at once offered to do so.

"As it was your proposal, Terence," the major said, "you shall have the honour of firing one; Ryan, you take another; Lieutenant Marks and Mr. Haines, you take the other two, and then England and Ireland will be equally represented."

The deck of the lugger was crowded with men, and the course she was steering brought her within a length of the Sea-horse. Some of the men were preparing to lower her boats, when suddenly a thick line of red coats appeared above the bulwarks, two hundred muskets poured in their fire, while the contents of the four guns swept her deck. The effect of the fire was tremendous. The deck was in a moment covered with dead and dying men; half a minute later another volley, fired by the remaining companies, completed the work of destruction. The halliards of one of the lugger's sails had been cut by the grape, and the sail now came down with a run to the deck.

"Down below, all of you," the major shouted, "the fellow behind will rake us in a minute."

The soldiers ran down to the hold again. A minute later the brig, sailing across the stern, poured in the fire of her guns one by one. Standing much lower in the water than her opponent, none of her shot traversed the deck of the Sea-horse, but they carried destruction among the cabins and fittings of the deck below. As this, however, was entirely deserted, no one was injured by the shot or flying fragments. The brig then took up her position three or four hundred yards away, on the quarter of the Sea-horse, and opened a steady fire against her.

To this the barque could make no reply, the fire of the muskets being wholly ineffective at that distance. The lugger lay helpless alongside the Sea-horse; the survivors of her crew had run below, and dared not return on deck to work their guns, as they would have been swept by the musketry of the Sea-horse.

Half an hour later Terence was ordered to go below to see how they were getting on in the hold.

Terence did so. Some lanterns had been lighted there, and he found that four men had been killed and a dozen or so wounded by the enemy's shot, the greater portion of which, however, had gone over their heads. The carpenter, assisted by some of the non-commissioned officers, was busy plugging holes that had been made in her between wind and water, and had fairly succeeded, as but four or five shots had struck so low, the enemy's object being not to sink, but to capture the vessel. As he passed up through the main deck to report, Terence saw that the destruction here was great indeed. The woodwork of the cabins had been knocked into fragments, there was a great gaping hole in the stern, and it seemed to him that before long the vessel would be knocked to pieces. He returned to the deck, and reported the state of things.

"It looks bad," the major said to O'Driscol. "This is but half an hour's work, and when the fellows come to the conclusion that they cannot make us strike, they will aim lower, and there will be nothing to do but to choose between sinking and hauling down our flag."

After delivering his report, Terence went to the side of the ship and looked down on the lugger. The attraction of the ship had drawn her closer to it, and she was but a few feet away. A thought struck him, and he went to O'Grady.

"Look here, O'Grady," he said, "that fellow will smash us up altogether if we don't do something."

"You must be a bright boy to see that, Terence; faith, I have been thinking so for the last ten minutes. But what are we to do? The muskets won't carry so far, at least not to do any good. The cannon are next to useless. Two of that lot you fired burst, though the ropes prevented any damage being done."

"Quite so, but there are plenty of guns alongside. Now, if you go to the major and volunteer to take your company and gain possession of the lugger, with one of the mates and half a dozen sailors to work her, we can get up the main-sail and engage the brig."

"By the powers, Terence, you are a broth of a boy," and he hurried away to the major.

"Major," he said, "if you will give me leave, I will have up my company and take possession of the lugger; we shall want one of the ship's officers and half a dozen men to work the sails, and then we will go out and give that brig pepper."

"It is a splendid idea, O'Grady."

"It is not my idea at all, at all; it is Terence O'Connor who suggested it to me. I suppose I can take the lad with me?"

"By all means, get your company up at once."

O'Grady hurried away, and in a minute the men of his company poured up onto the deck.

"You can come with me, Terence; I have the major's leave," he said to the lad.

At this moment there was a slight shock, as the lugger came in contact with the ship.

"Come on, lads," O'Grady said, as he set the example of clambering down onto the deck of the lugger. He was followed by his men, the first mate and six sailors also springing on board. The hatches were first put on to keep the remnant of the crew below. The sailors knotted the halliards of the main-sail, the soldiers tailed on to the rope, and the sail was rapidly run up. The mate put two of his men at the tiller, and the soldiers ran to the guns, which were already loaded.

"Haul that sheet to windward," the mate shouted, and the four sailors, aided by some of the soldiers, did so. Her head soon payed off, and amid a cheer from the officers on deck the lugger swept round. She mounted twelve guns. O'Grady divided the officers and non-commissioned officers among them, himself taking charge of a long pivot-gun in the bow.

"Take stiddy aim, boys, and fire as your guns bear on her; you ought not to throw away a shot at this distance."

As the lugger came out from behind the Sea-horse, gun after gun was fired, and the white splinters on the side of the brig showed that most, if not all, of the shots had taken effect. O'Grady's gun was the last to speak out, and the shot struck the brig just above the water-line.

"Take her round," he shouted to the mate; "give the boys on the other side a chance." The lugger put about and her starboard guns poured in their contents.

"That is the way," he shouted, as he laboured away with the men with him to load the pivot-gun again; "we will give him two or three more rounds, and then we will get alongside and ask for his health."

The brig, however, showed no inclination to await the attack. Some shots had been hastily fired when the lugger's first gun told them that she was now an enemy, and she at once put down her helm and made off before the wind, which was now very light.

"Load your guns and then out with the oars," Captain O'Grady shouted. "Be jabers, we will have that fellow. Let no man attend to the Sea- horse; it's from me that you are to take your orders. Besides," he said to Terence, "there is no signal-book on board, and they may hoist as many flags as they like."

The twelve sweeps on board the lugger were at once got out, and each manned by three soldiers. O'Grady himself continued to direct the fire of the pivot-gun, and sent shot after shot into the brig's stern. The latter had but some four hundred yards' start, and although she also hurriedly got out some sweeps, the lugger gained upon her. Her crew clustered on their taffrail, and kept up a musketry fire upon the party working the pivot-gun. Two of these had been killed and four wounded, when O'Grady said to the others:

"Lave the gun alone, boys; we shall be alongside of her in a few minutes; it is no use throwing away lives by working it. Run all the guns over to the other side; we will give them a warming, and then go at her."

The Sea-horse had hoisted signals directly those on board perceived that the lugger was starting in pursuit of the brig. Terence had informed his commanding officer of this, but O'Grady replied:

"I know nothing about them, Terence; most likely they mane 'Good-luck to you! Chase the blackguard, and capture him.' Don't let Woods come near me, whatever you do; I don't want to hear his idea of what the signals may mane."

Terence had just time to stop the mate as he was coming forward.

"The ship is signalling," he said.

"I have told Captain O'Grady, sir," Terence replied. "He does not know what the signal means, but has no doubt that it is instructions to capture the brig, and he means to do so."

The officer laughed.

"I think myself that it would be a pity not to," he said; "we shall be alongside in ten minutes. But I think it my duty to tell you what the signal is."

"You can tell me what it is," Terence said, "and it is possible that in the heat of action I may forget to report it to Captain O'Grady."

"That is right enough, sir. I think it is the recall."

"Well, I will attend to it presently," Terence laughed.

When within a hundred yards of the brig the troops opened a heavy musketry fire, many of the men making their way up the ratlines and so commanding the brig's deck. They were answered with a brisk fire, but the French shooting was wild, and by the shouting of orders and the confusion that prevailed on board it was evident that the privateersmen were disorganized by the sight of the troops and the capture of their consort. The brig's guns were hastily fired, as they could be brought to bear on the lugger, as she forged alongside. The sweeps had already been got in, and the lugger's eight guns poured their contents simultaneously into the brig, then a withering volley was fired, and, headed by O'Grady, the soldiers sprang on board the brig.

As they did so, however, the French flag fluttered down from the peak, and the privateersmen threw down their arms. The English broadside and volley fired at close quarters had taken terrible effect. Of the crew of eighty men thirty were killed and a large proportion of the rest wounded. The soldiers gave three hearty cheers as the flag came down.

The privateersmen were at once ordered below.

"Lieutenant Hunter," O'Grady said, "do you go on board the lugger with the left wing of the company. Mr. Woods, I think you had better stay here, there are a good many more sails to manage than there are in the lugger. One man here will be enough to steer her; we will pull at the ropes for you. Put the others on board the lugger."

"By the by, Mr. Woods," he said, "I see that the ship has hoisted a signal; what does it mean?"

"I believe that to be the recall, sir; I told Mr. O'Connor."

"You ought to have reported that same to me," O'Grady said, severely; "however, we will obey it at once."

The Sea-horse was lying head to wind a mile and a half away, and the two prizes ran rapidly up to her. They were received with a tremendous cheer from the men closely packed along her bulwarks. O'Grady at once lowered a boat and was rowed to the Sea-horse, taking Terence with him.

"You have done extremely well, Captain O'Grady," Major Harrison said, as he reached the deck, "and I congratulate you heartily. You should, however, have obeyed the order of recall; the brig might have proved too strong for you, and, bound on service as we are, we have no right to risk valuable lives except in self-defence."

"Sure I knew nothing about the signal," O'Grady said, with an air of innocence; "I thought it just meant 'More power to ye! give it 'em hot!' or something of that kind. It was not until after I had taken the brig that I was told that it was an order of recall. As soon as I learned that, we came along as fast as we could to you."

"But Mr. Woods must surely have known."

"Mr. Woods did tell me, Major," Terence put in, "but somehow I forgot to mention it to Captain O'Grady."

There was a laugh among the officers standing round.

"You ought to have informed him at once, Mr. O'Connor," the major said, with an attempt at gravity. "However," he went on, with a change of voice, "we all owe so much to you that I must overlook it, as there can be very little doubt that had it not been for your happy idea of taking possession of the lugger we should have been obliged to surrender, for I should not have been justified in holding out until the ship sank under us. I shall not fail, in reporting the matter, to do you full credit for your share in it. Now, what is your loss, Captain O'Grady?"

"Three men killed and eleven wounded, sir."

"And what is that of the enemy?"

"Thirty-two killed and about the same number of wounded, more or less. We had not time to count them before we sent them down, and I had not time afterwards, for I was occupied in obeying the order of recall. I am sorry that we have killed so many of the poor beggars, but if they had hauled down their flag when we got up with them there would have been no occasion for it. I should have told their captain that I looked upon him as an obstinate pig, but as he and his first officer were both killed, there was no use in my spaking to him."

"Well, it has been a very satisfactory operation," the major said, "and we are very well out of a very nasty fix. Now, you will go back to the brig, Captain O'Grady, and prepare to send the prisoners on board. We will send our boats for them. Doctor Daly and Doctor O'Flaherty will go on board with you and see to the wounded French and English. Doctor Daly will bring the worst cases on board here, and will leave O'Flaherty on the brig to look after the others. They will be better there than in this crowded ship. The first officer will remain there with you with five men, and you will retain fifty men of your own company. The second officer, with five men, will take charge of the lugger. He will have with him fifty men of Captain O'Driscol's company, under that officer. That will give us a little more room on board here. How many prisoners are there?"

"Counting the wounded, Major, there are about fifty of them; her crew was eighty strong to begin with. There are only some thirty, including the slightly wounded, to look after."

"If the brig's hold is clear, I think that you had better take charge of them. At present you will both lie-to beside us here till we have completed our repairs, and when we make sail you are both to follow us, and keep as close as possible; and on no account, Captain O'Grady, are you to undertake any cruises on your own account."

"I will bear it in mind, Major; and we will do all we can to keep up with you."

A laugh ran round the circle of officers at O'Grady's obstinacy in considering the Sea-horse to be a fast vessel, in spite of the evidence that they had had to the contrary. The major said, gravely:

"You will have to go under the easiest sail possible. The brig can go two feet to this craft's one, and you will only want your lower sails. If you put on more you will be running ahead and losing us at night. We shall show a light over our stern, and on no account are you to allow yourselves to lose sight of it."

A party of men were already at work nailing battens over the shattered stern of the Sea-horse. When this was done, sail-cloth was nailed over them, and a coat of pitch given to it. The operation took four hours, by which time all the other arrangements had been completed. The holds of the two privateers were found to be empty, and they learned from the French crews that the two craft had sailed from Bordeaux in company but four days previously, and that the Sea-horse was the first English ship that they had come across.

"You will remember, Captain O'Grady," the major said, as that officer prepared to go on board, "that Mr. Woods is in command of the vessel, and that he is not to be interfered with in any way with regard to making or taking in sail. He has received precise instructions as to keeping near us, and your duties will be confined to keeping guard over the prisoners, and rendering such assistance to the sailors as they may require."

"I understand, Major; but I suppose that in case you are attacked we may take a share in any divarsion that is going on?"

"I don't think that there is much chance of our being attacked, O'Grady; but if we are, instructions will be signalled to you. French privateers are not likely to interfere with us, seeing that we are together, and if by any ill-luck a French frigate should fall in with us, you will have instructions to sheer off at once, and for each of you to make your way to Lisbon as quickly as you can. You see, we have transferred four guns from each of your craft to take the place of the rotten cannon on board here, but our united forces would be of no avail at all against a frigate, which would send us to the bottom with a single broadside. We can neither run nor fight in this wretched old tub. If we do see a French frigate coming, I shall transfer the rest of the troops to the prizes and send them off at once, and leave the Sea-horse to her fate. Of course we should be very crowded on board the privateers, but that would not matter for a few days. So you see the importance of keeping quite close to us, in readiness to come alongside at once if signalled to. We shall separate as soon as we leave the ship, so as to ensure at least half our force reaching its destination."

Captain O'Driscol took Terence with him on board the lugger, leaving his lieutenant in charge of the wing that remained on board the ship.

"You have done credit to the company, and to my choice of you, Terence," he said, warmly, as they stood together on the deck of the lugger. "I did not see anything for it but a French prison, and it would have broken my heart to be tied up there while the rest of our lads were fighting the French in Portugal. I thought that you would make a good officer some day in spite of your love of devilment, but I did not think that before you had been three weeks in the service you would have saved half the regiment from a French prison."

CHAPTER III. DISEMBARKED

As soon as the vessels were under way again it was found that the lugger was obliged to lower her main-sail to keep in her position astern of the Sea-horse, while the brig was forced to take in sail after sail until the whole of the upper sails had been furled.

"It is tedious work going along like this," O'Driscol said; "but it does not so much matter, because as yet we do not know where we are going to land. Sir Arthur has gone on in a fast ship to Corunna to see the Spanish Junta there, and find out what assistance we are likely to get from Northern Spain. That will be little enough. I expect they will take our money and arms and give us plenty of fine promises in return, and do nothing; that is the game they have been playing in the south, and if there were a grain of sense among our ministers they would see that it is not of the slightest use to reckon on Spain. As to Portugal, we know very little at present, but I expect there is not a pin to choose between them and the Spaniards."

"Then we are not going to Lisbon?" Terence said, in surprise.

"I expect not. Sir Arthur won't determine anything until he joins us after his visit to Corunna, but I don't think that it will be at Lisbon, anyhow. There are strong forts guarding the mouth of the river, and ten or twelve thousand troops in the city, and a Russian fleet anchored in the port. I don't know where it will be, but I don't think that it will be Lisbon. I expect that we shall slip into some little port, land, and wait for Junot to attack us; we shall be joined, I expect, by Stewart's force, that have been fooling about for two or three months waiting for the Spaniards to make up their minds whether they will admit them into Cadiz or not. You see, at present there are only 9,000 of us, and they say that Junot has at least 50,000 in Portugal; but of course they are scattered about, and it is hardly likely that he would venture to withdraw all his garrisons from the large towns, so that the odds may not be as heavy as they look, when we meet him in the field. And I suppose that at any rate some of the Portuguese will join us. From what I hear, the peasantry are brave enough, only they have never had a chance yet of making a fight for it, owing to their miserable government, which never can make up its mind to do anything. I hope that Sir Arthur has orders, as soon as he takes Lisbon, to assume the entire control of the country and ignore the native government altogether. Even if they are worth anything, which they are sure not to be, it is better to have one head than two, and as we shall have to do all the fighting, it's just as well that we should have the whole control of things too."

For four days they sailed along quietly. On the morning of the fifth the signal was run up from the Sea-horse for the prizes to close up to her. Mr. Woods, the mate on board the brig, at once sent a sailor up to the mast-head.

"There is a large ship away to the south-west, sir," he shouted down.

"What does she look like?"

"I can only see her royals and top-sails yet, but by their square cut I think that she is a ship-of-war."

"Do you think she is French or English?"

"I cannot say for certain yet, sir, but it looks to me as if she is French. I don't think that the sails are English cut anyhow."

Such was evidently the opinion on board the Sea-horse, for as the prizes came up within a hundred yards of her they were hailed by the major through a speaking-trumpet, and ordered to keep at a distance for the present, but to be in readiness to come up alongside directly orders were given to that effect.

In another half-hour the look-out reported that he could now see the lower sails of the stranger, and had very little doubt but that it was a large French frigate. Scarcely had he done so before the two prizes were ordered to close up to the Sea-horse. The sea was very calm and they were able to lie alongside, and as soon as they did so the troops began to be transferred to them. In a quarter of an hour the operation was completed, Major Harrison taking his place on board the lugger; half the men were ordered below, and the prize sheered off from the Sea- horse.

"The Frenchman is bearing down straight for us," he said to O'Driscol; "she is bringing a breeze down with her, and in an hour she will be alongside. I shall wait another half-hour, and then we must leave the Sea-horse to her fate; except for our stores she is worthless. Well, Terence, have you any suggestion to offer? You got us out of the last scrape, and though this is not quite so bad as that, it is unpleasant enough. The frigate when she comes near will see that the Sea-horse is a slow sailer, and will probably leave her to be picked up at her leisure, and will go off in chase either of the brig or us. The brig is to make for the north-west and we shall steer south-east, so that she will have to make a choice between us. When we get the breeze we shall either of us give her a good dance before she catches us--that is, if the breeze is not too strong; if it is, her weight would soon bring her up to us."

"Yes, Major, but perhaps she may not trouble about us at all. She would see at once that the lugger and brig are French, and if they were both to hoist French colours, and the Sea-horse were to fly French colours over English, she would naturally suppose that she had been captured by us, and would go straight on her course without troubling herself further about it."

"So she might, Terence. At any rate the scheme is worth trying. If they have anything like good glasses on board they could make out our colours miles away. If she held on towards us after that, there would be plenty of time for us to run, but if we saw her change her course we should know that we were safe. Your head is good for other things besides mischief, lad."

The lugger sailed up near the ship again, and the major gave the captain instructions to hoist a French ensign over an English one, and then, sailing near the brig, told them to hoist French colours.

"Keep all your men down below the line of the bulwarks, O'Grady. Mr. Woods, you had better get your boat down and row alongside of the ship, and ask the captain to get the slings at work and hoist some of our stores into her; we will do the same on the other side. Tell the captain to lower a couple of his boats; also take twenty soldiers on board with you without their jackets; we will do the same, so that it may be seen that we have a strong party on board getting out the cargo."

In a few minutes the orders were carried out, and forty soldiers were at work on the deck of the Sea-horse, slinging up tents from below, and lowering them into the boats alongside. The approach of the frigate was anxiously watched from the decks of the prizes. The upper sails of the Sea-horse had been furled, and the privateers, under the smallest possible canvas, kept abreast of her at a distance of a couple of lengths. The hull of the French frigate was now visible. "She is very fast," the mate said to the major, "and she is safe to catch one of us if the breeze she has got holds."

As she came nearer the feeling of anxiety heightened.

"They ought to make out our colours now, sir."

Almost immediately afterwards the frigate was seen to change her course. Her head was turned more to the east. A suppressed cheer broke from the troops.

"It is all right now, sir," the mate said; "she is making for Brest. We have fooled her nicely."

The boats passed and repassed between the Sea-horse and the prizes, and the frigate crossed a little more than a mile ahead.

"Five-and-twenty guns a-side," the major said. "By Jove! she would have made short work of us."

As it was not advisable to make any change in the position until the frigate was far on her way, the boats continued to pass to and fro, carrying back to the Sea-horse the stores that had just been removed, until the Frenchman was five or six miles away.

"Don't you think that we might make sail again, Captain?" the major then hailed.

"I think that we had better give him another hour, sir. Were she to see us making sail with the prize to the south it would excite suspicion at once, and the captain might take it into his head to come back again to inquire into it."

"Half an hour will surely be sufficient," the major said. "She is travelling at eight or nine knots an hour, and she is evidently bound for port. It would be unlikely in the extreme that her commander would beat back ten miles on what, after all, might be a fool's errand."

"That is true enough, sir. Then in half an hour we shall be ready to sail again."

The major was rowed to the Sea-horse. "We may as well transfer the men at once," he said. "We have had a very narrow escape of it, Captain, and there is no doubt that we owe our safety entirely to the sharpness of that young ensign. We should have been sunk or taken if he had not suggested our manning the lugger in the first place, and of pretending that the ship had been captured by French privateers in the second."

"You are right, Major. Another half-hour and the craft would have foundered under us; and the frigate would certainly have captured the Sea-horse and one of the prizes if the Frenchman had not, as he thought, seen two privateers at work emptying our hold. He is a sharp young fellow, that."

"That he is," the major agreed. "He has been brought up with the regiment, and has always been up to pranks of all kinds; but he has used his wits to good purpose this time, and I have no doubt will turn out an excellent officer."

Before sail was made the major summoned the officers on board the Sea-horse. The troops from the lugger and brig were drawn up on deck, and the major, standing on the poop, said in a voice that could be heard from end to end of the ship:

"Officers and men, we have had a narrow escape from a French prison, and as it is possible that before we arrive at our destination we may fall in with an enemy again and not be so lucky, I think it right to take this occasion at once of thanking Mr. O' Connor, before you all, in my own name, and in yours, for to his intelligence and quickness of wit it is entirely due that we escaped being captured when the brig was pounding us with its shot, without our being able to make any return, and it was certain that in a short time we should have had to haul down our flag or be sunk. It was he who suggested that we should take possession of the lugger, and with her guns drive off the brig. As the result of that suggestion this craft was saved from being sunk, and the brig was also captured.

"In the second place, when that French frigate was bearing down upon us and our capture seemed certain, it was he who suggested to me, that by hoisting the French flag and appearing to be engaged in transferring the cargo of the ship to the privateers, we might throw dust into the eyes of the Frenchmen. As you saw, the ruse succeeded perfectly. I therefore, Mr. O'Connor, thank you most heartily in my own name, and in that of your fellow-officers, also in the name of the four hundred men of the regiment, and of the ship's company, for the manner in which you have, by your quickness and good sense, saved us all from a French prison, and saved his Majesty from the loss of the wing of a fine regiment."

As he concluded the men broke into loud cheering, and the officers gathered around Terence and thanked and congratulated him most heartily on the service that he had rendered them.

"You are a broth of a boy, Terence," Captain O'Grady said. "I knew that it was in you all along. I would not give a brass farthing for a lad who had not a spice of divil-ment in him. It shows that he has got his wits about him, and that when he steddys down he will be hard to bate."

Terence was so much overpowered at the praise he had received that, beyond protesting that it was quite undeserved, he had no reply to make to the congratulations that he received from the captain. O'Driscol, seeing that he was on the verge of breaking down, at once called upon him to take his place in the boat, and rowed with him to the lugger.

A few minutes later all sail was set on the Sea-horse, and with her yards braced tautly aft she laid her course south, close-hauled; a fresh breeze was now blowing, and she ploughed her way through the water at a rate that almost justified O'Grady's panegyrics upon her. In another three days she entered the port of Vigo, where the convoy was to rendezvous, and all were glad to find that the whole fleet were still there. On anchoring, the major went on board the Dauphin, which had brought the headquarters, and the other wing of the regiment. He was heartily greeted by the colonel.

"We were getting very uneasy about you, Harrison," he said. "The last ship of the convoy came in three days ago, and we began to fear that you must have been either dismasted or sunk in the gale. I saw the senior naval officer this morning, and he said that if you did not come in during the day he would send a frigate out in search of you; but I could see by his manner that he thought it most likely that you had gone down. So you may imagine how pleased we were when we made out your number, though we could not for the life of us make out what those two craft flying the English colours over the French, that came in after you, were. But of course they had nothing to do with you. I suppose they were two privateers that had been captured by one of our frigates, and sent in here with prize crews to refit before going home. They have both of them been knocked about a bit."

"I will tell you about them directly, Colonel; it is rather a long story. We have had a narrow squeak of it. We got through the storm pretty well, but we had a bad time of it afterwards, and we owe it entirely to young O'Connor that we are not, all of us, in a prison at Brest at present."

"You don't say so! Wait a moment, I will call his father here; he will be glad to hear that the young scamp has behaved well. I may as well call them all up; they will like to hear the story."

Turning to the group of officers who were standing on the quarter-deck a short distance away, waiting to hear the news when the major had given his report, he said: "You may as well come now and hear Major Harrison's story; it will save his telling it twice. You will be glad to hear, O'Connor, that Terence has been distinguishing himself in some way, though I know not yet in what; the major says that if it had not been for him the whole wing of the regiment would have now been in a French prison."

"Terence was always good at getting out of scrapes, Colonel, though I don't say he was not equally good in getting into them; but I am glad to hear that this time he has done something useful."

The major then gave a full account of their adventure with the privateers, and of the subsequent escape from the French frigate.

"Faith, O'Connor," the colonel said, warmly, holding out his hand to him, "I congratulate you most heartily, which is more than I ever thought to do on Terence's account. I had some misgivings when I recommended him for a commission, but I may congratulate myself as well as you that I did so. I was sure the lad had plenty in him, but I was afraid that it was more likely to come out the wrong way than the right; and now it turns out that he has saved half the regiment, for there is no doubt from what Harrison says that he has done so."

"Thank you, Colonel; I am glad indeed that the boy has done credit to your kindness. It was a mighty bad scrape this time, and he got out of it well."

"Of course, Major, you will give a full report in writing of this, and will send it in to Sir Arthur; he arrived this morning. I will go on board the flag-ship at once and report as to the prizes. Who they belong to I have not the least idea. I never heard of a transport capturing a couple of privateers before; but, I suppose, as she is taken up for the king's service and the prizes were captured by his Majesty's troops, they will rank as if taken by the navy, that is, a certain amount of their value will go to the admiral. Anyhow, the bulk of it will go, I should think, to the troops--the crew and officers of the ship, of course, sharing."

"It won't come to much a head, Colonel, anyhow. You see, they were both empty, and there is simply the value of the ships themselves, which I don't suppose would fetch above five or six hundred apiece."

"Still, the thing must be done in a regular way, and I must leave it in the admiral's hands. I will take your boat, Major, and go to him at once. You will find pen and ink in my cabin, and I should be glad if you would write your report by the time that I return; then I will go off at once to Sir Arthur."

"I have it already written, Colonel," the major said, producing the document.

"That looks to me rather long, Harrison, and busy as Sir Arthur must be, he might not take the trouble to read it. I wish you would write out another, as concise as you can make it, of the actual affair, saying at the end that you beg to report especially the conduct of Ensign O'Connor, to whose suggestions the escape of the ship both from the privateers and French frigate were due. I will hand that in as the official report, and with it the other, saying that it gives further details of the affair. Of course, with them I must give in an official letter from myself, inclosing your two reports. But first I will go and see the admiral."

In a little over half an hour he returned. "The admiral knows no more than I do whether the navy have anything to do with the prizes or not. Being so small in value he does not want to trouble himself about it. He says that the matter would entail no end of correspondence and bother, and that the crafts might rot at their anchors before the matter was decided. He thinks the best thing that I can do will be to sell the two vessels for what they will fetch, and divide the money according to prize rules, and say nothing about it. In that way there is not likely ever to be any question about it, while if the Admiralty and Horse Guards once get into a correspondence over the matter, there is no saying what bother I might have; and that he should advise me, if I do not adopt that plan, to simply scuttle them both, and report that they have sunk. Now I will just write my official letter and take it to head-quarters."

In two hours he was back again.

"I have not seen the chief," he said, "but I gave the reports to his adjutant-general. General Fane was with him; he is an old friend of mine, and I told him the story of your voyage, and the adjutant-general joined in the conversation. Fane was waiting to go in to Sir Arthur, who was dictating some despatches to England, and he said that if he had a chance he would mention the affair to Sir Arthur; and, at any rate, the other officer said that he would lay the reports before him, with such mention that Sir Arthur would doubtless look through them both. I find that there is a bit of insurrection going on in Portugal, but that no one thinks much will come of it, as bands of unarmed peasants can have no chance with the French. Nothing is determined as yet about our landing. Lisbon and the Tagus are completely in the hands of the French.

"Sir Arthur is going down to Oporto to-morrow, where it is likely that he will learn more about the situation than he did at Corunna. Fane says that he hopes we shall soon be ashore, as the general is not the man to let the grass grow under his feet."

After holding counsel with his officers the colonel determined to adopt the advice he had received, and to sell the two craft for what they would fetch, the officers all agreeing to refund their shares if any questions were ever asked on the subject. The captain of the Sea-horse agreed to accept the share of a captain in the line, and his mates those of first and second lieutenant. The colonel put himself in communication with some merchants on shore, and the two craft were sold for twelve hundred pounds.

"This gave something over a pound a head to the 400 soldiers and the crew, twice that amount to the non-commissioned officers, and sums varying from ten pounds apiece to the ensigns to fifty pounds to the major. The admiral was asked to approve of the transaction, and said, 'I have no right formally to sanction it, since, so far as I know, it is not a strictly naval matter; but I will give you a letter, Colonel, saying that you have informed me of the course that you have adopted, and that I consider that under the peculiar circumstances of the capture, and the fact that there are no men available for sending the prizes to England, the course was the best and most convenient that could possibly be adopted, though, had the craft been of any great value, it would, of course, have been necessary to refer the matter home.'"

A week passed without movement. The expedition had left England on the 12th of July, 1808, and Sir Arthur rejoined it towards the end of the month. He had learned at Oporto from Colonel Brown, our agent there, that, contrary to what he had been told at Corunna, there were no Spanish troops in the north of Portugal, but that a body of some 8,000 Portuguese irregulars and militia, half-armed and but slightly disciplined, were assembled on the river Mondego. After a consultation with Admiral Sir Charles Cotton, Sir Arthur had concluded that an attack at the mouth of the Tagus was impracticable, owing to the strength of the French there, the position of the forts that commanded the entrance of the river, and the heavy surf that broke in all the undefended creeks and bays near. There was then the choice of landing far enough north of Lisbon to ensure a disembarkation undisputed by the French, or else to sail south, join Spencer, and act against the French army under Dupont.

Sir Arthur finally determined that the Mondego River was the most practicable for the enterprise. The fort of Figueira at its mouth was already occupied by British marines, and the Portuguese force was at least sufficient to deter any small body of troops approaching the neighbourhood. Therefore, to the great joy of the troops, the order was given that the fleet should sail on the following morning; two days later they anchored off the mouth of the Mondego. Just before starting a vessel arrived with despatches from Spencer, saying that he was at St. Mary's and was free to act with Sir Arthur, and a fast vessel was despatched with orders to him to sail to the Mondego.

On arriving there Sir Arthur received the mortifying intelligence that Sir Hew Dalrymple had been appointed over his head, nevertheless he continued to push on his own plans with vigour, pending the arrival of that general. With this bad news came the information that the French general, Dupont, had been defeated. This set free a small force under General Anstruther, and some fast-sailing craft were at once despatched to find his command, and order it to sail at once to the Mondego. Without further delay, however, the landing of the troops began on the 1st of August, and the 9,000 men, their guns and stores, were ashore by the 5th.

On that day Spencer fortunately arrived with 3,300 men. He had not received Sir Arthur's orders, but the moment that Dupont surrendered he had sailed for the Tagus, and had learned from Sir C. Cotton, who commanded the fleet at the entrance to the river, where Sir Arthur was, and at once sailed to join him. While the troops were disembarking Sir Arthur had gone over to the Portuguese head-quarters, two miles distant, to confer with Bernardin Friere, the Portuguese commander-in-chief. The visit was a disappointing one. He found that the Portuguese troops were almost unarmed, and that their commander was full of inflated ideas. He proposed that the forces should unite, that they should relinquish the coast, and march into the interior and commence an offensive campaign, and was lavish in his promises to provide ample stores of provisions. The English general saw, however, that no effectual assistance could be hoped for from the Portuguese troops, and as little from the promises of their commander. He gave Friere 5,000 muskets for his troops, but absolutely declined to adopt the proposed plan, his own intention being to keep near the coast, where he could receive his supplies from the ships and be joined by reinforcements.

As soon as they had landed the Mayo regiment was marched to a village two miles inland, and, with two others of the same brigade, encamped near it. All idea of keeping up a regimental officers' mess had been abandoned, and as soon as the tents were pitched and the troops had settled down in them, O'Grady said to Terence:

"We will go into the village and see if we can find a suitable place for taking our meals. It may be that in time our fellows will learn how to cook for us, but, by jabers! we will live dacent as long as we can. My servant, Tim Hoolan, has gone on ahead to look for such a place, and he is the boy to find one if there is one anyhow to be got. As our companies are number 1 and 2, it is reasonable that we should stick together, and though O'Driscol's a quare stick, with all sorts of ridiculous notions, he is a good fellow at heart, and I will put up with him for the sake of having you with me."

As they entered the village the servant came up. "I have managed it, Captain; we have got hold of the best quarters in the village; it is a room over the only shebeen here. The ould scoundrel of a landlord wanted to keep it as a general room, but I brought the Church to bear on him, and I managed it finally."

"How did you work it, Tim?"

"Sure, your honour, I went to the praste, and by good luck his house is in front of the church. I went into the church, and I crossed myself before the altar and said a prayer or two. As I did so who should come out of the vestry but the father himself. He waited until I had done and then came up to me, and to my surprise said in good Irish:

"'So it's a Catholic you are, my man?'

"'That am I, your riverence,' said I, 'and most all of the rigiment are; sure, we were raised in the ould country, and belong, most of us, to County Mayo, and glad we were to come out here to fight for those of the true religion against these Frenchmen, who they say have no religion at all, at all. And how is it you spake the language, your riverence, if I may be so bold as to ask?'"

"Then he told me that he had been at college at Lisbon, where the sons of many Catholic Irish gentlemen were sent to be educated, and that he had learned it from them.

"'And how is it that you are not with your regiment, my man?'

"'I am here to hire rooms for the officers, your riverence, just a place where they can ate a dacent meal in peace and quietness. I have been to the inn, but I cannot for the life of me make the landlord understand. He has got a room that would be just suitable, so I thought I would come to your riverence to explain to you that the rigiment are not heretics, but true sons of the Church. I thought that, being a learned man, I might make shift to make you understand, and that you would maybe go wid me and explain the matter to him.'

"'That will I,' says he; and he wint and jabbered away with the innkeeper, and at last turned to me and said: 'He will let you have a room, seeing that it is for the service of good Catholics and not heretics.'"

"But, you rascal, you know that we are not Catholics."

"Sure, your honour, didn't I say that most all the rigiment were Catholics; I did not say all of them."

"I must go and explain the matter to him, Hoolan. If he calls upon us, as like he may do, he would find out at once that you have desaved him."

"Sure, your honour, if you think that it is necessary, of course it must be done; but would it not be as well to go to the shebeen first and to take possession of the room, and to get comfortably settled down in it before ye gives me away?"

"I think it might be worth while, Tim," O'Grady said, gravely. "What do you say, Terence?"

"I think the matter will keep for a few hours," Terence said, laughing, "and when we are once settled there it will be very hard to turn us out."

The room was found to be larger than they had expected, and O'Grady proposed that they should admit the whole officers of their wing to share it with them, to which Terence at once agreed heartily. "I think that with a little squeezing the place would hold the officers of the five companies, and the major and O'Flaherty. The more of us there are, the merrier, and the less fear of our being turned out."

"That is so. We had better put the names up on the door. You go down and try and make that black-browed landlord understand that you want some paper and pen and ink."

With some difficulty and much gesticulation Terence succeeded. The names of the officers were written down on a paper and it was then fastened on the door.

"Now, Terence, I will go and fetch the boys; you and Hoolan make the landlord understand that we want food and wine for fifteen or sixteen officers. Of course they won't all be able to get away at once. We must contint ourselves with anything we can get now; afterwards we will send up our rations, and with plenty of good wine and a ham (there are lots of them hanging from the ceiling down below), we shall do pretty well, with what you can forage outside."

Terence left this part of the work to Hoolan, who, by bringing up a number of plates and ranging them on the table, getting down a ham and cutting it into slices, and by pointing to the wine-skins, managed to acquaint the landlord with what was required. In this he was a good deal aided by the man's two nieces, who acted as his assistants, and who were much quicker in catching his meaning than was the landlord himself. Very soon the room below was crowded with officers from other regiments, and Hoolan went up to Terence:

"I think, Mr. O'Connor, that it would be a good job if you were to go down and buy a dozen of them hams. A lot of them have been sold already, and it won't be long before the last has gone, though I reckon that there are three or four dozen of them still there."

"That is a very good idea, Tim. You come down with me and bring them straight up here, and we will drive some nails into those rafters. I expect before nightfall the place will be cleared out of everything that is eatable."

The bargain was speedily concluded. The landlord was now in a better temper. At first he had been very doubtful of the intentions of the new- comers. Now that he saw that they were ready to pay for everything, and that at prices much higher than he could before have obtained, his face shone with good-humour. He and the two girls were already busy drawing wine and selling it to the customers.

"I will get some wood, your honour, and light a fire here, or it is mighty little dinner that you will be getting. The soldiers will soon be dropping in, that is, if they don't keep this place for officers only, for there are two other places where they sell wine in the village. When I came up two officers had a slice of ham each on the points of their swords over the fire."

"That will be a very good plan, Tim; you had better set to work about it at once, and at the same time I will try and get some bread."

By the time that O'Grady returned with seven or eight other officers the fire was blazing. Terence had managed to get a sufficient number of knives and forks; there was, however, no table-cloth in the house. He and Terence were cooking slices of ham on a gridiron over the fire.

"This is first-rate, O'Grady," Major Harrison said; "the place is crowded down below, and we should have fared very badly if you had not managed to get hold of this room."

"If some of the boys will see to the cooking, Major, I will go down with Hoolan and get a barrel of wine and bring it up here; then we shall do first-rate."

"How about the rations, Major?" Terence asked.

"They have just been served out. I sent my man down to draw the rations for the whole wing at once, and told him to bring them up here."

"And I have told mine," Captain O'Driscol said, "to go round the village and buy up two or three dozen chickens, if he can find them, and as many eggs as he can collect. I think that we had better tell off two of the men as cooks. I don't think it is likely that they will be able to get much done that way below. Hoolan and another will do."

"I should think it best to keep Hoolan as forager; he is rather a genius in that capacity. I think he has got round those two girls, whether by his red hair or his insinuating manners I cannot say, but they seem ready to do anything for him, and we shall want lots of things in the way of pots and pans and so on."

"Very well, Terence, then we will leave him free and put two others on."

CHAPTER IV. UNDER CANVAS

In a short time O'Grady returned, followed by Hoolan, carrying a small barrel of wine.

"It is good, I hope," the major said, as the barrel was set down in one corner of the room.

"I think that it is the best they have; one of the girls went down with Tim into the cellar and pointed it out to him. I told him to ask her for bueno vino. I don't know whether it was right or not, but I think she understood."

"How much does it hold, O'Grady?"

"I cannot say; five or six gallons, I should think; anyhow, I paid three dollars for it."

"You must put down all the outgoings, O'Grady, and we will square up when we leave here."

"I will put them down, Major. How long do you think we shall stop here?"

"That is more than anyone can say; we have to wait for Anstruther and Spencer. It may be three or four days; it may be a fortnight."

Dick Ryan assisted Terence in the cooking, while Tim went down to get something to drink out of. He returned with three mugs and two horns.

"Divil a thing else is there that can be found, yer honour," he said, as he placed them on the table; "every mortial thing is in use."

"That will do to begin with," the major said; "we will get our own things up this afternoon. We must manage as best we can for this meal; it is better than I expected by a long way."

Tim now relieved the two young officers at the gridiron, and sitting down at the benches along the table the meal was eaten with much laughter and fun.

"After all, there is nothing like getting things straight from the gridiron," the major said.

O'Grady had got the bung out of the barrel and filled the five drinking vessels, and the wine was pronounced to be very fair. One by one the other officers dropped in, and Hoolan was for an hour kept busy. The major, who spoke a little Spanish, went down and returned with a dozen bottles of spirits, two or three of which were opened and the contents consumed.

"It is poor stuff by the side of whisky," O'Grady said, as he swallowed a stiff glass of it; "still, I will not be denying that it is warming and comforting, and if we can get enough of it we can hold on till we get home again. Here is success to the campaign. I will trouble you for that bottle, O'Driscol."

"Here it is. I shall stick to wine; I don't care for that fiery stuff. Here is success to the campaign, and may we meet the French before long!

"We are pretty sure to do that," he went on, as he set his horn down on the table. "If Junot knows his business he won't lose a day before marching against us directly he hears of our landing. He will know well enough that unless he crushes us at once he will have all Portugal up in arms. Here, Terence, you can have this horn."

The difficulty of drinking had to some extent been solved by Hoolan, who had gone downstairs, and returned with a tin pot capable of holding about a couple of quarts. This he had cleaned by rubbing it with sand and water, and it went round as a loving-cup among those unprovided with mugs or horns. When all had finished, the two soldier servants, who had now arrived with the rations, were left in charge. O'Driscol's servant had brought in a dozen fowls and a large basket full of eggs, and, ordering supper to be ready at eight, the officers returned to their camp. They found that their comrades had done fairly well. Several rooms had been obtained in the village, and hams, black sausages, and other provisions purchased, and cooked in a rough way on a gridiron.

"I am afraid that it is too good to last," the colonel said, as the officers gathered around him as the bugle sounded for parade; "a week of this and the last scrap of provisions here will have been eaten, and we shall have nothing but our rations to fall back upon. There is one thing, however, that is not likely to give out, that is wine. They grow it about here, and I hear that the commissariat have bought up large quantities without difficulty to serve out to the troops."

The regiment had a long afternoon's drill to get them out of the slackness occasioned by their enforced idleness on the voyage. When it was over they were formed up, and the colonel addressed a few words to the men.

"Men of the Mayo regiment," he said, "I trust that, now we are fairly embarked upon the campaign, you will so behave as to do credit to yourselves and to Ireland. Perhaps some of you think that, now that you are on a campaign, you can do just as you like. Those who think so are wrong; it is just the other way. When you were at home I did not think it necessary that I should be severe with you; and as long as a man was able, when he came into barracks, to walk to his quarters, I did not trouble about him. But it is different here; any breach of duty will be most severely punished, and any man who is found drunk will be flogged. Any man plundering or ill-treating the people of the country will be handed over to the provost-marshal, and, unless I am mistaken, he is likely to be shot.

"Sir Arthur Wellesley is not the man to stand nonsense. There must be no straggling; you must keep within the bounds of the camps, and no one must go into the village without a permit from the captain of his company. As to your fighting--well, I have no fear of that; we will say nothing about it. Before the enemy I know that you will all do your duty, and it is just as necessary that you should do your duty and be a credit to your regiment at other times. There are blackguards in the regiment, as there are in every other, but I tell them that a sharp eye will be kept upon them, and that no mercy will be shown them if they misbehave while they are in Portugal. That is all I have to say to you."

"That was the sort of thing, I think, Major," he said, as, after the men were dismissed, he walked back to his tent with Major Harrison.

"Just the sort of thing, Colonel," the other said, smiling; "and said in the sort of way that they will understand. I am afraid that we shall have trouble with some of them. Wine and spirits are cheap, and it will be very difficult to keep them from it altogether. Still, if we make an example of the first fellow who is caught drunk it will be a useful lesson to the whole. A few floggings at the start may save some hanging afterwards. I know you are averse to flogging--there have only been four men flogged in the last six months--but this is a case where punishment must be dealt out sharply if discipline is to be maintained, and the credit of the regiment be kept up."

O'Grady and one of the other officers called upon the priest to thank him for his good offices in obtaining the room for them.

"I am afraid from what my man tells me that he did not state the case quite fairly to you. Our regiment was, as he said, raised in Ireland, and the greater portion of the men are naturally of your faith, Father, but we really have no claim to your services whatever."

The priest smiled.

"I am, nevertheless, glad to have been of service to you, gentlemen," he said, courteously; "at least you are Irishmen, and I have many good friends countrymen of yours. And you have still another claim upon us all, for are you not here to aid us to shake off this French domination? I hope that you are comfortable, but judging from what I see and hear when passing I fear that your lodging is a somewhat noisy one."

"You may well say that, Father; and we do our full share towards making it so; but having the room makes all the difference to us. They have no time to cook downstairs, and it is done by our own servants; but it is handy to have the wine and other things within call, and if we always do as well, we shall have good cause to feel mighty contented; for barring that we are rather crowded, we are just as well off here as we were at home, saving only in the quality of the spirits. Now, Father, we cannot ask you up there, seeing that it is your own village, but if you would like to take a walk through the camps we should be glad to show you what there is to be seen, and can give you a little of the real cratur. It is not much of it that we have been able to bring ashore, for the general is mighty stiff in the matter of baggage, but I doubt whether there is one of us who did not manage to smuggle a bottle or two of the real stuff hidden in his kit."

The priest accepted the invitation, and was taken through the brigade camp, staying some time in that of the Mayos, and astonishing some of the soldiers by chatting to them in English, and with a brogue almost as strong as their own. He then spent half an hour in O'Grady's tent, and sampled the whisky, which he pronounced excellent, and of which his entertainer insisted upon his taking a bottle away with him.

Three days later it was known in camp that two French divisions had been set in motion against them, the one from Abrantes to the east under Loison, the other from the south under Laborde. Junot himself remained at Lisbon. The rising in the south, and the news of the British landing caused an intense feeling among the population, and the French general feared that at any moment an insurrection might break out. The natural point of junction of these two columns would be at Leirya. That night orders were issued for the tents of the division to which the Mayo regiment belonged to be struck before daylight, and the troops were to be under arms and ready to march at six o'clock.

"Good news!" O'Grady said, as he entered the mess-room at four o'clock in the afternoon, after having learned from the colonel the orders for the next morning; "our brigade is to form the advanced guard, and we are to march at six tomorrow."

A general exclamation of pleasure broke from the five or six officers present. "We shall have the first of the fun, boys; hand me that horn, Terence. Here is to Sir Arthur; good-luck to him, and bad cess to the French!"

The toast was drunk with some laughter. "Now we are going to campaign in earnest," he went on; "no more wine swilling, no more devilled ham---- "

"No more spirits, O'Grady," one of the group cut in; "and as for the wine, you have drunk your share, besides twice your share of the spirits."

"Whin there is nothing to do, Debenham, I can take me liquor in moderation."

"I have never remarked that, O'Grady," one of the others put in.

"In great moderation," O'Grady said, gravely, but he was again interrupted by a shout of laughter.

"Ye had to be helped home last night, O'Grady, and it took Hoolan a quarter of an hour to wake you this morning. I heard him say, 'Now, master dear, the bugle will sound in a minute or two; it's wake you must, or there will be a divil of botheration over it.' I looked in, and there you were. Hoolan was standing by the side of you shaking his head gravely, as if it was a hopeless job that he had in hand, and if I had not emptied a water-bottle over you, you would never have been on parade in time."

"Oh! it was you, was it?" O'Grady said, wrathfully. "Hoolan swore by all the saints that he had not seen who it was. Never mind, me boy, I will be even wid ye yet; the O'Grady is not to be waked in that fashion; mind I owe you one, though I am not saying that I should have been on parade in time if you had not done it; I only just saved my bacon."

"And hardly that," Terence laughed, "for the adjutant was down upon you pretty sharply; your coatee was all buttoned up wrong; your hair had not been brushed, and stuck up all ways below your shako; your sword-belt was all awry, and you looked worse than you did when I brought you home."

"Well, it is a poor heart that never rejoices, Terence. We must make a night of it, boys; if the tents are to be struck before daylight it will be mighty little use your turning in."

"You won't catch me sitting up all night," Terence said, "with perhaps a twenty-mile march in the morning, and maybe a fight at the end of it. If it is to Leirya we are going it will be nearer thirty miles than twenty, and even you, seasoned vessel as you are, will find it a long walk after being up all night, and having had pretty hard work to-day."

"I cannot hold wid the general there," O'Grady said, gravely; "he has been kapeing us all at it from daybreak till night, ivery day since we landed, and marching the men's feet off. It is all very well to march when we have got to march, but to keep us tramping fifteen or twenty miles a day when there is no occasion for it is out of all reason."

"We shall march all the better for it to-morrow, O'Grady. It has been hard work, certainly, but not harder than it was marching down to Cork; and we should have a good many stragglers to-morrow if it had not been for the last week's work. We have got half a dozen footsore men in my company alone, and you would have fifty to-morrow night if the men had not had all this marching to get them fit."

"It is all very well for you, Terence, who have been tramping all over the hills round Athlone since you were a gossoon; but I am sure that if I had not had that day off duty when I showed the priest round the camp I should have been kilt."

"Here is the general order of the day," the adjutant said, as he came in with Captain O'Connor. "The general says that now the army is about to take the field he shall expect the strictest discipline to be maintained, and that all stragglers from the ranks will at once be handed over to the provost-marshal, and all offences against the peasantry or their property will be severely punished. Then there are two or three orders that do not concern us particularly, and then there is one that concerns you, Terence. The general has received a report from Colonel Corcoran of the Mayo Fusiliers stating that 'the transport carrying the left wing of that regiment was attacked by two French privateers, and would have been compelled to surrender, she being practically unarmed, had it not been for the coolness and quick wit of Ensign Terence O'Connor. Having read the report the general commanding fully concurs, and expresses his high satisfaction at the conduct of Ensign O'Connor, which undoubtedly saved from capture the wing of the regiment.'

"There, Terence, that is a feather in your cap. Sir Arthur is not given to praise unduly, and it is seldom that an ensign gets into general orders. It will do you good some day, perhaps when you least expect it."

"I am heartily pleased, my lad," Captain O'Connor said, as he laid his hand upon Terence's shoulder. "I am proud of you. I have never seen my own name in general orders, but I am heartily glad to see yours. Bedad, when I think that a couple of months ago you were running wild and getting into all sorts of mischief, it seems hard to believe that you should not only be one of us, but have got your name into general orders."

"And all for nothing, father," Terence said. "I call it a beastly shame that just because I thought of using that lugger I should be cracked up more than the others."

"It was not only that, though, Terence; those guns that crippled the lugger could not have been fired if you had not thought of putting rope round them, and that French frigate would never have left you alone had not you suggested to the major how to throw dust into their eyes. No, my lad, you thoroughly deserve the credit that you have got, and I am sure that there is not a man in the regiment who would not say the same."

"Gintlemen," Captain O'Grady said, solemnly, "we will drink to the health of Ensign Terence O'Connor; more power to his elbow!" And the toast was duly honoured.

"It is mighty good of me to propose it," O'Grady went on, after Terence had said a few words of thanks, "because I have a strong idea that in another two or three minutes I should have made just the same suggestion that you did, me lad. I knew at the time that there was a plan I wanted to propose, but sorra a word came to me lips. I was just brimful with it when you came up and took the words out of me mouth. If I had spoken first it is a brevet majority I had got, sure enough."

"You must be quicker next time, O'Grady," the adjutant said, when the laughter had subsided; "as you say, you have missed a good thing by your slowness. I am afraid your brain was still a little muddled by your indulgence the night before."

"Just the contrary, me boy; I feel that if I had taken just one glass more of the cratur me brain would have been clearer and I should have been to the fore. But I bear you no malice, Terence. Maybe the ideas would not have managed to straighten themselves out until after we had had to haul down the flag, and then it would have been too late to have been any good. It has happened to me more than once before that I have just thought of a good thing when it was too late."

"It has occurred to most of us, O'Grady," Captain O'Connor said, laughing. "Terence, you see, doesn't care for whisky, and perhaps that has something to do with his ideas coming faster than ours. Well, so we are off to-morrow; though, of course, no one knows which way we are going to march, it must be either to Leirya or along the coast road. It is a good thing Spencer has come up in time, for there is no saying how strong the French may be; though I fancy they are all so scattered about that, after leaving a garrison to keep Lisbon in order, and holding other points, Junot will hardly be able at such short notice to gather a force much superior to ours. But from what I hear there are some mighty strong positions between this and Lisbon, and if he sticks himself up on the top of a hill we shall have all our work to turn him off again."

"I fancy it will be to Leirya," the adjutant said; "the Portuguese report that one French division is at Candieros and another coming from Abrantes, and Sir Arthur is likely to endeavour to prevent them from uniting."

That evening there was a grand feast at the mess-room. The colonel had been specially invited, and every effort was made to do honour to the occasion. Tim Hoolan had been very successful in a foraging expedition, and had brought in a goose and four ducks, and had persuaded the landlord's nieces to let him and the cook have sole possession of the kitchen. The banquet was a great success, but the majority of those present did not sit very long afterwards. The colonel set the example of rising early.

"I should advise you, gentlemen, to turn in soon," he said. "I do not say where we are to march to-morrow, but I can tell you at least that the march is a very long one, and that it were best to get as much sleep as possible, for I can assure you that it will be no child's play; and I think that it is quite probable we shall smell powder before the day is over."

Accordingly, all the young officers and several of the seniors left with him, but O'Grady and several of the hard drinkers kept it up until midnight, observing, however, more moderation than usual in their potations.

There was none of the grumbling common when men are turned out of their beds before dawn; all were in high spirits that the time for action had arrived; the men were as eager to meet the enemy as were their officers; and the tents were all down and placed in the waggons before daylight. The regimental cooks had already been at work, and the officers went round and saw that all had had breakfast before they fell in. At six o'clock the whole were under arms and in their place as the central regiment in the brigade. They tramped on without a halt until eleven; then the bugle sounded, and they fell out for half an hour.

The men made a meal from bread and the meat that had been cooked the night before, each man carrying three days' rations in his haversack. There was another halt, and a longer one, at two o'clock, when the brigade rested for an hour in the shade of a grove.

"It is mighty pleasant to rest," O'Grady said, as the officers threw themselves down on the grass, "but it is the starting that bates one. I feel that my feet have swollen so that every step I take I expect my boots to burst with an explosion. Faith, if it comes to fighting I shall take them off altogether, and swing them at my belt. How can I run after the French when I am a cripple?"

"You had better take your boots off now, O'Grady," one of the others suggested.

"It is not aisy to get them off, and how should I get them on again? No; they have got there, and there they have got to stop, bad cess to them! I told Hoolan to rub grease into them for an hour last night, but the rascal was as drunk as an owl."

There was no more talking, for every man felt that an hour's sleep would do wonders for him; soon absolute quiet reigned in the grove, and continued until the bugle again called them to their feet. All knew now that it was Leirya they were making for, and that another ten miles still remained to be accomplished. A small body of cavalry which accompanied them now pushed on ahead, and when half the distance had been traversed a trooper brought back the news that the enemy had not yet reached the town. It was just six o'clock when the brigade marched in amid the cheers and wild excitement of the inhabitants. The waggons were not yet up, and the troops were quartered in the town, tired, and many of them foot-sore, but proud of the march they had accomplished, and that it had enabled them to forestall the French.

Laborde, indeed, arrived the same night at Batalha, eight miles distant, but on receiving the news in the morning that the British had already occupied Leirya, he advanced no farther. His position was an exceedingly difficult one; his orders were to cover the march of Loison from Abrantes, and to form a junction with that general; but to do so now would be to leave open the road through Alcobaca and Obidos to the commanding position at Torres Vedras. Batalha offered no position that he could hope to defend until the arrival of Loison; therefore, sending word to that general to move from Torras Novas, as soon as he reached that town, to Santarem, and then to march to join him at Rolica, he fell back to Alcobaca and then to Obidos, a town with a Moorish castle, built on a gentle eminence in the middle of a valley.

Leaving a detachment here, he retired to Rolica, six miles to the south of it. At this point several roads met, and he at once covered all the approaches to Torres Vedras, and the important port of Peniche, and could be joined by Loison marching down from Santarem.

The advanced brigade of the British force remained in quiet possession of Leirya during the next day, and on the following, the 11th of August, the main body of the army arrived, having taken two days on the march. The Portuguese force also came in under Friere. That general at once took possession of the magazines there, and although he had promised the English general that their contents should be entirely devoted to the maintenance of the English army, he divided them among his own force. Disgusted as the British commander was at this barefaced dishonesty, he was not in a position to quarrel with the Portuguese. It was essential to him that they should accompany him, not for the sake of the assistance that they would give, for he knew that none was to be expected from them, but from a political point of view. It was most important that the people at large should feel that their own troops were acting with the British, and that no feelings of jealousy or suspicion of the latter should arise. Friere was acting under the orders of the Bishop and Junta of Oporto, whose great object was to keep the Portuguese army together and not to risk a defeat, as they desired to keep this body intact in order that, if the British were defeated, they should be able to make favourable terms for themselves. Consequently, even after appropriating the whole of the stores and provisions found at Leirya, Friere continued to make exorbitant demands, and to offer a vigorous opposition to any further advance.

So far did he carry this that the British general, finding that in no other way could he get the Portuguese to advance with him, proposed that they should follow behind him and wait the result of the battle, to which Friere at last consented. The Portuguese, in fact, had no belief whatever that the British troops would be able to withstand the onslaught of the French, whom they regarded as invincible. Colonel Trant, however, one of our military agents, succeeded in inducing Friere to place 1,400 infantry and 250 cavalry under the command of Sir Arthur.

The addition of the cavalry was a very useful one, for the English had with them only 180 mounted men; the country was entirely new to them, scarcely an officer could speak the language, and there was no means, therefore, of obtaining information as to the movements of the enemy. Moving forward through Batalha, and regaining the coast road at Alcobaca, the British forces arrived at Caldas on the 15th; and on the same day Junot quitted Lisbon with a force of 2,000 infantry, 2,000 cavalry, and ten pieces of artillery, leaving 7,000 to garrison the forts and keep down the population of the city. His force was conveyed to Villa Franca by water, and the general then pushed forward to Santarem, where he found Loison, and took command of his division.

The British advanced guard, after arriving at Caldas, pushed forward, drove the French pickets out of Brilos, and then from Obidos. Here, however, a slight reverse took place. Some companies of the 95th and 60th Rifles pressed forward three miles farther in pursuit, when they were suddenly attacked in flank by a greatly superior force, and had it not been that General Spencer, whose division was but a short distance behind, pressed forward to their assistance, they would have suffered heavily; as it was they escaped with the loss of two officers and twenty-seven men killed and wounded. Their rashness, however, led to the discovery that Laborde's force had taken up a strong position in front of the village of Rolica, and that he apparently intended to give battle there.

The next day was spent in reconnoitring the French position. It was a very strong one. Rolica stood on a table-land rising in a valley, affording a view of the road as far as Obidos. The various points of defence there, and on the flank, were held by strong parties of the enemy. A mile in the rear was a steep and lofty ridge that afforded a strong second line of defence. By the side of this ridge the road passed through a deep defile, and then mounted over a pass through the range of hills extending from the sea to the Tagus, and occupying the intermediate ground until close to Lisbon. Laborde's position was an embarrassing one. If he retired upon Torres Vedras his line of communication with Loison would be lost, if he moved to meet Loison he would leave open the direct road to Lisbon, while if he remained at Rolica he had to encounter a force almost three times his own strength.

Trusting in the advantages of his position, and confident in the valour of his troops, he chose the last alternative. Very anxiously, during the day, the British officers watched the French line of defence, fearful lest the enemy would again retreat. By sunset they came to the conclusion that Laborde intended to stay where he was, and to meet them. The French, indeed, had been so accustomed to beat the Spanish and Portuguese, that they had not woke up to the fact that they had troops of a very different material facing them.

"We ought to have easy work," Major Harrison said, as the officers gathered round the fire that had been built in front of the colonel's tent; "the people here all declare that Laborde has not above 5,000 troops with him, while, counting Trant's Portuguese, we have nearly 14,000."

"There will be no credit in thrashing them with such odds as that," Dick Ryan grumbled.

"I suppose, Ryan," Major Harrison said, "if you had been in Sir Arthur's place you would have preferred remaining at Leirya until Junot could have gathered all his forces, and obtained a reinforcement of some fifty thousand or so from Spain, then you would have issued a general order saying, that as the enemy had now a hundred thousand troops ready, the army would advance and smite them."

"Not so bad as that, Major," the young ensign said, colouring, as there was a general laugh from the rest; "but there does not seem much satisfaction in thrashing an enemy when we are three to one against him."

"But that is just the art of war, Ryan. Of course, it is glorious to defeat a greatly superior army and to lose half your own in doing so; that may be heroic, but it is not modern war. The object of a general is, if possible, to defeat an enemy in detail, and to so manoeuvre that he is always superior in strength to the force that is immediately in front of him, and so to ensure victory after victory until the enemy are destroyed. That is what the general is doing by his skilful manoeuvring; he has prevented Junot from massing the whole of the army of Portugal against us.

"To-morrow we shall defeat Laborde, and doubtless a day or two later we shall fight Loison; then I suppose we shall advance against Lisbon, Junot will collect his beaten troops and his garrison, there will be another battle, and then we shall capture Lisbon, and the French will have to evacuate Portugal. Whereas, if all the French were at Rolica they would probably smash us into a cocked hat, in spite of any valour we might show; and as we have no cavalry to cover a retreat, as the miserable horses can scarcely drag the few guns that we have got, and the carriages are so rickety that the artillery officers are afraid that as soon as they fire them they will shake to pieces, it is not probable that a single man would regain our ships."

"Please say no more, Major; I see I was a fool."

"Still," Captain O'Connor said, "you must own, Major, that one does like to win against odds."

"Quite so, O'Connor; individuals who may survive such a battle no doubt would be glad that it was a superior force that they had beaten, but then you see battles are not fought for the satisfaction of individuals. Moreover, you must remember that the proportion of loss is much heavier when the numbers are pretty equally matched, for in that case they must meet to a certain extent face to face. Skill on the part of the general may do a great deal, but in the end it must come to sheer hard fighting. Now, I expect that to-morrow, although there may be hard fighting, it is not upon that that Sir Arthur will principally rely for turning the French out of those strong positions.

"He will, no doubt, advance directly against them with perhaps half his force, but the rest will move along on the top of the heights, and so threaten to cut the French line of retreat altogether. Laborde is, they say, a good general, and therefore won't wait until he is caught in a trap, but will fall back as soon as he sees that the line of retreat is seriously menaced. I fancy, too, that he must expect Loison up some time tomorrow, or he would hardly make a stand, and if Loison does come up, Ryan's wish will be gratified and we shall be having the odds against us.

"Then you must remember that our army is a very raw one. A large proportion of it is newly raised, and though there may be a few men here who fought in Egypt, the great bulk have never seen a shot fired in earnest; while, on the other hand, the French have been fighting all over Europe. They are accustomed to victory, and are confident in their own valour and discipline. Our officers are as raw as our men, and we must expect that all sorts of blunders will be made at first. I can tell you that I am very well satisfied that our first battle is going to be fought with the odds greatly on our side. In six months I should feel pretty confident, even if the French had the same odds on their side."

"The major gave it you rather hotly, Dick," Terence said to his friend, as they sauntered off together from the group. "I am glad that you spoke first, for I had it on the tip of my tongue to say just what you did, and I expect that a good many of the others felt just the same."

"Yes, I put my foot in it badly, Terence. I have no doubt the major was right; anyhow, I have nothing to say against it. But for all that I wish that either we were not so strong or that they were stronger. What credit is there, I should like to know, in thrashing them when we are three to one? Anyhow, I hope that we shall have some share in the scrimmage. We shall get an idea when the orders are published to-night, and shall see where Fane's brigade is to be put."

CHAPTER V. ROLICA AND VIMIERA

At nine o'clock in the evening it became known that the general plan of attack predicted by Major Harrison was to be carried out. Some five thousand men under General Ferguson were to ascend the hills on the left of the valley, while Trant, with a thousand Portuguese infantry and some Portuguese horse, were to move on the hills on the right; the centre, nine thousand strong, and commanded by Sir Arthur himself, were to march straight up the valley.

Early in the morning the British troops marched out from Obidos. Ferguson's command at once turned to the left and ascended the hills, while Trant's moved to the west.

After proceeding a short distance, Fane's brigade moved off from the road and marched along the valley, equidistant from the main body and from Ferguson, forming a connecting link between them; and on reaching the village of St. Mamed, three-quarters of a mile from the French position, Hill's brigade turned off to the right. From their elevated position the French opened fire with their artillery, and this was answered by the twelve guns in the valley and from Ferguson's six guns on the heights. Fane's brigade, extended to its left, was the first in action, and drove back the French skirmishers and connected Ferguson with the centre. They then turned to attack the right of the French position; while Ferguson, seeing no signs of Loison's force, descended from the high ground to the rear of Fane, while the Portuguese pressed forward at the foot of the hills on the other side of the valley and threatened the enemy's left flank.

Seeing that his position was absolutely untenable, Laborde did not wait the assault, but fell back, covered by his cavalry, to the far stronger position in his rear. A momentary pause ensued before the British continued their advance. The new position of the French was of great natural strength, and could be approached only by narrow paths winding up through deep ravines on its face. Ferguson and Fane received orders to keep to the left, and so turn the enemy's right. Trant similarly was to push forward and threaten his left flank, while Hill and Nightingale advanced against the front.

The battle commenced by a storm of skirmishers from these brigades running forward. These soon reached the foot of the precipitous hill and plunged into the passes. Neither the fire of the enemy nor the difficulties of the ascent checked them. Spreading right and left from the paths they made their way up, and taking advantage of the shelter afforded by great boulders, broken masses of rock, and the stumps of trees, climbed up wherever they could find a foothold. The supporting columns experienced much greater difficulty; the paths were too narrow, and the ground too broken for them to retain their formation, and they made their way forward as best they could in necessary disorder.

The din of battle was prodigious, for the rattle of musketry was echoed and re-echoed from the rocks. The progress of the skirmishers could only be noted by the light smoke rising through the foliage and by the shouts of the soldiers, which were echoed by the still louder ones of the French, gathered strongly on the hill above them. As the British made their way up, Laborde, who was still anxiously looking for the expected coming of Loison, withdrew a portion of his troops from the left and strengthened his right, in order to hold on as long as possible on the side from which aid was expected. The ardour of the British to get to close quarters favoured this movement.

It had been intended that the 9th and 29th Regiments should take the right-hand path where the track they were following up the pass forked, and so join Trant's Portuguese at the top of the hill and fall upon the French left. The left-hand path, however, was the one that would take them direct to the enemy, and the 29th, which was leading, took this, and the 9th followed them. So rapidly did they press up the hill that they arrived at the crest before Ferguson and Fane, on the left, and Trant on the right, had got far enough to menace the line of retreat, and so shake the enemy's position. The consequence was, that as the right wing of the 29th arrived at the top of the path it was met by a very heavy fire before it could form, and some companies of a French regiment, who had been cut off from the main body by its sudden appearance, charged through the disordered troops and carried with them a major and fifty or sixty other prisoners.

The rest of the wing, thus exposed to the full fire of the French, fell back over the crest, and there rallied on the left wing; and being joined by the 9th, pushed forward again and obtained a footing on the plateau. Laborde in vain endeavoured to hurl them back again. They maintained their footing, but suffered heavily, both the colonels being killed, with many officers and men. But the 5th Regiment were now up, and at other points the British were gathering thickly at the edge of the plateau. Ferguson and Trant were pushing on fast past the French flanks, and Laborde, seeing that further resistance would lead to great disaster, gave the order to retire to a third position, still farther in the rear. The movement was conducted in splendid order. The French steadily fell back by alternate masses, their guns thundering on their flanks, while their cavalry covered the rear by repeated charges.

Gaining the third position, Laborde held it for a time, and so enabled isolated bodies of his force to join him. Then, finding himself unable to resist the impetuosity of the British attack, he retired, still disputing every foot of ground, and took to the narrow pass of Runa. He then marched all night to the strong position of Montechique, thereby securing his junction with Loison, but leaving the road to Torres Vedras open to the British. The loss of the French in this fight was 600 killed and wounded, and three guns. Laborde himself was among the wounded. The British lost nearly 500 killed, wounded, or taken prisoners. The number of the combatants actually engaged on either side was about 4,000, and the loss sustained showed the obstinacy of the fighting. Sir Arthur believed that the French had, as they retreated, been joined by Loison, and therefore prepared to march at once by the coast-line to seize the heights of Torres Vedras before the French could throw themselves in his way.

Great was the disappointment among officers and men of the Mayo Fusiliers that they had taken no part whatever in the actual fighting, beyond driving in the French skirmishers at the beginning of the operations.

"Divil a man killed or wounded!" Captain O'Grady remarked, mournfully, as the regiment halted at the conclusion of the fight. "Faith, it is too bad, entirely; there we are left out in the cold, and scarce a shot has been fired!"

"There are plenty of others in the same case," Captain O'Driscol said. "None of our three brigades on the left have had anything to do with the matter, as far as fighting went. I don't think more than four thousand of our troops were in action; but you see if it had not been for our advance, Hill and Nightingale might not have succeeded in driving Laborde off the hill. There is no doubt that the French fought well, but it's our advance that forced him to retire, not the troops in front of him; so that, even if we have not had any killed or wounded, O'Grady, we have at least the satisfaction of having contributed to the victory."

"Oh, bother your tactics! We have come here to fight, and no fighting have we had at all, at all. When we marched out this morning it looked as if we were going to have our share in the divarshon, and we have been fairly chated out of it."

"Well, O'Grady, you should not grumble," Terence said, "for we had some fighting on the way out, which is more than any of the other troops had."

"That was a mere skirmish, Terence. First of all we were shot at, and could not shoot back again; and thin we shot at the enemy, and they could not shoot back at us. And as for the boarding affair, faith, it did not last a minute. The others have had two hours of steady fighting, clambering up the hill, and banging away at the enemy, and shouting and cheering, and all sorts of fun; and there were we, tramping along among those bastely stones and rocks, and no one as much as took the trouble to fire a shot at us!"

"Well, if we had been there, O'Grady, we should have lost about a hundred and twenty men and officers--if we had suffered in the same proportion as the others--and we should now be mourning their loss-- perhaps you among them. We might have been saying: 'There is O'Grady gone; he was a beggar to talk, but he meant well. Faith, the drink bill of the regiment will fall off.'"

"Well, it might have been so," O'Grady said, in a more contented voice; "and if I had been killed going up the hill, without even as much as catching a glimpse of the Frenchies, I would niver have forgiven them-- niver!"

There was a roar of laughter at the bull.

"Phwat is it have I said?" he asked, in surprise.

"Nothing, O'Grady; but it would be an awful thing for the French to know that after your death you would have gone on hating them for ever."

"Did I say that? But you know my maneing, and as long as you know that, what does it matter which way I put it? Well, now, I suppose Sir Arthur is going to take us tramping along again. Ah, it is a weary thing being a soldier!"

"Why, you were saying yesterday, O'Grady, that your feet were getting all right," Terence said.

"All right in a manner, Terence. And it is a bad habit that you have got of picking up your supayrior officer's words and throwing them into his teeth. You will come to a bad end if you don't break yourself of it; and the worst of it is, you are corrupting the other lads, and the young officers are losing all respect for their seniors. I am surprised, Major, that you and the colonel don't take the matter in hand before the discipline of the regiment is destroyed entirely."

"You draw it upon yourself, O'Grady, and it is good for us all to have a laugh sometimes. We should all have missed you sorely had you gone down on that hill over there--as many a good fellow has done. I hear that both the 9th and 29th have lost their colonels."

"The Lord presarve us from such a misfortune, Major! It would give us a step all through the regiment; but then, you see--" And he stopped.

"You mean I should be colonel, O'Grady," the major said, with a laugh; "and you know I should not take things as quietly as he does. Well, you see, there are consolations all round."

The firing had ceased at four o'clock, and until late that night a large portion of the force were occupied in searching the ground that had been traversed, burying the dead, and carrying the wounded of both nationalities down into the hospital that had been established at Rolica. Sir Arthur determined to march at daybreak, so as to secure the passes through Torres Vedras; but in the evening a messenger arrived with the news that Anstruther and Acland's division, with a large fleet of store- ships, were off the coast. The dangerous nature of the coast, and the certainty that, should a gale spring up, a large proportion of the ships would be wrecked, rendered it absolutely necessary to secure the disembarkation of the troops at once. The next morning, therefore, he only marched ten miles to Lourinha, and thence advanced to Vimiera, eight miles farther, where he covered the disembarkation of the troops.

The next day Anstruther's brigade were with difficulty, and some loss, landed on an open sandy beach, and on the night of the 20th Acland's brigade were disembarked at Maciera Bay. The reinforcements were most opportune, for already the British had proof that Junot was preparing a heavy blow. That general had, indeed, lost no time in taking steps to bring on a decisive battle. While the British were marching to Lourinha, he had, with Loison's division, crossed the line of Laborde's retreat, and on the same evening reached Torres Vedras, where the next day he was joined by Laborde, and on the 20th by his reserve. In the meantime he sent forward his cavalry, which scoured the country round the rear of the British camp, and prevented the general from obtaining any information whatever as to his position or intentions.

The arrival of Acland's brigade on the night of the 20th increased the fighting strength of the army to 16,000 men, with eighteen guns, exclusive of Trant's Portuguese, while Sir Arthur judged that Junot could not put more than 14,000 in the field. Previous to leaving Mondego he had sent to Sir Harry Burrard notice of his plan of campaign, advising him to let Sir John Moore, on his arrival with 5,000 men, disembark there and march on Santarem, where he would protect the left of the army in its advance, block the line of the Tagus, and menace the French line of communication between Lisbon and the important fortress of Elvas. The ground at Santarem was suited for defence, and Moore could be joined with Friere, who was still, with his 5,000 men, at Leirya.

The general intended to make a forced march, keeping by the sea-road. A strong advance guard would press forward and occupy the formidable position of Mathia in the rear of the hills. With the main body he intended to seize some heights a few miles behind Torres Vedras, and to cut the road between that place and Montechique, on the direct road to Lisbon, and so interpose between Junot and the capital. At twelve o'clock that night Sir Arthur was roused by a messenger, who reported that Junot, with 20,000 men, was advancing to attack him, and was but an hour's march distant. He disbelieved the account of the force of the enemy, and had no doubt but that the messenger's fears had exaggerated the closeness of his approach. He therefore contented himself with sending orders to the pickets to use redoubled vigilance, and at daylight the whole British force was, as usual, under arms.

Nothing could have suited the British commander better than that Junot should attack him, for the position of Vimiera was strong. The town was situated in a valley, through which the little river Maciera flows. In this were placed the commissariat stores, while the cavalry and Portuguese were on a small plain behind the village. In front of Vimiera was a steep hill with a flat top, commanding the ground to the south and east for a considerable distance. Fane's and Anstruther's infantry, with six guns, were posted here. Fane's left rested on a churchyard, blocking a road which led round the declivity of the hill to the town. Behind this position, and separated by the river and road, was a hill extending in a half-moon to the sea.

Five brigades of infantry, forming the British right, occupied this mountain. On the other side of the ravine formed by the river, just beyond Vimiera, was another strong and narrow range of heights. There was no water to be found on this ridge, and only the 40th Regiment and some pickets were stationed here. It was vastly better to be attacked in such a position than to be compelled to storm the heights of Torres Vedras, held by a strong French army. The advance of the French was fortunate in another respect. On the 20th Sir Harry Burrard arrived in the bay on board a frigate, and Sir Arthur, thus superseded, went on board to report the position of affairs, renewing his recommendation that Sir John Moore should land at Mondego and march to Santarem. Sir Harry Burrard, however, had already determined that his force should land at Maciera, and he refused to permit Sir Arthur's plan of advance to be carried out, and ordered that no offensive step should be undertaken until Sir John Moore had landed.

The advance of Junot, happily, left Wellesley at liberty to act; and disposing his force in order of battle, he awaited the appearance of the enemy. It was not until seven o'clock that a cloud of dust was seen rising above the opposite ridge, and an hour later a body of cavalry crowned the height and sent out a swarm of scouts in every direction. Almost immediately afterwards a body of cavalry and infantry were seen marching along the road from Torres Vedras to Lourinha, threatening to turn the left of the British position. As the British right was not menaced, four of the brigades on the hill on that flank were ordered to cross the valley and to take post with the 40th Regiment for the defence of the ridge.

This movement, being covered by the Vimiera heights, was unseen by the enemy; the 5th brigade and the Portuguese were on a second ridge behind the other, and thus assisted to cover the English left and protect its rear. The ground between the crest on which the French were first seen and our position was so thickly covered with wood, that after the enemy had descended into it no correct view of their movements could be obtained.

Junot had intended to fall upon the English army at daybreak, but the defiles through which the force had to pass had delayed the march, as had the fatigue of the troops, who had been marching all night. From the height from which he obtained a view of the British position it seemed to him that the British centre and right were held in great strength, and that the left was almost unguarded. He therefore determined to attack upon that flank, which, indeed, was in any case the most favourable, as, were he successful there, he would cut the line of the British retreat and pen them up on the sea-shore.

The march of the four brigades through Vimiera to take post on the British left was hidden from him, and he divided his force into two heavy columns, one of which was to attack the British left, and having, mounted the height to sweep all before it into the town; the other was to attack Vimiera Hill, held by Anstruther and Fane.

Brennier commanded the attack against the left, Laborde against the centre, Loison followed at a short distance. Kellermann commanded the reserve of Grenadiers. Unfortunately for the success of Junot's plan, he was unaware of the fact that along the foot of the ridge on the British left ran a deep ravine, that rendered it very difficult to attack except at the extreme end of the position.

"We are going to have our share of the fun to-day," O'Grady said, as he stood with a group of officers, watching the wooded plain and the head of Laborde's column debouching from among the trees, and moving towards the hill.

There was a general murmur of satisfaction from the officers, for although they had all laughed at O'Grady's exaggerated regrets at their not being engaged at Rolica, all were somewhat sore at the regiment having had no opportunity of distinguishing itself on that occasion. No sooner had the column cleared the wood than the six guns posted with Fane's and Anstruther's brigade at once opened fire upon it. It had been intended that Brennier's attack should begin at the same time as Laborde's, but that advance had been stopped by the defile, which was so steep and so encumbered with rocks, brushwood, and trees, that his troops had the most extreme difficulty in making their way across. This enabled Acland, whose brigade was in the act of mounting the heights from the town, to turn his battery against Laborde's column, which was thus smitten with a shower of grape both in front and flank, and to this was added a heavy musketry fire from the three brigades.

"Take it easy, lads, take it easy," the colonel said, as he walked up and down the ranks. "They are hardly in range yet, and you had better keep your ammunition until they get to the foot of the hill, then you can blaze away as hard as you like."

Junot, receiving news of the arrest of Brennier's column and the obstacles that he had encountered, and seeing that the whole British fire was now directed against Laborde, ordered Loison to support that general with one brigade, and directed Solignac to turn the ravine in which Brennier was entangled and to fall upon the left extremity of the enemy's line.

Fane had been given discretionary power to call up the reserve artillery posted in the village behind him, and seeing so strong an attack against his position about to be made called it up to the top of the hill.

Loison and Laborde now formed their troops into three columns of attack. One advanced against that part of the hill held by Anstruther's brigade, another endeavoured to penetrate by the road past the church on Fane's extreme left, while the main column, represented by a large number of the best troops, advanced against the centre of the position. The reserve artillery, and the battery originally there, opened a terrible fire, which was aided by the musketry of the infantry. But with loud shouts the French pressed forward, and although already shaken by the terrible fire of the artillery, and breathless from their exertions, they gained the crest of the hill. Before they could re-form a tremendous volley was poured into them, and with a wild yell the Mayo Fusiliers and the 50th charged them in front and flank and hurled them down the hill.

In the meantime, Anstruther, having repulsed the less serious attack made on him, detached the 43d to check the enemy's column moving through the churchyard, and prevented their advance until Kellermann brought up a force of Grenadiers, who, running forward with loud shouts, drove back the advanced companies of the 43d. The guns on the heights were turned upon them with great effect, and those of Acland's and Bowe's brigades on the left of the ridge took them in flank and brought them almost to a stand- still; then the 43d, in one mass, charged furiously down on the column, and after a fierce struggle drove them back in confusion.

The French attacks on this side had now completely failed, and Colonel Taylor, riding out with his little body of cavalry, dashed out into the confused mass, slaying and scattering it. Margaron, who commanded a superior force of French cavalry, led them down through their infantry, and falling upon the British force killed Taylor and cut half his squadron to pieces. Kellermann took post with his reserve of Grenadiers in a pine- wood in advance of the wooded country through which they had advanced, while Margaron's horsemen maintained a position covering the retreat of the fugitives into the wood. At this moment Solignac reached his assigned position and encountered Ferguson's brigade, which was on the extreme left of the division, and was taken by surprise on finding a force equal to his own where he had expected to find the hill untenanted. Ferguson was drawn up in three lines on a steep declivity. A heavy artillery fire opened upon the French as soon as they were seen, while the 5th brigade and the Portuguese marched along the next ridge and threatened the enemy's rear.

Ferguson did not wait to be attacked, but marched his brigade against the French, who, falling fast under the musketry and artillery fire which had swept their lines, fell back fighting to the farthest edge of the ridge. Solignac was carried off severely wounded, and his brigade was cut off from its line of retreat and driven into a low valley, in which stood the village of Peranza, leaving six guns behind them. Ferguson left two regiments to guard these guns, and with the rest of his force pressed hard upon the French; but at this moment Brennier, who had at last surmounted the difficulties that had detained him, fell upon the two regiments suddenly, and retook the guns.

The 82d and 71st, speedily recovered from their surprise, rallied on some higher ground, and then, after pouring in a tremendous volley of musketry, charged with a mighty shout and overthrew the French brigade and recovered the guns. Brennier himself was wounded and taken prisoner, and Ferguson having completely broken up the brigade opposed to him would have forced the greater part of Solignac's troops to surrender, if he had not been required to halt by an unexpected order. The French veterans speedily rallied, and in admirable order, protected by their cavalry, marched off to join their comrades who had been defeated in their attack upon the British centre.

It was now twelve o'clock; the victory was complete; thirteen guns had been captured. Neither the 1st, 5th, nor Portuguese brigades had fired a shot, and the 4th and 8th had suffered very little, therefore Sir Arthur resolved with these five brigades to push Junot closely, while Hill, Anstruther, and Fane were to march forward as far as Torres Vedras, and, pushing on to Montechique, cut him off from Lisbon. Had this operation been executed Junot would probably have lost all his artillery, and seven thousand stragglers would have been driven to seek shelter under the guns of Elvas, from which fortress, however, he would have been cut off had Moore landed as Sir Arthur wished at Mondego. Unhappily, however, the latter was no longer commander-in-chief. Sir Harry Burrard, who had been present at the action, had not interfered with the arrangements, but as soon as victory was won he assumed command, sent an order arresting Ferguson's career of victory, and forbade all further offensive operations until the arrival of Sir John Moore.

The adjutant-general and quartermaster supported his views, and Sir Arthur's earnest representations were disregarded. Sir Arthur's plan would probably have been crowned with success, but it was not without peril. The French had rallied with extraordinary rapidity under the protection of their cavalry. The British artillery-carriages were so shaken as to be almost unfit for service, the horses insufficient in number and wretched in quality, the commissariat waggons in the greatest confusion, and the hired Portuguese vehicles had made off in every direction. The British cavalry were totally destroyed, and two French regiments had just made their appearance on the ridge behind the wood where Junot's troops were reforming.

Sir Harry Burrard, with a caution characteristic of age, refused to adopt Wellesley's bold plan. A great success had been gained, and that would have been imperilled by Junot's falling with all his force upon one or other of the British columns. Sir Arthur himself, at a later period, when a commission was appointed by Parliament to inquire into the circumstances, admitted that, though he still believed that success would have attended his own plan, he considered that Sir Harry Burrard's decision was fully justified on military grounds.

Junot took full advantage of the unexpected cessation of hostilities. He re-formed his broken army on the arrival of the two regiments, which brought it up to its original strength; and then, covered by his cavalry, marched in good order until darkness fell. He had regained the command of the passes of Torres Vedras, and the two armies occupied precisely the same positions that they had done on the previous evening.

One general, thirteen guns, and several hundred prisoners fell into the hands of the British, and Junot's total loss far exceeded that of the British, which was comparatively small. At the commencement of the fight the British force was more than two thousand larger than that of the French, but of these only a half had taken an active part in the battle, while every man in Junot's army had been sent forward to the attack.

Sir Harry Burrard's command was a short one, for on the following morning Sir Hew Dalrymple superseded him. Thus in twenty-four hours a battle had been fought and the command of the army had been three times changed, a striking proof of the abject folly and incapacity of the British ministry of the day.

Two of these three commanders arrived fresh on the scene without any previous knowledge of the situation, and all three differed from each other in their views regarding the general plan of the campaign; the last two were men without any previous experience in the handling of large bodies of troops, and without any high military reputation; while the man displaced had already shown the most brilliant capacity in India, and was universally regarded as the best general in the British service. Dalrymple adopted neither the energetic action advised by Sir Arthur nor the inactivity supported by Burrard, but, taking a middle course, decided to advance on the following morning, but not to go far until Sir John Moore landed at Maciera.

Sir Arthur was strongly opposed to this policy. He pointed out that there were at present on shore but seven or eight days' provisions for the force at Vimiera. No further supplies could be obtained in the country, and at any moment a gale might arise and scatter or destroy the fleet, from which alone they could draw supplies during their advance. The debate on the subject was continuing when the French general, Kellermann, bearing a flag of truce and escorted by a strong body of cavalry, arrived at the outposts and desired a conference. The news was surprising, indeed. Junot's force was practically unshaken. He possessed all the strong places in Portugal, and could have received support in a short time from the French forces in Spain.

Upon the other hand, the position of the British, even after winning a victory, was by no means a satisfactory one; they had already learnt that it was useless to rely in the slightest degree upon Portuguese promises or Portuguese assistance, and that, even in the matter of provisions and carriage, their commander-in-chief expected to be maintained by those who had come to aid in freeing the country of the French, instead of these receiving any help from him. In carriage the British army was wholly deficient; of cavalry they had none. When Sir John Moore landed there would be but four days' provisions on-shore for the army, and were the fleet driven off by a gale, starvation would at once threaten them.

The gallantry with which the French had fought in both engagements, the skill with which they had been handled, and above all, the quickness and steadiness with which, after defeat, they had closed up their ranks and drawn off in excellent order, showed that the task of expelling such troops from the country would, even if all went well in other respects, be a very formidable one, and the offer of a conference was therefore at once embraced by Sir Hew Dalrymple.

Kellermann was admitted to the camp. His mission was to demand a cessation of arms in order that Junot might, under certain conditions, evacuate Portugal. The advantage of freeing the country from the French without further fighting was so evident that Sir Hew at once agreed to discuss the terms, and took Sir Arthur Wellesley into his counsels. The latter quite agreed with the policy by which a strong French army would be quietly got out of the country, in which it held all the military posts and strong positions. A great moral effect would be produced, and the whole resources of Portugal would then be available for operations in Spain.

By the afternoon the main points of the convention had been generally agreed upon. The French were to evacuate Portugal, and were to be conveyed in the English vessels to France with their property, public or private. There was to be no persecution of persons who had been the adherents of France during the occupation; the only serious difference that arose was as to the Russian fleet in the Tagus. Kellermann proposed to have it guaranteed from capture, with leave to return to the Baltic. This, however, was refused, and the question was referred to Admiral Cotton, who, as chief representative of England, would have to approve of the treaty before it could be signed.

Kellermann returned to Lisbon with Colonel Murray, the quartermaster- general, and after three days' negotiations the treaty was finally concluded, the Russian difficulty being settled by their vessels being handed over to the British, and the crew transported in English ships to the Baltic. The convention was, under the circumstances, unquestionably a most advantageous one. It would have cost long and severe fighting and the siege of several very strong fortresses before the French could have been turned out of Portugal. Heavy siege-guns would have been necessary for these operations. At the very shortest calculation a year would have been wasted, very heavy loss of life incurred, and an immense expenditure of money before the result, now obtained so suddenly and unexpectedly, had been arrived at.

Nevertheless, the news of the convention was received with a burst of popular indignation in England, where the public, wholly ignorant of the difficulty of the situation, had formed the most extravagant hopes, founded on the two successes obtained by their troops. The result was that a commission was appointed to investigate the whole matter. The three English generals were summoned to England to attend before it, and so gross were the misrepresentations and lies by which the public had been deceived by the agents of the unscrupulous and ambitious Bishop of Oporto and his confederates, that it was even proposed to bring the generals to trial who had in so short a time and with such insufficient means freed Portugal from the French. Sir John Moore remained in command of the troops in Portugal.

CHAPTER VI. A PAUSE

The Mayo Fusiliers had suffered their full proportion of losses at the battle of Vimiera. Major Harrison had been killed, Captain O'Connor had been severely wounded, as his company had been thrown forward as skirmishers on the face of the hill, and a third of their number had fallen when Laborde's great column had driven them in as it charged up the ascent. Terence's father had been brought to the ground by a ball that struck him near the hip; had been trampled on by the French as they passed up over him, and again on their retreat; and he was insensible when, as soon as the enemy retired, a party was sent down to bring up the wounded. By the death of the major, O'Connor, as senior captain, now attained that rank, but the doctor pronounced that it would be a long time before he would be able to take up his duties. Another captain and three subalterns had been killed, and several other officers had been wounded. Among these was O'Grady, whose left arm had been carried away below the elbow by a round shot. As Terence was in the other wing of the regiment he did not hear of his father's wounds until after the battle was over, and on the order being given that there was to be no pursuit the regiment fell out of its ranks. As soon as the news reached him he obtained permission to go down to Vimiera, where the church and other buildings had been turned into temporary hospitals, to which the seriously wounded had been carried as soon as the French retired. Hurrying down, he soon learned where the wounded of General Fane's brigade had been taken. He found the two regimental doctors hard at work. O'Flaherty came up to Terence as soon as he saw him enter the barn that had been hastily converted into a hospital by covering the floor deeply with straw.

[Illustration: 'I should not have minded being hit, Father, if you had escaped.']

"I think your father will do, Terence, my boy," he said, cheeringly; "we have just got the bullet out of his leg, and we hope that it has not touched the bone, though we cannot be altogether sure. We shall know more about that when we have got through the rough of our work. Still, we have every hope that he will do well. He is next the door at the further end; we put him there to let him get as much fresh air as possible, for, by the powers, this place is like a furnace!"

Captain O'Connor was lying on his back, the straw having been arranged so as to raise his shoulders and head. He smiled when Terence came up to him.

"Thank God you have got safely through it, lad!"

"I should not have minded being hit, father, if you had escaped," Terence said, with difficulty suppressing a sob, while in spite of his efforts the tears rolled down his cheeks.

"The doctors say I shall pull through all right. I hear poor Harrison is killed; he was a good fellow. Though it has given me my step, I am heartily sorry. So we have thrashed them, lad; that is a comfort. I was afraid when they went up the hill that they might be too much for us, and I was delighted when I heard them coming tearing down again, though I had not much time to think about it. They had stepped over me pretty much as they went up, but they had no time to pick their way as they came back again, and after one or two had jumped on me, I remembered no more about it until I found myself here with O'Flaherty probing the wound and hurting me horribly. I am bruised all over, and I wonder some of my ribs are not broken; at present they hurt me a good deal more than this wound in the hip. Still, that is only an affair of a day or two. Who have been killed besides the major?"

"Dorman, Phillips, and Henderson are killed. O'Grady is wounded, I hear, and so are Saunders, Byrne, and Sullivan; there have been some others hit, but not seriously; they did not have to fall out."

"O'Grady is over on the other side somewhere, Terence; I heard his voice just now. Go and see where he is hurt."

O'Grady was sitting up with his back to the wall; the sleeves of his jacket and shirt had been cut off, and a tourniquet was on his arm just above the elbow.

"Well, Terence," he said, cheerfully, "I am in luck, you see."

"I can't see any luck about it, O'Grady."

"Why, man, it might have been my right arm, and where should I have been then? As to the left arm, one can do without it very well. Then, again, it is lucky that the ball hit me below the elbow and not above it. O'Flaherty says they will be able to make a dacent job of it, and that after a bit they will be able to fit a wooden arm on, so that I can screw a fork into it. The worst of it at present is, that I have a terrible thirst on me, and nothing but water have they given me, a thing that I have not drunk for years. They have tied up the arteries, and they are going presently to touch up the loose ends with hot pitch to stop the bleeding altogether. It is not a pleasant job; they have done it to three or four of the men already. One of them stood it well, but the others cried a thousand murders. O'Flaherty has promised me a drink of whisky and water before they do it, and just at present I feel as if I would let them burn all my limbs at the same price. It is sorry I am, Terence, to hear that your father is hit so hard, but O'Flaherty says he will get through it all right. Well, he will get his majority, though I am mightily sorry that Harrison is killed; he was a good boy, though he was an Englishman. Ah, Terence, my heart's sore when I think what I said that evening after the fight at Rolica! I did not mean it altogether, but the words come home to me now. It is not for meself but for the poor boys that have gone. It was just thoughtlessness, but I would give me other arm not to have said those words."

"I know that you did not mean it, O'Grady, and we were all feeling sorry that the regiment had not had a chance to be in the thick of it."

"Here they are, coming this way with the pitch kettle. You had better get away, lad, before they begin."

Terence was glad to follow the advice, and hurried out of the barn and walked three or four hundred yards away. He was very fond of O'Grady, who had always been very kind to him, and who was thoroughly warm-hearted and a good fellow, in spite of his eccentricities. In a quarter of an hour he returned. Just as he was entering, O'Flaherty came out of the door.

"I must have a breath of fresh air, Terence," he said. "The heat is stifling in there, and though we are working in our shirt-sleeves we are just as damp as if we had been thrown into a pond."

"Has O'Grady's arm been seared?"

"Yes, and he stood it well; not a word did he say until it was over. Then he said, 'Give me another drink, O'Flaherty; it's wake-like I feel.' Before I could get the cup to his lips he went off in a faint. He has come round now and has had a drink of weak whisky and water, and is lying quiet and composed. It is better that you should not go near him at present. I hope that he will drop off to sleep presently. I have just given a glance at your father, and he is nearly, if not quite, asleep too, so you had better leave them now and look in again this evening. Now that the affair is over, and there is time to go round, they will clear out some houses and get things more comfortable. The principal medical officer was round here half an hour ago. He said they would fit up rooms for the officers at once, and I will have your father, O'Grady, and Saunders carried up on stretchers and put into a room together. If they can bear the moving it will be all in their favour, for it will be cooler there than in this oven of a place. I hear the church has been requisitioned, and that the worst cases among our men will be taken there."

In comparison with the loss of the French that of the British had been very small. From their position on commanding heights they had suffered but little from the fire of the French artillery, and the casualties were almost confined to Fane's brigade, the 43d Regiment, Anstruther's, and the two regiments of Ferguson's brigade that had been attacked by Brennier, and before nightfall the whole of the wounded had been brought in and attended to, the hospitals arranged, and the men far more comfortably bestowed than in the temporary quarters taken up during the heat of the conflict. As there was no prospect of an immediate movement, the soldier servants of the wounded officers had been excused from military duty and told off to attend to them, and when Terence went down in the evening he found his father, O'Grady, and Saunders--the latter a young lieutenant-- comfortably lodged in a large room in which three hospital beds had been placed. O'Grady had quite recovered his usual good spirits.

"Don't draw such along face, Terence," he said, as the lad entered; "we are all going on well. Your father has been bandaged all over the chest and body, and is able to breathe more comfortably; as for me, except that I feel as if somebody were twisting a red-hot needle about in my arm, I am as right as possible, and Saunders is doing first-rate. The doctors thought at first that he had got a ball through his body; after they got him here they had time to examine him carefully, and they find that it has just run along the ribs and gone out behind, and that he will soon be about again. If it wasn't that the doctors say I must drink nothing but water with lemon-juice squeezed into it, I would have nothing to complain of. We have got our servants. Hoolan came in blubbering like a calf, the omadhoun, and I had to threaten to send him back to the regiment before he would be sensible. He has sworn off spirits until I am well enough to take to them, which is a comfort, for I am sorry to say he is one of those men who never know when they have had enough."

"Like master, like man, O'Grady."

"Terence, when I get well you will repint of your impudence to your supayrior officer, when he is not able to defend himself."

Terence went across to his father's bed.

"Do you really feel easier, father?"

"A great deal, lad. I was so bruised that every breath I took hurt me; since I have been tightly bandaged I am better, ever so much. Daly says that in a few days I shall be all right again as to that, but that the other business will keep me on my back for a long time. He has examined my wound again, and says he won't touch it for a few days; but I can see that he is rather afraid that the bone has been grazed if not splintered. You have not heard what is going to be done, have you?"

"No, father; the talk is that no move will be made anyhow until Sir John Moore lands with his troops; after that I suppose we shall go forward."

"It is a pity we did not push forward to-day, lad, if, as I hear, half the force were never engaged at all. Junot would not have carried off a gun if our fellows had been launched against them while they were in disorder. As it is, I hear they have marched away over that ridge in as good order as they came, and so we shall have all the work of thrashing them to do over again."

"They say that is what Sir Arthur wanted to do, father, but Burrard overruled him."

"Did any man ever hear of such nonsense as a general who knows nothing at all about the matter coming and taking over the command from a general who has just won a battle, and who has all the ins and outs of the matter at his finger-ends!"

"Now, my dear O'Connor," O'Grady broke in, "you know what Daly said, the quieter you lie and the less you talk the better. He did not say so to meself; in the first place, because he knew it would be of no use, and in the second, because there is no raison on earth why, because a man has lost a bit of his arm, his tongue should not wag. And what does the colonel say, Terence; is he not delighted with the regiment?"

"He is that, and he has a right to be," Terence said. "The way they went at the French, and tumbled them over the crest and down the hill was splendid. The tears rolled down his cheeks when he heard that the major and the others were killed, but he said that a man could not die more gloriously. He shook hands with all the officers after it was over, and sent a party down to the town to buy and bring up some barrels of wine, and served out a good allowance to each man. As soon as the firing ceased I heard him tell O'Driscol that he was proud to have commanded the regiment."

"That is good, Terence; and now, do you think that you could bring me up just a taste of the cratur?"

"The divil a drop, O'Grady; if Daly and O'Flaherty both say that you are not to have it, it is certain that it is bad for you. But I'll tell you what I will do; I have one bottle of whisky left, and I will promise you that it sha'n't be touched till you are well enough to drink it, and if we are marched away, as I suppose we shall be, I will hand it over to O'Flaherty to give you when you are fit to take it. He tells me that he will be left to look after the wounded when we move."

"I could not trust him, Terence; I would hand over a bag of gold uncounted to him, but as for whisky, the temptation would be too great for an Irishman to resist. Look here, you put it into a wooden box and nail it up securely, and write on it 'O'Grady's arm,' and hand it over to him solemnly, and tell him that I have a fancy for burying the contents myself, which will be true enough, though it is me throat I mean to bury it in."

Knowing that it was best they should be left in quiet, Terence soon left them and returned to the regiment.

"Well, Dick, what did you think of a battle?" he asked his chum.

"I don't quite know what I did think. It does not seem to me that I thought much about it at all, what with the noise of the firing and the shouting of the men, and the whistle overhead of the French round shot, and the men cheering, the French shouting and the excitement, there was no time for thinking at all. From the time the skirmishers came running up the hill to the time when we rolled the French down it, I seem to have been in a dream. It's lucky that I had no words of command to give, for I am sure I should not have given them. I don't think I was frightened at all; somehow I did not seem to think of the danger. It was just a horrible confusion."

"I felt very much like that, too. It was not a bit like what it was when we took that brig; I felt cool enough when we jumped on to her deck. But then there was no noise to speak of, while the row this morning was tremendous. I tried to cheer when the men did, but I could not hear my own voice, and I don't know whether I made any sound or not."

A delay of some weeks took place after the battle of Vimiera. The Mayo Fusiliers were not among the troops who entered Lisbon in order to overawe the populace and prevent attacks both upon French soldiers and officers, and Portuguese suspected of leaning towards the French cause. Throughout the country everything was in confusion. A strong party, at whose head were the Bishop of Oporto and Friere, denounced the convention with the French--against whom they themselves had done nothing--as gross treachery on the part of the English to Portugal. They endeavoured in every way to excite the feelings of the population, both in the country and the capital, against the British; but in this they failed altogether, for the people were too thankful to get rid of the oppression and exactions of the invaders to feel aught but satisfaction at their being compelled to leave the country.

The Junta at Oporto, at whose head was the bishop, desired to grasp the entire power throughout the country, and were furious at being thwarted in their endeavours to prevent a central Junta being established at Lisbon. Throughout Spain also chaos reigned. Each provincial Junta refused co- operation with others, and instead of concerting measures for resistance against the great force that Napoleon was assembling on the frontier, thought only of satisfying the ambitions and greed of its members. The generals disregarded alike the orders from the central Junta at Madrid and those of the provincial Juntas, quarrelled among themselves to a point that sometimes approached open hostility, and each acted only for his private ends. Arms had been sent in vast numbers from England; yet, while the money so lavishly bestowed by British agents went into the pockets of individuals, the arms were retained by the Juntas of Seville, Cadiz, and the maritime ports, and the armies of Spain were left almost unarmed.

The term army is indeed absurd, as applied to the gatherings of peasants without, an idea of discipline, with scarcely any instruction in drill, and in the majority of, cases, as the result proved, altogether deficient in courage; and yet, while neglecting all military precautions and ready to crumble to pieces at the first approach of the French, the arrogance and insolence of the authorities, civil and military alike, were absolutely unbounded. They disregarded wholly the advice of the British officers and agents, and treated the men who alone could save them from the consequences of their folly with open contempt.

After a fortnight's halt at Vimiera the Mayo Fusiliers were marched, with four other regiments, to Torres Vedras, where they took up their quarters. In the middle of October O'Grady and Saunders rejoined, and Terence obtained a few days' leave to visit his father.

The latter's progress had been slow; the wound was unhealed, pieces of bone working their way out, and the doctors had decided that he must be invalided home, as it was desirable to clear out the hospitals altogether before the army marched into Spain.

"They think the change of air will do me good," Major O'Connor said to Terence, as they were chatting together after the latter arrived, "and I think so myself. It is evident that I cannot take part in the next campaign, but I hope to rejoin again in the spring. Of course it is hard, but I must not grumble; if the bullet had been half an inch more to the right it would have smashed the bone altogether, then I should have had small chance indeed, for taking off the leg at the hip is an operation that not one man in twenty survives. O'Flaherty says he thinks that all the bits of bone have worked out now, and that I may not be permanently lame; but if it is to be so, lad, it is of no use kicking against fate. I have got my majority, and if permanently disabled by my wounds, can retire on a pension on which I can live comfortably."

"So I hear that Sir John Moore is going to march into Spain. By the way, you have got some cousins in Oporto or the neighbourhood, though I don't suppose you are likely to run against them."

"I never heard you say anything about them before, father."

"No; I don't think that I ever did mention it. A first cousin of mine went over, just about the time that I was married, to Oporto, and established himself there as a wine merchant. He had been out there before for a firm in Dublin, and when Clancy's father died, and he came into some money he went out, as I said, and started for himself. He was a sharp fellow and did well, and married the daughter of a big land-owner. We used to hear from him occasionally. He died about a year ago, and left a girl behind him; she had been brought up in her mother's religion. He never said much about his wife, but I fancy she was a very strong Roman Catholic, and that they did not quite agree about the girl, who, as I gathered, had a hankering after her father's religion. However, after Clancy died we never heard any more of them.

"There was a letter from their man of business announcing the death, and stating that Clancy had left his own property, that is to say, the money he had made in business, to the girl. What has become of her since I do not know. It was no business of mine, though I believe that I was his nearest relation--at least my uncle had no other children, and there were neither brothers nor sisters except him and my father. Still, as he left a widow who had a good big property on her own account, and was connected with a lot of grandee families, there was no occasion for me to mix myself up in the affair; and, indeed, it never entered my head to do so. Yet, Clancy and I were great friends, and I should be glad to know what has become of his girl. I fancy that she is about your age, and if Moore should take you up north you might make some inquiries there. The mother's family name was Montarlies, and I fancy, from what Clancy said, her father's property was somewhere to the north of Oporto, so I expect that at that town you would be likely to hear something of them."

"All right, father; if we go there I will be sure to make some inquiries."

On the fourth day after Terence's arrival the hospital was broken up, the convalescents marched for Torres Vedras, and Major O'Connor, with four other officers and forty men, were put on board a ship to be taken to England.

"Your visit has done your father good, Terence," O'Flaherty said, as, after seeing the party safely on board ship, he returned to the town whence they were to march with the convalescents, sixty in number, among whom were five officers. "He has brightened up a deal the last four days, and his wound looks distinctly more healthy. I have a strong hope that all those splinters have worked out now, and your being here has given him a fillip, so that he is altogether better and more cheerful. I hope by the spring he will be able to rejoin us. I can tell you I am mighty glad to be off again myself. It has been pretty hard work here, for I have had, for the last fortnight, a hundred and twenty men on my hands. At first there were three of us here, but two went off with the last batch of convalescents, and I have been alone since. Luckily Major Peters has been well enough to look after things in general, and help the commissariat man; still, with forty bad cases, I have not had much time on my hands. Of course I knew him and all the other officers, but they all belonged to other regiments, and it was not like being among the Mayos. And when do you think we will be starting again?"

"I have no idea. I have heard that Moore is doing everything he can to hurry on things, but that he is awfully hampered for want of money. It is scandalous. Here are our agents supplied with immense sums for the use of these blackguard Spaniards, yet they keep their own army without funds."

"If the general has no funds, Terence, he had better be stopping where he is. There is no getting anything in Portugal without paying ten times the proper price for it, and from what I hear of the Spaniards they will charge twenty times, put the money in their pockets, and then not even give you what you paid for. As to their being any good to us as allies, it is not to be hoped for; they will take our arms and our money, expect us to feed their troops, and will then run away at the sight of a French soldier; you will see if they don't."

"I hear that the Junta of Corunna says that all the north will rise as soon as we enter their country."

"They may rise and flock round us until they have got arms and money, and then they will go off to their homes again. That is the sort of assistance that is to be had from them. We should do a deal better if there was not a Spaniard in the country, and it was left to us to fight it out with the French."

"In that case, O'Flaherty, we should never cross the frontier at all. They say that Napoleon is gathering a great army, and against such a force, with the French troops already in Spain, our twenty or twenty-five thousand men would fare very badly, especially as they say that the emperor is coming himself."

"That is worse news than the other, Terence. It is only because the French generals have always been quarrelling among themselves that the whole Peninsula has not been conquered; but with Napoleon at the head of affairs it would be a different matter altogether, and my humble opinion is that we had better stay where we are until he has wiped out the Spaniards altogether."

Terence laughed.

"You don't take a sanguine view of things."

"You have been with the regiment, Terence, and have had very little to do with the natives. I have not seen very much of them either, thank goodness; but I have seen quite enough to know that though perhaps the peasants would make good soldiers, if officered by Englishmen, there is mighty little feeling of patriotism among the classes above them. Reading and writing may be good for some countries, but as far as I see here, reading and writing spoil them here, for every man one comes across who can sign his name is intent either on filling his pocket, or on working some scheme or other for his own advantage. If I were Sir John Moore I would send up a division to Oporto, hang the bishop and every member of the Junta, shoot Friere and a dozen of his principal officers, and if the people of Oporto gave them the chance clear the streets with grape-shot. Why, if it hadn't been for a small guard of our fellows with the French garrisons that were marched down there to embark, the Portuguese would have murdered every man-jack of them. They did murder a good many, and robbed them all of their baggage; and if it had not been that our men loaded and would have fired on them if they had gone further, not a Frenchman would have got off alive. If this had been done in Lisbon, where the French had been masters, there might have been some sort of excuse for it; but they had never been near Oporto at all, and therefore the people there had no scores to settle with them."

"I am afraid, O'Flaherty, that an army worked on your principles would never get far from the coast, for we should have the whole country against us."

"So much the better if we never got far from the coast. How much help have we had from them? There is not a single horse or waggon for transport except those we have hired at exorbitant prices; not a single ounce of food. They would not even divide with us the magazines at Leirya, which they had no share in capturing. The rabble they call an army has never fired a shot or marched a yard with us, except Trant's small command, and they were kept so far out of it in both fights, that I doubt whether they fired a shot; and yet they take upon themselves to throw every obstacle in our way, to dictate to our generals, and to upset every plan as soon as it is formed.

"Well, I shall be glad to be back with the regiment again, Terence. There is some fun going on there anyhow, and I have not had a hearty laugh since O'Grady went off ten days ago."

"We were all heartily glad to see him back again," Terence said. "He does not seem a bit the worse for having lost his hand."

"No, he has got through it a deal better than I had expected, considering that he is not what might be called a very temperate man."

"Not by any means. It is not very often that he takes more liquor than he can carry, but he generally goes very close to the mark."

"I kept him very short here," O'Flaherty laughed, "and told him that if he did not obey orders I would have him invalided home; I have got him to promise that he will draw in a bit in future, and have good hopes of his keeping it, seeing that when the army starts again you won't get much chance of indulging."

"It will be a good thing for others as well as O'Grady," Terence said, quietly. "I suppose in Ireland the whisky does not do much harm, seeing that it is a wet country; but here I notice that they cannot drink half as much as they were accustomed to without feeling it."

"That is true for you, Terence. Half a bottle here goes as far as a bottle in the old country; and I find with the wounded, spirits have a very bad effect, even in very small quantities. There is one thing, when the troops are on the march they not only get small chance of getting drink, but mighty little time to think of it. When you have been doing your twenty miles a day, with halts and stoppages on these beastly roads and defiles, and are on your feet from daylight until late in the evening, and then, perhaps, a turn at the outposts, a man hasn't got much time for divarshon; and even if there is liquor to be had, he is glad enough when he has had a glass or so to wrap himself in his cloak and lie down to sleep. I have nearly sworn off myself, for I found that my head troubled me in the morning after a glass or two, more than it did after an all- night's sitting at Athlone. Ah, Terence, it is lucky for you that you have no fancy for it!"

"I hope I never shall have, O'Flaherty. If one has got thoroughly wet through in a long day's fishing, it may be that a glass of punch may keep away a cold, though even that I doubt. But I am sure that I am better without it at any other time; and I hope some day the fashion will change, and instead of it being considered almost as a matter of course after a dinner that half the men should be under the table, it will then be looked upon as disgraceful for a man to get drunk, as it is now for a woman to do so."

O'Flaherty looked at his companion with amused surprise. "Faith, Terence, that would be a change indeed, and you might as well say that you hope the time will come when you can whip off a fellow's leg without his feeling pain."

"Perhaps that may come too," Terence laughed; "there is no saying."

The next morning the detachment started at daybreak and marched to Torres Vedras, where they heard that a general movement was expected to begin. The regiment had now a comfortable mess, and the situation was freely discussed as scraps of news arrived from Lisbon. Could the English ministry have heard the comments on their imbecility passed by the officers of the British army, even they might have doubted the perfect wisdom of their plan. On the 6th of October, Moore had received a despatch stating that 30,000 infantry and 5,000 cavalry were to be employed in the north of Spain. Ten thousand of these were to be sent out direct from England, the remainder were to be composed of regiments from the army in Portugal. Moore had the choice of taking the troops round in ships or of marching them direct. He decided upon the latter course, for arrangements had been made by Sir Hew Dalrymple to enter Spain by Almeida, and, moreover, he thought that the resources of the sea-coast of Galicia would not be more than sufficient to supply transport and food for the 10,000 men who were to land there under the command of Sir David Baird.

The English general's difficulties were indeed overwhelming. He had soldiers who, although but recently raised, had shown themselves good fighters; but he was altogether without even transport sufficient for the officers. With an ample supply of money, an experienced staff, and a well- organized commissariat, the difficulties might have been overcome, but Sir John Moore was practically without money. His staff had no experience whatever, and the commissariat and transport officers were alike ignorant of the work they were called upon to perform. He was unacquainted with the views of the Spanish government, and uninformed as to the numbers, composition, and situation of the Spanish armies with whom he was to act, or with those of the enemy. He had a winter march of 300 miles before he could join Sir David Baird, who would have 200 miles to march from Corunna to join him, and there was then a. distance of another 300 miles to be traversed before he reached the Ebro, which was designated as the centre of his operations.

And all this had to be done while a great French army was already pouring in through the passes of the Pyrenees. No more tremendous, or, it may be said, impossible, task was ever assigned to an English commander; and to add to the absurdity of their scheme, the British government sent off Sir David Baird without instructions, and even without money. The Duke of York had vainly protested against the plan of the ministry, and had pointed out that nothing short of an army of 60,000 men, fully equipped with all necessaries for war--money, transport, and artillery--could achieve success of any kind.

Upon the day Terence rejoined, news came from the engineers in advance that the assurances Sir John Moore had received that the road by which the army was to travel was perfectly practicable for artillery and baggage- waggons, were wholly false, and it was probable that the artillery and cavalry would have to make a long circuit to the south.

It was too late now to change the route for the rest of the army. Nearly half the force had already started on the road to Almeida, and the supplies for their subsistence had been collected at that town. Therefore it was necessary that the main body of the infantry should travel by that road, while three thousand were to act as a guard for the artillery and cavalry on the other route.

CHAPTER VII. THE ADVANCE

"It is enough to drive Sir John out of his senses," the colonel said, as the news was discussed after mess. "These people must be the champion liars of the world. Not content with doing nothing themselves, they seem to delight in inventing lies to prevent our doing anything for them. Who ever heard of an army marching, without artillery and cavalry, one way, while these arms travelled by a different road entirely, and that not for a march of twenty miles, but for a march of three hundred? One battery is to go with us. But what will be the use of six guns against an enemy with sixty? Every day the baggage is being cut down owing to these blackguard Portuguese breaking their engagements to furnish waggons, and we shall have to march pretty nearly as we stand, and to take with us nothing beyond one change of clothes."

Loud exclamations of discontent ran round the table. It was bad enough that in the midst of a campaign waggons should break down and baggage be left behind, but that troops should start upon a campaign with scarcely the necessaries of life had caused general anger in the army; and no order would have been more willingly obeyed than one to march upon Lisbon, shoot every public official, establish a state of siege, and rule by martial law, seizing for the use of the army every draught animal, waggon, and carriage that could be found in the city, or swept in from the country round. The colonel had not exaggerated matters. The number of tents to be taken were altogether insufficient for the regiment, even with the utmost crowding possible. The officers' baggage had been cut down to twenty pounds a head--an amount scarcely sufficient for a single change of clothes and boots. Even the amount of ammunition to be taken would be insufficient to refill the soldiers' pouches after the supply they carried was exhausted.

The paucity of baggage would not have mattered so much had the march begun at the commencement of summer, instead of just as winter was setting in. In the former case, men could have slept in the open air, and a solitary blanket and one change of clothes would have sufficed; but with the wet season at hand, to be followed by winter cold, the grievance was a very serious one. Terence had already learned that the brigade was to march in two days, and that the great bulk of the baggage was to be stored at Torres Vedras, which was to be occupied on their leaving by some of the troops that would remain in Portugal.

"Faith, it is an evil look-out, Terence," O'Grady, who was sitting next to him, said, pathetically. "Sorra a drop of whisky is there in the camp, and now we sha'n't be able to have even a drink of their bastely spirits, onless we can buy it at the towns; and as Anstruther's division has gone on ahead of us, it is likely that every drop has been drunk up."

"It will be all the better for you, O'Grady. Daly tells me that your arm is not fully healed yet. I know that you would not like to be left behind when we have once started."

"That is true enough, but a drop of the cratur hurts no one."

"I beg your pardon, O'Grady, it is very bad for anything like a wound. The doctor told me, when I was chatting with him before dinner, that he really did not think that you could go, for you would not obey his orders to give up spirits altogether."

"Well, I own that it has been smarting a good deal the last few days," O'Grady admitted, reluctantly, "though I have not said as much to the doctor. I don't know that you are not about right, Terence; but faith, after being kept upon bastely slops by O'Flaherty, it was not in human nature to drink nothing but water when one gets a chance. At any rate, I am not likely to find any great temptation after we have started."

"Well, you had better begin to-night, O'Grady. I am going to get away as soon as I can, and if you will take my advice you will come too."

"What! and us to march in two days? It is not to be thought of. You mane well, Terence, but a lad like you must not take to lecturing your supayrior officer. Shure, and don't I know what to do for meself better than any other?"

Terence saw that it was useless to endeavour to persuade him to move, and presently went round to Dr. Daly and said, quietly:

"Doctor, O'Grady tells me that his arm has been hurting him a good deal more during the last two days. I expect they will make a night of it this evening, and again to-morrow, and if he once begins, nothing will stop him until they break up. Could not you do anything?"

"I will talk to him like a father, Terence. You are a good boy to have told me; I might have gone away without thinking of it."

"Don't mention my name, Doctor."

The doctor nodded, and Terence went away and took a vacant seat at some distance from him. Presently the doctor got up and went round to O'Grady. The supply of claret had just been finished, and bottles of spirits had been placed upon the table. O'Grady stretched out his hand to one near him, but the doctor quietly removed it.

"Not for you, O'Grady," he said; "you have had more than sufficient wine already. I have been doubting whether you are fit to go on with the regiment; and, by the powers, if you touch spirits to-night or to-morrow, I will put your name down in the list of those who are to be left behind as unfit for service!"

"Sure you are joking, Doctor?"

"Never was more earnest in my life, O'Grady. You don't want to be left behind, I suppose, in some filthy Portuguese town, while we march on, and that is what it will come to if your wound inflames. I told you this morning that it was not doing as well as it ought to, and that you must cut off liquor altogether. I have had my eye upon you, and you have taken down more than a bottle of wine already. I don't think I ought to let you go with us, even as it is; but, by the piper that played before Moses, if you don't go off to your quarters, without touching a drop more, I will have you left behind!"

"You are mighty hard on a poor fellow, and must have a heart of stone to treat a man, who has lost his arm and wants a bit of comfort, in such fashion. Faith, I would not do it to a dog."

"There would be no occasion, O'Grady; a dog has got sense."

"And I haven't? Thank ye for the compliment. I will appeal to the colonel. Colonel, the doctor says if I drink a drop of spirits to-night or to-morrow he will put me down in the black list. Now, I ask you, do the regulations justify his using such a threat as that?"

"I think they do," the colonel said, with a laugh. "I think that his order is good and sensible, and I endorse it. You know yourself that spirits are bad for you, with an arm only just healed up. Now, behave like a raisonable fellow, and go off to your quarters. You know well enough that if you stop here you won't be able to keep from it."

"Faith, if the two of you are against me I have nothing more to say. It is mighty hard that after having lost an arm in the service of my country I should be treated like a child and sent off to bed."

"I am going, too, O'Grady," Terence, who had gone back to his original place, now said. "There is no occasion to go to bed. I have a box of good cigars in my tent, and we can sit there and chat as long as you like."

But O'Grady's dignity was ruffled.

"Thank you, Mr O'Connor," he said, stiffly; "but with your lave I will do as I said"

"That is the best thing," the doctor said. "You have not had a long night's rest since you rejoined. I am going myself, and I see that some of the others are getting up, too, and it would be a good thing if all would do so, for, with such work as we have got before us, the more sleep we get, while we can, the better."

As nearly half the officers now rose from their seats, O'Grady was mollified, and as we went out he said:

"I think, after all, Terence, I will try one of those cigars of yours."

On the 14th of October Fane's brigade left Torres Vedras.

A number of the troops had been stationed along the line of route to be followed, and these had started simultaneously with the departure of Fane's brigade from Torres Vedras. The discontent as to the reduction of baggage ceased as soon as the troops were in motion. They were going to invade Spain, and ignorant as the soldiers were of the real state of affairs, none doubted but that success would attend them there. Among the officers better acquainted with the state of things there was no such feeling of confidence, but they hoped that they should at least give as good an account of themselves as before, against any French force of anything like equal strength they might encounter. O'Grady, influenced by the doctor's threats, which he knew the latter would be firm enough to carry out, had obeyed his orders, and had confided to Terence, when the regiment formed up at daybreak for the march, that his arm felt much better.

"I don't say that the doctor may not have been right, Terence, but he need not have threatened me in that way, at all, at all."

"I don't know," Terence replied. "I feel pretty sure that if he hadn't, you would not have knocked off spirits. Well, it is a glorious morning for starting, but I am afraid the fine weather won't last long. Everyone says that the rains generally begin about this time."

As Terence fell in with his company the adjutant rode up.

"Mr. O'Connor, you are to report yourself to the brigadier."

Wondering much at the message, Terence hurried to the house occupied by General Fane. He and several officers were standing in front of it.

"I am told that you wish to speak to me, General," he said, saluting.

"Oh, you are Mr. O'Connor! Can you ride?"

"Yes, sir," Terence replied; for he had often had a scamper across the hills around Athlone on half-broken ponies, and occasionally on the horses of some of his friends in the regiment.

"I have a vacancy on my staff. Lieutenant Andrews was thrown when riding out from Lisbon with a despatch last night, and broke a leg. I was on board the flag-ship when your colonel brought his report about the fight between the transport and the two privateers. I read it, and was so much struck with the quickness and intelligence you displayed, that I made a note at the time that if I should have a vacancy on my staff I would appoint you."

"I am very much obliged, General," Terence said, "but I have no horse."

"I have arranged that. Lieutenant Andrews will not be fit for service for a long time. It is a compound fracture, and he will, the doctor says, probably be sent back to England by the first ship that arrives after he reaches Lisbon. His horse is therefore useless to him, and as it is only a native animal and would not fetch a ten-pound note, he agreed at once to hand it over to his successor, and in fact was rather glad to get it off his hands. He has an English saddle, bridle, and holsters; he will take five pounds for them. If you happen to be short of cash the paymaster will settle it for you."

"Thank you, sir; I have the money about me, and I am very much obliged to you for making the arrangement."

Terence was indeed in funds, for in addition to the ten pounds that had fallen to him as his share of the prize money, his pay had been almost untouched from the day he left England, and his father had, on embarking, added ten pounds to his store.

"I won't want it, Terence," he said; "I have got another twenty pounds by me, and by the time I get to England I shall have another month's pay to draw, and shall no doubt be put in a military hospital, where I shall have no occasion for money till I am out again."

"But I sha'n't want it either, father."

"There is never any saying, lad; it is always useful to have money on a campaign. You may be in places where the commissariat breaks down altogether, and you have to depend on what you buy; you may be left behind wounded, or may be taken prisoner, one never can tell. I shall feel more comfortable about you if I know that you are well provided with cash, whatever may happen. My advice is, Terence, get fifteen or twenty pounds in gold sewn up in your boot; have an extra sole put on, and the money sewn inside. If it is your bad luck to be taken prisoner, you will find the money mighty useful in a great many ways."

Terence had followed this advice and had fifteen pounds hidden away, besides ten that he carried in his pockets; he therefore hurried to the hut where Lieutenant Andrews was lying. He was slightly acquainted with him, as he had been Fane's aide-de-camp from the time of landing. The young lieutenant's servant was standing at the door with a horse ready saddled and bridled.

"I am very sorry to hear of your injury," he said to the young officer.

"Yes, it is a horrible nuisance," the other replied; "and just as we were starting, too. There is an end of my campaigning for the present. I should not have minded if it had been a French ball, but to be merely thrown from a horse is disgusting."

"I am extremely obliged to you for the horse, Andrews, but I would rather pay you for it; it is not fair that I should get it for nothing."

"Oh, that is all right! It would be a bother taking it down, and I should not know what to do with it when I got to Lisbon; it would be a nuisance altogether, and I am glad to get rid of it. The money is of no consequence to me one way or the other. I wish you better luck with it than I have had."

"At any rate here are five pounds for the saddle and bridle," and he put the money down on the table by the bed.

"That is all right," the other said, without looking at it; "they are well off my hands, too. I hope the authorities will send me straight on board ship when I get to Lisbon; my servant will go down with me. If I am kept there, he will of course stay with me until I sail; if not, he will rejoin as soon as he has seen me on board. He is a good servant, and I can recommend him to you; he is rather fond of the bottle, but that is his only fault as far as I know. He is a countryman of yours, and you will be able to make allowances for his failing," he added, with a laugh.

There was no time to be lost--the bugles were sounding--so, with a brief adieu, Terence went out, mounted the horse and rode after the general, who had just left with his staff, and taken his place at the head of the column. As he passed his regiment, he stopped for a moment to speak to the colonel.

"I heard that you were wanted by the general, Terence," the latter said, "and I congratulate you on your appointment. I am sorry that you are leaving us, but, as you will be with the brigade, we shall often see you. O'Driscol is as savage as a bull at the loss of one of his subalterns. Well, it is your own luck that you have and another's; drop in this evening, if you can, and tell us how it was that Fane came to pick you out."

"It was thanks to you, Colonel. If you remember, you told us at Vigo that Fane was on board when you went to make your report, and that he and Sir Arthur's adjutant-general read it over together, and asked you a good many questions. It was owing to that affair that he thought of me."

"That is good, lad. I thought at the time that more might come of it than just being mentioned in orders, and I am very glad that it was for that you got it. At any rate, come in this evening; I want to hear where you have stolen that horse from, and all about it."

Terence rode off and took his place with his fellow aide-de-camp behind the two other officers of the staff. He scarcely knew whether to be glad or sorry, at present, at the change that had so suddenly taken place. It was gratifying to have been selected as he had been. It was certainly more pleasant to ride through a campaign than to march; and there would be a good many more chances of distinguishing himself than there could be as a regimental officer; while, on the other hand, he would be away from the circle of his friends and comrades, and should greatly miss the fun and jollity of the life with them.

"An unfortunate affair this of Andrews," Lieutenant Trevor, his fellow aide-de-camp, said.

"Most unfortunate. I little thought when you and he lunched with us two days since that to-day he would be down with a broken leg and I riding in his place. Just at present I certainly do not feel very delighted at the change. You see, from my father being a captain in the regiment, I have been brought up with it, and to be taken so suddenly away from them seems a tremendous wrench."

"Yes, I can understand that," the other said. "In my case it is different. My regiment was not coming out, and of course I was greatly pleased when the general gave me a chance of going with him. Still, you see, as your regiment is in the brigade you will still be able to be with it when off duty, and when the end of the campaign comes you will return to it. Besides, there are compensations--you will at least get a roof to sleep under, at any rate nine times out of ten. I don't know how you feel it, but to me it is no small comfort being on horseback instead of tramping along these heavy roads on foot. The brigadier is a capital fellow; and though he does keep us hard at work, at any rate he works hard himself, and does not send us galloping about with all sorts of trivial messages that might as well be unsent. Besides, he is always thoughtful and considerate. Is he related to you in any way?"

"Not at all."

"Then I suppose you had good interest in some way, or else how did he come to pick you out?"

"It was just a piece of luck," Terence said; "it was because he had heard my name in connection with a fight the transport I came over in had with two French privateers."

"Oh, yes, I remember now," the other said; "I had forgotten that the name was O'Connor. I remember all about it now. He told us the story at Vigo, and you were put in general orders by Sir Arthur. I know the chief spoke very highly about your conduct in that affair. It is just like him to remember it, and to pick you out to take Andrews' place. Well, you fairly won it, which is more than one can say for most staff appointments, which are in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the result of pure favouritism or interest.

"Well, O'Connor, I am very glad to have you on the staff. You see, it makes a lot of difference, when there are only two of us, that we should like each other. I own I have not done anything as yet to get any credit, for at Vimiera it was just stand up and beat them back, and I had not a single message to carry, and, of course, at Rolica our brigade was not in it; but I hope I shall get a turn some day. Then it was your father who was badly wounded?"

"Yes; I saw him off to England four days ago. I hope that he will be able to rejoin before long, but it is not certain yet that the wound won't bring on permanent lameness. I am very anxious about it, especially as he has now got his step, and it would be awfully hard on him to leave the service just as he has got field-officer's rank."

"Yes, it would be hard. However, I hope that the sea-voyage and English air will set him up again."

Presently one of the officers who were in front turned and said: "The general wishes you to ride back along the line, Mr. Trevor, and report whether the intervals between the regiments are properly kept, and also as to how the baggage-waggons are going on."

As Trevor turned to ride back the general cantered on, followed by the three officers and the four troopers who served as orderlies. Two miles ahead they came to a bridge across a torrent. The road, always a bad one, had been completely cut up by the passage of the provision and ammunition carts going to the front, and was now almost impassable.

"Will you please to ride back, Mr. O'Connor, and request the colonel of the leading regiment to send on the pioneers and a company of men at the double to clear the road and make it passable for the waggons."

The work was quickly done. While some men filled up the deep ruts, others cut down shrubs and bushes growing by the river bank, tied them into bundles, and put them across the narrow road, and threw earth and stones upon them, and in half an hour from the order being given the bugle sounded the advance. The head of the column had been halted just before it reached the bridge, and the men fell out, many of them running down to the stream to refill their water-bottles. As the bugle sounded they at once fell in again, and the column got into motion. General Fane and his staff remained at the bridge until the waggons had all crossed it.

"It is not much of a job," Fane said. "Of course the four regiments passing over it flattened the earth well down, but the waggons have cut it all up again. The first heavy shower will wash all the earth away, and in a couple of days it will be as bad as before. There are plenty of stones down in the river, but we have no means of breaking up the large ones, or of carrying any quantity of small ones. A few hundred sappers and engineers, with proper tools, would soon go a long way towards making the road fairly fit for traffic, but nothing can be done without tools and wheel-barrows, or at least hand-barrows for carrying stones. You see, the men wanted to use their blankets, but the poor fellows will want them badly enough before long, and those contractors' goods would go all to pieces by the time they had carried half a dozen loads of stones. At any rate, we will content ourselves with making the road passable for our own waggons, and the troops who come after us must do the same. By the way, Mr. O'Connor, you have not got your kit yet."

"No, sir; but I have no doubt that it is with the regimental baggage, and I will get it when we halt to-night."

"Do so," the general said. "Of course it can be carried with ours, but I should advise you always to take a change of clothes in your valise, and a blanket strapped on with your greatcoat."

"I have Mr. Andrews' blanket, sir. It was strapped on when I mounted, and I did not notice it."

"That is all right. The store blankets are very little use for keeping off rain, but we all provided ourselves with good thick horse-cloths before leaving England. They are a great deal warmer than blankets, and are practically water-proof. I have no doubt that Mr. Andrews told his servant to strap it on as usual."

Many and many a time during the campaign had Terence good reason for thinking with gratitude of Andrews' kindly thought. His greatcoat, which like those of all the officers of the regiment, had been made at Athlone, of good Irish frieze lined with flannel, would stand almost any amount of rain, but it was not long enough to protect his legs while lying down. But by rolling himself in the horse-cloth he was able to sleep warm and dry, when without it he would have been half-frozen, or soaked through with rain from above and moisture from the ground below. He found that the brigadier and his staff carried the same amount of baggage as other officers, the only difference being that the general had a tent for himself, his assistant-adjutant and quartermaster one between them, while a third was used as an office-tent in the day, and was occupied by the two aides-de-camp at night.

The baggage-waggon allotted to them carried the three tents, their scanty kits, and a box of stationery and official forms, but was mainly laden with musketry ammunition for the use of the brigade. After marching eighteen miles the column halted at a small village. The tents were speedily pitched, rations served out, and fires lighted. The general took possession of the principal house in the village for the use of himself and his staff, and the quartermaster-general apportioned the rest of the houses between the officers of the four battalions. The two aides-de-camp accompanied the general in his tour of inspection through the camp.

"It will be an hour before dinner is ready," Trevor said, as they returned to the house, "and you won't be wanted before that. I shall be about if the chief has any orders to send out. I don't think it is likely that he will have; he is not given, as some brigadiers are, to worrying; and, besides, there are the orderlies here to take any routine orders out, so you can be off if you like."

Terence at once went down to the camp of the Mayo Fusiliers. The officers were all there, their quartermaster having gone into the village to fix their respective quarters.

"Hooray, Terence, me boy!" O'Grady shouted, as he came up, "we all congratulate you. Faith, it is a comfort to see that for once merit has been recognized. I am sure that there is not a man in the regiment but would have liked to have given you a cheer as you rode along this morning just before we started. We shall miss you, but as you will be up and down all day and can look in of an evening, it won't be as if you had been put on the staff of another brigade. As to Dicky Ryan, he is altogether down in the mouth, whether it is regret for your loss or whether it is from jealousy at seeing you capering about on horseback, while he is tramping along on foot, is more than I know."

"If you were not my superior officer, Captain O'Grady, I should make a personal onslaught on you," Ryan laughed. "You will have to mind how you behave now, Terence; the brigadier is an awfully good fellow, but he is pretty strict in matters of discipline."

"I will take care of meself, Dicky, and now that you will have nobody to help you out of your scrapes, you will have to mind yourself too."

"I am glad that you have got a lift, Terence," Captain O'Driscol said; "but it is rather hard on me losing a subaltern just as the campaign is beginning in earnest."

"Menzies likes doing all the work," Terence said, "so it won't make so much difference to you."

"It would not matter if I was always with my company, Terence, but now, you see, that I am acting as field-officer to the left wing till your father rejoins, it makes it awkward."

"I intend to attach Parsons to your company, O'Driscol," the colonel said. "Terence went off so suddenly this morning that I had no time to think of it before we marched, but he shall march with your company to- morrow. You will not mind, I hope, Captain Holland?"

"I shall mind, of course, Colonel; but, as O'Driscol's company has now really only one officer, of course it cannot be helped, and as Menzies is the senior lieutenant, I have no doubt that he can manage very well with Parsons, who is very well up in his work."

"Thank you, Captain Holland; it is the first compliment that you ever paid me; it is abuse that I am most accustomed to."

"It is thanks to that that you are a decent officer, Parsons," Captain Holland laughed. "You were the awkwardest young beggar I ever saw when you first joined, and you have given me no end of trouble in licking you into shape. How do you think you will like your work, Terence?"

"I think I shall like it very much," the lad replied. "The other aide- de-camp, Trevor, is a very nice fellow, and every one likes Fane; as to Major Dowdeswell and Major Errington, I haven't exchanged a word with either of them, and you know as much about them as I do."

"Errington is a very good fellow, but the other man is very unpopular. He is always talking about the regulations, as if anyone cared a hang about the regulations when one is on service."

"I expect that if Fane were not such a good fellow Dowdeswell would make himself a baste of a nuisance, and be bothering us about pipe-clay and buttons, and all sorts of rigmarole," O'Grady said; "as if a man would fight any the better for having his belt white as snow!"

"He would not fight any the better, O'Grady, but the regiment would do so," the colonel put in. "All these little matters are nothing in themselves, but still they have a good deal to do with the discipline of the regiment; there is no doubt that we are not as smart in appearance as we ought to be, and that the other regiments in the brigade show up better than we do. It is a matter that must be seen to. I shall inspect the regiment very carefully before we march to-morrow."

There was a little silence among the group, but a smile stole over several of the faces. As a rule, the colonel was very lax in small matters of this kind, but occasionally he thought it necessary to put on an air of severity, and to insist upon the most rigid accuracy in this respect; but the fit seldom lasted beyond twenty-four hours, after which things went on pleasantly again. Some of the officers presently sauntered off to warn the colour-sergeants that the colonel himself intended to inspect the regiment closely before marching the next morning, and that the men must be warned to have their uniforms, belts, and firearms in perfect order.

Terence remained for some little time longer chatting, and then got possession of his kit, which was carried by Tim Hoolan across to his quarters.

"We are all sorry you've left us, yer honour," that worthy said, as he walked a short distance behind Terence; "the rigiment won't be like itself widout you. Not that it has been quite the same since you joined us reg'lar, and have taken to behaving yourself."

"What do you mean, you impudent rascal?" Terence said, with a pretence at indignation.

"No offence, yer honour, but faith the games that you and Mr. Ryan and some of the others used to play, kept the boys alive, and gave mighty contintment to the regiment."

"I was only a lad then, Hoolan."

"That was so, yer honour, and now you are a man and an officer, it is natural it should be different."

"Tim Hoolan, you are a humbug," Terence said, laughing.

"Sorra a bit of one, yer honour. I am not saying that you won't grow a bit more; everyone says what a fine man you will make. But sure ye saved our wing from being captured, and you would not have us admit that, if it had not been for a boy, a wing of the Mayo Fusiliers would have been captured by the French. No, your honour, when we tell that story we spake of one of our officers who had the idea that saved the Sea-horse, and brought thim two privateer vessels into Vigo."

"Well, Tim, it is only three months since I joined, and I don't suppose I have changed much in that time; but of course I cannot play tricks now as I used to do, before I got my commission."

"That is so, yer honour; the rigiment misses your tricks, though they did bother us a bit. Three times were we turned out at night, under arms, when we were at Athlone, once on a wet night too, and stood there for two hours till the colonel found out it was a false alarm, and there was me and Mr. Ryan, and two or three others as was in the secret, nigh choking ourselves with laughter, to hear the men cursing and swearing at being called out of bed. That was a foine time, yer honour."

"Attention, Tim!" Terence said, sharply.

They had now entered the village, and the burst of laughter in which Hoolan indulged at the thought of the regiment being turned out on a false alarm was unseemly, as he was accompanying an officer. So Tim straightened himself up, and then followed in Terence's footsteps with military precision and stiffness.

"There is a time for all things, Tim," the latter said, as he took the little portmanteau from him. "It won't do to be laughing like that in sight of head-quarters. I can't ask you to have a drink now; there is no drink to be had, but the first time we get a chance I will make it up to you."

"All right, yer honour! I was wrong entirely, but I could not have helped it if the commander-in-chief had been standing there."

Terence went up to the attic that he and Trevor shared. There was no changing for dinner, but after a wash he went below again.

"You are just in time," Trevor said, "and we are in luck. The head man of the village sent the general a couple of ducks, and they will help out our rations. I have been foraging, and have got hold of half a dozen bottles of good wine from the priest.

"We always try to get the best of things in the village, if they will but part with them. That is an essential part of our duties. To-morrow it will be your turn."

"But our servants always did that sort of thing," Terence said, in some surprise.

"I dare say, O'Connor, but it would not do for the general's servant to be going about picking up things. No matter what he paid, we should have tales going about in no time of the shameful extortion practised by our servants, who under threats compelled the peasantry to sell provisions for the use of their masters at nominal prices."

"I did not think of that," Terence laughed. "Yes, as the Portuguese have circulated scores of calumnious lies on less foundation, one cannot be too particular. I will see what I can do to-morrow."

CHAPTER VIII. A FALSE ALARM

The march was continued until the brigade arrived at Almeida, which they reached on the 7th of November, and Sir John Moore and the head- quarters staff came up on the following day. All the troops were now assembled at that place; for Anstruther, by some misconception of orders, had halted the leading division, instead of, as intended by the general, continuing his march to Salamanca. The condition of the troops was excellent. Discipline, which had been somewhat relaxed during the period of inactivity, was now thoroughly restored. The weather had continued fine, and the steady exercise had well prepared them for the campaign which was beginning. Things, however, were in other respects going on unfavourably.

The Junta of Corunna had given the most solemn promises that transport and everything necessary for the advance of Sir David Baird's force should be ready by the time that officer arrived. Yet nothing whatever had been done, and so conscious were the Junta of their shortcomings, that when the fleet with the troops arrived off the port they refused to allow them to enter without an order from the central Junta, and fifteen days were wasted before the troops could disembark. Then it was found that neither provisions nor transport had been provided, and that nothing whatever was to be hoped for from the Spanish authorities. Baird was entirely unprovided with money, and was supplied with £8,000 from Moore's scanty military chest, while at the very time the British agent, Mr. Frere, was in Corunna with two millions of dollars for the use of the Spaniards, which he was squandering, like the other British agents, right and left among the men who refused to put themselves to the slightest trouble to further the expedition.

Spain was at this time boasting of the enthusiasm of its armies, and of the immense force that it had in the field, and succeeded in persuading the English cabinet and the English people that with the help of a little money they could alone and unaided drive the French right across the frontier. The emptiness of this braggadocio, and the utter incapacity of the Spanish authorities and generals was now speedily exposed, for Napoleon's newly arrived armies scattered the Spaniards before them like sheep, and it was only on one or two occasions that anything like severe fighting took place. Within the space of three weeks there remained of the great armies of Spain but a few thousand fugitives hanging together without arms or discipline. Madrid, the centre of this pretended enthusiasm and patriotism, surrendered after a day's pretence at resistance, and the whole of the eastern provinces fell, practically without a blow, into the hands of the invaders.

At present, however, Moore still hoped for some assistance from the Spaniards. He, like Baird, was crippled for want of money, but determined not to delay his march, and sent agents to Madrid and other places to make contracts and raise money; thus while the ministers at home squandered huge sums on the Spaniards, they left it to their own military commanders to raise money by means of loans to enable them to march. Never in the course of the military history of England were her operations so crippled and foiled by the utter incapacity of her government as in the opening campaigns of the Peninsular War.

While Baird was vainly trying to obtain transport at Corunna, a reinforcement of some five thousand Spanish troops under General Romana landed at San Andero, and, being equipped from the British stores, joined the Spanish general, Blake, in Biscay. These troops had been raised for the French service at the time Napoleon's brother Joseph was undisputed King of Spain. They were stationed in Holland, and when the insurrection at home broke out, the news of the rising was sent to them, and in pursuance of a plan agreed upon they suddenly rose, marched down to a port and embarked in English ships sent to receive them, and were in these transported to the northern coast of Spain.

Sir David Baird was a man of great energy, and, having succeeded in borrowing a little more money from Mr. Frere, he started on his march to join General Moore. He had with great difficulty hired some country carts at an exorbitant rate, but the number was so small that he was obliged to send up his force in half-battalions, and so was able to proceed but very slowly.

Sir John Moore was still in utter ignorance of the situation in Spain. The jealousy among the generals, and the disinclination of the central Junta to appoint any one person to a post that might enable him to interfere with their intrigues, had combined to prevent the appointment of a commander-in-chief, and there was no one therefore with whom Sir John could open negotiations and learn what plans, if any, had been decided upon for general operations against the advancing enemy.

On the day that Moore arrived at Almeida, Blake was in full flight, pursued by a French army 50,000 strong, and Napoleon was at Vittoria with 170,000 troops.

Of these facts he was ignorant, but the letters that he received from Lord William Bentinck and Colonel Graham, exposing the folly of the Spanish generals, reached him. On the 11th he crossed the frontier of Spain, marching to Ciudad-Rodrigo. On that day Blake was finally defeated, and one of the other armies completely crushed and dispersed. These events left a large French army free to act against the British. Sir John Moore, however, did not hear of this until a week later. He knew, however, that the situation was serious; and after all the reports of Spanish enthusiasm, he was astonished to find that complete apathy prevailed, that no effort was made to enroll the population, or even to distribute the vast quantity of British muskets stored up in the magazines of the cities.

The general arrived at Salamanca with 4,000 British infantry. The French cavalry were at Valladolid, but three marches distant. On the 18th more troops had arrived, and on the 23d 12,000 infantry and six guns were at Salamanca. But Moore now knew of the defeat of Blake, and that the French army that had crushed him was free to advance against Salamanca. But he did not yet know of the utter dispersal of the Asturian army, or that the two armies of Castanos and Palafox were also defeated and scattered beyond any attempt at rallying, and that their conquerors were also free to march against him. Although ignorant of the force with which Napoleon had entered Spain, and having no idea of its enormous strength, he knew that it could not be less than 80,000 men, and that it could be joined by at least 30,000 more.

His position was indeed a desperate one. Baird was still twenty marches distant, his cavalry and artillery still far away. It would require another five days to bring the rear of his own army to Salamanca, as only a small portion could come forward each day, owing to want of transport; and yet, while in this position of imminent danger, the Spanish authorities, through Mr. Frere and other agents, were violently urging an advance to Madrid.

General Moore was indeed in a position of imminent danger; but the lying reports as to the strength of the Spanish army induced him for a moment to make preparations for such a movement. When, however, he learned the utter overthrow and dispersal of the whole of the Spanish armies, he saw that nothing remained but to fall back, if possible, upon Portugal.

It was necessary, however, that he should remain at Salamanca until Hope should arrive with the guns, and the army be in a position to show a front to the enemy. Instructions had been previously sent to Hope to march to the Escurial. Hope had endeavoured to find a road across the mountains of Ciudad-Rodrigo, but the road was so bad that he dared not venture upon it, as the number of horses was barely sufficient to drag the guns and ammunition waggons along a good road. He therefore kept on his way until he reached the Escurial; but after advancing three days farther towards Madrid, he heard of the utter defeat of the Spaniards and the flight of their armies. His cavalry outposts brought in word that more than 4,000 cavalry were but twelve miles away, and that other French troops were at Segovia and other places. The prospect of his making his way to join Sir John Moore seemed well-nigh hopeless; but, with admirable skill and resolution, Hope succeeded in eluding some of his foes, in checking others by destroying or defending bridges, and finally joined the main force without the loss of any of the important convoy of guns and ammunition that he was escorting.

The satisfaction of the troops at the arrival of the force that had been regarded as lost was unbounded. Hitherto, unprovided as they were with artillery and cavalry, they could have fought only under such disadvantages as would render defeat almost inevitable, for an enemy could have pounded them with artillery from a distance beyond their musket range, and they could have made no effectual reply whatever. His cavalry could have circled round them, cut their communications, and charged down on their lines in flank and rear while engaged with his infantry. Now every man felt that once again he formed part of an army, and that that army could be relied upon to beat any other of equal numbers.

Terence had enjoyed the march to Salamanca. The fine weather had broken up, and heavy rains had often fallen, but his thick coat kept him dry except in the steadiest downpours; while on one or two occasions only the general and his staff had failed to find quarters available. As they proceeded they gradually closed up with the troops forming a part of the same division, and at Almeida came under the command of General Fraser, whose division was made complete by their arrival. Up to this point the young aide-de-camp's duties had been confined solely to the work of the brigade--to seeing that the regiments kept their proper distances, that none of the waggons loitered behind, and that the roads were repaired, where absolutely necessary, for the baggage to pass.

In the afternoon he generally rode forward with Major Errington, the quartermaster-general of the brigade, to examine the place fixed upon for the halt, to apportion the ground between the regiments, and ascertain the accommodation to be obtained in the village. Two orderlies accompanied them, each carrying a bundle of light rods. With these the ground was marked off, a card with the name of the regiment being inserted in a slit at the end of the rod; the village was then divided in four quarters for the accommodation of the officers. But beyond fixing the name of each regiment to the part assigned to it, no attempt was made to allot any special quarters to individual officers, this being left for the regimental quartermaster to do on the arrival of the troops.

When the column came up Terence led each regiment to the spot marked off, and directed the baggage-waggons to their respective places. While he was doing this, Trevor, with the orderlies, saw the head-quarters baggage carried to the house chosen for the general's use, and that the place was made as comfortable as might be, and then endeavoured to add to the rations by purchases in the village. Fane himself always remained with the troops until the tents were erected, and they were under cover, the rations distributed, and the fires lighted. The latter operation was often delayed by the necessity of fetching wood from a distance, the wood in the immediate neighbourhood having been cut down and burned either by the French on their advance, or by the British regiments ahead.

He then went to his quarters, where he received the reports of the medical, commissariat, and transport officers, wrote a report of the state of the road and the obstacles that he had encountered, and sent it back by an orderly to the officer commanding the six guns which were following a day's march behind him. These had been brought along with great labour, it being often necessary to take them off their carriages and carry them up or down difficult places, while the men were frequently compelled to harness themselves to ropes and aid the horses to drag the guns and waggons through the deep mud. Between the arrival of the troops and dinner Terence had his time to himself, and generally spent it with his regiment.

"Never did I see such a country, Terence," O'Grady complained to him one day. "Go where you will in ould Oirland, you can always get a jugful of poteen, a potful of 'taties, and a rasher of bacon; and if it is a village, a fowl and eggs. Here there are not even spirits or wine; as for a chicken, I have not seen the feather of one since we started, and I don't believe the peasants would know an egg if they saw it."

"Nonsense, O'Grady! If we were to go off the main road we should be able to buy all these things, barring the poteen, and maybe the potatoes, but you could get plenty of onions instead. You must remember that the French army came along here, and I expect they must have eaten nearly everything up on their way, and you may be sure that Anstruther's brigade gleaned all they left. As we marched from the Mondego we found the villagers well supplied--better a good deal than places of the same size would be in Ireland--except at our first halting-place."

"I own that, although Hoolan sometimes fails to add to our rations, we have not been so badly off, Terence. He goes out with two or three more of the boys directly we halt, laving the other servants to get the tents ready, and he generally brings us half a dozen fish, sometimes a dozen, that he has got out of the stream.

"He is an old hand, is Tim, and if he can't get them for dinner he gets them for breakfast. He catches them with night-lines and snares, and all sorts of poaching tricks. I know he bought a bag with four or five pounds of lime at Torres Vedras, and managed to smuggle it away in the regimental baggage. I asked him what it was for, and the rascal tipped me a wink, as much as to say, Don't ask no questions, master; and I believe that he drops a handful into a likely pool when he comes across one. I have never dared to ask him, for my conscience would not let me countenance such an unsportsmanlike way of getting round the fish."

"I don't think that there is much harm in it under the present circumstances," Terence laughed. "It is not sport, but it is food. I am afraid, Tim, that you must have been poaching a good deal at home or you would never have thought of buying lime before starting on this march."

"I would scorn to take in an Oirish fish, yer honour!" Hoolan said, indignantly. "But it seems to me that as the people here are trating us in just as blackguardly a manner as they can, shure it is the least we can do to catch their fish any way we can, just to pay them off."

"Well, looking at it in that light, Tim, I will say no more against the practice. I don't think I could bring myself to lime even Portuguese water, but my conscience would not trouble me at eating fish that had been caught by somebody else."

"I will bear it in mind, yer honour, and next time we come on a good pool a dish of fine fish shall be left at your quarters, but yer honour must not mintion to the gineral where you got them from. Maybe his conscience in the matter of ateing limed fish would be more tender than your own, and it might get me into trouble."

"I will take care about that, Tim; at any rate, I will try and manufacture two or three hooks, and when we halt for a day will try and do a little fishing on my own account."

"I will make you two or three, Mr. O'Connor. I made a couple for Mr. Ryan, and he caught two beauties yesterday evening."

"Thank you, Hoolan. Fond as I am of fishing, I wonder it did not strike me before. I can make a line by plaiting some office string, with twisted horse-hair instead of gut."

"I expect that that is just what Mr. Ryan did, yer honour. I heard the adjutant using powerful language this morning because he could not find a ball of twine."

After this Terence generally managed to get an hour's fishing before the evening twilight had quite faded away; and by the aid of a long rod cut on the river bank, a line manufactured by himself, and Hoolan's hook baited with worms, he generally contrived to catch enough fish to supplement the ordinary fare at the following morning's breakfast.

"This is a welcome surprise, Trevor," the brigadier said the first time the fish appeared at table. "I thought I smelt fish frying, but I felt sure I must be mistaken. Where on earth did you get them from?"

"It is not my doing, General, but O'Connor's. I was as much surprised as yourself when I saw Burke squatting over the fire frying three fine fish. I asked him where he had stolen them. He told me that Mr. O'Connor brought them in at eight o'clock yesterday evening."

"Where did you get them from, O'Connor?"

"I caught them in the stream that we crossed half a mile back, sir. I found a likely pool a few hundred yards down it, and an hour's work there gave me those three fish. They stopped biting as soon as it got dark."

"What did you catch them with?"

Terence explained the nature of his tackle.

"Capital! You have certainly given us a very pleasant change of food, and I hope that you will continue the practice whenever there is a chance."

"There ought often to be one, General. We cross half a dozen little mountain streams every day, and the villages are generally built close to one. I don't suppose I should have thought of it, if I had not found that some of the men of my regiment have been supplying the mess with them. I hope to do better in future, for going over the ground where some of the troops in front of us have bivouacked I came upon some white feathers blowing about, and I shall try to tie a fly. That ought to be a good deal more killing than a worm when the light begins to fade."

"You have been a fisherman, then, at home?"

"Yes, sir; I did a good deal of fishing round Athlone, and was taught to tie my own flies. I wish I had a packet of hooks--the two one of our fellows made for me are well enough for worms, but they are rather clumsy for flies."

"I used to be fond of fishing myself," Fane said; "but I have always bought my tackle, and I doubt whether I should make much hand at it, if left to my own devices. We are not likely to be able to get any hooks till we get to Almeida, but I should think you would find some there."

"I shall be able to get some wire to make them with, no doubt, sir."

"I fancy after we have left Almeida you won't find many opportunities of fishing, O'Connor. We shall have other work on hand then, and shall, I hope, be able to buy what we want; at any rate, we shall have as good a chance of doing so as others, while along this road there is nothing to be had for love or money, and the peasants would no doubt be glad to sell us anything they have, but they are living on black bread themselves; and, indeed, the greater part have moved away to less-frequented places. No doubt they will come back again as soon as we have all passed, but how long they will be allowed to live in peace and quietness is more than I can say. As long as it is only our troops who come along they have nothing much to complain of, for they can sell everything they have to dispose of at prices they never dreamt of before; but they complain bitterly of the French, who ate their fruit and drank their wine, killed their pigs and fowls, appropriated their cattle and horses, and they thought themselves lucky to escape with their lives. You see there are very few men about here; they have all gone off to join one or other of the Portuguese bands."

"I fancy these Portuguese fellows will turn out useful some day, General," Major Errington said. "They are stout fellows, and though I don't think the townspeople would be of any good, the peasantry ought to make good soldiers if they were well drilled and led."

"That is a very large if," Fane laughed. "I see no signs of any leader, and unless we could lend them a few hundred non-commissioned officers I don't see where their drill instructors are to come from. Still, I have more hope of them than I have of the Spaniards. Those men under Trant were never tried much under fire, but they certainly improved in discipline very much in the short time they were with us. If we could but get rid of all the Portuguese authorities and take the people in hand ourselves, we ought to be able to turn out fifty thousand good fighting troops in the course of a few months, but so long as things go on as they are I see no hope of any efficient aid from them."

At Almeida Terence managed to procure some hooks. They were clumsily made, but greatly superior to anything that he could turn out himself. He was also able to procure some strong lines, but the use of flies seemed to be altogether unknown. However, during his stay he made half a dozen different patterns, and with these in a small tin box and a coil of line stowed away at the bottom of one of his holsters, he felt that if opportunity should occur he ought to be able to have fair sport. He had suffered a good deal during the heavy rains, which came on occasionally, from the fact that his infantry cloak was not ample enough to cover his legs when riding. He was fortunate enough here to be able to buy a pair of long riding-boots, and with these and a pair of thick canvas trousers, made by one of the regimental tailors, and coming down just below the knee, he felt that in future he could defy the rain.

At Salamanca there were far better opportunities of the officers supplementing their outfits. Landing on the Mondego early in August, they had made provision against the heat, but had brought no outfit at all suited for wear in winter, and all seized the opportunity of providing themselves with warm under-garments, had linings sewn into greatcoats, and otherwise prepared for the cold which would shortly set in. The greater part of the troops were here quartered in the convents and other extensive buildings, and as Fane's brigade was one of the first to arrive they enjoyed a short period of well-earned rest. Terence had by this time picked up a good deal of Portuguese, and was able to make himself pretty well understood by the Spanish shopkeepers. He, as well as the other officers, was astonished and disgusted at the lethargy that prevailed when, as all now knew, the great Spanish armies were scattered to the winds, and large bodies of French troops were advancing in all directions to crush out the last spark of resistance.

The officers of the Mayo Fusiliers had established a mess, and Terence often dined there. He was always eagerly questioned as to what was going to be done.

"I can assure you, O'Grady," he said, one day, "that aides-de-camp are not admitted to the confidence of the officer commanding-in-chief. I know no more as to Sir John's intentions than the youngest drummer-boy. I suppose that everything will depend upon the weather, and whether General Hope, with the artillery and cavalry, manages to join us. If he does, I suppose we shall fight a battle before we fall back. If he does not, I suppose we shall have to fall back without fighting, if the French will let us."

"I wish, Terence, you would give these lazy Spaniards a good fright, just as you gave the people at Athlone. Faith, I would give a couple of months' pay to see them regularly scared."

"If I were not on the staff I might try it, O'Grady, but it would never do for me to try such a thing now."

Dick Ryan, who was standing by, winked significantly, and in a short time he and Terence were talking eagerly together in a corner of the room.

"Who is to know you are a staff-officer, Terence?" the latter urged. "Isn't it an infantry uniform that you are wearing? and ain't there hundreds of infantry officers here? It was good fun at Athlone, but I don't think that many of them believed there was any real danger. It would be altogether different here; they are scared enough as it is, though they walk about with their cloaks wrapped round them and pretend to be mighty confident."

"Let us come and talk it over outside, Dick. It did not much matter before if it had been discovered we had a hand in it. Of course the colonel would have given us a wigging, but at heart he would have been as pleased at the joke as any of us. But it is a different affair here."

Going out, they continued their talk and arranged their plans. Late the following night two English officers rushed suddenly into a drinking-shop close to the gate through which the road to Valladolid passed.

"The French! the French!" one exclaimed. "Run for your lives and give the alarm!"

The men all leapt to their feet, rushed out tumultuously, and scattered through the streets, shouting at the top of their voices: "The French are coming! the French are coming! Get up, or you will all be murdered in your beds!"

The alarm spread like wildfire, and Terence and Ryan made their way back, by the shortest line, to the room where most of the officers were still sitting, smoking and chatting.

"Any news, O'Connor?" the colonel asked.

"Nothing that I have heard of, Colonel. I thought I would drop in for a cigar before turning in."

A few minutes later Tim Hoolan entered.

"There is a shindy in the town, your honour," he said to the colonel. "Meself does not know what it is about; but they are hallooing and bawling fit to kill themselves."

One of the officers went to the window and threw it up.

"Hoolan is right, Colonel; there is something the matter. There--" he broke off as a church bell pealed out with loud and rapid strokes.

"That is the alarm, sure enough!" the colonel exclaimed. "Be off at once, gentlemen, and get the men up and under arms."

"I must be off to the general's quarters!" Terence exclaimed, hastily putting on his greatcoat again.

"The divil fly away with them," O'Grady grumbled, as he hastily finished the glass before him; "sorrow a bit of peace can I get at all, at all, in this bastely country."

Terence hurried away to his quarters. A score of church bells were now pealing out the alarm. From every house men and women rushed out panic- stricken, and eagerly questioned each other. All sorts of wild reports were circulated.

"The British outposts have been driven in; the Valladolid gate has been captured; Napoleon himself, with his whole army, is pouring into the town."

The shrieks of frightened women added to the din, above which the British bugles calling the troops to arms could be heard in various quarters of the city.

"Oh, here you are, Mr. O'Connor!" General Fane exclaimed, as he hurried in. "Mr. Trevor has just started for the convent; he may be intercepted, and therefore do you carry the same message; the brigade is to get under arms at once, and to remain in readiness for action until I arrive. From what I can gather from these frightened fools, the French have already entered the town. If the convent is attacked, it is to be defended until the last. I am going to head-quarters for orders."

A good deal alarmed at the consequences of the tumult that he and Dick Ryan had excited, Terence made his way through the streets at a run; his progress, however, was impeded by the crowd, many of whom seized him as he passed and implored him to tell them the news. He observed that not a weapon was to be seen among the crowd; evidently resistance was absolutely unthought of. Trevor had reached the convent before him. The four regiments had already gathered there under arms.

"Have you any orders, Mr. O'Connor?" Colonel Corcoran asked, eagerly, for the Mayo Fusiliers happened to be formed up next the gate of the convent.

"No, sir; only to repeat those brought by Mr. Trevor, as the general thought that he might be intercepted on the way. The troops are to remain here in readiness until he arrives. If attacked, they are to hold the convent until the last."

"Have you seen any signs of the French?"

"None, whatever, Colonel."

"Did you hear any firing?"

"No, sir; but there was such an uproar--what with the church bells, everyone shouting, and the women screaming--that I don't suppose I should have heard it unless it had been quite close."

"We thought we heard musketry," the colonel replied, "but it might have been only fancy. There is such a hullabaloo in the city that we might not have heard the fire of small-arms, but I think that we must have heard artillery."

In ten minutes Fane with his staff galloped in. "The brigade will march down towards the Valladolid gate," he said. "If you encounter any enemies, Colonel Corcoran you will at once occupy the houses on both sides of the street and open fire upon them from the windows and roofs; the other regiments will charge them. At present," he went on, as the colonel gave the order for the regiment to march, "we can obtain no information as to the cause of this uproar. An officer rode in, just as I was starting, from Anstruther's force, encamped outside the walls, asking for orders, and reporting that his outposts have seen no signs of the enemy. I believe it is a false alarm after all, and we are marching rather to reassure the populace than with any idea of meeting the enemy."

The troops marched rapidly through the streets, making their way without ceremony through the terrified crowd. They had gone but a short distance when the bells of the churches one by one ceased their clamour, and a hush succeeded the din that had before prevailed. When the head of the column reached the gate, they saw Sir John Moore and his staff sitting there on horseback. Fane rode up to him for orders.

"It is, as I fancied, wholly a false alarm," the general said. "How it could have started I have no idea. I have had another report from Anstruther; all is quiet at the outposts, and there is no sign whatever of the enemy. There is nothing to do but to march the troops back to barracks. However, I am not sorry, for possibly the scare may wake the authorities up to the necessity of taking some steps for the protection of the town."

Terence rode back with General Fane to his quarters.

"I cannot make out," Trevor said, as they went, "how the scare can have begun; everything was quiet enough. I was just thinking of turning in when we heard a shouting in the streets. In three minutes the whole town seemed to have gone mad, and I made sure that the French must be upon us; but I could not make out how they could have done so without our outposts giving the alarm. Where were you when it began?"

"I was in the mess-room of the Mayos, when one of the servants ran in to say that there was a row. Directly afterwards the alarm-bells began to ring, the colonel at once gave orders for the regiment to be got under arms, and I ran back to the general for orders; and I must have passed you somewhere on the road. Did you ever see such cowards as these Spaniards? Though there are arms enough in the town for every man to bear a musket-- and certainly the greater portion of them have weapons of some sort or other--I did not see a man with arms of any kind in his hand."

"I noticed the same thing," Trevor said. "It is disgusting. It was evident that the sole thought that possessed them was as to their own wretched lives. I have no doubt that, if they could have had their will, they would have disarmed all our troops, in order that no resistance whatever should be offered. And yet only yesterday the fellows were all bragging about their patriotism, and the bravery that would be shown should the French make their appearance. It makes one sick to be fighting for such people."

The following afternoon Terence went up to the convent.

"Well, O'Connor, have you heard how it all began?" the colonel asked, as he went into the mess-room.

"No one seems to know at all, Colonel. The authorities are making inquiries, but, as far as I have heard, nothing has taken place to account for it."

"It reminds me," the colonel said, shutting one eye and looking fixedly at Terence, "of a certain affair that took place at Athlone."

"I was thinking the same myself," Terence replied, quietly, "only the scare was a good deal greater here than it was there; besides, a good many of the townspeople in Athlone did turn out with guns in their hands, whereas here, I believe every man in the town hid his gun in his bed before running out."

"I always suspected you of having a hand in that matter, Terence."

"Did you, Colonel?" Terence said, in a tone of surprise. "Well, as, fortunately, I was sitting here when this row began, you cannot suspect me this time."

"I don't know; you and Ryan came in together, which was suspicious in itself, and it was not two minutes after you had come in that the rumpus began. Just give me a wink, lad, if you had a finger in the matter. You know you are safe with me; besides, ain't you a staff-officer now, and outside my jurisdiction altogether?"

"Well, Colonel, a wink does not cost anything," Terence said, "so here is to ye."

He exchanged a wink with the colonel, who burst into a fit of laughter so loud that he startled all the other officers, who at once came up to hear the joke.

"It is just a little story that Terence has been telling me," the colonel said, when he had recovered his breath, "about the scare last night, and how a young woman, with next to nothing on her, threw her arms round his neck and begged him to save her. The poor young fellow blushed up to his eyelids with the shame of it in the public streets!"

CHAPTER IX. THE RETREAT

O'Grady asked no questions, but presently whispered to Terence: "Faith, ye did it well, me boy."

"Did what well, O'Grady?"

"You need not tell me about it, Terence. I was expecting it. Didn't I spake to ye the day before about it, and didn't I feel sure that something would come of it? When that row began last night, I looked at you hard and saw you wink at that young spalpeen, Dicky Ryan; and sure all the time that we were standing there, formed up, I well-nigh burst the buttons off me coatee in holding in me laughter, when everyone else was full of excitement.

"'Are you ill, O'Grady?' the colonel said, for I had to sit meself down on some steps and rock meself to and fro to aise meself. 'Is it sick ye are?' 'A sudden pain has saised me, Colonel,' says I, 'but I will be all right in a minute.' 'Take a dram out of me flask,' says he; something must have gone wrong wid ye.' I took a drink--"

"That I may be sure you did," Terence interrupted.

"--And thin told him that I felt better; but as we marched down through the crowd and saw the fright of the men, and the women screaming in their night-gowns at the windows, faith, I well-nigh choked."

"Have you spoken to Ryan about this absurd suspicion, O'Grady?"

"I spoke to him, but I might as well have spoke to a brick wall. Divil a thing could I get out of him. How did you manage it at all, lad?"

"How could I manage it?" Terence said, indignantly. "No, no, O'Grady; I know you did make some remark about that scare at Athlone, and said it would be fun to have one here. I was a little shocked at hearing such a thing from, as you often say, a superior officer, and it certainly appears to me that it was you who first broached the idea. So I have much more right to feel a suspicion that you had a hand in the carrying of it out than for you to suspect me."

"Well, Terence," O'Grady said, in an insinuating way, "I won't ask you any questions now, and maybe some day when you have marched away from this place, you will tell me the ins and outs of the business."

"Maybe, O'Grady, and perhaps you will also confess to me how you managed to bring the scare about."

"Go along wid you, Terence, it is yourself knows better than anyone else that I had nothing to do with it, and I will never forgive you until you make a clean breast of it to me."

"We shall see about it," Terence laughed. "Anyhow, if you allude to the subject again, I shall feel it my duty to inform the colonel of my reasons for suspecting that you were concerned in spreading those false reports last night."

"It was first-rate, wasn't it?" Dick Ryan said, as he joined Terence, when the latter left the mess-room.

"It was good fun, Dicky; but I tell you, for a time I was quite as much scared as anyone else. I never thought that it would have gone quite so far. When it came to all the troops turning out, and Sir John and everyone, I felt that there would be an awful row if we were ever found out."

"It was splendid, Terence. I knew that we could not be found out when we had not told a soul. Did you ever see such a funk as the Spaniards were all in, and after all their bragging and the airs that they had given themselves. Our men were so savage at their cowardice, that I believe they would have liked nothing better than an order to pitch into them. And didn't the women yell and howl? It is the best lark we have ever had."

"It is good fun to look back at, Dicky, but I shall be glad when we are out of this. The Spanish authorities are making all sorts of inquiries, and I have no doubt that they will get hold of some of the men in that wine-shop, and it will come out that two British officers started the alarm."

"What if it did?" Ryan said. "There were only two wretched candles burning in the place, and they could not have got a fair sight at us, and indeed they all jumped up and bolted the moment we spoke. I will bet that there is not one among them who would be able to swear to us though we were standing before him; and I have no doubt if they were questioned every man would give a different account of what we were like. I have no fear that they will ever find us out. Still, I shall be glad when we are out of this old place. Not because I am afraid about our share in that business being discovered, but we have been here nearly a fortnight now, and as we know there is a strong French force within ten miles of us, I think that it is about time that the fun began. You don't think that we are going to retreat, do you?"

"I don't know any more about it than you do, Dicky; but I feel absolutely sure that we shall retreat. I don't see anything else for us to do. Every day fresh news comes in about the strength of the French, and as the Spanish resistance is now pretty well over, and Madrid has fallen, they will all be free to march against us; and even when Hope has joined us we shall only be about 20,000 strong, and they have, at the least, ten times that force. I thing we shall be mighty lucky if we get back across the frontier into Portugal before they are all on us."

Sir John Moore, however, was not disposed to retire without doing something for the cause of Spain. The French armies had not yet penetrated into the southern provinces, and he nobly resolved to make a movement that would draw the whole strength of the French towards him, and give time for the Spaniards in the south to gather the remains of their armies together and organize a resistance to the French advance. In view of the number and strength of the enemy, no more heroic resolution was ever taken by a military commander, and it was all the more to be admired, inasmuch as he could hope to win no victory that would cover himself and his army with glory, no success that would satisfy the public at home, and at best he could but hope, after long, fatiguing, and dangerous marches, to effect his retreat from the overwhelming forces that would be hurled against him.

While remaining at Salamanca, Sir John, foreseeing that a retreat into Portugal must be finally carried out, took steps to have magazines established on two of the principal routes to the coast, that a choice might be left open to him by which to retire when he had accomplished his main object of diverting the great French wave of invasion from the south.

On the 11th of December the march began, and for the next ten days the army advanced farther and farther into the country. So far Moore had only Soult's army opposing his advance towards Burgos, and it might be possible to strike a heavy blow at that general before Napoleon, who was convinced that the British must fall back into Portugal if they had not already begun to do so, should come up. He had been solemnly assured that he should be joined by Romana with 14,000 picked men, but that general had with him but 5,000 peasants, who were in such a miserable condition that when the British reached the spot where the junction was to be effected, he was ashamed to show them, and marched away into Leon.

The British, in order to obtain forage, were obliged to move along several lines of route. Sir David Baird's division joined them as they advanced, and when they reached the Carrion their effective force amounted to 23,583 men, with sixty pieces of artillery. On the French side, Soult had--on hearing of the British advance to the north-east, by which, if successful, they would cut the French lines of communication between Madrid and the frontier--called up all his detached troops, and wrote to the governor of Burgos to divert to his assistance all troops coming along the road from France, whatever their destination might be.

On the 21st Lord Paget, with the 10th and 15th Hussars, surprised a French cavalry force at Sahagun, and ordered the 15th to turn their position and endeavour to cut them off. When with the 10th Hussars Lord Paget arrived in the rear of the village, he found six hundred French dragoons drawn up and ready to attack him. He at once charged and broke them and pursued them for some distance. Twenty were killed, thirteen officers and 154 men taken prisoners. On the 23d, Soult had concentrated his forces at the town of Carrion, and that night the British troops were got in motion to attack them, the two forces being about even in numbers; but scarcely had he moved forward when reports, both from Romana and his own spies, reached Sir John Moore to the effect that his march had achieved the object with which it was undertaken. Orders had been sent by Napoleon for the whole of the French armies to move at once against the British, while he himself, with the troops at Madrid, 70,000 strong, had started by forced marches to fall upon him.

The instant Moore received this information he arrested the forward movement of his troops. His object had been attained. The French invasion of the south was arrested, and time given to the Spaniards. There was nothing now but to fall back with all speed. It was well indeed that he did not carry out his intention of attacking Soult. The latter had that day received orders from the emperor not to give battle, but to fall back, and so tempt Moore to pursue, in which case his line of retreat would have been intercepted and his army irretrievably lost.

The order to retreat was an unwelcome one indeed to the troops. For twelve days they had marched through deep snow and suffered fatigues, privations, and hardships. That evening they had expected to be repaid for their exertions by a battle and a victory on the following morning, and the order to retreat, coming at such a moment, was a bitter disappointment indeed.

They were, of course, ignorant of the reasons for this sudden change, and the officers shared the discontent of the troops, a feeling that largely accounted for the disorders and losses that took place during the retreat.

Napoleon led his troops north with his usual impetuosity. The deep snow choked the passes through the mountains. The generals, after twelve hours of labour, reported the roads impracticable, but Napoleon placed himself at the head of the column, and, amidst a storm of snow and driving hail, led them over the mountain. With tremendous efforts he reached Desillas on the 26th; while Houssaye entered Valladolid on the same day, and Ney, with the 6th corps, arrived at Rio Seco.

Full of hope that he had caught the British, the emperor pushed on towards Barras, only to find that he was twelve hours too late. Moore had, the instant he received the news, sent back the heavy baggage with the main body of infantry, himself following more slowly with the light brigade and cavalry, the latter at times pushing parties up to the enemy's line and skirmishing with his outposts to prevent Soult from suspecting that the army had retreated. On the 26th the whole army, moving by different routes, approached the river Esla, which they crossed in a thick fog, which greatly hindered the operation. A brigade remained on the left bank to protect the passage, for the enemy's cavalry were already close at hand, and Soult was hotly pressing in pursuit.

A strong body of horse belonging to the emperor's army intercepted Lord Paget near Mayorga, but two squadrons of the 10th Hussars charged up the rising ground on which they had posted themselves, and, notwithstanding their disadvantage in numbers and position, killed twenty and took a hundred prisoners. Moore made but a short pause on the Esla, for that position could be turned by the forces advancing from the south. He waited, therefore, only until he could clear out his magazines, collect his stragglers, and send forward his baggage. He ordered the bridge by which the army had crossed to be broken down, and left Crawford to perform this duty.

Short as the retreat had been, it had already sufficed to damage most seriously the morale of the army. The splendid discipline and order that had been shown during the advance was now gone; many of the regimental officers altogether neglected their duties, and the troops were insubordinate. Great numbers straggled, plundered the villages, and committed excesses of all sorts, and already the general had been forced to issue an order reproaching the army for its conduct, and appealing to the honour of the soldiers to second his efforts. Valiant in battle, capable of the greatest efforts on the march, hardy in enduring fatigue and the inclemency of weather, the British soldier always deteriorates rapidly when his back is turned to the enemy. Confident in his bravery, regarding victory as assured, he is unable to understand the necessity for retreat, and considers himself degraded by being ordered to retire, and regards prudence on the part of his general as equivalent to cowardice.

The armies of Wellington deteriorated with the same rapidity as this force, when upon two occasions it was necessary to retreat when threatened by overwhelming forces; and yet, however disorganized, the British soldier recovers his discipline the instant he is attacked, and fiercely turns upon his pursuers. At the bridge across the Esla two privates of the 3d gave an example of splendid courage and determination. It was night. Some of the baggage was still on the farther bank, and the two men were posted as sentries beyond the bridge, their orders being that if an enemy appeared, one should fire and then run back to the bridge and shout to warn the guard whether the enemy were in force or not. The other was to maintain his post as long as possible.

During the night the light cavalry of the imperial guard rode down. Jackson, one of the sentries, fired and ran back to give the alarm. He was overtaken, and received over a dozen sabre cuts; nevertheless he staggered on until he reached the bridge, and gave the signal. Walton, the other sentry, with equal resolution stood his ground and wounded several of his assailants, who, as they drew off, left him unhurt, although his cap, knapsack, belt, and musket were cut in over twenty places, and his bayonet bent double.

Terence O'Connor's duties had been light enough during the advance, but during the three days of the retreat to the Esla he had been incessantly occupied. He and Trevor had both been directed to ride backwards and forwards along the line of the brigade to see that there was no straggling in the ranks, and that the baggage carts in the rear kept close up. The task was no easy one, and was unpleasant as well as hard. Many of the officers plodded sulkily along, paying no attention whatever to their men, allowing them to straggle as they chose; and they were obliged to report several of the worst cases to the brigadier. With the Mayo Fusiliers they had less trouble than with others. Terence had, when he joined them at their first halt after the retreat began, found them as angry and discontented as the rest at the unexpected order, and was at once assailed with questions and complaints.

He listened to them quietly, and then said:

"Of course, if you all prefer a French prison to a few days' hard marching, you have good reason to grumble at being baulked in your wishes; that is all I have to say about it."

"What do you mean, Terence?" O'Grady asked, angrily. "Soult's force was not stronger than ours, at least so we heard; and if it had been it would make no difference, we would have thrashed them out of their boots in no time."

"I dare say we should, O'Grady, and what then?"

"Well, I don't know what then," O'Grady said, after a moment's silence; "that would have been the general's business."

"Quite so; and so is this. There you would have been with perhaps a couple of thousand wounded and as many French prisoners, and Napoleon with 60,000 men or so, and Ney with as many more, and Houssaye with his cavalry division, all in your rear cutting you off from the sea. What would have been your course then?"

A general silence fell upon the officers.

"Is that so?" the colonel asked at last.

"That is so," Terence said, gravely. "All these and other troops are marching night and day to intercept us. It is no question of fighting now. Victory over Soult, so far from being of any use, would only have burdened us with wounded and prisoners, and even a day's delay would be absolutely fatal. As it is, it is a question whether we shall have time to get back to the coast before they are all posted in our front. Every hour is of the greatest importance. You all know that we have talked over lots of times how dangerous our position is. General Fane told us, when the orders to retreat were issued, that he believed the peril to be even more imminent than we thought. We all know when we marched north from Salamanca, that, without a single Spaniard to back us, all that could be hoped for was to aid Saragossa and Seville and Cadiz to gather the levies in the south and prepare for defence, and that erelong we should have any number of enemies upon us. That is what has precisely happened, and now there is grumbling because the object has been attained, and that you are not allowed to fight a battle that, whether won or lost, would equally ruin us."

"Sure ye are right," O'Grady said, warmly, "and we are a set of omadhouns. You have sense in your head, Terence, and there is no gainsaying you. I was grumbling more than the rest of them, but I won't grumble any more. Still, I suppose that there is no harm in hoping we shall have just a bit of fighting before we get back to Portugal."

"We shall be lucky if we don't have a good deal of fighting, O'Grady, and against odds that will satisfy even you. As to Portugal, there is no chance of our getting there. Ney will certainly cut that road, and the emperor will, most likely, also do so, as you can see for yourself on the map."

"Divil a map have I ever looked at since I was at school," O'Grady said. "Then if we can't get back to Portugal, where shall we get to?"

"To one of the northern seaports; of course, I don't know which has been decided upon; I don't suppose the general himself has settled that yet. It must depend upon the roads and the movements of the enemy, and whether there is a defensible position near the port that we can hold in case the fleet and transports cannot be got there by the time we arrive."

"Faith, Terence, ye're a walking encyclopeydia. You have got the matter at your finger ends."

"I don't pretend to know any more than anyone else," Terence said, with a laugh. "But of course I hear matters talked over at the brigade mess. I don't think that Fane knows more of the general's absolute plans than you do. I dare say the divisional generals know, but it would not go further. Still, as Fane and Errington and Dowdeswell know something about war besides the absolute fighting, they can form some idea as to the plans that will be adopted."

"Well, Terence," the colonel said, "I didn't think the time was coming so soon when I was going to be instructed by your father's son, but I will own that you have made me feel that I have begun campaigning too late in life, and that you have given me a lesson."

"I did not mean to do that, Colonel," Terence said, a good deal abashed. "It was O'Grady I was chiefly speaking to."

"Your supeyrior officer!" O'Grady murmured.

"My superior officer, certainly," Terence went on, with a smile; "but who, having, as he says, never looked at a map since he left school--while I have naturally studied one every evening since we started from Torres Vedras--can therefore know no more about the situation than does Tim Hoolan. But I certainly never intended my remarks to apply to you, Colonel."

"They hit the mark all the same, lad, and the shame is mine and not yours. I think you have done us all good. One doesn't care when one is retreating for a good reason, but when one marches for twelve days to meet an enemy, and then, when just close to him, one turns one's back and runs away, it is enough to disgust an Englishman, let alone an Irishman. Well, boys, now we see it is all right, we will do our duty as well on the retreat as we did on the advance, and divil a grumble shall there be in my hearing."

From that moment, therefore, the Mayo Fusiliers were an example to the brigade. Any grumble in the ranks was met with a cheerful "Whist, boys! do you think that you know the general's business better than he does himself? It is plenty of fighting you are likely to get before you have done, never fear. Now is the time, boys, to get the regiment a good name. The general knows that we can fight. Now let him see that we can wait patiently till we get another chance. Remember, the better temper you are in, the less you will feel the cold."

So, laughing and joking, and occasionally breaking into a song, the Mayo Fusiliers pushed steadily forward, and the colonel that evening congratulated the men that not one had fallen out.

"Keep that up, boys," he said. "It will be a proud day for me when we get to our journey's end, wherever that may be, to be able to say to the brigadier: 'Except those who have been killed by the enemy, here is my regiment just as it was when it started from the Carrion--not a man has fallen out, not a man has straggled away, not a man has made a baste of himself and was unfit to fall in the next morning.' I know them," he said to O'Driscol, as the regiment was dismissed from parade. "They will not fall out, they will not straggle, but if they come to a place where wine's in plenty, they will make bastes of themselves; and after all," he added, "after the work they have gone through, who is to blame them?"

At the halt the next evening at Bembibre the colonel's forebodings that the men could not be trusted where liquor was plentiful were happily not verified. There were immense wine-vaults in the town. These were broken open, and were speedily crowded by disbanded Spaniards, soldiers, camp- followers, muleteers, women and children--the latter taking refuge there from the terrible cold. The rear-guard, to which the Mayo regiment had been attached the evening before, found that Baird's division had gone on, but that vast numbers of drunken soldiers had been left behind. General Moore was himself with the rear-guard, and the utmost efforts were made to induce the drunkards to rejoin their regiments. He himself appealed to the troops, instructing the commanders of the different regiments to say that he relied implicitly upon the soldiers to do their duty. The French might at any moment be up, and every man must be in his ranks. No men were to fall out or to enter any wine-house or cellar, but each should have at once a pint of wine served out to him, and as much more before they marched in the morning.

After the colonel read out this order, he supplemented it by saying, "Now, boys, the credit of the regiment is at stake. It is a big honour that has been paid you in choosing you to join the rear-guard, and you have got to show that you deserve it. As soon as it can be drawn, you will have your pint of wine each, which will be enough to warm your fingers and toes. Wait here in the ranks till you have drunk your wine and eaten some of the bread in your haversacks, and by that time I will see what I can do for you. You will have another pint before starting; but mind, though I hope there isn't a mother's son who would bring discredit on the regiment, I warn you that I shall give the officers instructions to shoot down any man who wanders from the ranks in search of liquor. The French may be here in half an hour after we have started, and it is better to be shot than to be sabred by a French dragoon, which will happen surely enough to every baste who has drunk too much to go on with the troops."

Only a few murmurs were heard at the conclusion of the speech.

"Now, gentlemen," the colonel said, "will half a dozen of you see to the wine. Get hold of some of those fellows loafing about there and make them roll out as many barrels as will supply a pint to every man in the regiment, ourselves as well as the men. O'Grady, take Lieutenant Horton and Mr. Haldane and two sergeants with you. Here is my purse. Go through the town and get some bread and anything else in the way of food that you can lay your hands upon. And, if you can, above all things get some tobacco."

O'Grady's search was for a time unsuccessful, as the soldiers and camp- followers had already broken into the shops and stores. In an unfrequented street, however, they came across a large building. He knocked at the door with the hilt of his sword. It was opened after a time by an old man.

"What house is this?"

"It is a tobacco factory," he replied.

"Be jabers, we have come to the right place. I want about half a ton of it. We are not robbers, and I will pay for what we take." Then another idea struck him. "Wait a moment, I will be back again in no time. Horton, do you stay here and take charge of the men. I am going back to the colonel."

He found on reaching the regiment that the men were already drinking their wine and eating their bread.

"I am afraid I shall never keep them, O'Grady," the colonel said, mournfully. "It is scarcely in human nature to see men straggling about as full as they can hold, and know that there is liquor to be had for taking it and not to go for it."

"It is all right, Colonel. I know that we can never keep the men if we turn them into the houses to sleep; but I have found a big building that will hold the whole regiment, and the best of it is that it is a tobacco factory. I expect it is run by the authorities of the place, and as we are doing what we can for them, they need not grudge us what we take; and faith, the boys will be quiet and contented enough, so that they do but get enough to keep their pipes going, and know that they will march in the morning with a bit in their knapsacks."

"The very thing, O'Grady! Pass the word for the regiment to fall in the instant they have finished their meal."

It was not long before they were ready, and in a few minutes, guided by O'Grady, the head of the regiment reached the building.

"Who is the owner of this place?" the colonel asked the old man, who, with a lantern in his hand, was still standing at the door.

"The Central Junta of the Province has of late taken it, your Excellency."

"Good! Then we will be the guests of the Central Junta of the Province for the night." Then he raised his voice, "Boys, here is a warm lodging for you for the night, and tobacco galore for your pipes; and, for those who haven't got them, cigars. Just wait until I have got some lights, and then file inside in good order."

There was no difficulty about this, for the factory was in winter worked long after dark set in. In a very few minutes the place was lighted up from end to end. The troops were then marched in and divided amongst the various rooms.

"Now, boys, tell the men to smoke a couple of pipes, and then to lie down to sleep. In the morning each man can put as much tobacco into his knapsack and pockets as they will hold, and when we halt they can give some of it away to regiments that have not been as lucky as themselves."

The men sat down in the highest state of satisfaction. Boxes of cigars were broken open, and in a couple of minutes almost every man and officer in the regiment had one alight in his mouth. There were few, however, who got beyond one cigar; the warmth of the place after their long march in the snow speedily had its effect, and in half an hour silence reigned in the factory, save for a murmur of voices in one of the lower rooms where the officers were located.

"O'Grady, you are a broth of a boy," the colonel said. "The men have scarce had a smoke for the last week, and it will do them a world of good. We have got them all under one roof, and there is no fear that anyone will want to get out, and they will fall in in the morning as fresh as paint. Half an hour before bugle-call three or four of you had best turn out with a dozen men, and roll up enough barrels from the vaults to give them the drink promised to them, before starting. Who will volunteer?"

Half a dozen officers at once offered to go, and a captain and three lieutenants were told off for the work.

"They know how to make cigars, if they don't know anything else," Captain O'Driscol said; "this is a first-rate weed."

"So it ought to be by the brand," another officer said. "I took the two boxes from a cupboard that was locked up. There are a dozen more like them, and I thought it was as well to take them out; they are at present under the table. I have no doubt that they are real Havannas, and have probably been got for some grandee or other."

"He will have to do without them," O'Grady said, calmly, as he lighted his second cigar; "they are too good for any Spaniard under the sun. And, moreover, if we did not take them you may be sure that the French would have them to-morrow, and I should say that the Central Junta of the Province will be mighty pleased to know that the tobacco was smoked by their allies instead of by the French."

"I don't suppose that they will care much about it one way or another," O'Driscol remarked; "their pockets are so full of English gold that the loss of a few tons of tobacco won't affect them much. I enjoy my cigar immensely, and have the satisfaction of knowing that for once I have got something out of a Spaniard--it is the first thing since I landed."

"Well, boys, we had better be off to sleep," the colonel said. "I am so sleepy that I can hardly keep my eyes open, and you ought to be worse, for you have tramped well-nigh forty miles to-day. See that the sentry at the door keeps awake, Captain Humphrey; you are officer of the day; upon my word I am sorry for you. Tell him he can light up if he likes, but if he sees an officer coming round he must get rid of it. Mind the sentries are changed regularly, for I expect that we shall sleep so soundly that if all the bugles in the place were sounding an alarm we should not hear them."

"All right, Colonel! I have got Sergeant Jackson in charge of the reliefs in the passage outside, and I think that I can depend upon him, but I will tell him to wake me up whenever he changes the sentries. I don't say I shall turn out myself, but as long as he calls me I shall know that he is awake, and that it is all right. I had better tell him to call you half an hour before bugle-call, Sullivan, so that you can wake the others and get the wine here; he mustn't be a minute after the half-hour. Thank goodness, we don't have to furnish the outposts to-night."

In ten minutes all were asleep on the floor, wrapped in their greatcoats, the officer of the day taking his place next the door so that he could be roused easily. Every hour one or other of the two non- commissioned officers in charge of the guard in the passage opened the door a few inches and said softly, "I am relieving the sentries, sir;" and each time the officer murmured assent.

Sullivan was called at the appointed time, got up, and stretched himself, grumbling:

"I don't believe that I have been asleep ten minutes."

On going out into the passage, however, where a light was burning, his watch told him that it was indeed time to be moving. He woke the others, and with the men went down to the cellars. Here the scene of confusion was great; drunken men lay thickly about the floor, others sat, cup in hand, talking, or singing snatches of song, Spanish or English. Hastily picking out enough unbroken casks for the purpose, he set the men to carry them up to the street, and they were then rolled along to the factory. Just as they reached the door the bugle-call sounded; the men were soon on their feet, refreshed by a good night's sleep. The casks were broached, and the wine served out.

"It is awful, Colonel," Sullivan said. "There will be hundreds of men left behind. There must have been over that number in the cellar I went into, and there are a dozen others in the town. I never saw such a disgusting scene."

Scarcely had they finished when the assemble sounded, and the regiment at once fell-in outside the factory, every man with knapsack and haversack bulging out with tobacco. They then joined the rest of the troops in the main street. General Moore had made a vain attempt to rouse the besotted men. A few of those least overcome joined the rear-guard, but the greater number were too drunk to listen to orders, or even to the warning that the French would be into the town as soon as the troops marched out.

CHAPTER X. CORUNNA

As the confusion in the streets increased from the pouring out from the houses and cellars of the camp-followers--women and children, together with men less drunk than their comrades, but still unable to walk steadily--who filled the air with shouts and drunken execrations, Colonel Corcoran rode along the line.

"Just look at that, boys," he said. "Isn't it better for you to be standing here like dacent men, ready to do your duty, than to be rolling about in a state like those drunken blackguards, for the sake of half an hour's pleasure? Sure it is enough to make every mother's son of you swear off liquor till ye get home again. When the French get inside the town there is not one of the drunken bastes that won't be either killed or marched away a thousand miles to a French prison, and all for half an hour's drink."

The lesson was indeed a striking one, and careless as many of the men were, it brought home to them with greater force than ever before in their lives, not only the folly but the degradation of drunkenness. A few minutes later, General Moore, who was riding up and down the line, inspecting the condition of the men in each regiment, came along.

"Your men look very well, Colonel," he said, as he reached the Fusiliers. "How many are you short of your number?"

"Not a man, General; I am happy to say that there was not a single one that did not answer when his name was called."

"That is good, indeed," the general said, warmly. "I am happy to say that all the regiments of the rear-guard have turned out well, and shown themselves worthy of the trust reposed in them; none, however, can give so good a report as you have done. I selected your regiment to strengthen this division from the excellent order that I observed you kept along the line of march, and I am glad indeed that it has shown itself so worthy of the honour. March your regiment across to the side of the street, let the others pass you, and fall in at the rear of the column. I shall give the Mayo Fusiliers the post of honour, as a mark of my warm approbation for the manner in which they have turned out."

Scarcely had the troops left the town when the French cavalry poured in. Now that it was too late, the sense of danger penetrated the brains of the revellers, and the mob of disbanded Spanish and British soldiers and camp-followers poured out from the cellars. Few of the soldiers had the sense even to bring up their muskets. Most of those who did so were too drunk to use them, and the French troopers rode through the mob, sabring them right and left, and trampling them under foot, and then, riding forward without a pause, set out in pursuit of the retiring columns. As they came clattering along the road the colonel ordered the last two companies to halt, and when the head of the squadron was within fifty yards of them, and the troopers were beginning to check their horses, a heavy volley was poured in, which sent them to the right-about as fast as they had come, and emptied a score of saddles. Then the two companies formed fours again, and went on at the double until they reached the rear of the column.

All day the French cavalry menaced the retreat, until Lord Paget came back with a regiment of hussars and drove them back in confusion, pursuing them a couple of miles, with the view of discovering whether they were followed by infantry. Such, however, was not the case, and the column was not further molested until they reached Cacabolos, where they were halted. The rest of the army had moved on, the troops committing excesses similar to those that had taken place at Bembibre, and plundering the shops and houses.

The division marched over a deep stream crossed by a stone bridge, and took up their ground on a lofty ridge, the ascent being broken by vineyards and stone walls. Four hundred men of the rifles and as many cavalry were posted on a hill two miles beyond the river to watch the roads. They had scarcely taken their post when the enemy were seen approaching, preceded by six or eight squadrons of cavalry. The rifles were at once withdrawn, and the cavalry, believing that the whole French army was advancing, presently followed them, and, riding fast, came up to the infantry just as they were crossing the bridge.

Before all the infantry were over the French cavalry came down at a furious gallop, and for a time all was confusion. Then the rifles, throwing themselves among the vineyards and behind the walls, opened a heavy fire. The French general in command of the cavalry was killed, with a number of his troops, and the rest of the cavalry fell back. A regiment of light infantry had followed them across the bridge, and two companies of the 52d and as many of the Mayo regiment went down the hill and reinforced the rifles. A sharp fight ensued until the main body of the French infantry approached the bridge. A battery of artillery opened upon them, and seeing the strength of the British division, and believing that the whole army was before him, Soult called back his troops. The voltigeurs retired across the bridge again, and the fight came to an end. Between two and three hundred men had been killed or wounded.

As soon as night came on the British force resumed its march, leaving two companies of the rifles as piquets at the bridge. The French crossed again in the night, but after some fighting, fell back again without having been able to ascertain whether the main body of the defenders of the position were still there. Later on the rifles fell back, and at daybreak rejoined the main body of the rear-guard, which had reached Becerréa, eighteen miles away. Here General Moore received the report from the engineers he had sent to examine the harbours, and they reported in favour of Corunna, which possessed facilities for defence which were lacking at Vigo. Accordingly he sent off orders to the fleet, which was lying at the latter port, to sail at once for Corunna, and directed the various divisions of the army to move on that town.

The rear-guard passed the day without moving, enjoying a welcome rest after the thirty-six miles they had covered the day before. By this march they had gained a long start of the enemy and had in the evening reached the town the division before them had quitted that morning. The scene as they marched along was a painful one. Every day added to the numbers of the stragglers. The excesses in drink exhausted the strength of the troops far more than did the fatigue of the marches. Their shoes were worn out; many of them limped along with rags tied round their feet. Even more painful than the sight of these dejected and worn-out men was that of the camp-followers. These, in addition to their terrible hardships and fatigue, were worn out with hunger, and almost famished. Numbers of them died by the roadside, others still crawled on in silent misery.

Nothing could be done to aid these poor creatures. The troops themselves were insufficiently fed, for the evil conduct of the soldiers who first marched through the towns defeated all the efforts of the commissariat; for they had broken into the bakers' shops and so maltreated the inhabitants that the people fled in terror, and no bread could be obtained for the use of the divisions in the rear. Towards evening the next day the reserve approached Constantina. The French were now close upon their rear. A bridge over a river had to be crossed to reach the town, and as there was a hill within a pistol-shot of the river, from which the French artillery could sweep the bridge, Sir John Moore placed the riflemen and artillery on it. The enemy, believing that he intended to give battle, halted, and before their preparations could be made the troops were across the bridge, and were joined by the artillery, which had retired at full speed.

The French advanced and endeavoured to take the bridge. General Paget, however, held the post with two regiments of cavalry, and then fell back to Lugo, where the whole army was now assembled. The next day Sir John Moore issued an order strongly condemning the conduct of the troops, and stating that he intended to give battle to the enemy. The news effected an instant transformation. The stragglers who had left their regiments and entered the town by twos and threes at once rejoined their corps. Fifteen hundred men had been lost during the retreat, of whom the number killed formed but a small proportion. But the army still amounted to its former strength, as it was here joined by two fresh battalions, who had been left at Lugo by General Baird on his march from the coast. The force therefore numbered 19,000 men; for it had been weakened by some 4,000 of the light troops having, early in the retreat, been directed towards other ports, in order to lessen as far as possible the strain on the commissariat.

The position was a strong one, and when Soult at mid-day came up at the head of 12,000 men he saw at once that until his whole force arrived he could not venture to attack it. Like the British, his troops had suffered severely from the long marches, and many had dropped behind altogether. Uncertain whether he had the whole of the British before him, he sent a battery of artillery and some cavalry forward; when the former opened fire, they were immediately silenced by a reply from fifteen pieces. Then he made an attack upon the right, but was sharply repulsed with a loss of from three to four hundred men; and, convinced now that Moore was ready to give battle with his whole force, he drew off.

The next day both armies remained in their positions. Soult had been joined by Laborde's division, and had 17,000 infantry, 4,000 cavalry, and 50 guns; the English had 16,000 infantry, 1,800 cavalry, and 40 guns. The French made no movement to attack, and the British troops were furious at the delay. Soult, however, was waiting until Ney, who was advancing by another road, should threaten the British flank or cut the line of retreat. Moore, finding that Soult would not fight alone, and knowing that Ney was approaching, gave the order for the army to leave its position after nightfall and march for Corunna. He exhorted them to keep good order, and to make the effort which would be the last demanded from them. It was indeed impossible for him to remain at Lugo, even if Ney had not been close at hand, for there was not another day's supply of bread in the town.

He took every precaution for securing that no errors should take place as to the route to be followed in the dark, for the ground behind the position was intersected by stone walls and a number of intricate lanes. To mark the right tracks, bundles of straw were placed at intervals along the line, and officers appointed to guide the columns. All these precautions, however, were brought to naught by the ill-fortune that had dogged the general along the whole line of retreat. A tremendous storm of wind and rain set in, the night was pitch dark, the bundles of straw were whirled away by the wind, and when the army silently left their post at ten o'clock at night, the task before them was a difficult one indeed. All the columns lost their way, and one division alone recovered the main road; the other two wandered about all night, buffeted by the wind, drenched by the rain, disheartened and weary.

Some regiments entered what shelters they could find, the men soon scattered to plunder, stragglers fell out in hundreds, and at daybreak the remnants of the two divisions were still in Lugo. The moment the light afforded means of recovering their position, the columns resumed their march, the road behind them being thickly dotted by stragglers. The rearguard, commanded by the general himself, covered the rear, but fortunately the enemy did not come up until evening; but so numerous were the stragglers that when the French cavalry charged, they mustered in sufficient force to repel their attack, a proof that it was not so much fatigue as insubordination that caused them to lag behind. The rear-guard halted a few miles short of Friol and passed the night there, which enabled the disorganized army to rest and re-form. The loss during this unfortunate march was greater than that of all the former part of the retreat, added to all the losses in action and during the advance.

The next day the army halted, as the French had not come up in sufficient numbers to give battle, and on the following day marched in good order into Corunna, where, to the bitter disappointment of the general, the fleet had not yet arrived. At the time, Sir John Moore was blamed by the ignorant for having worn out his troops by the length of the marches; but the accusation was altogether unfounded, as is proved by the fact that the rear-guard--upon whom the full brunt of the fighting had fallen, who had frequently been under arms all night in the snow, had always to throw out very strong outposts to prevent surprises, and had marched eighty miles in two days, had suffered far more than the other troops, owing to the fact that the food supply intended for all had been several times wasted and destroyed by the excesses of those who had preceded them--yet who, when they reached Corunna, had a much smaller number missing from their ranks than was the case with the three other divisions.

After all the exertions that had been made, and the extraordinary success with which the general had carried his force through a host of enemies, all his calculations were baffled by the contrary winds that delayed the arrival of the fleet, and it remained but to surrender or fight a battle, which, if won, might yet enable the army to embark. Sir John did not even for a moment contemplate the former alternative. The troops on arriving were at once quartered in the town. The inhabitants here, who had so sullenly held aloof from Baird's force on its arrival, and had refused to give him the slightest aid, now evinced a spirit of patriotism seldom exhibited by the Spaniards, save in their defence of Saragossa, and on a few other occasions.

Although aware that the army intended, if possible, to embark, and that the French on entering might punish them for any aid given to it, they cheerfully aided the troops in removing the cannon from the sea-face and in strengthening the defences on the land side. Provisions in ample quantity were forthcoming, and in twenty-four hours the army, knowing that at last they were to engage the foe who had for the last fortnight hunted them so perseveringly, recovered its confidence and discipline. This was aided by the fact that Corunna had large magazines of arms and ammunition, which had been sent out fifteen months before, from England, and were still lying there, although Spain was clamouring for arms for its newly raised levies.

To the soldiers this supply was invaluable. Their muskets were so rusted with the almost constant downfall of rain and snow of the past month as to be almost unserviceable, and these were at once exchanged for new arms. The cartridge-boxes were re-filled with fresh ammunition, an abundant store served out for the guns, and, after all this, two magazines containing four thousand barrels of powder remained. These had been erected on a hill, three miles from the town, and were blown up so that they should not fall into the hands of the enemy. The explosion was a terrible one, and was felt for many miles round. The water in the harbour was so agitated that the shipping rolled as if in a storm, and many persons who had gone out to witness the explosion were killed by falling fragments.

The ground on which the battle was to take place was unfit for the operations of cavalry. The greater portion of the horses were hopelessly foundered, partly from the effects of fatigue, partly from want of shoes; for although a supply of these had been issued on starting, no hammers or nails had been sent, and the shoes were therefore useless. It would in any case have been impossible to ship all these animals, and accordingly, as a measure of mercy, the greater portion of them were shot. Three days were permitted Moore to make his arrangements, for it took that time for Soult to bring up his weary troops and place them in a position to give battle. Their position was a lofty ridge which commanded that upon which Sir John Moore now placed his troops, covering the town. On the right of the French ridge there was another eminence upon which Soult had placed eleven heavy guns.

On the evening of the 14th there was an exchange of artillery fire, but it led to nothing. That afternoon the sails of the long-expected fleet were made out, and just at nightfall it entered the harbour. The dismounted cavalry, the sick, the remaining horses, and fifty guns were embarked, nine guns only being kept on shore for action. On the 15th Soult occupied himself in completing his preparations. Getting his great guns on to the rocks on his left, he attacked and drove from an advanced position some companies of the 5th Regiment, and posted his mass of cavalry so as to threaten the British right, and even menace its retreat to the town from the position it held. Had the battle been delayed another day, Sir John Moore had made every preparation for embarking the rest of his troops rather than await a battle in which even victory would be worthless, for Ney's corps would soon be up. The French, however, did not afford him an opportunity of thus retiring.

Terence O'Connor speedily paid a visit to his regiment at Corunna, for he had, of course, accompanied Fane's brigade during the retreat. He was delighted to find that there had been only a few trifling casualties among the officers, and that the regiment itself, although it had lost some men in the fighting that had taken place, had not left a single straggler behind, a circumstance that was mentioned with the warmest commendation by General Paget in his report of the doings of the rear-guard.

"I was awfully afraid that it would have been quite the other way," Terence said. "I know how all the three other divisions suffered, though they were never pressed by the enemy, and had not a shadow of excuse for their conduct."

"You did not know us, me boy," O'Grady said. "I tell ye, the men were splendid. I expect if we had been with the others we should have behaved just as badly; but being chosen for the rear-guard put our boys all on their mettle, and every man felt that the honour of the regiment depended on his good conduct. Then, too, we were lucky in lighting on a big store of tobacco, and tobacco is as good as food and drink. The men gave a lot away to the other regiments, and yet had enough to last them until we got here."

"Then they were not above doing a little plundering," Terence laughed.

"Plunder is it!" O'Grady repeated, indignantly. "It was a righteous action, for the factory belonged to the Central Junta of the Province, and it was just stripping the French of their booty to carry it away. Faith, it was the most meritorious action of the campaign."

"Have you got a good cigar left, O'Grady?"

"Oh, you have taken to smoking, have you?"

"I was obliged to, to keep my nose warm. On the march, Fane and the major and Errington all smoked, and they looked so comfortable and contented that I felt it was my duty to keep them company."

"I have just two left, Terence, so we will smoke them together, and I have got a bottle of dacent spirits. Think of that, me boy; thirty-two days without spirits! They will never believe me when I go home and tell 'em I went without it for thirty-two mortal days."

"Well, you have had wine, O'Grady."

"It's poor stuff by the side of the cratur, still I am not saying that it wasn't a help. But it was cold comfort, Terence, a mighty cold comfort."

"You are looking well on it, anyhow. And how is the wound?"

"Och, I have nigh forgot I ever had one, save when it comes to ateing. Tim has to cut my food up for me, and I never sit down to a male without wishing bad cess to the French. When we get back I will have a patent machine for holding a fork fixed on somehow. It goes against me grain to have me food cut up as if I was a baby; if it wasn't for that I should not miss my hand one way or the other. In fact, on the march it has been a comfort that I have only had five fingers to freeze, instead of ten. There is a compensation in all things. So we are going to fight them at last? There is no chance of the fleet coming to take us off before that, I hope?" he asked, anxiously, "for we should all break our hearts if we were obliged to go without a fight."

"I don't think there is any chance of that, O'Grady, though I should be very glad if there were. I am not afraid of the fighting, but we certainly sha'n't win without heavy loss, and every life will be thrown away, seeing that we shall, after all, have to embark when the battle is over. Ney, with 50,000 men, is only two or three marches away.

"Well, Dicky, how do you do?" he asked, as Ryan came up.

"I am well enough, Mr. Staff Officer. I needn't ask after yourself, for you have been riding comfortably about, while we have been marched right off our legs. Forty miles a day, Terence, and over such roads as they have in this country; it is just cruelty to animals."

"I would rather have been with you, Dicky, than see to the horrible confusion that has been going on. Why, as soon as the day's march was over we had to set to work to go about trying to keep order. A dozen times I have been nearly shot by drunken rascals whom I was trying to get to return to their corps. Worse still, it was heartrending to see the misery of the starving women and camp-followers. I would rather have been on outpost duty, with Soult's cavalry hovering round, ready to charge at any moment."

"It is all very well to say that, Terence!" O'Grady exclaimed. "But wait until you try it a bit, my boy. I had five nights of it, and that widout a drop of whisky to cheer me. It was enough to have made Samson weep, let alone a man with only one hand, and a sword to hold in it, and a bad could in his head. It was enough to take the heart out of any man entoirely, and if it hadn't been for the credit of the regiment, I could often have sat down on a stone and blubbered. It is mighty hard for a man to keep up his spirits when he feels the mortal heat in him oozing out all over, and his fingers so cold that it is only by looking that one knows one has got a sword in them, and you don't know whether you are standing on your feet or on your knee-bones, and feel as if your legs don't belong to you, but are the property of some poor chap who has been kilt twenty- four hours before. Och, it was a terrible time! and a captain's pay is too small for it, if it was not for the divarsion of a scrimmage now and then!"

"How about an ensign's pay?" Ryan laughed. "I think that on such work as we have had, O'Grady, the pay of all the officers, from the colonel down, ought to be put together and equally divided."

"I cannot say whether I should approve the plan, Ryan, until I have made an intricate calculation, which, now I am comfortable at last, would be a sin and a shame to ask me brain to go through; but as my present idea is that I should be a loser, I may say that your scheme is a bad one, and not to say grossly disrespectful to the colonel, to put his value down as only equal to that of a slip of a lad like yourself. Boys nowadays have no respect for their supeyrior officers. There is Terence, who is not sixteen yet--"

"Sixteen three months back, O'Grady," Terence put in.

"Yes, I remember now, but a week or two one way or the other makes no difference. Here is Terence, just sixteen, who ought to be at school trying to get a little learning into his head, laying down the law to his supeyrior officers, just because he has had the luck to get onto the brigadier's staff. I think sometimes that the world is coming to an end."

"At any rate, O'Grady," Terence laughed, "I am half a head taller than you are, and could walk you off your legs any day."

"There! And he says this to a man who has gone through all the fatigues of the rear-guard, while he has been riding about the country like a gentleman at aise."

"Well, I cannot stop any longer," Terence said. "I am on my way up to see how they are getting on with the earthworks, and the general may want me at any moment."

"I would not trouble about that," O'Grady said, sarcastically; "perhaps he might make a shift to do widout you, widout detriment to the service."

Terence made no reply, but, mounting, rode off up the hill behind the town. At two o'clock on the 16th a general movement of the French line was observed, and the British infantry, 14,500 strong, drew up in order of battle along the position marked for them. The British were fighting under a serious disadvantage, for not only had Soult over 20,000 infantry, with very powerful artillery and great strength in cavalry, but owing to their position on the crest running somewhat obliquely to the higher one occupied by the French, the heavy battery on the rocks to their right raked the whole line of battle. Hope's division was on the British left, Baird's on the right. Fraser's division was on another ridge some distance from the others, and immediately covering the town of Corunna; and Paget, with his division to which the Mayo regiment was still attached, was posted at the village of Airis, on the height between Hope's division and the harbour, and looking down the valley between the main position and the ridge held by Fraser.

From here he could either reinforce Hope and Baird, or advance down the valley to repel any attack of the French cavalry, and cover the retreat of the main body if forced to fall back. The battle commenced by the French opening fire with their field-guns, which were distributed along the front of their position, and by the heavy battery on their left, while their infantry descended the mountain in three heavy columns, covered by clouds of skirmishers. The British piquets were at once driven in, and the village of Elvina, held by a portion of the 50th, carried. The French column on this side then divided into two portions; one endeavoured to turn Baird's right and enter the valley behind the British position, while the other climbed the hill to attack him in front. The second column moved against the British centre, and the third attacked Hope's left, which rested on the village of Palavia Abaxo.

The nine English guns were altogether overmatched by those of Soult's heavy battery. Moore, seeing that the half-column advancing by Baird's flank made no movement to penetrate beyond his right, directed him to throw back one regiment and take the French in flank. Paget was ordered to advance up the valley, to drive back the French column, and menace the French battery, uniting himself with a battalion previously posted on a hill to keep the threatening masses of French cavalry in check. He also sent word to Fraser to advance at once and support Paget. Baird launched the 50th and 42d Regiments to meet the enemy issuing from Elvina. The ground round the village was broken by stone walls and hollow roads, but the French were forced back, and the 50th, entering the village with the fleeing enemy, drove them, after a struggle, beyond the houses.

The 42d, misunderstanding orders, retired towards the hill, and the French, being reinforced, again attacked Elvina, which the 50th held stubbornly until again joined by the 42d, which had been sent forward by Moore himself. Paget was now engaged in the valley, the advance of the enemy was arrested, and they suffered very heavily from the fire of the regiments on the height above their flank, while Paget steadily gained ground. The centre and left were now hotly engaged, but held their ground against all the attacks of the enemy, and on the extreme left advanced and drove the French out of the village of Palavia Abaxo, which they had occupied. Elvina was now firmly held, while Paget carried all before him on the right, and, with Fraser's division behind him, menaced the great French battery.

Had this been carried, the two divisions could have swept along the French position, crumpling up the forces as they went, and driving them down towards the river Moro, in which case they would have been lost. Owing, however, to the battle having been begun at so late an hour, darkness now fell. The general himself, while watching the contest at Elvina, had been struck by a cannon-ball and mortally wounded. General Baird had also been struck down. This loss of commanders combined with the darkness to arrest the progress of the victorious troops, and permitted the French, who were already falling back in great confusion, to recover themselves and maintain their position.

The object for which the battle had been fought was gained. Night, which had saved the French from total defeat, afforded the British the opportunity of extricating themselves from their position, and General Hope, who now assumed the command, ordered the troops to abandon their positions and to march down to the port, leaving strong piquets with fires burning to deceive the enemy. All the arrangements for embarkation had been carefully arranged by Sir John Moore, and without the least hitch or confusion the troops marched down to the port, and before morning were all on board with the exception of a rear-guard, under General Beresford, which occupied the citadel.

At daybreak the piquets were withdrawn and also embarked, and a force under General Hill, that had been stationed on the ramparts to cover the movement, then marched down to the citadel, and there took boats for the ships. By this time, however, the French, having discovered that the British position was abandoned, had planted a battery on the heights of San Lucia and opened fire on the shipping. This caused much confusion among the transports. Several of the masters cut their cables, and four vessels ran ashore. The troops, however, were taken on board of other transports by the boats of the men-of-war. The stranded ships were fired, and the fleet got safely out of harbour.

The noble commander, by whose energy, resolution, and talent this wonderful march had been achieved, lived only long enough to know that his soldiers were victorious, and was buried the same night on the ramparts. His memory was for a time assailed with floods of abuse by that portion of the press and public that had all along vilified the action of the British general, had swallowed eagerly every lie promulgated by the Junta of Oporto, and by the whole of the Spanish authorities; but in time his extraordinary merits came to be recognized to their full value, and his name will long live as one of the noblest men and best generals Great Britain has ever produced.

Beresford held the citadel until the 18th, and then embarked with his troops and all the wounded; the people of Corunna, remaining true to their promises, manned the ramparts of the town until the last British soldier was on board.

The British loss in the battle was estimated at 800 men; that of the French was put down at 3,000. Their greater loss was due to the fact that they assumed the offensive, and were much more exposed than the defenders; that the nine little guns of the latter were enabled to sweep them with grape, while the British were so far away from the French batteries that the latter were obliged to fire round shot; and lastly that the new muskets and fresh ammunition gave a great advantage to the British over the rusty muskets and often damaged powder of the French. Paget's division had suffered but slightly, the main loss of the English having occurred in and around Elvina, and from the shot of the heavy battery that swept the crest held by them. Two officers killed and four wounded were the only casualties in that division, while but thirty of the rank and file were put out of action.

CHAPTER X. AN ESCAPE

While the battle was at its height Terence was despatched by the brigadier to carry an order to one of the regiments that had pushed too far forward in its ardour. Scrambling over rough ground, and occasionally leaping a wall, he reached the colonel. "The general requests you to fall back a little, sir; you are farther forward than the regiment on your flank. The enemy are pushing a force down the hill in your direction, and as there is no support that can be sent to you at present, he wishes your extreme right to be in touch with the left of the regiment holding Elvina."

"Very good. Tell General Fane that I will carry out his instructions. Where is he now?"

"He is in the village, sir." Terence turned his horse to ride back. The din of battle was almost bewildering. A desperate conflict was going on in front of the village, where every wall was obstinately contested, the regiment being hotly engaged with a French force that was rapidly increasing in strength. The great French battery was sending its missiles far overhead against the British position on the hill, the British guns were playing on the French troops beyond the village, and the French light field-pieces were pouring their fire into Elvina. Terence made his way across the broken ground near the village. Galloping at a low stone wall, the horse was in the act of rising to clear it when it was struck in the head by a round shot. Terence was thrown far ahead over the wall, and fell heavily head-foremost on a pile of stones covered by some low shrubs.

The shock was a terrible one, and for many hours he lay insensible. When he recovered consciousness, he remained for some time wondering vaguely where he was. Above him was a canopy of foliage, through which the rays of the sun were streaming. A dead silence had succeeded the roar of battle. He put his hand to his head, which was aching intolerably, and found that his hair was thick with clotted blood.

"Yes, of course," he said to himself at last; "I was carrying a message to Fane. I was just going to jump a wall and there was a sudden crash. I remember--I flew out of the saddle--that is all I do remember. I have been stunned, I suppose. How is it so quiet? I suppose the battle is over."

Then he sat suddenly upright.

"The sun is shining," he said. "It was getting dusk when I was riding back to the village. I must have lain here all night."

Suddenly he heard a gun fired; it was quickly followed by others. He rose on his knees and looked cautiously over the bushes.

"It is away there," he said, "on those heights above the harbour. The army must have embarked, and the French are firing at the ships."

His conjecture was speedily verified, for, looking along the crest which the British had held during the fight, he saw a large body of French troops just reaching the top of the rise. He stood up now and looked round. No one could be seen moving in the orchards and vineyards round. He peered over the wall; his horse lay there in a huddled-up heap.

"A round shot in the head!" he exclaimed; "that accounts for it. Poor old Jack! he has carried me well ever since I got him at Torres Vedras."

He climbed down and got what he was in search of--a large flask full of brandy-and-water, which he carried in one of the holsters. He took a long drink, and felt better at once.

"I may as well take the pistols," he said, and, putting them into his belt, climbed over the wall again, and lay down among the bushes.

He was now able to think clearly. Should he get up and surrender himself as a prisoner to the first body of French troops that he came across? or should he lie where he was until nightfall, and then try to get away? If he surrendered, there was before him a march of seven or eight hundred miles to a French prison; if he tried to get away, no doubt there were many hardships and dangers, but at least a possibility of rejoining sooner or later. At any rate, he would be no worse off than the many hundreds who had straggled during the march, for it was probable that the great majority of these were spread over the country, as the French, pressing forward in pursuit, would not have troubled themselves to hunt down fugitives, who, if caught, would only be an encumbrance to them.

He was better off than they were, for at any rate he could make himself understood, which was more than the majority of the soldiers could do; and at least he would not provoke the animosity of the peasants by the rough measures they would be likely to take to satisfy their wants. The worst of it was that he had no money. Then suddenly he sat up again and looked at his feet.

"This is luck!" he exclaimed; "I had never given the thing a thought before."

On his arrival at Corunna he had thrown away the riding-boots he had bought at Salamanca. The constant rains had so shrunk them that he could no longer wear them without pain, and he had taken again to the boots that he carried in his valise.

From the time when, at his father's suggestion, he had had extra soles placed on them, above which were hidden fifteen guineas, the fact of the money being there had never once occurred to him. He had had sufficient cash about him to pay for purchases at Salamanca and on the road, and, indeed, had five guineas still in his pocket, though he had drawn no pay from the time of leaving Torres Vedras.

This discovery decided him. With twenty guineas he could pay his way for months, and he determined to make the attempt to escape.

The firing continued for some time and then ceased.

"The fleet must have got out," he said to himself. "It is certain that the French have not taken Corunna. We were getting the best of it up to the time I was hurt, and it would be dark in another half-hour, and there could be no fighting on such ground as this, after that. Besides, Corunna is a strong fortress, and we could have held out there for weeks, for Soult can have no battering train with him; besides, everything was ready for embarkation, and I know that it was intended, whether we won or lost, that the troops should go on board in the night."

As he lay there he could occasionally hear the sound of drums and trumpets as the troops marched from their positions of the night before, to take up others nearer to the town. At times he heard voices, and knew that they were searching for wounded over the ground that had been so desperately contested; but the spot where he was lying lay between the village and the ground where the regiment he had gone to order back had been engaged with the enemy, and as no fighting had taken place there, it was unlikely that the search-parties would go over it. This, indeed, proved to be the case, and after a time he fell off to sleep, and did not wake until night was closing in. He was hungry now, and again crossing the wall he took half a chicken and a piece of bread that his servant had thrust into his wallet just before starting, and made a hearty meal. He unbuckled his sword and left it behind him; he had his pistols, and a sword would be only an encumbrance.

As soon as it became quite dark he made his way cautiously down the valley, passed the spot where the French column had suffered so heavily, and then, turning to the left, traversed the narrow plain that divided the position on which the French heavy battery had been placed and the plateau on which their cavalry had been massed. Numerous fires blazed in the wide valley behind, where the reserve had been stationed on the previous morning, and he doubted not that the French cavalry were there, especially as he found no signs of life on the plateau above. Coming presently on a small stream he bathed his head for a considerable time, and then proceeded on his way, feeling much brighter and fresher than he had done before.

The ground began to ascend more steeply, and after an hour's walking he stood on the crest of the hill and looked down on the position that the French had held, and beyond it on Corunna and the sea. The cold was extreme. He had brought with him his greatcoat and blanket, and, wrapping himself in these, lay down in a sheltered position and slept again till morning broke. His head was now better, and he was able to think more clearly than he could the day before. The first thing was to decide as to his course. It would be dangerous to make direct for the frontier of Portugal. Now that the British army had embarked, Soult would be free to undertake operations in that country, and would doubtless shortly put his troops in motion in that direction, and his cavalry would be scattering all over the province collecting provisions. Moreover, there would be the terrible range of the Tras-os-Montes to pass, and no certainty whatever of being well received by the Portuguese peasants north of Oporto.

His constant study of the staff maps was now of great assistance to him. He determined to turn west until he reached the river Minho some distance below Lugo, which he could do by skirting the top of the hills. He would therefore strike it somewhere about the point where the river Sil joined it, and, following this, would find himself at the foot of the Cantabrian Hills, dividing the Asturias from Leon. Then he could be guided by circumstances, and could either cross these mountains and make for a seaport, or could journey down through Leon to Ciudad-Rodrigo, which was still held by a Spanish garrison, and from there make his way through Portugal to Lisbon.

He questioned whether it would be wise for him to attempt to get the dress of a Spanish peasant instead of his uniform, but he finally decided that until he was beyond any risk of being captured by parties from either Soult or Ney's armies, it would be better to continue in uniform. If taken in that dress it would be seen that he was a straggler from Moore's army, and he would be simply treated as a prisoner of war; while, if taken in the dress of a peasant, he would be liable to be treated as a spy and shot. Having made up his mind, he started at once, and in three hours was at the foot of the hills on the other side of which ran the road from Lugo to Corunna, which proved so disastrous to the army. He presently arrived at a small hamlet, and the children in the streets ran shrieking away as they saw him. Women appeared at the doors and looked out anxiously; they had not before seen a British uniform, and at once supposed that he was French. Seeing that he was alone, several men armed with clubs and picks came out.

"I am an English officer," he said, "and I desire food and shelter for a few hours. I have money to pay for it."

The peasants at once came round him. Confused accounts had reached them of the doings on the other side of the hills. They knew that an English army had marched from Lugo to Corunna, hotly pursued by the French, but they had heard nothing of what had happened afterwards. They eagerly asked for news. Terence told them that there had been a great battle outside Corunna, that the French had been repulsed with much loss, and that the English had embarked on board ships to take them round to Lisbon, there to march east to meet the French again.

Nothing could be kinder than the treatment he received. They told him that Ney's army was between the Sil and Lugo, but that no French troops had crossed the Minho as yet.

They were eager to know why the English, if they had beaten the French, sailed away. But when he said that Soult would have been joined by Ney in a couple of days, and would then be well-nigh double the strength of the British, who would be so hotly pressed that they would be unable to embark, the peasants saw that what they considered their desertion could not have been avoided. The news of the terrible defeats that had, a month before, been inflicted upon their armies had not reached them, and Terence did not think it necessary to enlighten them. He told them that the march north of the English had been intended to bring all the French forces in that direction, and so to enable the Spanish armies to operate successfully, and that not only Soult and Ney, but Napoleon himself, had been drawn off from the south in pursuit of them.

They were filled with satisfaction, and he was at once taken into one of the cottages. A good meal was shortly placed before him, his head was carefully bandaged, and he was then asked how it was that he had not embarked with the rest of the army. He related how he had been left behind, and then asked them their opinion as to his best course, telling them the plan he himself had formed. They agreed at once that this was the wisest one, but that it would be dangerous to try it until Ney's force had moved from its present position. They knew that he had a division at Orense on the Minho, and that parties of his cavalry had scoured the plain as far as the river Ulla, and urged upon him to remain with them until some news was obtained of the movements of the French army.

He gladly accepted the invitation, and for a couple of days remained at the little hamlet. One of the peasants came in at the end of that time, saying that the French in Corunna had crossed the mountains and had arrived at Santiago, twenty miles distant, and that their cavalry were scouring the country. They also brought news that Romana was at Toabado, and that he had but two or three thousand men with him, the rest having been routed and cut up by the French cavalry. Terence at once determined to join him.

The fact that he still had some troops with him had no influence in causing him to form this resolution. Romana had been so often defeated that he knew that his men would, after their recent misfortunes, scatter at once before even the weakest French detachment. But Romana himself knew the country well, was a man of great resource and activity, and was likely to evade all efforts to capture him. He thought then that by joining him and sharing his fortunes he was more likely to have some opportunity of making his way to Lisbon than he would have if left to his own resources, especially as he had no doubt that Soult would at once prepare to invade Portugal by occupying all the passes, and thus render it next to impossible to journey thither alone and on foot. One of the peasants offered to guide him across the hills to Toabado. They started at once, and at daybreak next morning reached the village.

As Romana had been several times in personal communication with Sir John Moore, Terence was acquainted with his appearance, and seeing him standing at the door of the principal house of the village, went up to him and saluted him. The latter looked upon him with great surprise.

"How have you managed to pass through the French?" he asked.

"I have seen none of them, Marquis. I was wounded in the battle of Corunna, and after lying insensible all that night, found, when I recovered in the morning, that the French had advanced and that I was in their rear. I heard their guns from the heights above the town, and knew that our army had gained their transports. I lay concealed all day and then crossed the mountains, and have been resting for two days at a village on the other side of the hills. The news came that you were here, and I decided to join you at once. I was on the staff of General Fane, and, knowing the duties of an aide-de-camp, thought I might make myself useful to you until there was an opportunity of my rejoining a British force."

"You are welcome, sir," Romana said, courteously. "It was only this morning that we learned from a prisoner that my men took that you had driven back Soult before Corunna and had embarked safely. I was in great fear that your army would have been captured. I see that you have been wounded on the head."

"It can scarcely be called a wound, Marquis. I was carrying a message on the battle-field; when I was taking a wall my horse was struck with a round shot. I was thrown over his head onto a heap of rough stones, and it was a marvel to me that I was not killed."

"I am just going to breakfast, señor, and shall be glad if you will join me. I have no doubt that you will do justice to it."

Romana, who had commanded the Spanish troops which had escaped from Holland, was the most energetic of the Spanish generals. Defeated often, he was speedily at the head of fresh gatherings, and ready to take the field again. As a partisan chief he was excellent, but possessed no military talent, and was, like the Spaniards generally, full of grand but utterly impracticable schemes, and in spite of his experience to the contrary, confident that the Spaniards would overthrow the French.

"I have been unfortunate," he said, in reply to the inquiry as to how many troops he had with him. "At your English general's request I took a different course with my army to that which he was pursuing, in order that his magazines should be untouched. I crossed his line of retreat, but unfortunately Franceschi's cavalry come down upon us, cut up my artillery and infantry, and scattered my force entirely. However, some three thousand have rejoined, and I expect in a short time to be at the head of 20,000. I ought to have more, but these Galician peasants are stubborn fellows. They know nothing of the affairs of Spain, and although they will fight in defence of their own villages, they have no interest in anything beyond, and hang back from joining an army that might operate outside their province. You see, until now it has been untouched by war. They have suffered in no way from French extortions and outrages. As soon as they feel the smart themselves, I doubt not they will be as full of hatred of the invaders as people are elsewhere, and as ready to take up arms against them."

Romana's troops were but a motley gathering. The force that he had brought with him from Holland had been landed at Santander, marched to Bilbao, and joined Blake's army, and had shared in the crushing defeat suffered by that general at Espinosa, where most of them were taken prisoners. They were again incorporated in the French army, and afterwards took part in the Russian campaign, and in the retreat no less than four thousand of them were taken prisoners by the Russians and handed over by them to British transports sent to Cronstadt to fetch them. Romana himself had escaped from the battle-field, and afterward raised a fresh force. This had dwindled away from 15,000 to 5,000 when he joined Moore on his advance, and now amounted to barely 2,000, of whom the greater portion had thrown away their arms in their flight.

On the following day Romana, with a small body of cavalry, left Toabado, crossed the Minho, descended into the valley of the Tamega, and took refuge close to the Portuguese frontier line. Here he was, for a time, safe from the pursuit of the French, the insignificance of his force being his best protection. Soult lost no time. As soon as the English army had left, Corunna opened its gates to him, as did Ferrol, although neither of these towns could have been taken without a siege, and Soult must have been delayed until a battering-train was brought from Madrid.

The magazines of British powder and stores that had been lying for months in Ferrol were invaluable to him.

The soldiers were set to work to make fresh cartridges, and then, after six days' halt to give rest to his weary and footsore men, he began to prepare to carry out Napoleon's orders to invade Portugal. Ney, with 20,000 men, was to maintain Galicia, and, reinforced by a fresh division, Soult was to march direct upon Oporto with 25,000 men, leaving 12,000 in hospital, and 8,000 to keep up the line of communication with Ney. It took some time to complete all the arrangements and to gather the force at St. Jago Compostella, and it was not until the first of February that he was able to move.

On the day of his arrival on the frontier, Romana despatched Terence to Sir John Cradock, who now commanded the British troops in Portugal, which had been augmented by fresh arrivals from England until their numbers almost equalled that of the force with which Sir John Moore marched into Spain.

Romana asked that arms and money should be sent to him, promising to harass the French advance, and cut their communications from the rear. Terence gladly consented to carry his despatch; he was furnished with one of the best horses in the troop, and at once started on his journey. It was a long and harassing one; many ranges of mountains and hills had to be crossed, by roads difficult in the extreme at the best of times, but almost impassable in winter. Three times he was seized by parties of Portuguese militia and raw levies, but was released on convincing their leaders that he was the bearer of a communication to the English general.

The distance to be travelled was, in a direct line, over two hundred and thirty miles. This was greatly increased by the circuitous nature of the route through the mountainous country, so that it took nine days, and would have much exceeded this time, had Terence not found a British force at Coimbra, and there exchanged his worn-out animal for a fresh one, placed at his disposal by the officer in command.

Cradock was experiencing exactly the same difficulties that Moore had done. The Spanish and Portuguese authorities united in pressing him to advance, the former urging upon him that his presence would be the signal for the Spanish armies in the south to unite and entirely overthrow the French, while the latter were desirous that he should march to Ciudad- Rodrigo, defeat the French at Salamanca, and so protect Portugal from invasion from that side.

That Portugal might be attacked from the north and south simultaneously by Soult and Victor did not enter into their calculations, but while urging an advance, the Junta would take no steps whatever to enable the army to move; they would neither afford him facilities for collecting transport, nor order the roads that he would have to traverse to be put in order, and thwarted all his efforts to raise a strong force among the Portuguese.

There was, indeed, some improvement in the latter respect. At their own request, Lord Beresford had been sent out from England to take the command of the Portuguese armies, and as he had brought many British officers with him, some 20,000 men had been armed and drilled, and could be reckoned upon to do some service, if employed with British troops to give them backbone. The Portuguese peasantry were strong and robust, and by nature courageous, and needed only the discipline--that they could not receive from their own officers--to turn them into valuable troops. According to the law of the country every man was liable for service, and had the corrupt Junta been dismissed, and full power been given to the British, an army of 250,000 men might have been placed in the field for the defence of the country, with a proper supply of arms and money.

But so far from assisting, the Junta threw every possible impediment in the way. They feared that any real national effort, if successful, would get altogether beyond their control, and that they would lose the power that enabled them to enrich themselves at the expense of the people. Not only that, but they were engaged in a struggle for supremacy with the Junta of Oporto, which was striving by every means to render itself the supreme authority of the whole of Portugal.

Terence had hoped that when he arrived at Lisbon he should meet the army he had left at Corunna, for Sir John Moore's instructions had been precise that the fleet was to go thither. These instructions, however, had been disobeyed, and the fleet had sailed direct for England. It had on the way encountered a great storm, which had scattered it in all directions. Several of the ships were wrecked on the coast of England, and the army which would have been of inestimable service at Lisbon, now served only, by the tattered garments and emaciated frames of the soldiers, to excite a burst of misplaced indignation against the memory of the general whose genius had saved it from destruction.

On arriving at head-quarters and stating his errand, Terence was at once admitted to the room where Sir John Cradock was at work.

"I am told, sir, that you are the bearer of a despatch from the Spanish general, Romana. Before I open it, will you explain how it was that you came to be with him?"

Terence gave a brief account of the manner in which, after being left behind on the field of Corunna, he had succeeded in joining Romana.

The general's face, which had at first been severe, softened as he proceeded.

"That is altogether satisfactory, Mr. O'Connor," he said. "I feared that you might have been one of the stragglers, among whom I hear were many officers, as well as thousands of men belonging to Sir John Moore's army. We received news of his glorious fight at Corunna and the embarkation of his army, by a ship that arrived here but three days since from that port. Have you heard of the death of that noble soldier himself?"

"No, sir," Terence replied, much shocked at the news. "That is a terrible loss, indeed. He was greatly loved by the army. He saw into every matter himself, was with the rearguard all through the retreat, and laboured night and day to maintain order and discipline, and it was assuredly no fault of his if he failed."

"Was your own regiment in the rear-guard?"

"Yes, sir. It had the honour of being specially chosen by Sir John Moore for its steadiness and good conduct. I was not with it, but was one of Brigadier-general Fane's aides-de-camp. It was while carrying a message to him that my horse was killed and I myself stunned by being thrown onto a heap of stones."

Sir John Cradock nodded, and then opened Romana's despatch. He raised his eyebrows slightly. He had been accustomed to such appeals for arms and money, and knew how valueless were the promises that accompanied them.

"What force has General Romana with him?"

"Some two hundred cavalry and three or four thousand peasants, about a quarter of whom only are armed."

"He says that he expects to be joined by twenty thousand men in a few days. Have you any means of judging whether this statement is well founded?"

"That I cannot say. General Romana seems to me to be a man of greater energy than any Spaniard I have hitherto met, and I know that he has already sent messages to the priests throughout that part of Galicia urging upon them the necessity of using their influence among the peasantry. He got a force together in a very short time, after the complete defeat and capture of his own command by the French, at the time of Blake's defeat, and I think that he might do so again, though whether they would be of any use whatever in the field I cannot say; but should Soult advance into Portugal, I should think that bands of this sort might very much harass him."

"No doubt they might do so. I will see, at any rate, if I can obtain some money from the political agents. I have next to nothing in my military chest, and our forces are at a standstill for the want of it. But that does not seem to matter. While our troops are ill-fed, ragged, almost shoeless, and unpaid, every Spanish or Portuguese rascal who holds out his hand can get it filled with gold. As to arms, they are in the first place wanted for the purpose of the Portuguese militia, who are likely to be a good deal more useful than these irregular bands; and in the second place, there are no means whatever of conveying even a hundred muskets, let alone the ten thousand that Romana is good enough to ask for. By the way, are you aware whether Sir John Moore intended the army to sail to England?"

"Certainly not, sir. I know that up to the moment the battle began the preparation for the embarkation went on unceasingly, and General Fane told me the night before that we were to be taken here. Whether Sir John may, at the last moment, have countermanded that order I am unable to say."

"Yes, I know that it was his intention, for I received a letter from him, written after his arrival at Corunna, saying that the embarkation could not be effected without a battle, and that if he beat Soult he should at once embark and bring the troops round here, as Ney's approaching force would render Corunna untenable. Just at present the arrival of 20,000 tried troops would be invaluable. General Baird will, of course, have succeeded Sir John Moore?"

"General Baird was severely wounded, sir. He had just ridden up to General Fane when he was struck. General Hope would therefore be in command after Sir John Moore was killed."

"I have heard no particulars of the battle," Sir John said, "beyond that it has been fought and Soult has been driven back, that Sir John Moore is killed, and that the army has embarked safely. And do I understand you that it was towards the end of the battle that you were hurt?"

"It was getting dusk at the time, General, but I cannot say how long fighting went on afterwards."

"Will you please to sit down at that table and give me, as nearly as you can, a sketch of the position of our troops and those of the French, and then explain to me, as far as you may have seen or know, the movements of the corps and the course of events."

As Terence had, the evening before the battle, seen a sketch-map on which General Fane had written the names and positions of the British force and those of the French, he was able to draw one closely approximating to it. In ten minutes he got up and handed the sketch to Sir John Cradock.

"I am afraid it is very rough, sir," he said, "but I think that it may give you an idea of the position of the town and the neighbouring heights, and the position occupied by our troops."

"Excellent, Mr. O'Connor!"

"I had the advantage of seeing a sketch-map that the brigadier drew out, sir."

"Well, benefited from it. Now point out to me the various movements. It seems to me that this large French battery must have galled the whole line terribly; but, on the other hand, it is itself very exposed."

"General Fane said, sir, that he thought Soult was likely to be over- confident. Our army was in frightful confusion on the retreat from Lugo, and the number of stragglers was enormous. Although many came in next day, the field-state showed that over 2,000 were still absent from the colours. The brigadier was observing that there was one advantage in this, namely, that Soult would suppose that the whole army was disorganized, and might, therefore, take more liberties than he would otherwise have done; and that, at any rate, he was likely to rely upon his great force of cavalry on this plateau to cover the battery hill from any attack on its left flank. It was for that purpose that General Paget posted one of the regiments on this eminence on the right of the valley, which had the effect of completely checking the French cavalry."

He then related the incidents of the battle as far as they had come under his notice.

"A very ably fought battle," Sir John Cradock said, as he followed on the map Terence's account of the movements. "Soult evidently miscalculated Sir John's strength and the fighting powers of his troops. He hurled his whole force directly against the position, specially endeavouring to turn our right, but the force he employed there was altogether insufficient for the purpose. From his position I gather that he could not have known of the existence of Paget's reserve up the valley, but he must have seen Fraser's division on the hill above Coranto. I suppose he reckoned that this turning movement would shake the British position, throw them into confusion, and enable his direct attack to be successful before Fraser could come to their support. I am much obliged to you for your description, Mr. O'Connor; it is very clear and lucid. I will write a note, which you shall take to Mr. Villiers, and it is possible that you may get help from him for Romana. I shall be glad if you will dine with me here at six o'clock."

"I am much obliged to you, General, but I have nothing but the uniform in which I stand, which is, as you see, almost in rags, and stained with mire and blood."

"I think it is probable that you will have no difficulty in buying a fresh uniform in the city; so many officers have come out here with exaggerated ideas of the amount of transport, that they have had to cut down their wardrobes to a very large extent."

He touched the bell. "Will you ask Captain Nelson to step in," he said to the clerk who answered. "Captain Nelson," he said, as one of his staff entered, "I want you to take Mr. O'Connor under your charge. He has just arrived from the north, and was present at the battle of Corunna. He was on Brigadier Fane's staff. As at present he is unattached, I shall put him down in orders to-morrow as an extra aide-de-camp on my staff. He will be leaving to-morrow for the northern frontier. I wish you to see if you cannot get him an undress uniform. He belongs to the infantry. I will give you an order on the paymaster, Mr. O'Connor, to honour your draft for any amount that you may need. I dare say you are in arrears of pay."

"Yes, Sir John. I have drawn nothing since we marched from Torres Vedras in October."

CHAPTER XII. A DANGEROUS MISSION

Captain Nelson at once took Terence under his charge.

"You certainly look as if you wanted a new uniform," he said. "You must have had an awfully rough time of it. If only for the sake of policy, we ought to get you into a new one as soon as possible, for the very sight of yours would be likely to demoralize the whole division by affording a painful example of what they might expect on a campaign."

Terence laughed. "I know I look a perfect scarecrow. Do you think that you can find me something? I really don't know what I should have done if I had not had my greatcoat, for I could never have ventured to walk through the street from the little inn where I put up my horse, if I could not have hidden myself in it."

"I can, fortunately, put you in the right way without difficulty. There is a man here who has made a business of buying up uniforms. I believe he sends most of them to England, where they would certainly fetch a good deal more than he gave for them; but I know that he keeps a stock by him, for there is a constant demand. The work out in the country here does for a uniform in no time, and many men who, before marching for the frontier, parted with all their extra kit for a song, are glad enough to write to him for a fresh outfit at three times the price he gave them two or three months before."

"I wonder they don't send their surplus outfit back to England direct," Terence said.

"Well, you see, there is the risk of the things being lost or stolen on the way home, or being ruined by damp before they are wanted again. Besides, a man thinks there is no saying whether he shall ever want them again, or how long the war will last, and is glad to take anything he can get to save himself any further bother about them."

Terence was fortunate in being able to buy an undress uniform, with facings similar to those of his own regiment, and to lay in a stock of underclothes at a very much lower price than he could have purchased them for even at home. Before leaving the shop he put on his new uniform and left the old one to be thrown away.

"Now," Captain Nelson said, when they left the shop, "it is just our lunch time. You must come with me and tell us all about your wonderful march and the fight at the end of it."

"I was going down to see about my horse."

"Oh, that is all right! I sent down an orderly to bring him up to our stables. There, this is where we mess," he said, stopping before a hotel. "We find it much more comfortable than having it in a room at head- quarters. Besides, one gets away from duty here. Of course, the chief knows where we are, and can send for us if we are wanted; but one gets off being set to do a lot of office work in the evening, and we find ourselves much more free and comfortable when we haven't got two or three of the big-wigs of the staff. So they have a little mess of their own there, and we have a room kept for ourselves here."

There were more than a dozen officers assembled when the two entered the room, where a meal was laid; for Captain Nelson had looked into the hotel for a moment on their way to the tailor's, to tell his companions who Terence was, and to say that he should bring him in to lunch. They had told some of their acquaintances. Terence was introduced all round, and as soon as the first course was taken off the table he was asked many questions as to the march and battle; and by the time when, an hour later, the party broke up, they had learned the leading incidents of the campaign.

"You may guess how anxious we were here," one of them said, "when Moore's last despatch from Salamanca arrived, saying that he intended to advance, and stating his reasons. Then there was a long silence; all sorts of rumours reached us. Some said that, aided by a great Spanish army, he had overthrown Napoleon, and had entered Madrid; others, again, stated that his army had been crushed, and he, with the survivors, were prisoners, and were on their way to the frontier--in fact, we had no certain news until three days ago, when we heard of the battle, his death, and the embarkation of the army, and its sailing for England. The last was a terrible blunder."

"Only a temporary one, I should think," Captain Nelson said. "From Mr. O'Connor's account of the state of the army, I should think that it is just as well that they should have gone home to obtain an entirely new rig-out; there would be no means of fitting them out here. A fortnight ought to be enough to set them up in all respects, and as we certainly shall not be able to march for another month--"

"For another three months, you mean, Nelson."

"Well, perhaps for another three months, the delay will not matter materially."

"It won't matter at all, if the French oblige us by keeping perfectly quiet, but if Soult menaces Portugal with invasion from the north, Lapisse from the centre, and Victor from the south, we may have to defend ourselves here in Lisbon before six weeks are out."

"Personally, I should not be sorry," another said, "if Soult does invade the north and captures Oporto, hangs the bishop, and all the Junta. It would be worth ten thousand men to us, for they are continually at mischief. They do nothing themselves, and thwart all our efforts. They are worse than the Junta here--if that is possible--and they have excited the peasants so much against us that they desert in thousands as fast as they are collected, while the population here hate us, I believe, quite as much as they hate the French. But why they should do so Heaven knows, when we have spent more money in Portugal than the whole country contained before we came here."

After the party had broken up, Captain Nelson took Terence to Mr. Villiers, who, on reading the general's letter and hearing from Terence how Romana was situated, at once said that he would hand over to him 20,000 dollars to take to the Spanish general.

"How am I to carry it, sir? It will be of considerable weight, if it is in silver."

"I will obtain for you four good mules," Mr. Villiers said, "and an escort of twelve Portuguese cavalry under an officer."

"May I ask, sir, that the money shall be packed in ammunition-boxes, and that no one except the officer shall know that these contain anything but ammunition?"

"You have no great faith in Portuguese honesty, Mr. O'Connor."

"As to their honesty as a general thing, sir, I express no opinion," Terence said, bluntly; "as to the honesty of their political partisans, I have not a shadow of belief. Moreover, there is no love lost between them and the Spaniards, and though possibly money for any of the Portuguese leaders might be allowed to pass untouched by others--and even of this I have great doubt--I feel convinced that none of them would allow it to go out of the country for the use of the Spaniards if they could lay hold of it by the way."

"Those being your sentiments, sir, I think that it is a pity the duty is not intrusted to some officer of broader views."

"I doubt whether you would find one, sir; especially if he has, like myself, been three or four months in the country. I have simply accepted the duty, and not sought it, and should gladly be relieved of it. General Romana sent me here with a despatch, and it is my duty, unless General Cradock chooses another messenger, to carry back the reply, and anything else with which I may be intrusted. I have for the past three months been incessantly engaged on arduous and fatiguing duty. I have ridden for the last nine days by some of the worst roads to be found in any part of the world, I should say, and have before me the same journey. Besides, if I receive the general's orders to that effect, I may have to stay with the Spanish general, and in that case shall, I am sure, be constantly upon the move, and that among wild mountains. If this treasure is handed over to me I shall certainly do my best to take it safely and to defend it, if necessary, with my life; but it is assuredly a duty of which I would gladly be relieved. But that, sir, it seems to me, is a question solely for the commander-in-chief."

Mr. Villiers gazed in angry surprise at the young ensign; then thinking, perhaps, that he would put himself in the wrong, and as his interferences in military matters with Sir John Cradock had not met with the success he desired for them, he checked the words that rose to his lips, and said, shortly: "The convoy will be ready to start from the treasury at daybreak to-morrow."

"I shall be there--if so commanded by General Cradock."

As soon as they had left the house Captain Nelson burst into shout of laughter.

"What is it?" Terence asked, in surprise.

"I would not have missed that for twenty pounds, O'Connor; it is the first bit of real amusement I have had since I landed. To see Villiers-- who regards himself as the greatest man in the country, who not only thinks that he regulates every political intrigue in Spain and Portugal, but assumes to give the direction of every military movement also, and tries to dictate to the general on purely military matters--quietly cheeked by an ensign, is the best thing I ever saw."

"But he has nothing to do with military matters, has he?"

"No more than that mule-driver there, but he thinks he has; and yet, even in his own political line, he is the most ill-informed and gullible of fools, even among the mass of incompetent agents who have done their utmost to ruin every plan that has been formed. I doubt whether he has ever been correct in a single statement that he has made, and am quite sure that every prophecy he has ventured upon has been falsified, every negotiation he has entered into has failed, and every report sent home to government is useful only if it is assumed to be wrong in every particular; and yet the man is so puffed up with pride and arrogance that he is well-nigh insupportable. The Spaniards have fooled him to the top of his bent; it has paid them to do so. Through his representations the ministry at home have distributed millions among them. Arms enough have been sent to furnish nearly every able-bodied man in Spain, and harm rather than good has come of it. Still, he is a very great man, and our generals are obliged to treat him with the greatest civility, and to pretend to give grave consideration to the plans that, if they emanated from any other man, would be considered as proofs that he was only fit for a mad-house. And to see you looking calmly in his face and announcing your views of the Spanish and Portuguese was delightful." And Captain Nelson again burst into laughter at the recollection.

Terence joined in the laugh. "I had no intention of offending him," he said. "Of course I have often heard how he was pressing General Moore to march into Spain, and promising that he should be met by immense armies that were eager and ready to drive the French out of that country, and were only waiting for his coming to set about doing so. I know that the brigadier and his staff used to talk about what they called Villiers' phantom armies, but as I only said what everyone says who has been in Spain, it never struck me that I was likely to give him serious offence."

"And if you had thought so, I don't suppose it would have made any difference, O'Connor."

"I don't suppose it would," Terence admitted; "and perhaps it will do him good to hear a straightforward opinion for once."

"It will certainly do him no harm. Now, you had better tell the chief that you are to have the money. I should think that he will probably send a trooper with you as your orderly. Certainly, he has no reason to have a higher opinion of the Portuguese than you have."

"I will go back with you, Captain Nelson; but as you were present, will you kindly tell the general? I don't like bothering him."

"Certainly, if you wish it."

On arriving at head-quarters Terence sat down in the anteroom and took up an English paper, as he had heard no home news for the last three months. Presently Captain Nelson came out from the general's room and beckoned to him. He followed him in. Four or five officers of rank were with the general, and all were looking greatly amused when he entered.

"So you have succeeded in obtaining money for Romana," the general said.

"Yes, sir, there was no difficulty about it. Mr. Villiers asked me a few questions as to the situation on the frontier, and at once said that I should have £5,000 to take him."

"Captain Nelson tells us that you were unwise enough to express an opinion as to the honesty of the Portuguese escort that he proposed to send with you."

"I said what I thought, General, and had no idea that Mr. Villiers would take it as an offence, as he seemed to."

"Well, he has his own notions on these things, you see," he general said, dryly, "and they do not exactly coincide with our experience; but then Mr. Villiers claims to understand these people more thoroughly than we can do."

Terence was silent for a moment. "I only went by what I have seen, you know," he said, after a pause, "and certainly had no intention of angering Mr. Villiers. But it seemed to me that, as I was responsible for taking this money to Romana, it was my duty to suggest a precaution that appeared to me necessary."

"Quite right, quite right; and it is just as well, perhaps, that Mr. Villiers should occasionally hear the opinions of officers of the army frankly expressed. Certainly, I think that the precaution you suggested was a wise one, and if Mr. Villiers does not do so, I will see that it is carried out.

"I have asked Captain Nelson to go with you, taking the treasure, to the barracks and see that the money is taken out of the cases and repacked in ammunition-boxes. It would be unwise in the extreme to tempt the cupidity of any wandering parties that you might fall in with by the sight of treasure-cases. Your suggestion quite justifies the opinion that I had formed of you from the brief narrative that you gave me of the battle of Corunna. For the present, gentlemen, I have appointed Mr. O'Connor as an extra aide-de-camp on my staff. He served in that capacity with Brigadier- general Fane from the time that the troops marched from here, which is in itself a guarantee that he must, in the opinion of that general, be thoroughly fit for the work.

"I think, Mr. O'Connor, that, going as you will as an officer on my staff, it is best that you should be accompanied by a couple of troopers, and I have just spoken to Colonel Gibbons, who will detach two of his best men for that service. In addition to your being in charge of the treasure, you will also carry a despatch from myself to General Romana, with suggestions as to his co-operation in harassing the advance of the French. I will not detain you further now. Don't forget the dinner hour."

A large party sat down to table. There were the officers Terence had seen there in the afternoon, and several colonels and heads of departments of the army, and Terence, although not shy by nature, felt a good deal embarrassed when, as soon as the meal was concluded, several maps were, by the general's orders, placed upon the table, and he was asked to give as full an account as he was able of the events that had happened from the time General Moore marched with his army from Salamanca, and so cut himself off from all communication.

It was well that Terence had paid great attention to the conversations between General Fane and the officers of the brigade staff, had studied the maps, and had made himself, as far as he could, master of the details of the movements of the various divisions, and had gathered from Fane's remarks fair knowledge of General Moore's objects and intentions. Therefore, when he had overcome his first embarrassment, he was able to give a clear and lucid account of the campaign, and of the difficulties that Moore had encountered and overcome in the course of his retreat. The officers followed his account upon the maps, asked occasional questions, and showed great interest in his description of the battle.

When he had done, Sir John Cradock said: "I am sure, gentlemen, that you all agree with me that Mr. O'Connor has given us a singularly clear and lucid account of the operations of the army, and that it is most creditable that so young an officer should have posted himself up so thoroughly, not only in the details of the work of his own brigade, but in the general plans of the campaign and the movements of the various divisions of the army."

There were also hearty compliments from all the officers as they rose from the table.

"I doubt, indeed, Sir John," one of them said, "whether we should ever have got so clear an account as that he has given from the official despatches. I own that I, for one, have never fully understood what seemed a hopeless incursion into the enemy's country, and I cannot too much admire the daring of its conception. As to the success which has attended it, there can be no doubt, for it completely paralysed the march of the French armies, and has given ample time to the southern provinces of Spain to place themselves in a position of defence. If they have not taken advantage of the breathing time so given them, it is their fault, and in no way detracts from the chivalrous enterprise of Moore."

"No, indeed," Sir John agreed; "the conception was truly an heroic one, and one that required no less self-sacrifice than daring. There are few generals who would venture on an advance when certain that it must be followed by a retreat, and that at best he could but hope to escape from a terrible disaster. It is true that he gained a victory which, under the circumstances, was a most glorious one, but this was the effect of accident rather than design. Had the fleet been in Corunna when he arrived, he would have embarked at once, and in that case he would have been attacked with ferocity by politicians at home, and would have been accused of sacrificing a portion of his army on an enterprise that everyone could have seen was ordained to be a failure before it commenced."

"Did you know General Fane personally before you were appointed to his staff?"

"No, General; he commanded the brigade of which my regiment formed part, and of course I knew him by sight, but I had never had the honour of exchanging a word with him."

"Then, may I ask why you were appointed to his staff, Mr. O'Connor?"

Terence hesitated. There was nothing he disliked more than talking of what he himself had done. "It was a sort of accident, General."

"How an accident, Mr. O'Connor? Your conduct must have attracted his attention in some way."

"It was an accident, sir," Terence said, reluctantly, "that General Fane happened to be on board Sir Arthur Wellesley's ship at Vigo when my colonel went there to make a report of some circumstances that occurred on the voyage."

"Well, what were these circumstances?" the general asked. "You have shown us that you have the details of a campaign at your finger ends, surely you must be able to tell what those circumstances were that so interested General Fane that he selected you to fill a vacancy on his staff."

Terence felt that there was no escape, and related as briefly as he could the account of the engagement with the two privateers, and of their narrow escape from being captured by a French frigate.

"That is a capital account, Mr. O'Connor," Sir John Cradock said, smiling, as he brought it to a conclusion. "But, so far, I fail to see your particular share in the matter."

"My share was very small, sir."

"I think I can fill up the facts that Mr. O'Connor's modesty has prevented him from stating," one of the officers said.

"It happened that before we sailed from Ireland six weeks ago, an officer of the Mayo Fusiliers, who had been invalided home in consequence of a wound, dined at our mess, and he told the story very much as Mr. O'Connor has told it, but he added the details that Mr. O'Connor has omitted. Restated that really the escape of the wing of the regiment was entirely due to an ensign who had recently joined--a son of one of the captains of the regiment. He said that, in the first place, when the cannon were found to be so honeycombed with rust that it would have been madness to attempt to fire them, this young officer suggested that they should be bound round with rope just like the handle of a cricket bat. This suggestion was adopted, and they were therefore able to pour in the broadside that crippled the lugger and brought her sails down, leaving her helpless under the musketry fire of the troops. In the second place, when the ship was being pounded by the other privateer without being able to make any reply, and must shortly have either sunk or surrendered, this young officer suggested to one of the captains that the lugger, lying helpless alongside, should be boarded, and her guns turned on the brig, a suggestion that led not only to the saving of the ship, but the capture of the brig itself.

"Lastly, when the French frigate hove in sight, the troops were transferred to the two prizes, and were about to make off, in which case one of them would almost certainly have been captured. He suggested that they should hoist French colours, and that both should be set to work to transfer some of the stores from the ship to the privateers. This suggestion was adopted, with the result that on the frigate approaching, and seeing, as was supposed, two French privateers engaged in rifling a prize, she continued on her way without troubling herself further about them. Sir Arthur Wellesley issued a most laudatory notice of Mr. O'Connor's conduct in general orders."

Most of those present remembered seeing the order, now that it was mentioned, and the general, turning to Terence, who was colouring scarlet with embarrassment and confusion, said, kindly:

"You see, we have got at it after all, Mr. O'Connor. I am glad that it came from another source, for I do not suppose that we should have got all the facts from you, even by cross-questioning. You may think, and I have no doubt that you do think, that you received more credit than you deserved for what you consider were merely ideas that struck you at the moment; but such is not my opinion, nor that, I am sure, of the other officers present. The story which we have just heard of you, and the account that you have given of the campaign, afford great promise, I may almost say a certainty, of your attaining, if you are spared, high eminence in your profession.

"Your narrative showed that you are painstaking, accurate, and intelligent. The facts that we have just heard prove you to be exceptionally quick in conceiving ideas, cool in action, and able to think of the right thing at the right time--all qualities that are requisite for a great commander. I warmly congratulate you, that at the very commencement of your career you should have had the opportunity afforded you for showing that you possess these qualities, and of gaining the warm approbation of men very much older than yourself, and all of wide experience in their profession. I am sorry now that you are starting to- morrow on what I cannot but consider a useless, as well as a somewhat dangerous, undertaking. I should have been glad to have utilized your services at once, and only hope that you will erelong rejoin us."

So saying, he rose. The hour was late, for Terence's description of the campaign and battle had necessarily been a very long one, and the party at once broke up, all the officers present shaking the lad warmly by the hand.

"You are a lucky fellow, O'Connor," Captain Nelson said, as he accompanied him to his room, in which a second bed had been set up for the young ensign's accommodation. "You will certainly get on after this. There were a dozen colonels and two generals of brigade among the party, and I fancy that there is not one of them that will not bear you in mind and say a good word for you, if opportunity occurs, and Sir John himself is sure to push you on. I should say that not an officer of your rank in the army has such good chances, and you look such a lad, too. You did not show it so much when you first arrived; of course you were fagged and travel- stained then, but now I should not take you for more than seventeen. Indeed, I suppose you are not, as you only joined the service six months ago."

"No; I am not more than seventeen," Terence said, quietly, not thinking it necessary to state that he wanted a good many months yet to that age, for to do so would provoke questions as to how he obtained his commission before he was sixteen. "But, you see, I have had a good many advantages. I was brought up in barracks, and I suppose that sharpens one's wits a bit. When I was quite a young boy I used to be a good deal with the junior officers; of course, that made me older in my ideas than I should have been if I had always associated with boys of my own age. Still, it has been all luck, and though Sir John was kind enough to speak very warmly about it, I really can't see that I have done anything out of the way."

"Luck comes to a good many fellows, O'Connor, but it is not every one who has the quickness to make the most of the opportunity. You may say that they are only ideas; but you see you had three valuable ideas, and none of your brother officers had them, and you cannot deny that your brains worked more quickly than those of the others.

"Well, we may as well turn in at once, as we have all got to be up before daylight. I am very glad that Sir John has given you a couple of troopers. It will make you feel a good deal more comfortable anyhow, even if you don't get into any adventure where their aid may be of vital importance."

"It will indeed; alone I should have very little influence with the Portuguese guard. These might be perfectly honest themselves, but they might not be at all disposed to risk their lives by offering any opposition to any band that might demand the ammunition they would believe were in the cases. I was twice stopped by bands of scantily armed peasants on my way down, and although they released me on seeing the letter that I carried to the general, it was evident that they felt but little good-will towards us, and had I had anything about me worth taking, my chance of reaching Lisbon would have been small."

"The Junta of Oporto has spared no pains in spreading all sorts of atrocious lies against us ever since the escort of the French prisoners interfered to save them from the fury of the populace, though perhaps the peasants in this part of the country still feel grateful to us for having delivered them from the exactions of the French.

"In the north, where no French soldier has set foot, they have been taught to regard us as enemies to be dreaded as much as the French. Up to the present time all the orders for the raising of levies have been disregarded north of the Douro, and though great quantities of arms have been sent up to Oporto, I doubt whether a single musket has been distributed by the Junta. That fellow Friere, the general of what they call their army, is as bad as any of them. I hope that if Soult comes down through the passes he will teach the fellow and his patrons a wholesome lesson."

"And do you think that the troops here will march north to defend Oporto?"

"I should hardly think that there is a chance of it. Were our force to do so, Lisbon would be at the mercy of Victor and of the army corps at Salamanca. Cuesta is, what he calls, watching Victor. He is one of the most obstinate and pigheaded of all the generals. Victor will crush him without difficulty, and could be at Lisbon long before we could get back from Oporto. No, Lisbon is the key of the situation; there are very strong positions on the range of hills between the river and the sea at Torres Vedras, which could be held against greatly superior forces. The town itself is protected by strong forts, which have been greatly strengthened since we came. The men-of-war can come up to the town, aid in its defence, and bring reinforcements; and provisions can be landed at all times.

"The loss of Lisbon would be a death-blow to Portuguese independence, and you may be sure that the ministry at home would eagerly seize the opportunity of abandoning the struggle here altogether. Do you know that at the present moment, while urging Sir John Cradock to take the offensive with only 15,000 men against the whole army of France in the Peninsula, they have had the folly to send a splendid expedition of from thirty to forty thousand good troops to Holland, where they will be powerless to do any good, while their presence here would be simply invaluable. Well, we will not enter upon that subject to-night; the folly and the incapacity of Mr. Canning and his crew is a subject that, once begun, would keep one talking until morning."

CHAPTER XIII. AN AWKWARD POSITION

When Captain Nelson and Terence went out, just as the morning was breaking, they found the two troopers waiting in the street. Each held a spare horse; the one was that upon which Terence had ridden from Coimbra, the other was a fine English horse.

"What horse is this?" Terence asked.

"It is a present to you from Sir John Cradock," Captain Nelson said. "He told me last night that the troopers had been ordered to ask for it when they took your horse this morning, and that his men were ordered to hand it over to them. He wished me to tell you that he had pleasure in presenting the horse to you as a mark of his great satisfaction at the manner in which you had mastered the military details of Sir John Moore's expedition, and the clearness with which you had explained them."

"I am indeed greatly obliged to the general; it is most kind of him," Terence said. "Will you please express my thanks to him in a proper way, Captain Nelson."

They rode to the Treasury, where they found the Portuguese escort, with the mules, waiting them. The officer in charge of the Treasury was already there, and admitted the two officers.

"I have packed the money in ammunition-boxes," he said. "I received instructions from Mr. Villiers to do so."

"It is evident that your words had some effect, Mr. O'Connor," Captain Nelson said aside to Terence. "I suppose that when he thought it over he came to the conclusion that, after all, your suggestions, were prudent ones, and that it would add to the chance of the money reaching Romana were he to adopt it."

"I am glad that he did so, for had the money been placed in the ordinary chests and then brought to the barracks to be packed in ammunition-cases, the Portuguese troopers would all have been sure of the nature of the contents; whereas now, whatever they may suspect, they cannot be sure about it, because there is a large amount of ammunition stored in the same building."

Some of the guard stationed in the Treasury carried the chests out, and assisted the muleteers to lash them in their places.

"I cannot thank you too warmly, Captain Nelson, for the kindness that you have shown me," Terence said.

"Not at all," that officer replied; "I simply carried out the general's orders, and the duty has been a very pleasant one. No, I don't think I would mount that horse if I were you," he went on, as Terence walked towards his acquisition. "I would have him led as far as Coimbra, while you ride the horse you borrowed there, then he will be fresh for the further journey."

"That would be the best way, no doubt, though our stages must all be comparatively short ones, owing to our having mules with us."

"I should not press them if I were you. I don't suppose that it will make much difference whether Romana gets the money a few days sooner or later."

"None whatever, I should say," Terence laughed, as he mounted his horse. "Still, I do think that he will be able to gather a mob of peasants. Of course, being almost without arms, they will be of no use whatever for fighting, but still they may harass Soult's communications, cut off stragglers, and compel him to move slowly and cautiously."

Terence now saluted the Portuguese officer, who said, as he returned the salute:

"My name, señor, is Juan Herrara."

"And mine is Terence O'Connor, señor. Our journey will be a somewhat long one together, and I hope that we shall meet with no adventures or accidents by the way."

"I hope not, señor. My instructions are simple; I am to place myself under your orders, and to convey eight cases of ammunition to the northern frontier, and to follow the routes that you may point out. I was ordered also to pick the men who are to form the escort. I have done so, and I think I can answer that they can be relied upon to do their duty under all circumstances."

Terence now turned, and with a hearty farewell to Captain Nelson, rode on by the side of Lieutenant Herrara. The two British troopers followed them, the four mules with their two muleteers kept close behind, and the twelve Portuguese troopers brought up the rear.

"It is a strong escort for four mules carrying ammunition," the Portuguese officer said, with a smile.

"It may seem so," Terence laughed, "but you see the country, especially north of the Douro, is greatly disturbed."

"Very much so, and I think that the precaution that has been taken is a very wise one. I have been informed what is really in the cases. Were I going by myself with a sergeant and twelve men, I should say that to put the money in ammunition-cases was not only absolutely useless but dangerous, the disproportion between the force and the value of the ammunition would be so great that it would attract attention at once, but as you are with us it is more likely to pass without observation. You are an officer on the staff of the English general. You have your own two orderlies, and, as you are carrying despatches, it is considered necessary that you should have an escort of our people. The cases in that event would seem to be of little importance, but to be simply travelling with us to have the advantage of the protection of our escort."

"You are quite right, Senior Herrara, and it would have been vastly better had the money been stowed in sacks filled up with grain; then they could follow a short distance behind us, and it would seem that they were simply carrying forage for our use on the road."

"That would have been very much better, senior. You might have it done at Torres Vedras."

"The money is in bags, each containing two hundred dollars. There will be no trouble in transferring them to sacks filled with plenty of forage. Two of your soldiers have behind them a bundle or two of faggots, a basket of fowls, and other matters; these can be piled on the top of the sacks, so that the fact that the principal load was forage would hardly be noticed. You might mention to the muleteers that I thought that it would be a considerable saving of weight if we used sacks instead of those heavy cases, and that the ammunition would travel just as well in the one as the other. We must arrange so that the muleteers do not suspect anything."

"As a rule," Herrara said, "they are very trustworthy. There is scarcely a case known in which they have stolen goods intrusted to them, however valuable; but it would be easy to place a few packets of ammunition in the mouth of each sack, and call them in to cord them up firmly. The sight of the ammunition would go far to lessen any suspicions they might have."

They reached Torres Vedras that night. Terence spoke to the officer in command there, and was furnished with the sacks he required, and enough forage to fill them. The boxes were put into a room in the barracks, and here Terence, with his two orderlies, opened the cases and transferred the bags of money to the centre of the sacks. Two or three dozen packets of ammunition were obtained, and a few put into the mouths of the sacks. These were left open, and the room locked up, two of the Portuguese soldiers being placed on guard before it. Terence and Lieutenant Herrara were invited to dine at mess and had quarters assigned to them, and Terence, after dinner, again, but much more briefly than before, gave the officers at the station a sketch of the retreat and battle.

The next morning the muleteers were called in to fasten up the sacks. At the suggestion of the officer in command, a tent was also taken.

"You may want it badly before you are done," he said. "If I were you I should always have it pitched, except when you are at a village, for you can have the sacks in as beds, and so keep them under your eye; and if, as you tell me, you are giving out that they contain ammunition, it would seem but a natural step, as you are so able to keep it dry."

The mules looked more heavily laden than upon the preceding day, but they were carrying no heavier burden, for the weight of the tent, its poles, the basket of fowls, Terence's valise, and other articles, were considerably less than those of the eight heavy cases that had been left behind. The two officers now rode at the head of the detachment, and two only of the Portuguese soldiers kept in rear of the mules, which now followed at a distance of thirty or forty yards behind them. They stopped that night at Rolica and the next at Leirya. This was a long march, and a short one the next day brought them to Pombal, and the following afternoon they arrived at Coimbra. Here they spent another pleasant evening with the regiment stationed in the town.

"By the way, O'Connor," one of the officers said, after the dinner was over and cigars lighted, "I suppose you don't happen to have any relations at Oporto?"

"Well, I do happen to have some," Terence answered, in some surprise. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, that is singular," the officer said; "I will tell you how it happened. I was with the party that escorted the French prisoners down to Oporto. Just as we had got into the town--it was before the row began, and being early in the morning, there were very few people about--a head appeared at a window on the second floor of a big convent standing on the left side of the road. I remember the name was carved over the door-it was the Convent of Santa Maria. I happened to catch sight of the nun, and she at once dropped a little letter, which fell close to me. I picked it up and stuck it into my glove, and thought no more about it for a time, for the mob soon began to gather, to yell and threaten the prisoners, and my hands were too full, till we had got them safely on board a ship, to think any more of the matter. When I took off my glove the letter fell out. It was simply addressed 'to an English officer.'

"'I, an English girl, am detained here, a prisoner, principally because my Spanish relations wish to seize my property. I have been made a nun by force, though my father was a Protestant, and taught me his religion. I pray you to endeavour to obtain my freedom. I am made most miserable here, and am kept in solitary confinement. I have nothing to eat but bread and water, because I will not sign a renunciation of my property. The Bishop of Oporto has himself threatened me, and it is useless to appeal to him. Nothing but an English army being stationed here can save me. Have pity upon me, and aid me.'

"It was signed 'Mary O'Connor.' Of course no British troops have been there since, but if we are sent there I had made up my mind to bring the matter before the general, and ask him to interfere on the poor girl's behalf; though I know that it would be an awkward matter. For if there is one thing that the Portuguese are more touchy about than another, it is any interference in religious matters, and the bishop, who is a most intolerant rascal, would be the last man who would give way on such a subject."

"I have not the least doubt in the world but that it is a cousin of mine," Terence said. "Her father went out to join a firm of wine merchants in Oporto. I know that he married a very rich Portuguese heiress, and that they had one daughter. My father told me that he gathered from his cousin's letters that he and his wife did not get on very well together. He died two years ago, and it is quite possible that the mother, who may perhaps want to marry again, has shut the girl up in a convent to get rid of her altogether, and to make her sign a document renouncing her right to the property in favour of herself, or possibly, as the bishop seems to have meddled in the affair, partly of the Church.

"I quite see that nothing can be done now, but if we do occupy Oporto, some day, which is likely enough, I will speak to the general, and if he says that it is a matter that he cannot entertain, I will see what I can do to get her out."

"It is awkward work, O'Connor, fooling with a nunnery either here or in Spain. The Portuguese are not so bigoted as the Spaniards across the frontier, but there is not much difference, and if anyone is caught meddling with a nunnery they would tear him to pieces, especially in Oporto, where men who are even suspected of hostility to the bishop are murdered every day."

"I don't want to run the risk of being torn to pieces, certainly, but after what you have told me of her letter, I will not let my little cousin be imprisoned all her life in a nunnery, and robbed of her property, without making some strong effort to save her."

"I will give you the letter presently, O'Connor; I have it in a pocket- book at my quarters. By the by, how old is your cousin?"

"About my own age, or a little younger."

The subject of the conversation was then changed, and half an hour later the officer left the room and returned with the letter.

"At any rate," he said, "if we do go to Oporto you will have more opportunity for getting the general to move than I should."

Terence had handed over the horse he had borrowed, with many thanks for its use, and received his own again, which was in good condition after its rest of seven or eight days. It was by no means a valuable animal, but he thought it as well to take it on with him in case any of the other horses should meet with an accident or break down during the journey through the mountains.

Coimbra was the last British station through which they would pass, and the real difficulties of the journey would now begin. Terence had, before starting, received a sum of money for the maintenance of himself and his escort upon the way, and he had done all in his power to see that the troopers were comfortable at their various halting-places.

The journey as far as the Douro passed without any adventure. They encountered on the road several bands of peasants armed with pikes, clubs, hoes, and a few guns. These were for the most part ordenanças or levies, called out when a larger force than the regular troops and militia was required. They were on their way to join the forces assembling under the edicts, and beyond pausing to stare at the British officer with the two dragoons behind him and an escort of their own troops, they paid no attention to the party.

They crossed the Douro at St. Joa de Pesquiera, and on stopping at a large village some ten miles beyond, found it occupied by a rabble of some two thousand men, absolutely useless for service in the field, but capable of offering an obstinate defence to the passage of a river, or of impeding an enemy's advance through a mountain defile. As they stopped before the principal inn a man, dressed in some attempt at a uniform, came out from a door.

"You are a British officer, sir?" he asked Terence, raising his broad hat courteously.

"I am an officer on the English general's staff, and am proceeding on a mission from him to the northern frontier to ascertain the best means of defence, and the route that the enemy are most likely to move by if they attempt to invade Portugal from that direction."

"The French general would hardly venture to do that," the officer said, disdainfully, "when there will be 50,000 Portuguese to bar his way."

"He may be in ignorance of the force that will gather to meet him," Terence said, gravely, and with difficulty restraining a smile at the confident tone of this leader of an armed mob. "However, I have my orders to carry out. Do you not think," he said, turning to Herrara, "that it will be better for us to go on to the next hamlet, if there is one within two or three miles. I fear there is little chance of obtaining any accommodation for our men here."

"There is no need for that," the Portuguese colonel broke in. "There is a large house at the end of the village that is at present vacant; the proprietor, who was a disturber of the peace, and who belonged to the French faction, was killed last week in the course of a disturbance created by him. I, as Commissioner of the Junta here, had the house closed up, but it is quite at your service."

As the march had already been a long one, Terence thought it best to accept the offer. The colonel called a man, who presently brought a key, and accompanied them to the house in question. It showed signs at once of mob violence. The snow in the garden was trampled down, the windows broken, and one of the lower ones smashed in as if an entry had been effected here. The door was riddled with bullet holes. Upon this being opened the destruction within was seen to be complete, rooms being strewn with broken furniture and litter of all sorts.

"At any rate there is plenty of firewood," the lieutenant said, as he ordered his men to clear out one of the rooms. "There has been dastardly work here," he went on, as the man who had brought the key left the place.

"Yes, I have no doubt the proprietor, whoever he was, has been foully murdered, and as likely as not by the orders of that fellow we met, who says he is Commissioner of the Junta. I should not be surprised if we have trouble with him before we have done. I should think, Herrara, you had better send off a couple of men to get what they can in the way of provisions and a skin of wine. This is a cheerless-looking place, and these broken windows are not of much use for keeping out the cold. Bull, you had better see if you can find something among all this rubbish to hang up in front of the window, for in its present state it merely creates a draught."

The orderly went out, and returned with two torn curtains.

"There has been some bad work going on here, sir," he said. "There are pools of blood in three of the rooms upstairs, and it is evident that there has been a desperate struggle. One of the doors is broken in, and there are several shot-holes through it."

"I am afraid there has been bad work. I suppose the man here was obnoxious to somebody, so they murdered him. However, it is not our business."

Some of the horses were stabled in a large shed, the others in the lower rooms of the house, the soldiers and muleteers taking possession of the large kitchen, where they soon had a huge fire burning. The windows on this side of the house were unbroken. The two orderlies soon fastened up the curtains across the windows of the officers' room, and when the fire was lighted it had a more cheerful aspect. The burdens of the mules were brought into the room opposite, where there was a key in the door and bars across the windows. Presently the soldiers returned with some meat, a couple of fowls, bread, and some wine, together with a bunch of candles. The fowls were soon plucked, cut in two, and grilled over the fire, and in a quarter of an hour after the men's return the two officers sat down to supper. The meal was just finished when there was a knock at the outer door, and the soldier acting as sentry came in and said that Colonel Cortingos desired to speak to them.

"I suppose that is the fellow we saw in the town," Terence said; "show him in."

The supposition was a correct one, for the man entered, accompanied by two others. Terence had no doubt that this fellow was the author of the attack upon the house, and the murderer of the proprietor and others. He did not feel disposed to be exceptionally civil to him, but as he had a couple of thousand men under his command and had certainly put the only available place in the village at their disposal, he rose as he entered.

"These two gentlemen," the colonel began, "form, with myself, the committee appointed by the Junta of Oporto to organize the national resistance here and in the surrounding neighbourhood, to keep our eye upon persons suspected of being favourable to the enemy, and to arrest and send them to Oporto for trial. We are also enjoined to make close inquiries into the business of all persons who may pass through here."

"I have already told you," Terence said, quietly, "that I am an officer on the staff of the English general, and that I have a mission from him to see what are the best means of defending the northern passes, and, I may add, to enter into such arrangements as I may think proper with the leaders of any bands who may be gathered for the purpose of defending them. As I am acting under the direct orders of the general, I in no way recognize the right of any local authority to interfere with me in any way."

"And I, Lieutenant Herrara, have been ordered by the colonel of my regiment to command the escort of Portuguese cavalry told off to accompany this British officer, and also feel myself free from any interference or examination by civilians."

"I am a colonel!" Cortingos said, angrily.

"By whom appointed, if I may ask?"

"By the Junta of Oporto."

"I was not aware that they possessed the right of granting high commissions," Herrara said, "although, of course, they can grant temporary rank to those who command irregular forces. This British officer has assured you as to the object of his journey, and unless that object has had the approval of the military authorities at Lisbon he would not have been furnished with an escort by them."

"I have only his word and yours as to that," Cortingos said, insolently. "I am acting under the orders of the supreme authority of this province."

"You are doing your duty, no doubt," the lieutenant said, "in making these inquiries. This officer has answered them, and I will answer any further questions if I consider them to be reasonable."

"We wish, in the first place," Cortingos said, "to examine any official passes you may have received."

"Our official passes are our uniforms," Herrara replied, haughtily.

"Uniforms have been useful for purposes of disguise before now," Cortingos replied. "I again ask you to show me your authority."

"Here is an authority," Terence broke in. "Here is a despatch from General Sir John Cradock to General Romana."

"Ah, ah, a Spaniard."

"A Spanish general, a marquis and grandee of Spain, who has been fighting the French, and who is now with a portion of his army preparing to defend the passes into Portugal."

Cortingos held out his hand for the paper, but Terence put it back again into the breast-pocket of his uniform.

"No, sir," he said; "this communication is for the Marquis of Romana, and for him only. No one else touches it so long as I am alive to defend it."

The colonel whispered to his two associates.

"We will let that pass for the present," he replied, and turning to Terence again, said, "In the next place we wish to know the nature of the contents of the sacks that are being carried by the mules that accompany you."

"They contain ammunition, and forage for our horses," Lieutenant Herrara said. "You can, if you choose, question the muleteers, who fastened up the sacks and had an opportunity of seeing the ammunition."

"In the name of the Junta I demand that ammunition!" Cortingos said, with an air of authority. "It is monstrous that ammunition should be taken to Spaniards, who have already shown that they are incapable of using it with any effect, while here we have loyal men ready to die in their country's defence, but altogether unprovided with ammunition."

"For that, sir, you must apply to your Junta. Since they give you orders, let them give you ammunition; there is enough in Oporto to supply the whole population, had they arms; and you may be assured that I and my men will see that the convoy intrusted to our charge reaches its destination."

"I believe that there is not only ammunition, but money in those sacks," said Cortingos. "It would be an act of treachery to allow it to pass, when, even if not taken to them directly, it might fall into the hands of the French. It is needed here; my men lack shoes and clothes, and as you say the object of your mission is to see to the defence of our frontier, any money you may have cannot be better applied than to satisfy the necessities of my soldiers. However, we do not wish to take steps that might appear unfriendly. And, therefore, if you will allow us to inspect the contents of those sacks, we will let you pass on if we find that they contain no money--confiscating only the ammunition for the use of the troops of the province."

"I refuse absolutely," Herrara said, "to allow anything confided to my charge to be touched."

"That is your final decision," the man said, with a sneer.

"Final and absolute."

"I also shall do my duty;" and then, without another word, the colonel with his two associates left the house.

"We shall have trouble with that fellow," Herrara said.

"So much the better," Terence replied. "We have evidence here that the scoundrel is a murderer. No doubt he had some private enmity against the owner of this establishment, and so denounced him to the Junta, and then attacked the place, murdered him, and perhaps some of his servants, and sacked the house. They won't find it so easy a job as it was last time; all the windows are barred, and there are only three on this floor to defend. The shutters of two of them are uninjured, so it is only the one where they broke in before that they can attack, while our men at the windows upstairs will make it hot for them as they approach. But I should hardly think that the men he calls soldiers will venture to attack a party of regular troops."

The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders.

"He will tell them some lies, probably assert that we are French agents in disguise taking money to the French army. Indeed, there is neither order nor discipline among these bands, and, roused to a pitch of fury, they would murder their own leaders as readily as anyone else. The Junta acts as if the province were altogether independent, and numbers of men of position have been butchered on the pretence of their being adherents of the French, when their sole crime was that they disapproved of the doings of the bishop and his tools. You will see that the night will not pass off without something happening. Of course, I shall be sorry to have to order the men to fire. In the first place it would render it very difficult for us to resume our journey; and in the second, if we succeed in getting out alive, they will send a lying account of the affair to Lisbon, and there will be all sorts of trouble. Still, of course, if they attack the house we shall defend ourselves."

The two officers then made a tour of the house and carefully examined the means of defence. The broken shutters were replaced in their position in the window, and were backed with a pile of the fragments of furniture. The horses were all brought in from the shed outside, the soldiers were warned that the mob in the place were likely to attack them, and four of them were placed as sentries at the upper windows; and, by the looks of the men when the lieutenant made the communication to them, Terence saw that they could be relied upon.

"I have no doubt that we shall be able to defend the place successfully," Terence said to the two British troopers; "but if the worst comes to the worst we will all mount inside the house, throw open the door behind, and then go right at them. But I hope that we shall avoid a fight, for if we have one, it will be very difficult for us to make our way to the north, or to get back across the Douro."

In an hour one of the sentries at the upper window brought news that a large number of men were approaching. Terence at once gave some orders that he and the lieutenant had agreed upon to the two soldiers, and four of the Portuguese troopers, and then went up with the lieutenant to the window over the door. He threw it open just as a crowd of men poured into the garden in front.

"What is it?" he asked. "What do you want?"

"I demand entrance to this house in the name of the Junta of Oporto," a voice which he recognized as that of Cortingos replied. "If that is refused I shall denounce you as traitors to Portugal, and your blood will be on your own heads."

"We respect the orders of the Junta," Herrara replied, "and are ready to open the door as you demand; but I must first be assured that it is really the committee appointed by the Junta that demand it."

Several of the men had torches, and these were brought forward, and they saw the man and his two associates standing in front.

"Good, I will open the door," the lieutenant said, and he and Terence went down. The bars were removed and the door thrown open, the two officers walked a few paces outside, and then halted.

Followed closely by their armed followers, the three men approached, confident in the strength of their following.

"Enter, gentlemen," Terence said. "I protest against this invasion, by force, but I cannot oppose it."

The three men entered the door, the two officers standing aside and allowing them to pass. The instant the three Portuguese had entered Terence and the lieutenant threw themselves suddenly upon those following them. Two or three rolled over with the suddenness of the assault, and the rest recoiled a step or two. Before they could recover themselves Herrara and Terence dashed through the door, which was slammed to and barred by the two English troopers. Meanwhile, the three men had been seized by the Portuguese troopers, their coats torn off them, and their hands tied behind their backs, and then they were hurried upstairs.

Yells of fury filled the air outside, shots were fired at the windows, and men began to beat the door and shutters with bludgeons and hatchets. Suddenly a light appeared from a window above, and Cortingos and his two friends were seen standing there. By the side of each stood a trooper, holding a rope with a noose round the prisoners' necks. For a moment there was a silence of stupefaction outside, followed by a yell of fury from the mob. Herrara went to the window and shouted: "My friends." Again there was a moment of silence, as each wanted to hear what he said. "My friends, at the first shot that is fired, or the first blow that is struck at the doors of this house, these three men will be hung out of the window. They have deceived you grossly. I am an officer of the National Army, these troopers are men of the 2d Portuguese Dragoons. We have been appointed by the military authorities of Lisbon to escort this British officer, who is on the staff of the British general, and whose commission is to make arrangements with the Spanish general, Romana to harass the rear of the French, and attack their convoys should they attempt to enter the northern passes.

"These three scoundrels have deceived you, in order, as they hoped, to obtain some money that they believed us to be escorting. As loyal Portuguese, I warn you against attempting to aid the fellows in a deed which would bring disgrace upon the national name, and would result in the British general refusing to assist in the defence of your country. You are brave men, but you see these three cowards are trembling like children. We advise you to appoint fresh officers among yourselves, and to remain faithful to your duty, which is to march when ordered to the defence of the defiles. These three fellows we shall take with us, and will see that they do not further deceive you. Already they have done harm enough by goading you to theft, and to murder a man whose only fault was that he was more patriotic than they are. Be assured that in no case would you be able to carry this house. It is defended by sixteen well-armed men, and hundreds of you would throw away your lives in the attempt. Therefore, I advise you to go back to your quarters, and in the morning assemble and choose your officers."

The crowd stood irresolute.

"Tell them to go, you cur," Herrara said to Cortingos, standing back from the window and giving him a kick that almost sent him on his face. "Tell them to disperse at once, if you don't want to be dangling from the end of this rope."

Cortingos stepped forward, and in a quavering voice told the men to disperse to their quarters.

"We have made a mistake," he said. "I am now convinced that these officers are what they appear to be. I beseech you do not cause trouble, and disperse at once--quietly."

Hoots of derision and scorn rose from the peasants.

"I have a good mind to fire a shot before I go," one of the peasants shouted, "just for the pleasure of seeing three such cowards hung."

Another yell of disgust and anger arose, and then the crowd melted away.

"Keep these three fellows at the window. Remove the ropes from their necks, and take your place behind them; you will be relieved every hour. If they move, bayonet them at once."

"We shall die of cold," one of the men whimpered.

"That would be a more honourable death than you are likely to meet," Terence said, scornfully. "I fancy if I don't hang you, those men in the village will do so if they can lay hands on you."

"How about the sentries, sir?" the corporal of the escort asked Herrara as they went downstairs. "They can all be removed except the one keeping guard over these men--he is to be relieved every hour--and one inside the door, he can be relieved every two hours."

The night passed quietly. Just as they were preparing to start next morning, the soldier on guard over the prisoners shouted, "There is a crowd of men coming!"

"Get your arms ready," Herrara said to the escort; "but I don't think there will be any occasion to use them."

Terence went to the door. "Bull, do you and Macwitty keep close behind; but whatever happens don't use your weapons, unless I order you to do so."

The crowd stopped at the gate, two of them only coming forward.

"We are ready to fight, sir," one said, addressing Terence, "but we have no officers; none of us know anything about drill. We will follow you, if you will command us, and you will find that we won't turn our backs to the enemy. We know that English officers will fight."

"Wait a minute or two," Terence said, after a moment's hesitation, "I will then give you my answer."

Herrara had followed him out and heard the offer.

"I don't know what to do, Herrara," Terence said, as he re-entered the house. "My instructions are to join Romana, and to remain with him for a time, sending word to Lisbon as to the state of things, and aiding him in any way in my power. Here are between two and three thousand stout, healthy fellows, evidently disposed to fight. If they were armed I would not hesitate a moment, but I don't suppose that there are a hundred muskets among them, and certainly Romana has none to give them. Still, in the defiles we might give a good deal of trouble to the French by rolling stones down, breaking up bridges, and that sort of thing."

"It would be good fun," Herrara laughed. "As for myself," he said, "I have orders to return as soon as I have seen the treasure safely in Romana's camp. If it hadn't been for that I should have liked nothing better, though there would not have been much chance for cavalry work in these defiles."

"I will talk to them again," Terence said. "It is not often that one gets the chance of an independent command. It is just the sort of work I should like."

He went out again. "I should like to command a number of brave fellows," he said, "but the question is about arms. There have been any quantity sent out by England for your use; but instead of being served out, the Juntas keep them all hidden up in magazines. Even now, when the French are going to invade your country, they still keep them locked up, and send you out with only pikes and staves to fight against a well-armed army. It is nothing short of murder."

"Down with the Juntas!" cried half a dozen of the men standing near enough to hear what was said.

"I don't say 'Down with the Juntas!'" Terence replied; "but I do say take arms if you can get them. Are there any magazines near here?"

"There is one at Castro, ten miles away," the man said. "I know that there are waggon-loads of arms there."

"Well, my friends, the matter stands thus: I, as a British officer, cannot lead you to break open magazines; but I say this, if you choose to go in a body to Castro and do it yourselves, and arm yourselves with all the muskets that you can find there, and bring with you a good store of ammunition in carts that you could take with you from here, and then come to me at a spot where I will halt to-night five or six miles beyond Castro, I will take command of you. But mind, if I command, I command. I must have absolute obedience. It is only by obeying my orders without question that you can hope to do any good. The first man who disobeys me I shall shoot on the spot, and if others are disposed to support him I shall leave you at once."

"I will consult the others," the man said. "Many of us, I know, will be glad to fight under an English officer, and agree to obey him implicitly."

"Very well, I will give you a quarter of an hour to decide."

Before that time had elapsed a dozen men came to the door with the principal spokesman.

"We have made up our minds, señor. We will follow you, and we will arm ourselves at Castro. It is a sin that the arms should be lying there idle with so many hands ready to use them."

"That is good," Terence said. "Now, my first order is that you wait until I have been gone an hour; then, that you form up in military order, four abreast; the men with guns in front, the others after them. You must go as soldiers, and not as a mob. You must march into Castro peacefully and quietly, not a man must straggle from the ranks. You must go to the authorities and demand the arms and ammunition; if they refuse to give them to you, march--always in regular order--to the magazine and burst it open; then distribute the muskets and a hundred rounds of ammunition to each man having one, take the rest of the stores in carts, and then march away along the road north until you come to the place where we are halted.

"Observe the most perfect order in Castro. If any man plunders or meddles in any way with the inhabitants and is reported to me, I shall know how to punish him. From the moment that you leave this place remember that you are soldiers of Portugal, and you must behave so as to be an honour to it as well as a defence. Now let us all shout 'Viva Portugal!'"

A great shout followed the words, and then Terence went indoors, and five minutes later started with his convoy, telling the three prisoners they could go where they liked.

CHAPTER XIV. AN INDEPENDENT COMMAND

As they left the village the Portuguese lieutenant burst into a sudden fit of laughter.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Terence asked.

"I am laughing at the way in which you--who, as you tell me, have only been six months in the army--without hesitation organize what is really a rising against the authorities, you having already taken representatives of the Junta prisoners--"

"Yes; but you must remember that they took upon themselves to endeavour to forcibly possess themselves of the treasure in my charge."

"That is true enough; still, you did capture them. You treated them with considerable personal indignity, imprisoned them, and threatened their lives. Then you incite, say 2,500 ordenanças to break open magazines."

"No, no, Lieutenant, I did not incite them. You will remember they expressed a desire to march under my command to fight against the French. I simply pointed out to them that they had no arms, and asked if they could get any; and hearing that there were plenty lying useless a few miles away, suggested that those arms would do more good in their hands than stowed away in magazines. Upon their agreeing with me on this head, I advised them to proceed in a quiet and orderly way, and to have no rioting or disturbance of any sort. I said that if they, after arming themselves, came to me and still wished to follow me, I would undertake to command them. You see, everything depends upon the manner in which the thing is put."

"But you must remember, señor, that the Junta will naturally view the matter in the light in which their representatives will place it before them."

"I think it unlikely," Terence replied, "that they will have any opportunity of doing so. I took care that they were removed from the window before I met the deputies of the men. They will consequently be unaware of the arrangements made, and will, perhaps, go out as soon as we have left and try to persuade the men to follow and attack us. As it was possible that they might take this course, I took the precaution of sending out one of the muleteers, with instructions to mention casually to the men that I was leaving the three fellows behind me, and that it might be as well for them to confine them under a guard so as to prevent their going to Oporto at present and making mischief."

"I agree with you, señor, that they are certainly not likely to make any report as to the proceedings here."

"I fancy not; in fact I should not be at all surprised if at the present moment they are hanging from the windows of the house of the man they caused to be murdered. They will most richly deserve their fate, and it may save us some trouble. No doubt the Junta will hear some day that the ordenanças here rose, killed the three members of their committee, obtained arms at Castro, and marched into the mountains. The Junta will care nothing whatever for the killing of its three agents; plenty of men of the same kind can be found to do their work. That the mutineers afterwards fell in with a British officer, and placed themselves under his command, will not concern the Junta one way or the other, and they will certainly be a great deal more useful in that way than they would be in remaining unarmed here. They may even, when the French once get in motion, come to regard the affair altogether as satisfactory. If all the new levies were to act in exactly the same way, Portugal would be very materially benefited."

"But how are you going to feed them?"

"That is rather a serious question. I suppose they will have to be fed in the same way as other irregular bands. However, I shall consider myself fully justified in devoting a fifth of the money I am carrying to that purpose. I obtained from Villiers £5,000 to enable Romana to support the levies he is raising. Those levies will be for the most part unarmed, and therefore practically useless; and as these Portuguese will be at any rate fairly armed, and are likely to be of very much greater service than a horde of Galician peasants, a portion at least of the money can be very much more usefully employed in feeding them than were it all given to Romana, I have no doubt whatever that when I explain the circumstances to General Cradock, he will entirely approve of my appropriating a small portion of the money that Villiers has chosen to throw away on Romana. When you return I shall get you to carry a report from me to the general, stating what I have done. I have no doubt he will warmly approve of it."

On approaching Castro they made a detour to avoid the town.

"There may be more representatives of the Junta there," Terence said, "and we may have even more trouble with them than we had with the last. I don't want any more bother, especially as I have much greater interest in the money now than I had before. I have not a shadow of belief in those bands of Portuguese peasants, but I do think that, with the aid of my two troopers, I shall be able to lick these fellows into some sort of shape, and to annoy Soult, if I cannot stop him. I hope they will find a good supply of powder, besides the muskets and ammunition at Castro; we shall want it for blowing up bridges and work of that sort."

"I wish I could go with you," Herrara said.

"I really don't see why you should not. I would take the blame on my own shoulders. One of your troopers could carry my report to the general, and I will say that under the circumstances I have taken upon myself to retain you with me in order to assist me in drilling and organizing this band, conceiving that your services with me would be very much more useful than with your regiment. You see, you were placed under my orders, so that no blame can fall upon you for obeying them, and at any rate you certainly will be doing vastly better service to the country than if you were stationed at Lisbon, with no prospect of an advance for a long time to come. Still, of course, I will not retain you against your will."

"I should like it of all things," Herrara said; "but do you really think that the general would approve?"

"I have not the least doubt that he would, and at any rate if he did not he would only blame me, and not you. Your help would certainly be invaluable to me, and so would that of your men. They are all picked soldiers, and if we divided the force up into twelve companies, they would very soon teach them as much drill as is necessary for work like this. Each trooper would command one of the companies, my two orderlies would act as field officers; you would be colonel, and I should be political officer in command."

Herrara burst into a fit of laughter.

"You are the strangest fellow I ever met, señor. Here is a very serious business, and you take it as easily as if it were a game of play. However, it does seem to me that we might do some good service. At any rate I am quite willing to obey your orders. It would be an adventure to talk of all one's life."

"That is right," Terence said; "and there will be some credit to be gained, too. Indeed, we can safely say that our band will be very much better organized than nineteen out of twenty of the irregular bands."

The track they followed was a very bad one, and the point at which they regained the main road was eight miles north of Castro. There was a small village here, and they at once halted. Although they had travelled slowly they knew that the men could not come along for some time, as they were not to start until an hour after them, and would be detained for some considerable time at Castro. It was indeed nearly three hours before a column marching in good order was seen coming along the road.

"That is a good sign," Terence said; "they have obeyed orders strictly; whether they have got the arms I cannot tell yet. The men at the head of the column have certainly muskets, but as the armed men were to go in front that is no proof."

However, as the column approached, it could be seen that at any rate a very considerable number were armed.

"We had better form them up as they come, Herrara. If the head of the column stops it will stop them all, and then there will be confusion."

The road through the village was wide. When a hundred ranks had passed they were halted, faced round, and marched forward, and so they continued until the village was filled with a dense mass of men, twenty deep. Terence observed with satisfaction that they had with them six bullock carts filled with ammunition-cases, spare muskets, and powder-barrels. The men who had first spoken to Terence had headed the column, and these had stopped by his side as the others marched in.

"You have succeeded, I see," he said. "I hope that you were enabled to accomplish it without violence."

"They were too much surprised to offer much resistance. Five fellows, who said they were the committee appointed by the Junta, came to us and told us that unless we dispersed at once we should be severely punished. We told them that we had come out of our homes at the orders of the Junta, but that as the Junta had not supplied us with arms we had come for them, as we were not going to fight the French with nothing but sticks. They then threatened us again, and we told them that if they hindered us from defending the country we should hang them at once; and as they saw we meant it, they went quietly off to their houses. Then we broke down the door of the magazine. We found four thousand muskets there. Each man took one, and we left the remainder and enough ammunition for them, and have brought the rest here, together with a hundred spare muskets.

"We have observed excellent order, and no one was hurt or alarmed. The only men who left the ranks were a score who went round to the bakers' shops by my orders, and bought up all the bread in the place. We found a bag with a thousand dollars at the quarters of Cortingos."

"What became of him and his two associates?"

"They had the impudence to come out and harangue us when you had gone; but we tied them up to the branch of a tree, so there is an end of them."

"And a very fitting end, too," Terence said. "What have you done with the money?"

"The bag is in that cart, señor."

"You had better appoint four of your number as treasurers. I would rather not touch it. You must be as careful as you can, and spend it only on the barest necessaries of life. We shall have few opportunities of buying things in the mountains, but when we do come upon them they must be paid for. Of course, we shall go no farther to-night. How many men have you?"

"About two thousand five hundred, señor."

"They must be told off into twelve companies. That will be two hundred and ten to each company. I shall appoint one of these soldiers to each company to drill and command it. I propose that each company shall elect its other officers. Lieutenant Herrara will, under my orders, command the regiment. The two English soldiers with me will each take command of six companies. The first thing to be done is to tell off the men into companies."

"This we will at once do. After that they can be marched just outside the village, and each company will then fall out and elect its officers. When that is done the men will be quartered in the village. I have set apart one room in each house for the inhabitants, and the men must pack as tightly as they can into the others; and of course the sheds and stables must also be utilized."

With the assistance of the troopers the work of dividing the force up into companies was accomplished in an hour. Herrara then called his men to him.

"You will each take the command of a company," he said, "and drill them and teach them the use of their arms. This force is now under the command of this British officer. Acting under his orders, I take the command of the force under him. So long as we are out you will each act as captains of your companies, and your British comrades will act as field officers, each taking the command of six companies. We are going to hinder the advance of the French, and to cut their communications with Spain. It will be a glorious and most honourable duty, and I rely most implicitly on your doing your best to make the men under your command fit to meet the enemy. Captain Juan Sanches, you will take the first company;" and so he allotted to each his command.

The soldiers saluted gravely, but with an air of delight.

"You will, in the first place, march your men to various spots around the village; they will then fall out and select six officers each. You will see that each man knows the number of his company, so that they can fall in without hesitation as soon as the order is given. While you are away we shall examine the houses and allot so many to each company."

In the meantime Terence had been similarly instructing the two orderlies. Although standing at attention, a broad grin of amusement stole over their faces as he went on:

"I did not expect this any more than you did," he said; "but my orders were open ones, and were to assist General Romana in hindering the advance of the French, and I think that I cannot do so better than by augmenting his forces by 2,500 well-armed men. I rely greatly upon you to assist me in the work. You will, as you see, each occupy the position of field officers, while the Portuguese troopers will each have the command of a company. In order to support your authority I shall address you each as major, and you can consider that you hold that rank as long as we are out with this force. I have seen enough of you both to know that you will do your duty well. You will understand that this is going to be no child's play; it will be a dangerous service. I shall spare neither myself nor any under my command. There will be lots of fighting and opportunities for you to distinguish yourselves, and I hope that I shall be able to speak in high terms of you when I send in my report to General Cradock."

"We will do our best, sir," Andrew Macwitty said. "How are we to address you?"

"I shall keep to Mr. O'Connor, and shall consider myself a political officer with supreme military authority. Your titles are simply for local purposes, and to give you authority among the Portuguese."

"We don't know enough of the lingo to give the words of command, sir," William Bull said.

"That will not matter. The Portuguese dragoons will teach them as much drill as it is necessary for them to know. If you have to post them in a position you can do that well enough by signs; but at the same time it is most desirable that you should both set to work in earnest and try to pick up a little of the language. You both know enough to make a start with, and if you ride every day with one or other of the captains of companies, and when they are drilling the men stand by and listen to them, you will soon learn enough to give the men the necessary orders. As a rule, the two wings will act as separate regiments; each of them is rather stronger than that of a line regiment at its full war strength, and it will be more convenient to treat them as separate regiments, and, until we get to the frontier, march them a few miles apart.

"In this way they can occupy different villages, and obtain better accommodation than if they were all together. They have money enough to buy bread and wine for some time. You and the captains under you had better each form a sort of mess. You will, of course, draw rations of bread and wine, and I will provide you with money to buy a sheep occasionally or some fowls, to keep you in meat."

The two troopers walked gravely away, but as soon as they were at a little distance they turned round the corner of a house and burst into a shout of laughter.

"How are you finding yourself to-day, Major Macwitty?"

"Just first-rate; and how is yoursel', Major Bull?" and they again went off into another shout of laughter.

"This is a rum start, and no mistake, Macwitty."

"Ay, but it is no' an unpleasant one, I reckon. Mr. O'Connor knows what he is about, though he is little more than a laddie. The orderly who brought our orders to go with him, said he had heard from one of the general's mess waiters that the general and the other officers were saying the young officer had done something quite out of the way, and were paying him compliments on it, and the general had put him on his own staff in consequence, and was saying something about his having saved a wing of his regiment from being captured by the French. The man had not heard it all; but just scraps as he went in and out of the room with wine, but he said it seemed something out of the way, and mighty creditable. And now what do you think of this affair, Bull?"

"There is one thing, and that is that there is like to be, as he said, plenty of fighting, for I should say that he is just the sort of fellow to give us the chance of it, and I do think that these Portuguese fellows really mean to fight."

"I think that mysel', but there is no answering for these brown-skin chaps. Still, maybe it is the fault of the officers as well as the men."

"It will be a rare game anyhow, Macwitty. At any rate I will do my best to get the fellows into order. He is a fine young officer, and a thorough gentleman, and no mistake. He goes about it all as if he had been accustomed to command two regiments all his life, and these Portuguese fellows seem to have taken to him wonderfully. At any rate it will be a thing for us to talk about all our lives--how we were majors for a bit, and fought the French on our own account."

"Yes, if we get home to tell about it," Macwitty said, cautiously. "I dinna think we can reckon much on that yet. It is a desperate sort of a business, and he is ower young to command."

"I would rather have a young officer than an old one," Bull said, carelessly; "and though he is Irish, I feel sure that he has got his head screwed on the right way. Look how well he managed last night. Why, an old general could not have done better. If he hadn't caught those three fellows in a trap, I doubt whether we should have got out of the scrape. Sixteen or seventeen men against over two thousand is pretty long odds. We should have accounted for a lot of them, but they would have done for us in the end."

"You are right there, Bull. I thought mysel' that it was an awkward fix, and certainly he managed those Portuguese fellows well, and turned the lot round his little finger. Ay, ay; he knows what he is doing perfectly well, young as he is."

"Well, we had best be off to look after our commands,"

Bull laughed. "I suppose they will call mine the first regiment, as I have the right wing."

While the men were away, Terence and Herrara, with the head man of the village, went round to all the houses, and marked on pieces of paper the number of men who could manage to lie down on the floors and passages, with the number of the company, and fixed them on the doors; they also made an arrangement with the proprietor of a neighbouring vineyard to supply as much wine as was required, at the rate of a pint to each man. When the men returned four men were told off from each company to fetch the rations of bread, and another four to carry the wine. They were accompanied by one of the newly elected sergeants to check the quantity, and see that all was done in order. To prevent confusion the companies were kept drawn up until the rations had been distributed; then they were taken into their quarters, filling every room, attic and cellar, barn, granary, and stable in the village. Then Terence and Herrara in one room, and the troopers in another of the little inn, sat down to a meal Terence had ordered as soon as they arrived.

The next morning at daybreak they marched off. Terence rode at their head, Herrara at the rear of the regiment, and each captain at the head of his company. From time to time Terence rode up and down the line, and ordered the men to keep step.

"It is just as easy," he said to the captains, "for the men to do so as to walk along anyhow, and they will find that the sound of all the footfalls together helps them to march steadily and lessens fatigue. Never mind about the slope of their muskets; you must not harass them about little things, else they will get sulky; it will all come gradually."

Four marches of twenty miles each took them over the mountains in four days. The Portuguese marched well, and not a single man fell out from the ranks, while at the end of the day they were still fresh enough to allow of an hour's drill. Even in that short time there was a very appreciable difference in their appearance. They had already learned to keep their distances on the march, to slope their muskets more evenly on their shoulders, and to carry themselves with a more erect bearing. The first two drills had been devoted to teaching them how to load and aim, the other two to changes of formation, from column into line and back again.

"They would make fine soldiers, sir," Bull said, on the fourth evening, "after they have had six months' drill."

"No doubt they would move more regularly," Terence agreed, "but in mountain warfare that makes little difference; as soon as they have learned to shoot straight, and to have confidence in themselves, they will do just as well holding a defile or the head of a bridge as if they had been drilled for months. We must get hold of some horns of some sort, and they must learn a few simple calls, such as the advance, retire, form square, and things of that sort. With such large companies the voice would never be heard in the din of a battle. I hope that we shall get at least a week to practise skirmishing over rough ground and to fall back in good order, taking advantage of every rock and shelter, before we get under fire. Do you know anything about blowing up bridges?"

"Not me, sir. That is engineers' business."

"It is a thing that troopers ought to know something about too, Bull; for if you were far in advance without an engineer near you, you might do good service by blowing up a bridge and checking the advance of an enemy. However, I dare say we shall soon find out how it is best done. Now, to- morrow morning we will have three hours of skirmishing work on these hillsides. By that time the other regiment will have come up, and then we will march together to join Romana."

The Spanish general was much surprised at the arrival of Terence at the head of two well-armed regiments. His force had swelled considerably in point of numbers, for he had sent messengers all over the country to the priests, and these, having a horror of the French, had stirred up the peasants by threats of eternal perdition if they came back; while Romana issued proclamations threatening death to all who did not take up arms. Thus he had some 8,000 men collected, of whom fully half were his own dispersed soldiers. He received Terence with effusion.

"Have you brought me arms?" was his first question.

"No, sir; no transport could be obtained in Lisbon, and it was found impossible to despatch any muskets to you. I have, however, four thousand pounds, in dollars, to hand over. At starting I had five thousand, but of these I have, in the exercise of my discretion, retained a thousand for the purchase of provisions and necessaries for these two Portuguese regiments which are under my command, and with which I hope to do good service by co-operating with your force. Have you not found great difficulty in victualling your men?"

"No, I have had no trouble on that score," the marquis said. "I found that a magazine of provisions had been collected for the use of General Moore's army at Montrui, three miles from here, and have been supporting my troops on the contents. The money will be most useful, however, directly we move. Fully half of my men have guns, for the Galician peasants are accustomed to the use of arms. I wish that it had been more, but four thousand pounds will be very welcome. Do you propose to join my force with your regiments?"

"Not exactly to join them, General; my orders are to give you such assistance as I can, and I think that I can do more by co-operating with you independently. In the first place, I do not think that my Portuguese would like to be commanded by a Spanish general; in the second place, it would be extremely difficult to feed so large a body of troops in these mountains, and the smaller the number the more easily can they move about. Besides, in these defiles a large force of undisciplined men could not act efficiently, and in case of a reverse would fall rapidly into confusion. I propose to use my force as a sort of flying column, co-operating with yours. Thus, if you attack the head of a column, I will fall on their flank or rear, will harass their line of communication, blow up bridges and destroy roads, and so render their movements slow and difficult. By such means I should certainly render you more efficient service than if my regiments were to form a part of your force."

"Perhaps that would be best," Romana said. "Could you supply me with any ammunition? For although the peasants have guns, very few have more than a few rounds of ammunition, and even this is not made up into cartridges."

"That I can do, sir. I can give you 20,000 rounds of ammunition and ten barrels of powder. I have no lead, but you may perhaps be able to obtain that."

"Yes. The priests, in fact, have sent in a considerable amount. They have stripped the roofs off their churches. That will be a most welcome supply indeed, and I am heartily obliged to you."

The gift of the ammunition had the effect of doing away with any discontent the Spaniard may have felt on finding that Terence was going to act independently of him. It had indeed already flashed across his mind that it might be unpleasant always to have a British officer with him, from whose opinion he might frequently differ, and who might endeavour to control his movements. He had hardly expected that, with so much on their hands, and the claims that would be made from Oporto for assistance, they would have sent any money; and the sixteen thousand dollars were therefore most welcome, while the ammunition would be invaluable to him.

Terence had taken out his share of the money, and the cart with the remainder for Romana was now at the door. The sacks were brought in, Romana called in four or five officers, the dollars were counted out and a receipt given to Terence for them.

"I will send the ammunition up in half an hour, Marquis."

"I thank you greatly, señor. I will at once order a number of men to set to work casting bullets and preparing cartridge-cases. In the meantime, please let me hear what are your general's plans for the defence of Portugal."

Terence told him that he was unaware what were the intentions of the British general, but that, from what he learned during the few hours that he was at Lisbon, he thought it improbable in the extreme that Sir John Cradock would be able to send any force to check the advance of the French upon Oporto.

"In the first place," he said, "he is absolutely without transport; and in the second Victor has a large army, and now that Saragossa has fallen, there is nothing to prevent his marching direct upon Lisbon. Lapisse is at Salamanca and can enter Portugal from the east. The whole country is in confusion; with the exception of a force gathering under Lord Beresford there is no army whatever. Lisbon is almost at the mercy of the mob, who, supported by the government, march about with British muskets and pikes, killing all they suspect of being favourable to the French, and even attacking British soldiers and officers in the streets.

"Were the general to march north, he would not get news of Victor's advance in time to get back to save Lisbon, therefore I fear that it is absolutely impossible for him to attempt to check the French until they cross the Douro, perhaps not until they cross the Mondego. The levies of the northern province are ordered to assemble at Villa Real, and I believe, from what I gathered on the march, that some thousands of men are there, but I doubt very greatly whether they are in a state to offer any determined resistance to Soult."

"That is a bad look-out," the general said, gloomily; "still, we must hope for the best, as Spain will soon raise fresh armies, and so occupy the attention of the enemy that Soult will have to fall back. I am in communication with General Silveira, who will advance to Chaves; he has four thousand men. He has written to me that the bishop had collected 50,000 peasants at Oporto."

"Where they will probably do more harm than good," Terence said, scornfully. "I would rather have half a regiment of British troops than the whole lot of them. It is not men that are wanted, it is discipline, and 50,000 peasants will be even more unmanageable and useless than 5,000 would be. By the way, General, I have now to inform you that General Cradock has done me the honour of placing me on his personal staff."

"I am glad to hear it," the marquis said, courteously; "it will certainly increase your authority greatly."

Terence, leaving Romana, marched his troops to within a mile of Monterey, choosing a spot where there was a wood which would afford some shelter to the troops, and would give them a supply of firewood. At Monterey he would be able to purchase provisions, and he wished to keep them apart from Romana's men, whose undisciplined habits and general insubordination would counteract his efforts with his own men.

The next ten days were spent in almost incessant drilling, and in practising shooting. Bread and wine were obtained from Monterey, and he purchased a large flock of sheep at a very low price, the peasants, in their fear of the French, being very anxious to turn their flocks and herds into money, which could be hid away securely until the tide of invasion had passed. Laborious and frugal in their habits, these peasants seldom touch meat, and the troops were highly gratified at the rations supplied to them, and worked hard and cheerfully at their drill.

Among so many men there were naturally a few who were inclined to be insubordinate. These were speedily weeded out. The offenders were promptly seized, flogged, and expelled from the force, their places being supplied from among the peasants, many of whom were desirous of enlisting. Terence sent these off, save a few he selected, to Silveira, as his own force was quite as large as could properly be handled. With improved food and incessant drill the men rapidly developed into soldiers. Each carried a rough native blanket rolled up like a scarf over one shoulder. This was indeed the only point of regular equipment. They had no regular uniform, but they were all in their peasant dresses. There was no communication between them and Romana's forces, for the animosity between the two peoples amounted to hatred. The Portuguese would indeed have marched to attack them as willingly as they would have received the order to move against the French.

During this week of waiting, Silveira with 4,000 men arrived at Chaves, and a meeting took place between him and Romana. Both had plans equally wild and impracticable, neither would give way, and as they were well aware that their forces would never act together, they decided to act independently against the French. At the end of eight days the news came that Soult, having made all his preparations, had left Orense on his march southward.

Terence had bought a quantity of rough canvas, and the men, as they sat round the fires after their day's work was over, made haversacks in which they could carry rations for four or five days. As soon as the news was received that Soult was advancing, Terence ordered sufficient bread to supply them for that time, from the bakehouses of Monterey. A hundred rounds of ball-cartridge were served round to each. A light cart containing eight barrels of powder, a bag with 1,000 dollars, and the tent, was the only vehicle taken, and the rest of the ammunition and powder was buried deep in the wood, and the bulk of the money privately hidden in another spot by Terence and Herrara. Twelve horns had been obtained; several of the men were able to blow them, and these, attached one to each company, had learned a few calls. Terence and Herrara took their post at the edge of the wood to watch the two regiments march past.

"I think they will do," Terence said; "they have picked up marvellously since they have been here; and though I should not like to trust them in the plain with Franceschi's cavalry sweeping down upon them, I think that in mountain work they can be trusted to make a stand."

"I think so," Herrara agreed. "They have certainly improved wonderfully. Our peasants are very docile and easily led when they have confidence in their commander, and are not stirred up by agitators, but they are given to sudden fury, as is shown by the frightful disorders at Lisbon and Oporto. However, they certainly have confidence in you, and if they are successful in the first skirmish or two they can be trusted to fight stoutly afterwards."

CHAPTER XV.THE FIRST SKIRMISH

Soult had spent a month in making his preparations for the invasion of Portugal. The time, however, had not been wasted by him. Vigo, Tuy, and Guardia had all been occupied without opposition. Salvatierra on the Minho had been taken possession of, and thus three roads were open to him by which to cross low down on the river, namely, at Guardia, Tuy, and Salvatierra. These roads afforded the shortest and easiest line to Oporto. Romana and Silveira had both been of opinion that he would march south from Orense, through Monterey, and up the valley of the Tamega, and their plans were all made with a view of opposing his advance in that direction. The night before Terence marched he called upon Romana.

"It seems to me probable, Marquis, as it does to you, that the French will advance by this line, but it is possible that they may follow the north bank of the Minho and cross at Salvatierra or Tuy. By that route they would have several rivers to cross but no mountains or defiles. Were they to throw troops across there they would meet with no opposition until they arrived at Oporto. It seems to me that my best plan would be to march west and endeavour to prevent such a passage being made. If I could do so it would prevent your position being turned. There are no bridges marked on my map, and if I could secure the boats we should, at any rate, cause Soult much difficulty and delay. No doubt there are some local levies there, and we should be able to watch a considerable extent of the river; indeed, so far as I can see, they must cross, if they cross at all there, at one of the three towns on the north side, for it is only by the roads running through these that they could carry their artillery and baggage."

"I think that will be an excellent plan," Romana said, "for although I believe that they will come this way, I have been very uneasy at the thought that they might possibly cross lower down, and so turn our position altogether. But you will have to watch not only the three places through which the roads pass, but other parts of the river, for they may throw a few hundred men across in boats at any point, and these falling suddenly upon your parties on the bank, might drive them away and enable the main body to cross without resistance."

"I will keep as sharp a look-out as I can, Marquis." Marching north from Monterey the troops moved through Villa Real and Gingo, and then, turning west, crossed the river Lima, there a small stream, and then following the valley of that river for some distance, turned off and struck the Minho opposite Salvatierra, having covered fifty miles in two days. Here a considerable number of armed peasants and ordenanças were gathered. They were delighted at the arrival of two well-armed regiments; and hearing from Herrara that Terence was a staff-officer of the British general, and was sent by him to direct the defence of the river, they at once placed themselves under his orders.

Terence found, to his satisfaction, that on the approach of the French most of the boats had been removed to the south side of the river and hauled up the bank. His first order was that anyone acquainted with the position of any boats on the other side of the river should at once inform him of it. It was not long before he heard of some twenty or thirty that had been hidden by their owners on the other side, in order that they might have the means of crossing to escape the French exactions. At nightfall several boats were launched, and parties of men, directed by those who had given information, started to cross the river and bring those boats over. The Minho was at this time in flood and was running with great rapidity, and Terence felt confident that in its present state none of the enemy's cavalry would attempt to cross it by swimming.

He decided on placing the largest part of his force opposite Tuy, as the principal road south passed through this town, and he would here be supported by the guns of the fortress of Valenca. He stationed his first battalion here, with orders to line the river for six miles above and below this spot. Half of the second battalion he left under Macwitty, and with the other half determined to march down towards the mouth of the river. The next morning all the boats returned, bringing those for which they had been searching, and after closely questioning the guides he felt assured that there could be so few remaining that the French would hardly attempt to cross the river in the face of the crowd of peasants--whom they could not but see--lining the southern bank.

As soon as the boats had returned he marched with the three companies. When half-way between Valenca and Caminha he met a peasant, who had crossed from the northern bank in a boat that had escaped the search of the French. He reported that some days before some 10,000 of the French had arrived in the neighbourhood of the village Campo Sancos, and that a division had been hard at work since their arrival transporting some large fishing-boats and heavy guns from the harbour of Guardia to Campo Sancos. The guns had been placed in a battery on a height, and the boats launched in a little river that ran into the Minho village. Terence learned that the work was now nearly completed, and the peasant had risked his life in coming across to give information.

Terence at once sent off a mounted man to Valenca to request Herrara to march down with the first battalion and to send on to Macwitty to leave one company to assist the ordenanças to guard the river between Salvatierra and Valenca, and to take post with the other two in front of the latter town. At nightfall he was joined by Herrara.

After explaining the situation to him, Terence said:

"It will not be necessary to watch the river above Campo Sancos, for it would be impossible to row heavy fishing-boats against this stream, so they must land somewhere between that place and the mouth of the river. Thus we have only some eight miles to guard, and as we have eighteen hundred men, besides the peasants, we ought to be able to do that thoroughly. I expect they will endeavour to make the passage to-night, and they will certainly cross, as nearly as they can, opposite the village. The battery is about a mile below it, and is no doubt intended to cover their landing. I shall post myself with two companies of the first battalion there, and extend another company from that point up to Campos Sancos. You, with the other three companies and the three companies of the second battalion, will watch the river below.

"It is unlucky that there is no moon at present. I do not expect, however, that the attack will take place till morning, for, in the first place, the peasant said that although the guns had been got up to the height they had not yet been placed in position, and as we have noticed no movement there all day, nor seen a French soldier anywhere near the river, they will only be beginning work now, and can hardly have finished it until well on in the night. Besides, when the first party who crossed have obtained a footing here, the boats will have to go backwards and forwards. No doubt the cavalry will be among the first to cross, and they would hardly get the horses on board in the dark. It is of vital importance to repel this attack, for if the French got across they would be at Vianna to-morrow evening, and at Oporto three days later. I don't suppose that place will resist for a day; and if, as is probable, Victor moves up from the south, he and Soult may be in front of Lisbon in ten days' time.

"You had better tell your captains this, in order that they may understand how vital it is to prevent the passage. From what I hear from the peasants, the boats will not be able to carry more than three or four hundred men, and wherever they land we ought to be able to crush them before the boats can cross again and bring over reinforcements."

"Well, Bull, I think we are likely to have fighting tonight," Terence said, as Herrara marched off with his men.

"I hope so, sir. I don't think they will be able to cross in our face, and it will do the men a lot of good to win the first fight."

"If Romana's troops were worth anything, Soult would find himself in an awkward position. He has got his whole army jammed up in the corner here, and if he cannot cross there is nothing for him to do but to march along the river to Orense, and then come down by the road through Monterey. There are several streams to cross as he marches up the bank. Romana is sure to have heard of his concentrating somewhere down near the mouth of the river, and I should think that by this time he will have crossed near Orense, and will arrive in time to dispute the passage of these streams. He told me that the Galician peasants have been so enraged by their cattle being carried off for the use of the French army that they will rise in insurrection the instant the French march, and if that is the case, they and Romana ought to be able to give Soult a lot of trouble before he reaches Orense."

"I don't think those fellows with Romana are likely to do much, sir. The French will just sweep them before them."

"I am afraid so, Bull; still, if we can prevent the French from crossing here and compel them to follow the long road through Monterey, we shall have done good service. It would give Portugal another seven or eight days to prepare, and will send the enemy through a country where undisciplined troops ought to be able to make a stand even against soldiers like the French."

All through the night Terence and his major patrolled the bank from the point facing Campo Sancos to a mile below that on which the French were placing their guns. Everything went on quietly, sentries at intervals kept watch, and the men, wrapped in their blankets, lay down in parties of fifty at short intervals.

"The day is beginning to break," Terence said, as he met Bull coming back from the lower end of the line. "I am not afraid now, for if we can but see them coming we can gather two or three hundred men at any point they may be making for. Besides, our shooting would be very wild in the dark."

"That it would, sir; not one shot in fifty would hit the boats, let alone the men; and when the Portuguese saw the boats come on without pause in spite of their fire, they would be likely to lose heart and to get unsteady."

"We may as well stop here, Bull. It will be light enough to see across the river in another quarter of an hour, and if there are no boats coming then, I think it is pretty certain that they will not begin until to- morrow night. The peasant said that they have only got 10,000 troops there as yet, and we know that Soult has more than double that, and he may wait another day for them all to come up."

Ten minutes later one of the sentries close to them shouted out that he could see boats. Terence ran up to him.

"Where are they, my man?"

"Nearly opposite, sir."

Terence gazed fixedly for a moment, and then said: "I see them; they are heading straight across." Then he gave the order to the man who always accompanied him with a horn, to blow the alarm.

At the sound, the troops sprang to their feet, and some hundreds of peasants, who were lying down a short distance behind, ran up. The horn was evidently heard on the other side of the river, for immediately the guns of the battery opposite opened fire, and their shot whizzed overhead. The boats plied their oars vigorously, and the French soldiers cheered; they were but some three hundred yards away when first discovered. The Portuguese were coming rapidly up at the double. Terence shouted that not a shot was to be fired until he gave the order. He was obeyed by his own men, but the peasants at once began a wild fire at the boats. By the time these were within fifty yards of the shore Terence saw with satisfaction that fully a company had come up. The men stood firmly, although the balls from the French battery ploughed up the ground around them.

"Wait until the first boat grounds," Terence shouted again. Another minute and the first fishing-boat touched the shore. Then the horn sounded, and the front line of the Portuguese poured a terrible volley into it. A few of the French soldiers only succeeded in gaining the land, and these were at once shot down. Then the troops opened a rolling fire upon the other boats. The French replied with their musketry, but their fire was feeble. They had expected to have effected a landing with but slight opposition, and the concentrated fire of the troops and the peasantry convinced them that, even should they gain the shore, they would be greatly outnumbered, and would be shot down before they could gather in any regular formation. Many of the rowers, who were Spanish peasants forced into the work, had fallen. Most of their comrades left the oars and threw themselves into the bottom of the boats, and the craft drifted down the stream.

Shouts of triumph rose from the Portuguese, who obeyed the signal to form fours, and marched along parallel with the boats, forming line occasionally and firing heavy volleys. The French soldiers now seized the oars and rowed the craft into the middle of the river, and then slowly and painfully made their way to Campo Sancos, having lost more than half of the three hundred men who had left there. The French battery ceased to fire, and the din of battle was succeeded by a dead silence. Once convinced that the French had abandoned the attempt to land, the Portuguese broke into loud shouts of triumph, which were only checked when Terence ordered them to form up in close order. When they did so he addressed a few words to them, complimenting them upon the steadiness that they had shown, and upon their obeying his order to reserve their fire till the French were close at hand.

"I was convinced that you would behave well," he said, "and in future I shall have no hesitation in meeting a body of French equal in numbers to yourselves."

Messengers were at once despatched to order up all the troops that had been posted below, and in two hours the whole force, with the exception of the three companies, between them and Salvatierra, were assembled.

"The question is, Herrara," Terence said, when he and his colonel had exchanged congratulations on the repulse of the French, "what will Soult do next?

"That is a question upon which everything depends. I don't think he will try again here. He has been eight days in preparing those boats to cross, and now that he knows there is a very strong force here, and that even if he got three or four times as many boats he would scarcely be able to force a passage, my idea is that he will abandon the attack and march at once for Orense. In that case the question is, shall we wait until we have assured ourselves that he has gone, and then follow and harass his rear? or shall we march up the river and then cross to help Romana to bar his passage?"

"I think the latter will be the best plan. You see, we should not be cutting his communication were we to march now, because when he has crossed the river Avia he will have direct communication with Ney, and will of course draw all his supplies from the north, so I think that we had better lose no time in pushing up along the river."

The troops were ordered to light fires and cook their breakfast. While this was going on Terence assembled the peasant bands, and told them that he thought the French would not make another attempt to cross, but that they must remain in a state of watchfulness until they received certain news from the other side that they had marched for Orense.

As soon as breakfast was over and the cooking-pots packed in the cart, the two regiments started on their march. They were in high spirits, and laughed and sang as they tramped along. They had lost but two killed by the French musketry fire, and there were but five so severely wounded as to be unable to take their places in the ranks. These Terence ordered to be taken in a country cart to Pontelima, and he provided them with money for their support there until cured.

The men having been on foot all night, Terence halted them after doing fifteen miles. On the following morning, soon after they had started, they saw a large body of French cavalry following the road by the river. These were La Houssaye's, who had been quartered at Salvatierra, The river here was narrower than it had been below, and halting the troops and forming them in line, two or three volleys were fired across the river. These did some execution, and caused much confusion in the French ranks. The horsemen, however, galloped rapidly up the river, and were soon out of range.

"That settles the question, Herrara. The French are retracing their steps, and bound for Orense. Soult has not let the grass grow under his feet, and the cavalry are evidently sent on to clear out any bands of peasants that may be gathering at the rivers."

La Houssaye, indeed, twice in the course of the day broke up irregular bands, and burned two villages. The infantry and artillery, after passing through Salvatierra, moved by the main road. This, however, was found to be so bad that the artillery were, with ten of the sixteen light guns, and six howitzers, left behind at Tuy, with a great ammunition and baggage train, together with 900 sick. A garrison of 500 men were left in the fort. Orders were given that all stragglers were to be retained at that place.

The march of the French was not unopposed. When they arrived at the river Morenta they found 800 Spaniards had barricaded the bridges and repulsed the advance parties of cavalry. On the 17th, at daybreak, the leading division attacked them fiercely, carried the bridge, and pursued them hotly, until at a short distance from Ribadavia the Spaniards rallied upon some 10,000 irregulars arrayed in order of battle in a strong position covering the town. The rest of the division and a brigade of cavalry came up, and, directed by Soult himself, attacked the Spaniards, drove them through the town and across the Avia with great loss. Twenty priests were found among the slain. The next day three or four thousand other irregulars from the valley of Avia were attacked and scattered, and on the 18th the French cavalry, with three brigades of infantry, entered Orense.

An hour earlier Terence had arrived on the other side of the river, and had at once made preparations for blowing up the bridge. The men had been but a short time at work when numbers of the townsmen streamed across the bridge and reported that a great body of the French were entering the town. Terence had a hasty consultation with Herrara, and both agreed that they could not hope to hold the bridge long against the whole French army, especially as they had learned two hours before from a peasant who had ridden up, that strong bodies of French troops had crossed the river by the ferries at Ribadavia and Barbibante, and that they might shortly be attacked in flank. The powder-barrels were therefore hastily repacked, and the troops marched off towards the hills on their left.

They were but half-way across the plain when a regiment of French cavalry were seen riding in pursuit. The regiments were at once formed into squares within fifty yards of each other, and Terence and Bull in the centre of one square, and Herrara and Macwitty in the other, exhorted the men to stand steady, assuring them there was nothing whatever to be feared from the cavalry if they did so. The French rode up towards the squares, but were met by heavy volleys, and after riding round them drew off, having suffered considerable loss, being greatly surprised at finding that instead of a mob of armed men, such as they had met at Avia, they were encountered by soldiers possessing the steadiness of trained troops.

The regiments resumed their march until far up the hill, where they proceeded to cut down trees and brushwood and to form an encampment, as their leader had decided to stay here and await events until Soult's intentions were clearly shown. There were two courses open to the French general. He might advance to Allaritz and then march along the Lima, be joined by his artillery and train from Tuy, and then move direct upon Oporto, or he might follow the valley of the Tamega to Chaves, whence he would have the choice of routes, and take either that over the Sierra de Cabrera to Braga, or continue his course down the valley until he reached the Douro.

It was not until the 4th of March that the French again moved forward. In the meantime Terence was forced to remain quiet, except that each day he marched his men farther among the hills and drilled them for some hours perseveringly. The affair on the Minho and the repulse of the French cavalry had given them great confidence in themselves and their leader, and had shown them the value of steadiness, and of maintaining order and discipline in the ranks. They therefore devoted themselves even more willingly and zealously than before to their military exercises, and the ten days taken by Soult in preparing for the advance were well spent in accustoming the Portuguese to rapid movements among the mountains, and to attaining a fair knowledge of what would be required of them in mountain warfare. Two companies always remained in the camp, and these had several skirmishes with bodies of French marauders, and small parties of cavalry making across the country to ascertain the position and strength of the Portuguese.

The advance of the French was rapid, and on the 5th the cavalry and a portion of the infantry reached Villa Real, where, on the evening of the same day, two divisions of infantry arrived. That night Terence with his men having on the 4th marched along the hills parallel to the road, made a forced march, crossed the road and took up a position on the spur of the mountains between Montalegre and the river. Even yet it was doubtful which route Soult intended to follow, as the division at Villa Real might be intended only to prevent Romana and Silveira falling upon his flank. As he marched down the valley of the Lima, he had learned from Romana that he and Silveira had decided to fall back to Chaves, and that he agreed with Terence's opinion that he had better remain in the rear of the French, and intercept their communications with Orense.

On the following morning the French advanced in force to Monterey. Romana abandoned the position as they advanced, drew off to Verin, and then retired along the road towards Sanabria. He thus left it open to himself either to follow the road to Chaves, as agreed upon, or to retire into Spain through the mountains. Franceschi's cavalry and a battalion of French infantry overtook between two and three thousand men forming the rear of Romana's column. The latter drew up in a great square. Franceschi attacked the rear face with his infantry, passed with his cavalry round the sides of the square, and placed himself between it and the rest of the retiring column. He had with him four regiments of cavalry, and now hurled a regiment at each side of the square.

The Spaniards were at once seized with dismay, broke their formation, and in a moment the French cavalry were upon them, cutting and trampling them down. Twelve hundred were killed and the rest made prisoners. As soon as Romana heard of the disaster that had befallen his rearguard, he broke his engagement with Silveira and led his force over the mountains into Spain, where the news of his defeat caused the Spanish insurgent bands to disperse rapidly to their homes, where they delivered up their arms; and even the priests, who had been the main promoters of the rising, seeing the failure of all their plans, advised them to maintain a peaceable attitude in future.

Silveira was not more fortunate, for two thousand of his troops with some guns, issuing from the mountains just as Franceschi returned from the annihilation of Romana's rearguard, the French cavalry charged and captured the Portuguese guns, and drove Silveira down the valley.

Soult paused two days at Monterey, the baggage and hospital train, and a great convoy of provisions being brought up from Orense, under the guard of a whole division. This rendered it evident that he intended to cut himself off altogether from Spain, and to subsist entirely upon the country. It was clear then that it was useless to attempt to fall upon his rear, and by a long march through the mountains Terence took his force down to Chaves.

Here he found that Silveira, deserted by Romana and beaten by Franceschi, had fallen back to a mountain immediately behind Chaves. Terence continued his march until he joined him. He found a great tumult going on among his troops; always insubordinate, they were now in a state of mutiny. Many of the officers openly advocated that they should desist from a struggle in which success was altogether hopeless, and should go over and join the French. The troops, however, not only spurned the advice, but fell upon and killed several of those who offered it, and demanded from Silveira that he should lead them down to defend Chaves. This he refused to do, saying that the fortifications were old and useless, the guns worn out, and that were they to shut themselves up there, they would be surrounded and forced to surrender.

This refusal excited the mutineers to the highest pitch, and when Terence arrived they were clamouring for his death. A small party of soldiers who remained faithful to him surrounded him, but they would speedily have been overpowered had it not been for the arrival of Terence's command. As soon as he understood what was happening, he formed his men into a solid body, marched through the excited crowd, and formed up in hollow square round the general. The firm appearance of the force and the fact that they possessed more arms than the whole of Silveira's army, had its effect. The mutineers, however, to the number of 3,500, determined to carry out their intentions, and at once marched away to Chaves. Silveira remained with but a few hundred men, as the 2,000 routed by Franceschi had not rejoined him.

"I owe you my life, señor," he said to Terence, "for those mad fools would certainly have murdered me."

"It is not surprising," Terence said. "A mob of men who are not soldiers cannot be expected to observe discipline, especially when insubordination and anarchy have been absolutely fomented by the authorities, crimes of all sorts perpetrated by their orders, and no efforts whatever made to punish ill-doers."

"Your men seem to be disciplined and obedient," Silveira said.

"They have been taught to be so, General, and I believe that I can rely upon them absolutely. If you had but officers and discipline, I am certain that your soldiers would be excellent; but as it is, with a few exceptions, your officers are worse than useless. They are appointed as a reward for their support of the Junta; they are ignorant of their duties, and many of them favour the French; they regard their soldiers as raised, not for the defense of Portugal, but for the support of the Junta. I have seen enough to know that the peasants are brave, hardy, and ready to fight. But what can they do when they are but half-armed, and no attempt whatever is made to discipline them? Have you heard, since these troubles began, of a single man being shot for insubordination, or of a single officer being punished even for the grossest neglect of orders? It is nothing short of murder to put a mob of half-armed peasants to stand against French troops."

"All that is quite true," Silveira said, heartily. "However, I shall do my best, and shall, I doubt not, soon have another force collected, for now that the French have fairly entered Portugal, and are marching towards the capital, every man will take up arms. And you, señor, what do you mean to do?"

"I shall harass the French as I see an opportunity, but I shall not subject my men to certain disaster by joining any of the new levies. I know what my men can do, and what I can do with them; but if mixed up with thousands of raw peasants they would be swept away by the latter and share in any misfortune that might befall them. What I have seen of your troops to-day, and what I saw of Romana's, is quite enough to show me that to lead peasants into the field is simply to bring misfortune and death upon them. Far better that each leader should collect two or three hundred men and teach them discipline and a little drill instead of taking a mob thousands strong out to battle. Those men that have marched down into Chaves will, you will see, offer no resistance, and will simply be killed or made prisoners to a man. Now, may I ask if you have any stores here, General? We have had great difficulty in buying food up in the mountains, and as it will be useless to you, and certainly cannot be carried off, I should be glad to fill the men's haversacks before we go farther."

"Certainly. I had enough meat and bread for my whole force for a week, and you are welcome to take as much as you require. Which way do you propose marching?"

"I am waiting to see which way the French go after leaving Chaves. Whether they go down the valley or across the mountains to Braga, I shall endeavour to get ahead of them; and as my men are splendid marchers, I have no doubt that I shall succeed in doing so, even if the French have a few hours' start. If I can do nothing else, I can at least make their cavalry keep together instead of riding in small parties all over the country to sweep in food."

Fires were soon lighted, some bullocks killed and cut up, and a hearty meal eaten. They had already made a very long march, and were ordered to lie down until nightfall. Silveira marched away with his men, and Terence and Herrara sat and watched the road, down which bodies of French troops could already be seen advancing from Monterey towards Chaves. As they approached the town, gun after gun was fired. The advance-guard halted and waited until the whole division had come up.

CHAPTER XVI. IN THE PASSES

On the following day the French cavalry, with a division of infantry, took up their position beyond the town, so as to cut off the retreat of the garrison, who were then summoned to surrender. No reply was made, but for the next twenty-four hours the defenders, although in no way attacked, kept up a random fire from the guns on the walls, and with musketry, to which no reply whatever was made by the French.

On the following day, the whole army having now come up, the town was again summoned, and at once surrendered, when Soult, who did not wish to be hampered with a mob of prisoners, contemptuously allowed them to depart to their homes.

After bringing up his sick from Chaves, and discovering that the passes through the mountains were unoccupied, and that the Portuguese army was at Braga, Soult, on the 14th, began to move in that direction, both for the purpose of crushing Friere and getting into communication with Tuy, and being joined by his artillery from there. As soon as this movement was seen from the hill where Terence's regiments had been for three days resting, preparations were made for marching, and with haversacks well filled with bread and meat, the troops started in good spirits. Terence procured the services of a peasant well acquainted with the mountains, and was led by paths used by shepherds across the hills, and after a twelve hours' toilsome journey came down into the defiles that the French were following. There he learned from peasants, that, with the exception of a small scouting party two days before, there were no signs of any hostile force.

The men were at once set to work to destroy a bridge across a torrent at the mouth of a defile. It was built of stone, but was old and in bad repair, and the men had little difficulty in prising the stones of the side walls from their places, and throwing them down into the stream. Another party made a hole over the key of an arch. A barrel of powder was placed here, and a train having been laid, was covered up by a pile of rocks. A third party formed a barricade six feet high, across the end of the bridge, and also two breastworks, each fifty yards away on either side, so as to flank the approaches to the other end and the bridge. The troops were extended along the hillsides, one battalion on each side of the defile, under the shelter of the rocks and brush.

While these preparations were being made, the horses were taken up to the top of the hills by some paths known to the peasants of a little village near the mouth of the defile, the women and children following them. Terence and Herrara had a consultation, and then the former called Bull and Macwitty to him.

"Now," he said, "you understand that while we will defend this defile as long as we can, we will run no risk of a defeat that might end in a rout. We shall inflict heavy loss upon them before they can repair the bridge, and can certainly force their cavalry to remain quiet until they bring up their infantry. Colonel Herrara, you, with one company of the second battalion, will hold the village, and we shall sweep the column advancing along the bottom of the defile with a fire from each flank, while they will also be exposed to your fire in front. When they succeed in making their way up to within charging distance you will evacuate the village and join Macwitty on the hill.

"They must attack us there on both sides, for no troops could march through until the hillsides are cleared. It is probable that they may do this before they attempt to attack the village, but in any case you must keep up a steady fire until they get within fifty yards of you, then retire up the hill, but leave a party to keep them in check until the rest have gained the crest and formed up in good order. By the time you do this they will have driven in your rear-guard. The French will be breathless with their exertions when they reach you. Wait till a considerable number have gained the crest, then, before they have time to form, pour a heavy volley into them and charge, and then sweep them with your fire until they reach the bottom. The next time they will no doubt attack in much greater force; in that case we will move quietly off without waiting for them, and will reunite at the village of Romar, five miles in the rear. If we find, as we near it, that the French are in possession, we will halt, and I will send orders to the second regiment as to what is to be done. If the force is not too great we will attack them at night."

"How will you know where we shall be, sir?" Macwitty said.

"I have arranged with Colonel Herrara that when you halt you shall light two fires a short distance from each other. I will reply by lighting one, and the fires are then to be extinguished."

This being arranged, Terence went down and applied a match to the train, and then retired at a run. Three minutes later there was a heavy explosion, rocks flew high in the air, and when the smoke cleared away, a cheer from the hillside told that the explosion had been successful. Terence returned to the bridge; a considerable portion of the arch had been blown away, and putting fifty men to work, the gap was soon carried across the road and widened, so that there was a chasm twelve feet across. The parties who were to man the breastworks were now posted. Terence himself took the command here. The defenders consisted of a company of Bull's battalion.

Half an hour later a deep sound was heard, and as it grew louder the head of a column of cavalry was seen approaching. The whole of the force on the hillsides were hidden behind rocks or brushwood; not a head was shown above the breastworks. The cavalry, however, halted, and an officer with four men rode forward. When within fifty yards of the bridge a volley of twenty muskets flashed out from the work behind it. The officer and three men fell, the other galloped back to the main body. He had seen nothing beyond the fact that there was a breastwork across the road, and Franceschi, thinking that he had but a small force of peasants in front of him, ordered a squadron to charge, and clear the obstacle.

As before, they were allowed to approach to within fifty yards of the bridge, when from the breastwork in front, and the two side redoubts a storm of musketry was poured into them. The effect was terrible; the head of the squadron was swept away, but a few men charged forward until close to the break in the bridge. Most of these fell, but a few galloped back, and the remains of the squadron then trotted off in good order.

No further movement took place for an hour, and then a body of infantry, some two thousand strong, appeared. As they passed the cavalry, the first two companies were thrown out in skirmishing order, and were soon swarming down towards the stream. The banks of this, although very steep, were not impassable by infantry, and the defenders of the two side redoubts spread themselves out along the bank, and, as the skirmishers approached, opened fire.

For a time the rattle of firearms was incessant. When the main body of French infantry had, as their commander thought, ascertained the strength of the defenders, they advanced in solid order until near the bridge, and then wheeled off on either flank and advanced with loud shouts. A horn was sounded, and from the hillsides near a scattering fire of musketry opened at once. The French, however, pushed forward without a pause. Terence's horn sounded again, the men fell back from the bank, and the whole company ran at full speed across the narrow valley, and took their place with their comrades on the hillside.

The French crossed the stream under a heavy fire, and, dividing into two portions, prepared to assault both hills simultaneously. The combat was obstinate, the French suffered heavily, but pushed their way up unflinchingly. The Portuguese, encouraged by the shouts of their officers, held their ground obstinately, retreating only at the sound of their horns, and renewing the combat a short distance higher up. Being sheltered by the rocks behind which they lay, their loss was but trifling in comparison to that of the French, who were forced to expose themselves as they advanced, and whose numbers dwindled so rapidly that when half-way up they were on both sides brought to a stand-still, and then, taking shelter behind the rocks, they maintained the contest on more equal terms.

But by this time a column of 4,000 men was marching down to the stream, and, dividing like the first, climbed the hills. The Portuguese now fell back more rapidly, their fire slackened, and the French, with loud shouts, pressed up the hill. Presently the resistance ceased altogether, and, firing as they advanced at the flying figures, of whom they caught an occasional glimpse, the French pressed forward as rapidly as the nature of the ground would permit, cheering loudly. At last they reached the top of the hill, and the leaders paused in doubt as they saw before them some eleven or twelve hundred men drawn up in line four deep at a distance of fifty yards. Every moment added to the number of the French, and as they arrived their officers tried to form them into order. When their numbers about equalled those of the Portuguese, two heavy volleys were poured into them, and then, with loud shouts, the Portuguese rushed at them with levelled bayonets.

The charge was irresistible. The French were hurled over the crest and went down the hill, carrying confusion and dismay among those climbing up. The Portuguese pressed them hotly, giving them no time to rally, and forcing them down to the bottom of the hill without a check. Then at the signal they fell back to the post that they had held at the beginning of the fight. The success was equal on both hillsides, and the regiments cheered each other's victory with shouts which rose high above the roar of musketry. With their usual discipline, the French speedily rallied, in spite of the heavy fire that from both sides swept their ranks, and they prepared, when joined by another regiment which was approaching at the double to their assistance, to renew the assault.

Terence saw that, this time, the odds would be too great to withstand. His horn sounded the retreat, and the Portuguese turned to make their way up the hill just as a French battery opened fire. Sheltered among the rocks, the infantry below were unconscious of the movement, for on either side a company had been left to continue their fire until the main body gained the top of the hill, when they too were summoned by the horns to fall back. The wounded had been all taken up the hill, and were laid in blankets and carried off by their comrades. As the two regiments marched away from the crest of the defile the soldiers were in the highest spirits. They had repulsed with heavy loss a French force of three times their own strength, and they greeted Terence and Bull, as they rode together along the column, with enthusiastic cheers.

The wounded, which in the first battalion numbered forty-three, were despatched with a party a hundred strong to a village four miles away among the mountains, and the regiment marched on until it reached the point agreed upon.

Two men were sent forward to reconnoitre the village, and returned with the report that it had already been occupied by a very strong force of French cavalry. Half an hour later two wreaths of smoke rose on the opposite hill. Sticks had been gathered in readiness, and the answering signal was at once made. Two minutes later the smoke ceased to rise on either side. Terence now received the reports of the captains of the six companies, and found that fifteen men had been killed, and that his strength was thus reduced by fifty-eight. The men were now told that they could lie down, the companies keeping together so as to be ready for instant action.

Trifling wounds, of which there were some two or three and twenty, were then attended to and bandaged. Some of these were quite serious enough to have warranted the men falling out, but the delight and pride they felt at their success had been so great that they had refused to be taken off with their disabled comrades. Terence made a round of the troops and addressed a few words to each company, praising their conduct, and thanking them for the readiness and quickness with which they had obeyed his orders.

"You see, my lads," he said, "what can be done by discipline. Had it not been for the steady drill you have had ever since we marched, we could not have hoped to oppose the French, and I should not have ventured to have done so. Now, you see, you have proved that you are as brave as the enemy, and not only have you beaten them with heavy loss, but the effect of this fight will be to render them more cautious in future and slower in their movements, and the news of the blow you have struck will inspirit your countrymen everywhere."

Having nothing else to do until after darkness fell, Terence, after finishing his round, sat down and added an account of the fight to the report he had written up at their last halting-place. This was written in duplicate, one copy being intended for General Cradock, and the other for the Portuguese authorities at Oporto. Outposts had been thrown out towards the village as soon as they halted, and after opening their haversacks, eating a meal, and quenching their thirst at a little rivulet that ran down to the village, the men lay down to sleep, tired with their long night's march and the excitement of the battle.

Terence was no exception to the general rule, for although he had had his horse, yet for the greater part of the distance he had marched on foot, as the ruggedness of the ground traversed had in most places been too great to travel in safety on horseback in the dark. When night fell all were on their feet again, refreshed by a long sleep. Two men were now sent down to reconnoitre the village again. They reported that it was still occupied by the cavalry. The infantry, as they could see by the fires along the road, had bivouacked there, and one regiment at least had passed through the village and had occupied the road ahead.

Terence had already written out his instructions to Herrara in triplicate, and three men were despatched with these. They were warned to be extremely careful, for the men who had first been sent, had reported that the French had posted sentries out on their flanks. One of the messengers was to make a long detour to cross the road half a mile ahead of the French, and then to make his way along on the opposite hillside to the spot where Herrara was posted. The other two were to make their way as best they could through the village. The pieces of paper they carried were rolled up into little balls, and they were ordered that, if noticed and an alarm given, these were at once to be swallowed.

Soon after ten o'clock the regiment formed up. Terence had given detailed orders to the captain of each company. These were instructed to call up their men twenty at a time, and to explain their orders to them, so that every man should know exactly what to do. No sound had been heard in the village, and Terence felt sure that Herrara must have received his orders, and at a quarter past ten he with one company moved slowly down towards the village; Bull, with the main body of the force, marching westward along the hills. Six men had volunteered for the service of silencing the French outposts, and these, leaving their muskets behind, stole forward in advance of the company, which halted at some little distance from the French centre.

In a quarter of an hour they returned. Eight French sentries had been surprised and killed, the Portuguese crawling up to them until near enough to spring upon and stab them without the slightest alarm being given. The company now moved silently forward again until within a hundred yards of the village, when they halted until the church clock struck eleven. Then they rushed down into the village. As they entered it shots were fired, and an outcry rose from the other side, showing that Herrara had managed matters as well as they had. The surprise was complete; the street was full of horses, while the soldiers had taken shelter in the houses. A scene of the wildest confusion ensued. The horses were shot, for it was most important to cripple this most formidable arm of the French service, and the men were attacked as they poured out of the houses.

Bull, with a hundred men, made his way straight to the upper end of the village and repelled the desperate attempts of a squadron of horse that were posted beyond it in readiness for action, to break through to the assistance of their comrades, while Terence and Herrara, each with a hundred men, held the road at the lower end of the village to check an infantry attack there. It was not long before it was delivered. The French infantry, disciplined veterans, accustomed to surprises, had sprung to their feet when the first shot was fired, and forming instantly into column, came on at a run, led by their officers. Terence, with fifty men, four deep, barred the way across the road; the rest of his men were stationed along the high ground flanking it on one side, while Herrara with his hundred flanked the opposite side.

As the French came on the Portuguese on the high ground remained silent and unnoticed, but when a flash of fire ran across the road and a deadly volley was poured in upon the enemy, those on the flanks at once opened fire. For a moment the column paused in surprise, and then opened fire at their unseen assailants, whose fire was causing such gaps in the ranks. The colonel and several other officers who had been at its head had fallen; in the din no orders could be heard, and for some minutes the head of the column wasted away under the rain of bullets. Then a general officer dashed up, and another body of Frenchmen came along at a run. Terence's horn rang out loudly; the signal was repeated in the village, the fire instantly ceased, and when the French column rushed into the place not a foe was to be seen, but the street was choked up by dead horses and men.

These reinforcements did not pause, but making their way over the obstacles pressed on to where a roar of fire in front showed how hotly the advance-guard was engaged. Here the surprise had been rather less complete. Some of the outposts had given the alarm, and the French were on their feet before, after pouring terrible volleys into them, a thousand men fell upon them on either side. Great numbers of the French fell under the fire, and the long line was broken up into sections by the impetuous rush of the Portuguese. Nevertheless, the French soldiers hung together, and the combat raged desperately until the head of the relieving column came up. Then, as suddenly as before, the attack ceased. Not a gun was fired, and, as if by magic, their assailants stole away into the darkness, while the French opened a random fire after them.

An hour later the two Portuguese regiments united on the road two miles in advance of the village. Their loss had been eighty-four killed and a hundred and fifty wounded, of which seventy were serious cases. These were, as before, sent off to be cared for in the mountain villages. The French loss, as Terence afterward heard, had been very heavy; three hundred of the cavalry had been killed, and upwards of four hundred infantry. Great was the enthusiasm when the two regiments met, and after a short halt marched away together into the hills and encamped in a wood two miles from the road.

"What next, Generalissimo?" Herrara, whose left arm had been broken by a bullet, asked.

"I think that we have done enough for the present," Terence said. "We will leave it to the rest of the army to do a little fighting now. We have lost, in killed and wounded, some two hundred men, and I don't wish to see the whole force dwindle away. I propose that we do not go near Braga. I have no idea of putting myself under the command of Friere; I have seen enough of him already. So we will travel by by-roads till we get near Oporto, then we will find out how matters stand there. My own idea is that when the French army approaches, the Junta's courage will ooze out of its finger ends, and that the 50,000 peasants, which it calls an army, will bolt at the first attack of the French. So, as I don't mean to be trapped there, we will rest on our laurels until we see how matters go."

It was well for the corps that Terence abstained from joining the army at Braga. As the French entered the pass of Benda Nova, the peasants rushed furiously down upon them. Many broke into the French columns, and fighting desperately, were slain. The survivors made their way up the hillside, and then making a detour, fell upon the rear of the column, killed fifty stragglers and plundered the baggage. This spontaneous action of the peasants was the only attempt made to bar the advance of the French, and Friere permitted them to pass through defile after defile without firing a shot. His conduct aroused the fury of his troops, and the feeling was fanned by agents of the bishop, who had now become jealous of him, and his men rushing upon him dragged him from a house in which he had taken refuge, and slew him--a fit end to the career of a man who had proved himself as unpatriotic as he was incapable.

On the 18th Soult arrived near Braga, and the Portuguese, who were now commanded by Eben, a German officer in the British service, drew up to meet him. The French began their advance on the 20th, and half an hour later the Portuguese army was a mob of fugitives. The vanquished army lost 4,000 men and all their guns, 400 only being taken prisoners; the rest dispersed in all directions, carrying tales of the invincibility of the French. Had it not been for the stout resistance offered by 3,000 men, placed on a position in the rear commanding the road, which checked the pursuit of the cavalry and enabled the fugitives to make off, scarce a man of the Portuguese would have escaped to tell the tale.

Terence had approached Oporto, and encamped in a large wood, when the fugitives brought him news of the crushing defeat that they had suffered. The soldiers were so furious when they heard of the disgraceful rout, that Terence and Herrara had difficulty in preventing them from killing the fugitives. The result strengthened his position. The troops on arriving at their present camping-place were eager to be led into Oporto. Terence and Herrara had talked the matter over several times, and agreed that such a step might be fatal. Standing, as this town did, on the north side of the river, the only means of leaving it was the bridge of boats, and if anything happened to this all retreat would be cut off.

The defeat at Braga at once confirmed their opinion that the army of peasants that the bishop had gathered round Oporto would be able to make but little resistance to the French attack.

"It would be terrible," Herrara said; "50,000 fugitives, and a great portion of the inhabitants of the town, all struggling to cross the bridge, with the French cavalry pressing on their rear, and the French artillery playing upon them. It is not to be thought of."

The troops, however, had been full of confidence in the valour of their countrymen, and from their own success against the French believed that the army at Braga would certainly defeat Soult, and there had been some dissatisfaction that they had not been permitted to take part in the victory. The news brought by the fugitives at once dissipated the hopes that they had entertained. They saw that their commander had acted wisely in refusing to join the army there, and their feeling of contempt for the undisciplined ordenanças and peasants equalled the confidence they had before reposed in them. Terence ordered the two regiments to form into a hollow square and addressed them.

"Soldiers," he said, "I know that it was a disappointment to you that I did not take you to Braga. Had I done so, not one of you would have escaped, for when the rest fled like a flock of sheep you could not alone have withstood the attack of the whole French army. I know that you wish to enter Oporto. I have withstood that wish, and now you must see that I was right in doing so. The peasants gathered in its defence are even less disciplined than those at Braga, and Soult will, after two or three minutes' fighting, capture the place. Were you there you could not prevent such a result. You might hold the spot at which you were stationed, but if the French broke in at any other point you would be surrounded and killed to a man. What use would that be to Portugal? You can do more good by living and fighting another day.

"Even if you should fall back with the other fugitives, what chance of safety would there be? You know that there is but one bridge of boats across the river, and that will soon be blocked by a panic-stricken crowd, and your chance of crossing would be slight indeed. The men who fought at Braga, those men who will fight before Oporto, are no more cowards than you are, and had they gained as much discipline as you have, I would march down with you at once and join in the defence. But a mob cannot withstand disciplined troops. When the Portuguese have learned to be soldiers, they may fight with a hope of success; until then it is taking them to slaughter to set them in line of battle against the French. Soult may be here in twenty-four hours, therefore I propose to march you down to the river above Oporto. We are sure to find boats there, and we will cross at once to the other side and encamp near the suburb at the south end of the bridge, and when the fugitives pour over we will take our station there, cover their retreat, and prevent the French from crossing in pursuit."

A murmur of satisfaction broke from the soldiers and swelled into a shout. Soon after evening fell the corps marched from the wood, and two hours later came down on the bank of the Douro. As Terence anticipated, there were plenty of fishermen's boats hauled up, and the regiments passed over by companies. By three in the morning all were across, and by five they encamped in a wood beyond the steep hill rising behind the Villa Nova suburb, on the left bank of the river. As soon as he had seen the soldiers settled Terence borrowed the clothes of one of the men, and putting these on instead of his uniform, he sent for Bull and Macwitty, and the two soldiers soon arrived. They looked in astonishment at their officer.

"I am going into the town," he said, "partly to judge for myself of the state of things there, and partly on a little private business of my own. It is possible that I may get into trouble. I hope that I shall not do so, but it is as well to be prepared for any emergency that might happen. If, then, I do not return, you are to look to Colonel Herrara for orders. When the French enter Oporto, which I am certain they will do as soon as they attack it, you may gather your men at this end of the bridge, cover the retreat, and repulse all efforts of the French to cross. As soon as those attempts have ceased, you will march with the two regiments for Coimbra, and report yourselves to the officer commanding there. Here are my despatches to the general, in which I have done full justice to your bravery and your conduct. Here is also a note to the officer commanding at Coimbra. I have spoken to him about your conduct, and have asked him to allow you to continue with the Portuguese until an order is received from Sir John Cradock. I have given Colonel Herrara a duplicate of my despatches and official orders, in case you should be killed."

"Cannot we go with you, sir?" Bull asked.

"I don't think so, Bull. Dress as you might, you could hardly be taken for anything but an Englishman. Your walk and your complexion, to say nothing of your hair, would betray you both at once. The first person who happened to address you would discover that you were not natives, and the chances are he would denounce you, and that you would be torn to pieces before you could offer any explanation. Now, I think that I can pass readily enough. The wind and rough weather have brought me to nearly the right colour, and I know how to speak Portuguese well enough to ask any question without exciting suspicion."

"But why not take two of the men with you?" Macwitty said. "They could do any talking that was necessary; and should anyone suggest that you are not a native, they could declare that you were a comrade from their own village."

Bull strongly approved of the suggestion, and Terence, though in some respects he would rather have been alone, at last agreed to it.

"They may as well take their arms; not for use, but to give them the appearance of two men from the camp who had come down to make purchases in the city."

Daylight was just breaking as the three crossed the bridge of boats into the town, and passed through it up the hill to the great camp that had been established there. It covered a large extent of ground, and contained tents sufficient for the whole of the 50,000 men assembled. A short distance away was the line of intrenchments on which the peasants had been for some weeks engaged. They consisted of forts crowning a succession of rounded hills, and connected by earthen ramparts, loopholed houses, ditches, and an abattis of felled trees. No less than two hundred guns were in place on the forts. It was a position that two thousand good troops should have been able to hold against an army.

"It is a strong position," Terence said to the two men with him.

"Yes, the French can never pass that," one of them said, exultingly.

"That we shall see. They ought not to, certainly, but whether they will or not is another matter."

They wandered about for a couple of hours. Once one of the Portuguese joined a group of peasants, and learned from them something of the state of things in the town, representing that they had but just arrived.

"You are lucky. You will see how we shall destroy the French army. Our guns will sweep them away. Every man in the town is full of confidence, and the traitors are all trembling in their houses. When the news of the business at Braga came yesterday, and we learned the treachery of our generals, the people rose, dragged fifteen suspected men of rank from the prison and killed them. There is not a day that some of these traitors are not rooted out."

"That is well," the other said; "it is traitors that have brought us to this pass."

"You will see how we shall fight when the French come. The bishop himself has promised to come out in his robes to give us his blessing, and to call down the wrath of heaven on the French infidels."

After having finished his survey of the line, Terence returned to the city, and following the instructions that he had received as to the situation of the convent at Santa Maria, he was not long in finding it. It was a massive building; the windows of the two lower stories were closely barred. He could not see any way of opening communications with his cousin, or of devising any way of escape. He, however, thought that it might possibly be managed if he could send in a rope to her and a pulley, with means of fixing it; in that way he could lower her to the ground. But all this would be very difficult to manage, even if he had ample time at his disposal, and in the present circumstances it was altogether impossible. He stared at the house for a long time in silence, but no idea came to him, and it was with a feeling of hopelessness that he recrossed the bridge and rejoined the troops.

"I am glad to see you back, sir," Bull said, heartily. "I have been in a funk all this morning that something might happen to you."

"It has all gone off quietly. I will now tell you and Macwitty what my business here is. I may need your help, and it is a matter in which none of the Portuguese would dare to offer me any assistance."

"I think they would do maist anything for you, sir," Mac-witty said. "They have that confidence in you, they would go through fire and water if you were to lead them."

"They would do almost anything but what I want done now. I have a cousin, a young lady, who is an heiress to a large fortune. Her father is dead, and her mother, a wealthy land-owner, has had her shut up in a convent, where they are trying to force her, against her will, to become a nun. She is kept a prisoner, on bread and water, until she consents to sign a paper surrendering all her rights. Now, what I want to do is to get her out. It cannot be done by force; that is out of the question. It is a strong building, and even if the men would consent to attack a convent, which they would not do, all the town would be up, and we should have the whole populace on us. So that force is out of the question. Now, the French are sure to take the place. When they do, there will be an awful scene. They will be furious at the resistance they have met with, and at the losses that they have suffered. They will be maddened, and reasonably, by the frightful tortures inflicted upon prisoners who have fallen into the hands of the Portuguese, and you may be sure that for some time no quarter will be given. The soldiers will be let loose upon the city, and there will be no more respect for a convent than a dwelling-house. You may imagine how frightfully anxious I am. If it had not been for the French I would have let the matter stand until our army entered Oporto, but as it is, I must try and do something; and, as far as I can see, the only chance will be in the frightful confusion that will take place when the French enter the town."

"We will stand by you, Mr. O'Connor, you may be sure. You have only got to tell us what to do, and you may trust us to do it."

Macwitty, who was a man of few words, nodded. "Mr. O'Connor knows that," he said.

"Thank you both," Terence said, heartily. "I must think out my plan, and when I have decided upon it I will let you know."

CHAPTER XVII. AN ESCAPE

During his visit to the other side of the river Terence had seen, with great satisfaction, that a powerful battery, mounting fifty guns, had been erected on the heights of Villa Nova, and its fire, he thought, should effectually bar any attempt of the French to cross the bridge.

It would indeed be madness for them to attempt such an operation, as the boats supporting the bridge could be instantly sunk by the concentrated fire of the battery. He said nothing of this on his return to camp, as it might have given rise to fresh agitation among the men, were they to be aware that their presence was not really required for the defence of the bridge. After a short stay in camp he again went down into the town, with the idea that he was more likely to hit upon some plan of action there than he would be in the camp.

The two men again went with him. Another prolonged stare at the convent failed to inspire him with any scheme that was in the slightest degree practicable. He fell back upon the conclusion he had mentioned to the two troopers, that the only chance would be to take advantage of the wild confusion that would prevail upon the entry of the French. The difficulty that presented itself to him was, that the nuns would be so appalled by the approach of the French that it would be unlikely that they would think of leaving the protection--such as it was--of the convent, and would shrink from encountering the wild turmoil in the streets. Even if they did so, it would be too late for them to have any chance of getting across the bridge, which would be thronged to a point of suffocation by the mob of fugitives, and might readily be destroyed by one or two of the boats being sunk by the French artillery.

The one thing evident was, that he must arrange to get a boat and to station it at the end of some street going down to the river from the neighbourhood of the convent. That part of the city being some distance from the bridge, the streets would soon be deserted, and there would not be a wild rush of fugitives to the boat, which would be the case were it to be lying alongside anywhere near the bridge. Upon the other hand, it would be less likely that the nuns would leave the convent if all was comparatively quiet in that neighbourhood, and did they do so it would be difficult in the extreme to carry off his cousin from their midst, ignorant, too, as he was of her appearance. After looking for some time at the convent, he returned to the more busy part of the town. Presently he heard a great shouting; every window opened, and he saw a crowd coming along the street. By the candles, banners, crucifixes, and canopies it was evident that it was a religious procession. He was about to turn off into a side street when the thought struck him that possibly it was the bishop himself on his way up to the camp; therefore he remained in his place, doffed his hat, and, like all around him, went down on one knee.

The procession was a long and stately one, and in the midst, walking beneath a canopy, came the bishop himself. Terence gazed at him fixedly in order to impress on his mind the features of the man whose ambition had cost Portugal so dearly, and at whose instigation so much blood of the most honest and capable men of the province had been shed. The face fully justified the idea that he had formed of the man. The bishop was of commanding presence, and walked with the air of one who was accustomed to see all bow before him; but on the other hand, the face bore traces of his violent character. There was a set smile on his lips, but his brow was heavy and frowning, while his receding chin contradicted the strength of the upper part of his face. There was, too, a look of anxiety and restlessness betrayed by a nervous twitching of the lips.

"The scoundrel is a coward," Terence said to himself. "He may profess absolute confidence, but I don't think he feels it, and I will bet odds that he won't be in the front when the time for fighting comes."

Terence walked away after the procession had passed.

"If one could get hold of the bishop," he said to himself, "one might get an order on the superior of the convent to hand over Mary O'Connor to the bearer, but I don't see how that can possibly be managed. Of course, he is surrounded by priests and officials all day, and his palace will be guarded by any number of soldiers, for he must have many enemies. There must be scores of relatives of men who have been killed by his orders, who would assassinate him, bishop though he is, had they the chance. And even if I got an order--and it seems to me impossible to do so--it would not be made out in the name of Mary O'Connor. I know that they change their names when they go into nunneries, and she may be Sister Angela or Cecilia, or anything else, and I should not know in the slightest degree whether the name he put down was the one that she really goes by. No, that idea is out of the question."

Returning to the camp, he held counsel with Herrara. The latter, he knew, had none of the bigotry so general among his countrymen. He had before told him about his cousin being shut up against her will, and of the letter that she had thrown out, but had hitherto said nothing of his intention to bring about her escape if possible.

"I had an idea that that was what was in your mind when you went off so early this morning, O'Connor. I have a high respect for the Church, but I have no respect for its abuses. And the shutting up of a young lady, and forcing her to take the veil in order to rob her of her property, is as hateful to me as it can be to you, so that I should have no hesitation in aiding you in your endeavour to bring about her escape. Have you formed any plan?"

"No; I have thought it over again and again, but cannot think of any scheme."

"If that is the case, O'Connor, I fear that it is useless for me to try to do so; you are so full of ideas always, that if you cannot see your way out of the difficulty, it is hopeless to expect that I could do so. If you can contrive any plan I will promise to aid you in any way you can point out, but as to inventing one, I should never do so if I racked my brain ever so much."

"There must be some way," Terence said. "I used to get into all sorts of scrapes when I was a boy, but found there was always some way out of them, if one could but hit upon it. The only thing that I can think of, is to carry her off in the confusion when the French enter the town."

"I should say that the nuns would never think of leaving their convent, O'Connor; it is their best hope of safety to remain there."

"No doubt it is, but the French don't always respect the convents--very much the contrary, indeed. No, I don't think that they would go out merely to rush into the street; but they might go out if they thought they could get over the bridge before the French arrived."

"They might do that, certainly; indeed, it would be the best thing they could do."

"Do you think that if one were to dress up as a priest, or as one of the bishop's attendants, and to go as from him with an order to the lady superior to take the nuns at once across the bridge to the convent on the other side, she would obey it?"

"Not without some written order," Herrara said. "The bishop would naturally send someone who would be known to her, or if he did send a stranger he would give him a letter or some token she would recognize; otherwise, she could not know that it was his order."

"That is what I was afraid of, Herrara, but it is what I shall try, if I can see no other way. Indeed, I see only one chance of getting over the difficulty. The bishop is a tyrant of the worst kind. Now, as far as I can remember, tyrants of his sort--that is to say, tyrants who rule by working on the passions of the mob--are always cowards. I watched the bishop closely when I saw him to-day, and I am convinced he is one also. Even in that kneeling crowd he could not conceal it. There was a nervous twitching about his lips which, to my mind, showed that he was in a state of intense anxiety, and that under all his swagger and show of confidence he was, nevertheless, in a horrible state of alarm. That being so, it seems to me extremely likely that when the fighting begins he will make a bolt of it. He won't wait for the French to enter, for he would know well enough that in their fury at their defeat, the fugitives, if they came upon him, would be likely to tear him limb from limb, just as they have murdered dozens of infinitely better men; so I think that he will make off beforehand. I imagine that he will go secretly, and with only two or three attendants."

"But you could never carry him off without an alarm being raised, if that is what you are thinking of, O' Connor."

"No, I am not thinking of that; but if I could, say with Bull and Macwitty, suddenly attack him like three robbers, we might carry off something that would serve as a sort of passport to the lady abbess. For instance, he had a tremendously big ring on. I noticed it as he held up his hands, as if on purpose to show it off."

"That was his episcopal ring," Herrara laughed. "Yes, if you could get hold of that, it would be a key that would open the door of any convent."

"Do you think she would hand my cousin over to me if I showed it to her and gave her a message as from the bishop?"

"Yes, if you knew the name. You see, from the day she was made a nun she lost her former name altogether; and certainly the bishop would send for her under her convent name."

"That is what I was thinking myself. Then I must get them all out."

"You have got to get the ring first," Herrara said with a smile.

"Yes, yes, I mean if I get it."

"But if the French have entered the town you can never get them across the bridge."

"No, I know that. I mean to get a boat and have it lying off the end of some quiet street. I could put a couple of our men into that, for they would only regard it, when I had got her on board, as an effort on my part to save one of the nuns from the French. One thing to do would be to get the robe of a priest, or the dress of one of the bishop's officials."

Herrara thought for some time. "I think that I could do that for you, O'Connor. Of course I have a good many acquaintances in Oporto, among them some ladies. I was intending to go across this evening and see some of them, and implore them to leave the town before it is too late. One of these friends of mine might buy some robes for me; a woman can do that sort of thing when a man cannot. She can pretend that she wants to buy the robe as a present for the parish priest, or her father confessor, or something of that sort. At any rate, it is worth trying."

"It is, indeed, Herrara, and if you could manage it I should be greatly obliged to you."

"I will go across at once. I expect Soult will be close up to-morrow morning, or at any rate the next day. It may be another couple of days before he gets his whole force concentrated, but in four days anyhow his shot will be rattling down into the town. I will go and see what I can do. You had better get one of my troopers to get the boat for you."

Herrara did not return until early on the following morning.

"I have managed it," he said, as Terence, who was getting very anxious about him, ran forward to meet him.

"There is one family in Oporto whose eldest son is a brother officer of mine, and I have visited them here with him, and have met them several times at Lisbon. Indeed, I may tell you frankly that had it not been for the troubles, his sister would, ere this time, have been affianced to me. I had hoped that they had left the town before this, but they told me that any movement of that sort might bring disaster on them. Two of her brothers are in the army, and the bishop could not, therefore, pretend that the father was a traitor to the country; being an elderly man, the latter has in fact held aloof altogether from politics; but he is certainly not of the bishop's party, and the bishop considers that all who are not with him are against him. Had they attempted to leave the town there is no doubt he would have made it a pretext for arresting the father, and would certainly do so on the first opportunity. However, they quite believed that the great force that there is here would be sufficient to defend the fortifications, and were completely taken aback when I told them that I was absolutely convinced that the place would fall at the first attack of the French.

"They agreed to make all preparations for leaving at once. Their horses have been seized, nominally that they should be used on the fortifications, but really, I have no doubt, to prevent their leaving. Of course I told them all about what we had been doing, in which they were intensely interested. For aught they know, their house may be watched; so they will come out in some of their servants' clothes. I told them that they must leave on the night before Soult made his attack. Of course he will summon the town, and the bishop will, of course, refuse to surrender, and you may be sure the French will attack on the following day. They left me alone with Lorenza for a time, and I took that opportunity of telling her about your plan, and what you wanted, and she promised to procure you the dress of an ecclesiastic to-morrow. I told her that you were about my size and height.

"She knew your cousin personally, and was very fond of her, and therefore entered all the more readily into our plans to get her out. She said that she disappeared suddenly some months ago, and that her mother had given out that she had been suddenly seized with the determination to enter a convent, much against her own wishes. Lorenza felt sure that this was not true, for she knew that your cousin had heard from her father much about the Reformed religion, and was in her heart disposed that way. The mother is engaged to be married to a nobleman who is one of the bishop's warmest supporters, and the general idea was that Mary O'Connor had been forced into a nunnery against her will. I sat talking with them until late last night, and they would not hear of my leaving, especially as they said that the town was full of bands of ruffians, who traversed the streets, attacking and robbing anyone of respectable appearance. As I had rather a fancy to try what a comfortable bed was like again, I did not need much pressing."

"Thank you greatly, Herrara, I am indeed obliged to you; things seem to look really hopeful. I have arranged with Bull and Macwitty that on the evening before the attack is likely to take place we will watch all night at this end of the bridge. The bishop won't leave until the last thing, but I would wager any money he will do so that night. He won't go farther than Villa Nova, so as to be ready to cross again at once if the news comes that the French have been beaten off. No doubt he will make the excuse that as an ecclesiastic he could take no active part in the defence, but had been engaged in prayer, which had done more towards gaining the victory than his presence could possibly have done."

"I should not be surprised if that should be his course," Herrara said, smiling. "At any rate, for your sake I hope that it will be. Have you seen about a boat?"

"Yes, I spoke to Francesco Nortis yesterday evening, and told him that I wanted to hire a boat with two boatmen for the next week. They were to be at his service night and day. He was to tell them that he would not want it for fishing, but that, in case, by any possibility, the French took the town, he should be able to go across and bring some friends over. When I told him that money was no object, he said that there would be no difficulty about it. They will be glad enough to get a good week's pay and next to nothing to do for it."

Two days passed quietly. On the first day the news arrived that Silveira had invested Chaves on the day of the battle of Braga, and had forced the garrison, which consisted of but a hundred fighting men, with twelve hundred sick, to capitulate.

Day after day news came of the advance of the French. They had moved in three columns. Each had met with a stout resistance, but had carried the passes and bridges after severe loss. One of the columns had been held for some time in check at the Ponte D'Ave, but had carried it at last, whereupon the Portuguese had murdered their general and dispersed.

On the 26th, six days after the battle of Braga, Franceschi's cavalry were seen approaching the position in front of Oporto. The alarm bells rung, the troops hurried to their positions, but the day passed off quietly, the confidence of the people being still further raised by the arrival of 2,000 regular troops sent by Beresford to their assistance. As there were already seven or eight thousand regular troops in the camp, it seemed to all that as Soult had but 20,000 men fit for action, the defences ought to be held against him for any length of time. The majority, indeed, believed that he would not even venture to attack the town when upon his arrival he perceived its strength, especially when they knew that he had but a few guns with him, his park of artillery being still at Tuy, which was closely invested by the Spaniards.

On the following day the whole French army settled down in front of the Portuguese works, and a wild and purposeless fire was now opened by the defenders, although the French were far beyond musket-range.

Soult sent in a message to the bishop urging him to surrender. He assured him that resistance was hopeless, and that it was his earnest desire to save so great a city from the horrors of a storm. The message was sent by a prisoner, who was seized by the mob in spite of the flag of truce that he carried, and would have been murdered had he not assured the people that he came with a message from Soult, to the effect that, seeing the hopelessness of attacking the town or of marching back to the frontier in safety, he wished to negotiate for a surrender for himself and his army.

At one point the Portuguese displayed a white flag, and shouted that they wished to surrender. A French general advanced with another officer, but when they reached the lines the Portuguese fell upon him, killed his companion, and carried the general a prisoner into the town. The negotiations were prolonged until evening, but the bishop declined all Soult's overtures, and the fire from the intrenchments continued. In the course of the evening Merle's division, in order to divert attention from the points Soult had fixed upon for the attack, moved towards the Portuguese left, when a tremendous fire of artillery and musketry opened upon it. The division made its way forward, and occupied some hollow ground which shielded it from fire, within a very short distance of the intrenchments. Feeling that the crisis was at hand, Terence had everything prepared. The boatmen were told that they might be required that night, and that they were to have the boat in readiness to start at any moment. Herrara had warned his friends, and went to their house with six of his men, as soon as it became dusk, to escort them over. Terence with his two troopers, clad in the dresses of two of the tallest of the men and wrapped in cloaks, with their broad hats pressed low down upon their foreheads, went down to the end of the bridge as soon as it became quite dark. The river was three hundred yards broad, but the sound of the confusion and alarm that prevailed in the city could be plainly heard, although the evening had set in rough and tempestuous. The shouts of the excited mob mingled with the clanging of the church bells.

"That does not sound like confidence in victory," Terence remarked.

"Quite the other way, sir. I should say that after all their bragging every man in the place is in a blue funk."

A great many people, especially women with children, were making their way across the bridge. About nine o'clock a little knot of five or six men, following a tall figure, passed them.

"That is the bishop," Terence whispered, and in pursuance of the orders that he had previously given them, the two men followed him as he fell in at a short distance behind the group. These turned off from the main road and took one that led up to the Serra Convent, standing on the crest of a rugged hill. As soon as they had passed beyond the houses at the foot of the hill, and the road was altogether deserted, Terence said to the men:

"Now is our time. Do you take the attendants; I will manage the bishop."

They moved forward quickly and silently until they were close to the group, then they dashed forward. As the startled attendants turned round the troopers fell upon them, and with heavy blows from their fists knocked them to the ground like nine-pins. The bishop turned round and shouted:

"Villains, I am the bishop!"

"I know that!" Terence exclaimed, and sprang at him.

The prelate reeled and fell. Terence threw himself upon him, and seizing his hand wrested from it the episcopal ring. Then, upon seeing that the bishop had fainted, probably from fright, Terence leapt to his feet. The five attendants were lying on the ground.

"All right, lads," he said, "we have got what we wanted, but just strip off one of these fellows' clothes. Take this one, he is a priest."

It took but a minute for the two troopers to strip off the garment and pick up the three-cornered hat.

"Now, come along, men."

They reached the houses again without hearing so much as a cry from the astounded Portuguese, who as yet had but a vague idea of what had happened to them. The capture of the clothes had been rendered necessary by Herrara's report, two days before, that the young lady had failed to get the clothes, for the shopman had asked so many questions concerning them that she had said carelessly that it made no matter. She had intended to give them as a present and a surprise, but as there seemed a difficulty about it she would give money instead, and let the priest choose his own clothes. She had purposely entered a shop in the opposite end of the town from that in which her father lived, so that there would be less chance of her being recognized.

Herrara said that she would try elsewhere, but Terence at once begged him to tell her not to do so.

"The bishop is sure to have some of his priests with him," he said, "and if I rob him of his ring, I might just as well rob one of them of his clothes."

On returning to the camp Terence found that his comrade had already arrived with a gentleman and three ladies. The tent had been given up for the use of the latter. Herrara had warned him not to say a word to the old gentleman of his adventure.

"He and the others know nothing about it," he said, "and it is just as well that they shouldn't, for he is somewhat rigid in his notions, and might be rather horrified at your assaulting a bishop, however great a scoundrel he might be, and would be specially so at the borrowing of his ring."

At twelve o'clock heavy peals of thunder were heard, followed by a tremendous outbreak of firing from the intrenchments, two hundred guns and a terrific musketry fire opening suddenly.

"The French are attacking!" Herrara exclaimed.

"I don't think so," Terence replied. "It is more likely to be a false alarm. The troops may have thought that the thunder was the roar of French guns. Soult would hardly make an attack at night, or, not knowing the nature of the ground behind the intrenchments, his men would be falling into confusion, and perhaps fire into each other."

As, after a quarter of an hour of prodigious din, the fire slackened and presently ceased altogether, it was evident that this supposition was a correct one. The morning broke bright and still, and an hour later the cannonade began again. Terence at once, after telling Herrara to form the troops up and march them down to the end of the bridge, left the camp, and after proceeding a short distance took off his uniform and donned the attire of the ecclesiastic, and then hurried down into the town. He was accompanied by the two troopers in their peasant dress. These left him at the bridge. The din was now tremendous, every church bell was ringing furiously, and frightened women were already crowding down towards the bridge.

Their point of crossing had already been decided upon--it was at the end of a street close to the convent, and when Terence reached the convent the two men were already standing at the end of the street, awaiting him.

"Now, you do your part of the business and I will do mine," Terence said, and he moved forward to the door of the convent, where he would be unseen should anyone look out.

The two troopers went to the middle of the street, opposite the window which the officer had described to Terence, and both shouted in a stentorian voice:

"Mary O'Connor!"

The shout was heard above the tumult of the battle and the din in the city, and a head appeared at the window and looked down with a bewildered expression.

"Mary O'Connor," Bull shouted again, "a friend is here to rescue you. You will leave the convent directly with the rest. Look out for us."

Then they walked on, and passed Terence.

"Have you seen her face?"

"We have, sir. We shall know her again, never fear."

Terence now seized the bell and rung it vigorously. The door opened, and a terrified face appeared at the window.

"I have a message from the bishop to the lady superior."

The door was opened, and was at once closed and barred behind him. He was led along some passages to the room where the lady superior, pale and agitated, was awaiting him.

"Have the French entered the intrenchments?" she asked.

"I trust they have not entered yet, but they may do so at any moment. The bishop is at the Serra Convent, and from there has a view over the town to the intrenchments. He begs you to instantly bring the nuns across, for they will be in safety there, whereas no one can say what may happen in the town. Here is his episcopal ring in proof that I am the bearer of his orders I pray you to hasten, sister, for a crowd of fugitives are already pouring over the bridge, and there is not a moment to be lost."

"The nuns are just coming down to prayer in the chapel, and we will start instantly."

In two minutes upward of a hundred frightened women were gathered in the courtyard.

"Are all here?" Terence asked the lady superior.

"All of them."

"I asked because I know that he is specially anxious that one, who is a sort of prisoner, should not fall into the hands of the French, as that might cause serious trouble."

"I know whom you mean," and she called out "Sister Theresa!" There was no answer.

"It is well you asked," she said. "They have forgotten her." She gave orders to one of the sisters, who at once entered the house, and returned in a minute with a young nun. The door was now opened, and they moved out in procession. Terence could hear regular volleys amidst the roar of guns and the incessant crack of muskets.

"I fear that they have entered the intrenchments," he said. "Hasten, sister, or we shall be too late."

With hurried steps they passed along the deserted streets. As they neared the bridge a crowd of fugitives were hastening in that direction, and when they approached its head they found it blocked by a struggling mass.

"What is to be done?" the lady superior asked in consternation.

"We must wait a minute or two; they may clear off."

But every second the crowd increased, and was soon thick behind them. Already the line of nuns was broken up by the pressure. Terence had kept his eyes on the two tall figures who had followed, at first behind them, and had then quickened their footsteps until abreast of the centre of the line, and to his satisfaction saw that they had one of the nuns between them, and were forcing their way with her through the crowd behind. At this moment a terrible cry arose from the crowd. A troop of Portuguese dragoons rode furiously down the street leading to the bridge, and dashed into the crowd, trampling down all in their way in their reckless terror, until they gained the end of the bridge. As they rode on to it, two of the boats, already low in the water from the weight upon them, gave a surge and sank, carrying with them hundreds of people. The crowd recoiled with a cry of horror.

"There is no escape now, sister," Terence said; "go back to the convent."

"Home, sisters!" she cried in a loud, shrill voice, that made itself heard even over the screams of the drowning people and the wails and cries of the mob.

Terence placed himself before the lady superior, and by main force made a way through the crowd; which was the more easy as, seeing their only escape cut off, numbers were now beginning to disperse to their homes. The movement was converted into a wild rush when a troop of French cavalry came thundering down to the bridge. In a moment all was mad confusion and fright. The nuns followed their superior, and all thought of decorum being now lost, fled with her like a flock of frightened sheep along the street leading to the convent. Terence paused a moment. He saw that the French troopers threw themselves from their horses, and, all animosity being for the moment forgotten in the horror of the scene, set to work to endeavour to save the drowning wretches, regardless of the fire which, as soon as the French appeared, was opened by the battery on the height of Villa Nova.

Then he sped away after the nuns, whom he soon passed. He turned down the street next to the convent, and, on reaching the end, saw the two troopers with a nun in a boat ten yards away. Macwitty was standing covering the two boatmen with his pistols.

"Row back to the shore again," he roared out in English, "and take off that gentleman there." The men did not understand his words, but they understood his gestures, and a stroke or two took them alongside. Terence leapt in and told the men to row across the river.

"This is an unexpected meeting, cousin," he said to the girl.

"They have been telling me who you are, and how you have effected my rescue," she said, bursting into tears. "How can I thank you?"

"Well, this is hardly a time for thanks," he said, "and I am as glad as you are that it has all turned out well. I will tell you all about it as soon as we are across."

They were nearly over when he exclaimed to the troopers:

"The French have repaired the bridge with planks. See, they are crossing!"

They sprang out on reaching the opposite shore. A moment later a rattle of musketry broke out.

"Macwitty," he said, "I will give this young lady into your charge. Take her straight up to the camp. There are three ladies there," he said to his cousin, "and in the tent they have some clothes for you to change into. It will not be long before I shall rejoin you. But I must join my regiment now; they are engaged with the enemy."

As he hurried along with Bull, he could hear above the sound of the musketry the sharp crack of the field-guns from the opposite side of the river.

"They are covering the passage, Bull."

As he came up he found that Herrara had taken possession of the houses near the end of the bridge. A part of his troops filled the windows, while the main body lined the quay. The French were recoiling, but a mass of their troops could be seen at the further end of the bridge, and two field batteries were keeping up an incessant fire. Herrara was posted with a company at the end of the bridge.

"We had better fall back, Herrara, before they form a fresh column of attack. We might repulse them again, but they will be able to cross by boats elsewhere, and we shall be taken in front and rear. Let us draw off in good order. The infantry will be sure to march straight against the battery on the hill behind, and it will be half an hour before the cavalry can cross, and by that time we shall be well on our way; whereas, if we stop here until we are taken in flank and rear, we shall be cut to pieces."

"I quite agree with you," Herrara said, and ordered the man with the horn standing beside him to sound the retreat.

The men near at once formed up and got in motion, those in the houses poured out, and in two minutes the whole force were going up the hill at a trot, but still preserving their order. Five minutes later the head of the French column poured over the bridge. Just as the troops reached the place of encampment the fire of the battery ceased suddenly.

CHAPTER XVIII. MARY O'CONNOR

Never was a large force of men driven from a very strong position, carefully prepared and defended by a vast number of guns, so quickly and easily as were the Portuguese before Oporto. The bishop, after rejecting Soult's summons and disregarding his prayers to save the city from ruin, suddenly lost heart, and after all his boasting, slipped away after dark to the Serra Convent, leaving the command to the generals of the army. The feint which Soult had made with Merle's division the night before against the Portuguese left succeeded perfectly, the Portuguese massing their forces on that side to resist the expected attack.

Soult's real intentions, however, were to break through the centre of the line and then to drive the Portuguese right and left away from the town, while he pushed a body of troops straight through the city to seize the bridge and thus cut off all retreat. Accordingly he commenced the attack on both wings. The Portuguese weakened their centre to meet these, and then the central division of the French rushed forward, burst through the intrenchments, and carried at once the two principal forts. Then two battalions marched into the town and made for the bridge, while the rest fell on the Portuguese rear. The French right carried in succession a number of forts, took fifty pieces of artillery, and drove off a great mass of the Portuguese from the town, while Merle met with equal success on the other flank. Half the Portuguese, therefore, were driven up the valley of the Douro, and the other half down towards the sea.

Maddened by terror, some of them strove to swim across, others to get over in small boats. Lima, their general, shouted to them that the river was too wide to swim, and that those who took to boats would be shot down by the pursuing French. Whereupon his own troops turned upon him and murdered him, although the French were but a couple of hundred yards away; they then renewed their attempt to cross, and many perished. Similar scenes took place in the valley above the town, but here the French cavalry interposed between the panic-stricken fugitives and the river, and so prevented them throwing away their lives in the hopeless attempt to swim across. In the meantime incessant firing was going on in the city. The French column arriving at the bridge, after doing their best to rescue the drowning people, sacrificed to the heartless cowardice of the Portuguese cavalry, speedily repaired the break caused by the sinking boats and prepared to cross the river, while others scattered through the town.

The inhabitants fired upon them from the roofs and windows, and two hundred men defended the bishop's palace to the last. Every house was the scene of conflict. The French on entering one of the principal squares found a number of their comrades, who had been taken prisoners and sent to the town, still alive but horribly mutilated, some of them having been blinded, others having legs cut off, and all mutilated in various ways. This terrible sight naturally goaded them to such a state of fury that Soult in vain endeavoured to stop the work of slaughter and pillage. This continued for several hours, and altogether the number of Portuguese who perished by drowning and slaughter in the streets was estimated at ten thousand, of which the number killed in the defence of the works formed but an insignificant portion.

Terence on his arrival at the camp in the wood resumed his uniform. Herrara had, on the previous day, purchased a light waggon and two horses for the use of the ladies, and as soon as the men had strapped on the cloaks and blankets which they had left behind them when they advanced to the defence of the bridge, the retreat began. Not until he had seen the column fairly on its way did Terence ride up to speak to the occupants of the waggon. He had not been introduced by Herrara to his friends, for on his return from his encounter with the bishop the ladies had already retired to their tent.

"I must introduce myself to you, Don Jose. I am Terence O' Connor, an ensign in his Britannic Majesty's regiment of Mayo Fusiliers and an aide- de-camp of General Cradock, a very humble personage, though at present in command of these troops--irregular regiments of the Portuguese army."

"Lieutenant Herrara has told us so much about you, Señor O'Connor, that we have been looking forward with much pleasure to meeting you. Allow me to present you to my wife and daughters, who have been as anxious as myself to meet an officer who has done such good services to the cause, and to whom it is due at the present moment that we are here, instead of being in the midst of the terrible scenes that are no doubt at this moment being enacted in Oporto."

Terence bowed deeply to the ladies, and then said to his cousin:

"I almost require introducing to you, for I caught but a glimpse of you as we crossed the river, and you look so different now that you have got rid of that hideous attire that I don't think that I should have known you."

"You have changed greatly, too, Señor O'Connor."

Terence burst into a laugh.

"My dear cousin, it is evident that you know very little of English customs, though you speak English so well. We don't call our cousins Mr. and Miss; you will have to call me Terence and I shall certainly call you Mary. Macwitty brought you back to camp all right?"

"Yes; but it was terrible to hear all that firing, and I was wondering all the time whether you were being hurt."

"There is a great deal of powder fired away to every one that gets hit."

"Do you know what has happened in the town?" Don Jose asked.

"I know no more than what my cousin has no doubt told you of that terrible scene at the bridge. It is evident that the French burst through the lines without any difficulty, as we saw no soldiers, except those cowardly cavalrymen, before the French arrived. It is probable that the intrenchments were carried in the centre, and Soult evidently sent a body of soldiers straight through the town to secure the bridge. I think he must have cut off the main body of the defenders of the intrenchments from entering the town and must either have captured them or driven them off. The fire of cannon had ceased over there before we retired, and it is clear from that that the whole of the intrenchments must have been captured. There was, however, a heavy rattle of musketry in the town, and I suppose that the houses, and perhaps some barricades, were being defended. It was a mad thing to do, for it would only excite the fury of the French troops, and get them out of hand altogether. If there had been no resistance the columns might have marched in in good order; but even then I fear there might have been trouble, for unfortunately, your peasants have behaved with such merciless cruelty to all stragglers who fell into their hands, that the thirst for vengeance would in any case have been irrepressible. Still, the officers might possibly have preserved order had there been no resistance."

"Shall we be pursued, do you think, señor?" Don Jose's wife asked.

"I do not think so. Possibly parties of horse may scour the country for some distance round, to see if there is a body of troops here, but we are too strong to be attacked by any but a very numerous body of horse; and if they should attempt it, you may be sure that we can render a very good account of ourselves. We have beaten off the French horse once, and, as since then we have had some stiff fighting, I have no fear of the men being unsteady, even if all Franceschi's cavalry came down upon us. Of that, however, there will be little chance; the French have their hands full for some days, and a few scouting parties are all that they are likely to send out."

"You speak Portuguese very well, Terence," Mary O'Connor said, in that language, hesitating a little before she used his Christian name.

"I have been nearly nine months in the country, during most of which I have been on the staff, and have had to communicate with peasants and others, and for the past two months I have spoken nothing else; necessity is a good teacher. Besides which, Lieutenant Herrara has been good enough to take great pains in correcting my mistakes and teaching me the proper idioms; another six months of this work and I have no doubt I shall be able to pass as a native."

After marching fifteen miles the column halted, Terence feeling assured that the French would not push out their scouting parties more than three or four miles from Villa Nova. They halted at the edge of a forest, and a party under one of the officers was at once despatched to a village two miles away, and returned in an hour with a drove of pigs that had been bought there, and a cart laden with bread and wine. Fires had already been lighted, and after seeing that the rations were divided among the various companies, Terence went to the tent. Herrara was chatting with his friends, and Mary O'Connor came out at once and joined him.

"That is right, Mary; we will take a stroll in the wood and have a talk together. Now tell me how you have got on. I had expected to find you quite thin and almost starving."

"No, I have had plenty of bread to eat," she laughed; "the sisters kept me well supplied. I am sure that most of them were sorry for me, and they used to hide away some of their own bread and bring it to me when they had a chance. The lady superior was very hard, and if I had had to depend entirely on what she sent me up I should have done very badly. I always ate as much as I could, as I wanted to keep up my strength; for I knew that if I got weak I might give way and do what they wanted, and I was quite determined that I would not, if I could help it."

"Macwitty told you, I suppose, how I came to hear where you were imprisoned?"

"Yes; he said that the officer had given you the letter that I dropped to him; yet how did he come to know that you were my cousin?"

"It was quite an accident; just the similarity of name. We were chatting, and he said, casually, 'I suppose that you have no relatives at Oporto,' and I at once said I had, for fortunately my father had been telling me about your father and you, the last time I saw him, that is four months ago. He was badly wounded at Vimiera and invalided home. Then Captain Travers told me about getting your letter and what was in it, and I felt sure that it was you, and of course made up my mind to do what I could to get you out, though at the time I did not think that I should be in Oporto until I entered with the British army."

"But I cannot think how you got us all to start, and walked along with the lady superior as if you were a friend of hers. Macwitty had not time to tell me that. I was so frightened and bewildered with the dreadful noise and the strangeness of it all that I could not ask him many questions."

"It was by virtue of this ring," he said, holding up his hand.

"Why," she exclaimed in surprise, "that is the bishop's! I noticed it on his finger when he came one day to me and scolded me, and said that I should remain a prisoner if it was for years until my obstinate spirit was broken. But how did you get it?"

"Not with the bishop's good-will, you may be sure, Mary," Terence laughed; and he then told her how he had become possessed of it.

The girl looked quite scared.

"It sounds dreadful, doesn't it, Mary, to think that I should have laid hands upon a bishop, and such a bishop, a man who regards himself as the greatest in Portugal. However, there was no other way of getting the ring, and I could not see how, without it, I could persuade the lady superior to leave her convent with you all; and to tell you the truth, I would rather have got it that way than any other. The bishop is, in my opinion, a man who deserves no respect. He has terrorized all the north of Portugal, has caused scores of better men than himself to be imprisoned or put to death, and has now by his folly and ignorance cost the lives of no one knows how many thousand men, and brought about the sack of Oporto."

"Did you hear anything of my mother?" the girl asked.

"No; my Portuguese was not good enough for me to ask questions without risking being detected as a foreigner at once. She has behaved shamefully to you, Mary."

"She never liked me," the girl said, simply. "She and father never got on well together, and I think her dislike began by his taking to me, and my liking to be with him and getting to talk English. There was a terrible quarrel between them once because she accused him of teaching me to be a Protestant, although he never did so. He did give me a Bible, and I used to ask him questions and he answered them, that was all; but as it did seem to me that he was much wiser in all things than she was, I thought that he might be wiser in religion too. I would have given up the property directly they wanted me to, if they would have let me go away to England; but when they took me to the convent and cut off my hair, and forced me to become a nun, I would not give way to them. I never took the vows, Terence; I would not open my lips, but they went on with the service just the same. I was determined that I would not yield. I thought that the English would come some day, and that I might be freed then."

"What would you have done in England if you had gone there, Mary?"

"I should have found your father out, and gone to him. Father told me that your father was his greatest friend, and just before he died he told me that he had privately sent over all his own money to a bank at Cork, and ordered it to be put in your father's name. It was a good deal of money, for he would not give up the business when he married my mother, though she wanted him to; but he said that he could not live in idleness on her money, and that he must be doing something. And I know that he kept up the house in Oporto, while she kept up her place in the country. He told me that the sum he had sent over was £20,000. That will be enough to live on, won't it?"

"Plenty," Terence laughed. "I had no idea that I was rescuing such an heiress. I was sure that there was no chance of your getting your mother's money, at any rate, as long as the bishop was leader of Oporto. However just your claim, no judge would decide in your favour."

"Now tell me about yourself, Terence, and your home in Ireland, and all about it."

"My home has been the regiment, Mary. My father has a few hundred acres in County Mayo, and a tumble-down house; that is to say, it was a tumble- down house when I saw it four years ago, but it had been shut up for a good many years, and I should not be surprised if it has quite tumbled down now. However, my father was always talking of going to live there when he left the army. The land is not worth much, I think. There are five hundred acres, and they let for about a hundred a year. However, my father has been in the regiment now for about eighteen years; and as I was born in barracks I have only been three or four times to Ballinagra, and then only because father took a fancy to have a look at the old house. My mother died when I was ten years old, and I ran almost wild until I got my commission last June."

"And how did you come to be a staff-officer of the English general?" she asked.

"I have had awfully good luck," Terence replied. "It happened in all sorts of ways."

"Please tell me everything," she said. "I want to know all about you."

"It is a long story, Mary."

"So much the better," she said. "I know nothing of what has passed for the last year, and I dare say I shall learn about it from your story. You don't know how happy I am feeling to be out in the sun and in the air again, and to see the country after being shut up in one room for a year. Suppose we sit down here and you tell me the whole story."

Terence accordingly related the history of his adventures since he had left England. The girl asked a great many questions, and specially insisted upon hearing his own adventures very fully.

"It is no use your keeping on saying that it is all luck," she said when he had finished. "Your colonel could not have thought that it was luck when he wrote the report about that adventure at sea, and your general could not have thought so, either, or he would not have praised you in his despatch. Then, you know, General Fane must have thought that it was quite out of the way or he would not have chosen you to be on his staff. Then afterwards the other general must have been pleased with you, or he would not have put you on his staff and sent you off on a mission to General Romana. It is quite certain that these things could not have been all luck, Terence. And anyhow, you cannot pretend that it was luck that this regiment of yours fought so well against the French, while none of the others seem to have fought at all. I suppose that you will say next that it was all luck that you got me out of the convent."

"There was a great deal of luck in it, Mary. If that cowardly bishop hadn't left Oporto secretly, after declaring that he would defend it until the last, I could never have got his ring."

"You would have got me out some other way if he hadn't," the girl said, with confidence. "No, Terence, you can say what you like, but I shall always consider that you have been wonderfully brave and clever."

"Then you will always think quite wrong," Terence said, bluntly.

"I shall begin to think that you are a tyrant, like the Bishop of Oporto, if you speak in that positive way. How old are you, sir?"

"I was sixteen six months ago."

"And I was sixteen three days ago," she said. "Fancy your commanding two thousand soldiers and only six months older than I am."

"It is not I, it is the uniform," Terence said. "They obey me when they won't obey their own officers, because I am on the English general's staff. They know that we have thrashed the French, and that their own officers know nothing at all about fighting, and they have no respect whatever for them. More than that, they despise them because they know that they are always intriguing, and that really, although they may be called generals, they are but politicians. You will see, when they get English officers to discipline them, they will turn out capital soldiers; but they think so little of their own, that if anything goes wrong their first idea is that their officers must be traitors, and so fall upon them and murder them.

"You look older than I do, Mary. You seem to me quite a woman, while, in spite of my uniform and my command, and all that, I am really only a boy."

"I suppose I am almost a woman, Terence, but I don't feel so. You see out here girls often marry at sixteen. I know father said once that he hoped I shouldn't marry until I was eighteen, and that he wanted to keep me young. I never thought about getting almost a woman until the bishop told me one day that if I chose to marry a señor that he would choose for me, he would get me absolution from my vows, and that I need not then resign my property."

"The old blackguard!" Terence exclaimed, angrily. "And what did you say to him?"

"I said that, in the first place, I had never thought of marrying; that in the second place, I had not taken any vows; and in the third place that when I did marry I would choose for myself. He got into a terrible rage, and said that I was an obstinate heretic, and that some day when I was tired of my prison I would think better of it."

"I would have hit the bishop hard if I had known about that," Terence grumbled. "If ever I fall in with him again I will pay him out for it. Well, anyhow, I may as well take off his ring; it might lead to awkward questions if anyone noticed it."

"I think that you had certainly better do so, Terence; it might cost you your life. The bishop is a bad man, and he is a very dangerous enemy. If he heard that an English officer was wearing an episcopal ring, and upon inquiring found that that officer had been in Oporto at its capture, he would know at once that it was you who assaulted him, and he would never rest until he had your life. You had better throw it away."

"All right, here goes!" Terence said, carelessly, and he threw the ring into a clump of bushes. "Now, Mary, it is getting dark, and I should think supper must be waiting for us."

"Yes, it is late; we have been a long while, indeed," the girl said, getting up hastily. "I forgot all about time."

"We are in plenty of time," Terence said, looking at his watch. "As we all had some cold meat for lunch as soon as we arrived, I ordered dinner at six o'clock, and it wants twenty minutes of that time now."

"It is shocking, according to our Portuguese ideas," she said, demurely, "for a young lady and gentleman to be talking together for nearly three hours without anyone to look after them."

"It is not at all shocking, according to Irish ideas," Terence said, laughing, "especially when the young lady and gentleman happen to be cousins."

They walked a short time in silence, then she said:

"I have obeyed you, Terence, and haven't uttered a word of thanks for what you have done for me."

"That shows that you are a good girl," Terence laughed.

"Good girls always do as they are told; at least they are supposed to, though as to the fact I never had any experience, for I have no sisters, and there were no girls in barracks; still, I am glad that you kept your promise, and hope that you will always do so. Being a cousin, of course it was natural that I should try to rescue you."

"And you would not if I hadn't been a cousin?"

"No, I don't say that. I dare say I should have tried the same if I had heard that any English or Irish girl was shut up here. I am sure I should if I had seen you beforehand."

She coloured a little at the compliment, and said, lightly: "Father told me once that Irishmen were great hands at compliments. He told me that there was some stone that people went to an old castle to kiss--I think that he called it the Blarney Stone--and after that they were able to say all sorts of absurd things."

"I have never kissed the Blarney Stone," Terence said, laughing. "If I wanted to kiss anything, it would be something a good deal softer than that."

They were now entering the camp, and in a few minutes they arrived at the tent.

"I began to think that you were lost, O'Connor," Herrara said, as they came up.

"We had a lot to talk about," Terence replied. "My cousin has been insisting upon my telling her my whole history, and all about what has passed here since she was shut up a year ago, and, as you may imagine, it was rather a long story."

A few minutes later they sat down on the ground to a meal in which roast pork was the leading feature.

"This is what we call in England a picnic, señora," Terence said to Don Jose's wife.

"A picnic," she repeated; "what does that mean? It is a funny word."

"I have no idea why it should be called so," Terence said. "It means an open-air party. The ladies are supposed to bring the provisions, and the gentlemen the wine. Sometimes it is a boating party; at other times they drive in carriages to the spot agreed upon. It is always very jolly, and much better than a formal meal indoors, and you can play all sorts of tricks."

"What sort of tricks, señor?"

"Oh, there are lots of them. I was always having fun before I became an officer. My father was one of the captains of the regiment, and I was generally in for any amusement that there was. Once at a picnic, I remember that I got hold of the salt-cellars and mustard-pots beforehand, and I filled up one with powdered Epsom salts, which are horribly nasty, you know, and I mixed the mustard with cayenne pepper. Nobody could make out what had happened to the food. They soon suspected the mustard, but nobody thought of the salt for a long time. The colonel was furious over it, but fortunately they could not prove that I had any hand in the matter, though I know that they suspected me, for I did not get an invitation to a picnic for a long time afterwards."

The three girls laughed, but Don Jose said, seriously: "But you would have got into terrible trouble if you had been found out, would you not?"

"I should have got a licking, no doubt, señor; but I was pretty accustomed to that, and it did not trouble me in any way. At any rate, it did not cure me of my love for mischief. I am afraid I never shall be cured of that. I used to have no end of fun in the regiment, and I think that it did us all good. It takes some thinking to work out a bit of mischief properly, and I suppose if one can think one thing out well, one can think out another."

"It seems to have succeeded well in your case, anyhow," Herrara laughed. "Perhaps if it had not been for your playing that trick at the picnic you would never have taken command of that mob, and we should never have gone to Oporto, and my friends and your cousin would be there now-- that is, if they had not been killed."

"It may have had something to do with it," Terence admitted.

"And now, señor," Don Jose said, "which way are you going to take us?"

"We shall go straight on to Coimbra," Terence said, "unless we come upon a British force before that. Two long days' march will take us there. After that I must do as I am ordered; my independent command will come to an end there. I hope that I shall soon hear that my regiment has returned from England."

"And what is to become of me? I have not thought of asking," Mary O'Connor said.

"That must depend upon circumstances, Mary. If I go down to Lisbon, I hope that we shall all travel together, and I can then put you on board a transport returning to England. I am sure to find letters from my father there, telling me where he is and whether he is coming back with the regiment."

"We shall be very happy, señor," Don Jose said, courteously, "to take charge of the señora, until there is an opportunity for sending her to England. I have, of course, many friends in Lisbon, and shall take a house there the instant I arrive, and Donna O'Connor will be as one of my own family."

"I am extremely obliged to you, Don Jose. I have been wondering all day as I rode along what I should do with my cousin if, as is probable, I am obliged to stay at Coimbra until I receive orders from Lisbon. Your kind offer relieves me of a great anxiety. I think that it will be prudent for her to take another name while she is at Lisbon. There will certainly be no inquiries after her, for the lady superior of her convent will, of course, conclude that she was accidentally separated from the others in the crush, and that she was trampled on, or killed; and, indeed, there will be such confusion in Oporto that the loss of a nun more or less would fail to attract attention. At any rate, it is likely to be a long time before any report the lady superior will make to the bishop will reach him--months, perhaps, for she is not likely to take any particular pains to tell him news that would certainly anger him.

"Still, if he goes to Lisbon, as no doubt he will, and by any chance happens to hear that Miss O'Connor was one of those who had escaped from the sack of Oporto, he might make inquiries, and then all sorts of trouble might arise, even if he did not have her carried off by force, which would be easy enough in a place so disturbed as Lisbon at present is."

"I think that you are right, señor," Don Jose said, gravely. "At any rate it would be as well to avoid any risk. What name shall we call her?"

"You can call her Miss Dillon, señor, that is the name of an officer in our regiment."

"But the bishop might meet her in the street by chance; what then?"

"I don't think that he would know me," Mary O'Connor put in. "I have seen him, but I don't suppose that he ever noticed me until he saw me in my nun's dress, and, of course, I look very different now. Still, he is very sharp, and I will take good care never to go out without a veil."

"That will be the safest plan, Mary," Terence said, "though I don't think anyone would recognize you. Of course, he supposes that you are still snugly shut up in the convent; still, it is just as well not to run the slightest risk."

They made two long marches and reached Coimbra early on the third morning, bringing the first news that had been received there of the storming of Oporto. Terence at once reported himself to the commanding officer.

"I was wondering where these two regiments came from, Mr. O'Connor," the colonel said. "I watched them march in, and thought that they were the most orderly body that I have seen since we came out here. Whose corps are they?"

"Well, Colonel, they are my corps. I will tell you about it presently; it is a long story."

"How strong are they?"

"The field state this morning made them two thousand three hundred and fifty-five. They were two thousand five hundred to begin with; the rest are either killed or wounded."

"Oh, you have had some fighting then."

"We have had our share, at any rate, Colonel, and I think I can venture to say that no other Portuguese corps shows so good a record."

"We have a large number of tents in store, and I will order a sufficient number to be served out to put all your men under canvas, with the understanding that if the army advances this way the tents must be handed back to us. There are quantities of uniforms also. There have been ship-loads sent over for the use of the Portuguese militia, who were to turn out in their hundreds of thousands, but who have yet to be discovered. Would you like some of them?"

"Very much, indeed, Colonel. It would add very greatly to their appearance; though, as far as fighting goes, I am bound to say that I could wish nothing better."

"Really! Then all I can say is you have made a very valuable discovery. Hitherto the fighting powers of the Portuguese have been invisible to the naked eye. But if you have found that they really will fight under some circumstances, we may hope that, now Lord Beresford has come out to take command of the Portuguese army, and is going to have a certain number of British officers to train and command them, they will be of some utility, instead of being simply a scourge to the country and a constant drain on our purse."

"Have you heard that Oporto is captured, sir?"

"No, you don't say so!"

"Captured in less than an hour from the time that the first gun was fired."

"Just what I expected. When you have political bishops who not only pretend to govern a country, but also assume the command of armies, how can it be otherwise? However, you shall tell me about it presently. I will go down with you at once to the stores and order the issue of the tents and uniforms. My orders were that the uniforms were to be served out to militia and ordenanças; under which head do your men come?"

"The latter, sir; that is what they really were, but they hung the three men the Junta sent to command them, and placed themselves in my hands, and I have done the best I could with them, with the assistance of Lieutenant Herrara--who, as you may remember, accompanied me in charge of the escort--and my own two troopers and his men, and between us we have really done much in the way of disciplining them."

Two hours later the tents were pitched on a spot half a mile distant from the town. By the time that this was done the carts with the uniforms came up, to the great delight of the men.

"I have to go to the commandant again now, Herrara; let the uniforms be served out to the men at once. Tell the captains to see to their fitting as well as possible. I have no doubt that the colonel will come down to inspect them this afternoon, and will probably bring a good many officers with him, so we must make as good a show as possible."

Herrara's friends and Mary O'Connor had, on arriving at Coimbra, hired rooms, as Don Jose had determined to stay for a few days before going on, because his wife had been much shaken by the events that had taken place, and his eldest daughter was naturally anxious to wait until she knew whether Herrara would be able to return to Lisbon, or would remain with the corps. By the time Terence returned to the colonel's quarters it was lunch time.

"You must come across to mess, Mr. O'Connor," the commandant said. "Everyone is anxious to hear your news, and it will save your going over it twice if you will tell it after lunch. I fancy every officer in the camp will be there."

CHAPTER XIX. CONFIRMED IN COMMAND

Terence, after lunch was over, first related to the officers all that he knew of the siege of Oporto, explaining why he did not choose to sacrifice the men under him by joining the undisciplined rabble in the intrenchments, but determined to keep the head of the bridge. They listened with breathless interest to his narrative of the attack and capture of Oporto.

"But how was it that that fifty-gun battery did not knock the bridge to pieces when the French tried to cross?"

"That is more than I can say, Colonel. I should fancy that they were so terrified at the utter rout on the other side, which they could see well enough, for they had a view right over the town to the intrenchments, that they simply fired wildly. I don't believe a single ball hit the bridge, though, of course, they ought to have sunk a dozen boats in a couple of minutes. My men could have held it for days, though they were suffering somewhat from the fire of two of the French field batteries; but I found that no steps whatever had been taken to remove the boats from the other side. There were great numbers of them all along the bank, and the enemy could have crossed a mile higher up, at the spot where I took my men over, and so fallen on our rear, therefore I withdrew to save them from being cut up or captured uselessly."

"Now tell us about those troops of yours, O'Connor."

Terence gave a somewhat detailed account of the manner in which he took the command and of the subsequent operations, being desirous of doing justice to Herrara and his troopers, and to his own two orderlies. There was much laughter among the officers at his assumption of command, and at the subsequent steps he took to form his mob of men into an orderly body; but interest took the place of amusement as he told how they had prevented the French from crossing at the mouth of the Minho, and caused Soult to take the circuitous and difficult route by Orense. His subsequent defence of the defile and the night attack upon the French, surprised them much, and when he brought his story to a conclusion there were warm expressions of approval among his hearers.

"I must congratulate you most heartily, Mr. O'Connor," the colonel said. "What seemed at first a very wild and hare-brained enterprise, if you don't mind my saying so, certainly turned out a singular success. It would have seemed almost impossible that you, a young ensign, should be able to exercise any authority over a great body of mere peasants, who have everywhere shown themselves utterly insubordinate and useless under their native officers. It is nothing short of astonishing; and it is most gratifying to find that the Portuguese should, under an English officer, develop fighting powers far beyond anything with which they have been hitherto credited. What are you going to do now?"

"I was intending to send my despatches on to Sir John Cradock, and wait here for orders."

"I think that you had better take your despatches on yourself, Mr. O' Connor. I do not suppose that they are anything like so full as the story you have told us, which, I am sure, would be of as much interest to the general as it has been to us."

"I will do so, sir, and will start this evening. My horse had three days' rest at Villa Nova, and is quite fit to travel."

"You must be feeling terribly anxious about your cousin," the officer who had first told him about her remarked; "there is no saying what may have happened in Oporto after it was stormed."

"I should indeed be, if she were there," Terence replied; "but I am happy to say that she is at present in Coimbra, having travelled with us under the charge of some Portuguese ladies, friends of Herrara."

"You don't mean to say that you persuaded the bishop to let her out of the convent?"

"Scarcely," Terence laughed, "though the bishop did unwittingly aid me."

"I congratulate you on getting her out," the colonel said.

"Travers was telling us the day after you left what a curious coincidence it was that the nun who threw him out a letter should turn out to be a cousin of yours. Will you tell us how you managed it?"

"I don't mind telling it, sir, if all here will promise not to repeat it. The Bishop of Oporto is a somewhat formidable person, and were he to lodge a complaint against me he might get me into serious trouble, and is perfectly capable of having me stabbed some dark night in the streets of Lisbon; therefore, I think it would be as well to omit any details of the share he played in the matter. Without that the story is simple enough. Having got a boat with two men in it at the end of the street in which stood the convent, I went there in the dress of an ecclesiastic, just as the French burst into the town. The bishop had fled on the night before to the Serra Convent on the other side of the river, and I was able to produce an authority from him which satisfied the lady superior that I was the bearer of his order for her and the nuns to make for the bridge, and to cross the river at once.

"Of course, I accompanied them. The crowd was great and they naturally got separated. In the confusion my orderlies managed to get my cousin out of the crowd, and took her straight to the boat. As soon as I saw that they had gone, I persuaded the lady superior to take the rest of the nuns back to the convent at once, as the bridge was by this time broken, and the French had made their appearance. She got the nuns together and made off with them as fast as they could run, and after seeing that they were all nearly back to their convent without any signs of the French being near, I joined the others in the boat, and we rowed across the river. It was a simple business altogether, though at first it seemed very hopeless."

"Especially to get the authority of the bishop," the colonel said, with a smile.

"That certainly seemed the most hopeless part of the business," Terence replied; "but happily I was able to manage it somehow."

"Well, you certainly have had a most remarkable series of adventures, Mr. O'Connor. Now we will go and inspect your corps. Of course they will be rationed while they are here, and will be under my general orders until I hear from Cradock."

"Quite so, Colonel; I am sure they will be proud of being inspected by you. Of course, they are unable to do any complicated manoeuvres, but those they do know they know pretty thoroughly, and can do them in a rough and ready way that for actual work is, I think, just as good as a parade- ground performance. I will go on ahead, sir, and form them up."

"I would rather, if you don't mind, that they should have no warning," the colonel said; "we will just go down quietly, and see how quickly they can turn out."

"Very well, sir."

All there expressed their wish to go, and as all were provided with horses or ponies of some kind, in ten minutes they rode off in a body. His officers had been very busy all the time that Terence had been away, serving out the uniforms and seeing that they were properly put on. The work was just over, and the men were sauntering about round their tents when the party arrived. Herrara came up and saluted. He was known to the colonel, as he had dined with Terence at the mess on their way through.

After a few words, Terence said to Herrara:

"Have the assembly blown, and let the men fall in."

Herrara walked back to the tents, and a moment later a horn blew. It had an uncouth sound, and bore no resemblance to the ordinary call, but it was promptly obeyed. The men snatched their muskets from the piles in front of the tents, and in a wonderfully short time the whole were formed up in their ranks, stiff and immovable.

"Excellently done!" the colonel said; "no British regiment could have fallen in more smartly."

Accompanied by Terence, and followed by the rest of the officers, he rode along the line. The evening before Terence had impressed upon the captains of companies the necessity for having the rifles perfectly clean, as they were about to join a British camp, so that the pieces were all in perfect order. When the inspection was over the mounted group drew off a little.

"The troops will form up in columns of companies," Terence said, and Bull and Macwitty, who were at the head of their respective regiments, gave the orders. The movements were well executed. The men, proud of their uniform, and on their mettle at being inspected by British officers, did their best, and that best left little to be desired. After marching past, they formed into company squares to resist cavalry, then retired by alternate companies, and then formed into line.

"Excellently done!" said the colonel. "Indeed, I can hardly believe it possible that a party of peasants have in a month's time been formed into a body of good soldiers. I should like the officers to come up."

"Call the officers."

There was an officers' call, and this now sounded, and the twelve captains with their two majors rode to the front and saluted. "Mr. Herrara," the colonel said, "I have seen with surprise and the greatest satisfaction the movements of the men under you; they do you the greatest credit, and I shall have pleasure in sending in a most favourable report to the general, the result of my inspection of the regiments. I hear from Mr. O'Connor that your men have shown themselves capable of holding their own against the French, and I can say that I should feel perfectly confident in going into action with my regiment supported by such brave and capable troops. Would that instead of 2,000 we had 100,000 Portuguese troops equally to be trusted, we should very speedily turn the French out of Portugal and drive them from the Peninsula."

The officers bowed and rode off. The troops had not learned the salute, and when the horn sounded they were at once dismissed drill.

"Well, Mr. O'Connor, I must congratulate you most heartily on what you have done. If nothing else, you have added to our army a couple of strong regiments of capable soldiers. If I had not seen it myself I should have thought it impossible that over 2,000 men could be converted into soldiers in so short a time, and that without experienced non-commissioned officers to work them up."

Returning to Coimbra with the colonel, Terence rode to the house where Herrara's friends had taken rooms, and told them that he was going to leave them. Don Jose at once wrote several letters of introduction to influential friends at Lisbon, telling them that he and his daughters had escaped from the sack of Oporto, and asking them to show every kindness to the officer, to whom they chiefly owed their safety.

Terence meanwhile returned to camp, arranged with Herrara and the two majors that everything was to go on as usual during his absence, urging them to work hard at their drill, and to impress upon the men the necessity, now that they were in uniform, of carrying themselves as soldiers, and doing credit to their corps.

Five days later he arrived at Lisbon, taking with him a report from the commandant of his inspection of the corps.

"I had begun to be afraid that you had been killed or taken prisoner, Mr. O'Connor," Sir John Cradock said, as Terence presented himself, "or that you must have fallen back with Romana into Spain. He seems to have behaved very badly, for, as I hear, although he had 10,000 men with him, half of them regular troops, he retired without a shot being fired--except by two regiments who were mauled by the French cavalry--and left Silveira in the lurch."

"I was on other business, General, and I fear that you will think that I exceeded my orders; but I hope that you will consider that the result has justified my doing so. Will you kindly first run your eye over this report by the officer commanding at Coimbra?"

Sir John Cradock read the report with a puzzled expression of face, then he said: "But what regiments are these that Colonel Wilberforce speaks of in such high terms? Were they part of Romana's force? He speaks of them as a corps under your command, and as being 2,300 strong."

"They were not Romana's men, sir, but a body of ordenanças, of whom, as my report will inform you, I came by a combination of circumstances to take the command, appointing Lieutenant Herrara, who commanded my escort, colonel, my two orderlies as majors, and the Portuguese troopers of my escort as captains of companies. We have been several times engaged with the French, and I cannot speak too highly of the behaviour of officers and men."

Sir John Cradock burst into a laugh. "You certainly are a cool hand, Mr. O'Connor. Assuredly I did not contemplate when I sent you off that you would return as colonel of two regiments."

"Nor did I, sir. But, you see, you gave me general instructions to concert measures with Romana for the defence of the frontier. I saw at once that Romana was hopeless, and was therefore myself driven to take these measures. As Oporto has fallen I cannot say they were successful, but at least I may say that we gave Oporto fourteen days' extra time to prepare her defence, and if she did not take advantage of the time it was not my fault."

The look of amusement on the general's face turned to one of interest.

"How did you do that, sir?"

"My corps prevented Soult from crossing at the mouth of the Minho, General, killing some two hundred of his men and driving his boats back across the river. When the French general saw that he could not cross in face of such opposition, he was obliged to march his army round by Orense and down by the passes, which ought to have been successfully defended by the Portuguese."

"That was good service, indeed, Mr. O'Connor. I received despatches from our agents at Oporto, saying that Soult's landing had been repulsed by armed peasants."

"My men were little more than armed peasants then, sir, though they had had a few days' hard drill; still, a British officer would scarcely have called them soldiers."

"Well, I think that Wilberforce's report shows that they have a right to that title now. Take a seat, Mr. O' Connor, and a newspaper--there are some that arrived two days ago--while I look over your report."

Terence had written in much greater detail than is usual in official reports, as he wished the general to see how well the men and their officers had behaved. It was twenty minutes before the general finished it.

"A very remarkable report, Mr. O'Connor; very remarkable. You must dine with me this evening. I have many questions to ask you about it, and also about the storming of Oporto, of which we have, as yet, received no details, although a messenger from the bishop brought us the news some days ago. He seems to have made a terrible mess of it."

"He ought to be hung, sir!" Terence said, indignantly. "After getting all those unfortunate peasants together he sneaked off and hid himself in a convent on the other side of the river, on the very night before the French attacked."

"Unfortunately, Mr. O'Connor, we cannot give all men their deserts, or we should want all the rope on board the ships in the harbour for the purpose. The bishop is a firebrand of the most dangerous kind; and I suppose we shall have him here in a day or two, for he said in his letter that he was on his way. There is one comfort: he will be too busy in quarrelling with the authorities to have any time to spend on his quarrels with us. Then I shall see you in an hour's time. Please ask Captain Nelson to come in here; I have some notes for him to write."

Terence bowed and retired.

"What a nuisance!" Captain Nelson said. "I was wanting to hear all that you had been doing."

"I am to dine with the general," Terence said. "Perhaps I shall meet you there."

Captain Nelson found that he was wanted to write notes of invitation to such of the officers who were still at Lisbon as had dined there when Terence was last the general's guest; and as the general's invitations overrode all other engagements, most of them were present when Terence returned.

"Mr. O'Connor has another story for you, gentlemen," the general said, when the cloth was removed and the wine put upon the table. "I am not sure whether I am right in calling him Mr. O' Connor, for he has been performing the duties of a colonel, commanding two regiments in the Portuguese service. I will preface his story by reading the report of Colonel Wilberforce, commanding at Coimbra, of the state of efficiency of his command."

There was a look of surprise at the general's remarks, and that surprise was greatly heightened on the reading of Colonel Wilberforce's report.

"Now, Mr. O'Connor," the general said, when he had finished, "I am sure that we shall all be obliged by your giving us a detailed statement of the manner in which you raised those regiments, and of the operations that you undertook with them; and the more details you give us the better, for it is well that we should understand how the Portuguese can be best handled. I may say at once that, personally, we are greatly indebted to you for having proved that, when even partially disciplined and well led, they are capable of doing very good service, a fact of which, I own, I have been hitherto very doubtful."

Smiles were exchanged among the auditors when Terence described the manner in which he came to command the body of undisciplined ordenanças. When he spoke of the state in which he found Romana's army, and the reason for his determination to keep his column intact, they listened more attentively, and exchanged looks of surprise when he described his rapid march to the mouth of the Minho, and the repulse of Soult's attempt to cross from Tuy. He then described how he had joined Silveira, and the mutiny of that general's troops. Still more surprise was manifested when he related the action in the defile and the bravery with which his troops had behaved, and the manner in which they had been handled by the troopers that he had appointed as their officers. The night attack on the cavalry and infantry of the head of Soult's column was equally well received. His reasons for not joining the army at Braga, and of keeping aloof from the mob of peasants at Oporto were as much approved as was the holding of the bridge for a while, and his reasons for withdrawing.

"Well, gentlemen," the general said, when Terence had finished, "I think you will allow that my aide-de-camp, Mr. O'Connor, has given a good account of himself, and that if he went outside my orders, his doing so has been most amply justified."

"It has, indeed, General," one of the senior officers said, warmly. "I can answer for myself, that I should have been proud to have been able to tell such a story."

A murmur of approval ran round the table.

"It is difficult to say whether Mr. O'Connor's readiness to accept responsibility, or the manner in which, in the short space of a month, he turned a mob of peasants into regular soldiers, or the quickness with which he marched to the spot threatened by Soult, and so compelled him to entirely change the plan of his campaign, or his conduct in the defence of the defile, and in his night attack, are most remarkable."

"I should wish to say, General, that in telling this story I have been chiefly anxious to do justice to the hearty co-operation of Lieutenant Herrara, and the services rendered by my own two orderlies and his troopers. By myself, I could have done absolutely nothing. Their work was hard and incessant, and the drill and discipline of the troops was wholly due to them."

"I understand, Mr. O'Connor; it is quite right for you to say so, and I thoroughly recognize that they must have done good service; but it is to the man that plans, organizes, and infuses his own spirit into those under his command, that everything is due. Now, Mr. O'Connor, I think I will ask you to leave us for a few minutes; the case is rather an exceptional one, and I shall be glad to chat the matter over with the officers present. Well, gentlemen, what do you think that we are to do with Mr. O'Connor?" he went on, with a smile, as the door closed behind Terence.

"My experience affords me no guide, General," another of the senior officers said. "It is simply amazing that a lad of seventeen--I suppose he is not much over that--should have conceived and carried out such a plan. It sounds like a piece of old knight-errantry. Clive did as much, but Clive was some years older when he first became a thorn in the side of the French. What is your opinion, sir?"

"He is already a lieutenant," the general said. "I sent home a strong recommendation that he should be promoted, when he was last here, and received an intimation three days ago that he had been gazetted lieutenant and transferred to my staff. This time I shall simply, send home a copy of the report he has furnished me with, and that of Colonel Wilberforce, and say that I leave the reports to speak for themselves, but that in my opinion it is a case altogether exceptional. That is all I can do now. The question of course is, whether he shall return to staff service again, or shall continue in command of the corps with which he has done so much. If he does the latter he must have local rank, otherwise he would be liable to be overruled by any Portuguese officer of superior rank. I think that the best way would be to send a copy of the reports to Lord Beresford, saying that my opinion is very strong that Lieutenant O'Connor should be allowed to retain an independent command of the corps that he has raised and disciplined; and that I will either myself bestow local rank upon him, and treat the corps as forming a part of the British army, like that of Trant, or that he should give him local rank as its colonel, in which case he would operate still independently, but in connection with Beresford's own force."

"I should almost think that the first step would be best, General, if I might say so. In the first place, Beresford will have any number of irregular parties operating with him, while such a corps would be invaluable to us. They are capable of taking long marches, they know the mountains and forests, and would keep us supplied with news, while they harassed the enemy. As an officer on your staff, O'Connor would have a much greater power among the Portuguese population than he would have on his own account in their own army, and he would be very much less likely to be interfered with by the leaders of other parties and corps."

"Perhaps that would be the best way, Colonel. I will send the reports to Beresford, and say that I have appointed Lieutenant O'Connor to remain in command of this corps, which I shall attach to my own command; and saying that I shall be obliged if he will have a commission made out for him, giving him the local rank of colonel in the Portuguese army. Beresford is himself a gallant soldier, and will appreciate, as you do, the work that O'Connor has done; and as he knows nothing of the lad's age he will comply, as a matter of course, with my request. I shall, in writing home, strongly recommend his two cavalrymen for commissions. As to Herrara, I shall ask Beresford to give him the rank of lieutenant-colonel. I shall suggest to Beresford that his troopers should all receive commissions in his army. They have all earned them, which is more than I can say of any other Portuguese soldiers, so far as I have heard."

Terence was then called in again.

"In the first place, I have a pleasant piece of news to give you, Mr. O' Connor, namely, that I have received from home an official letter, that on my recommendation you have been gazetted to the rank of lieutenant and transferred to my staff; in the second place, I have decided, that while still retaining you on my staff, you will be continued in your present command; I shall obtain for you a commission as colonel in the Portuguese service, but your corps will form part of my command, and act with the British army. I shall request Lord Beresford to appoint Mr. Herrara to the rank of lieutenant-colonel, and shall recommend that commissions be given to his troopers. The two orderlies, of whose services you spoke so highly, I shall recommend for commissions in our army, and shall request Lord Beresford to give them local rank as majors."

Terence coloured with pleasure and confusion.

"I am greatly obliged to you, General," he said; "but I do not at all feel that the services that I have tried to perform----"

"That is for me to judge," the general said, kindly. "All the officers here quite agree with me, that those services have been very marked and exceptional and are at one with me as to how they should be recognized. Moreover, in obtaining for you the rank of colonel in the Portuguese army, I am not only recognizing those services, but am adding to the power that you will have of rendering further services to the army. Although attached to our forces, you will receive your colonel's commission from Lord Beresford, who is now the general appointed by the Portuguese government to command their army."

It was now late, and the party rose. All of them shook hands warmly with Terence, who retired with his friend Captain Nelson. The latter told him before they went in to dinner that he had had a bed put up for him in his own room.

"Well, Colonel O'Connor," Nelson laughed, "you must allow me to be the first to salute you as my superior officer."

"It is absurd altogether," Terence said, almost ruefully. "Still, Captain Nelson, though I may hold a superior rank in the Portuguese army, that goes for very little. I have seen enough of Portuguese officers to know that even their own soldiers have not got any respect for them, and in our own army I am only a lieutenant."

"That is so, lad; however, there was never promotion more deserved. And as you hung, or rather left to be hung, a Portuguese colonel, it is only right that you should supply the deficiency."

"I hope I shall not have to wear a Portuguese uniform," Terence said, earnestly.

"I should think not, O'Connor, but I will ask the general in the morning. Of course, you will not wear your present uniform, because you are now gazetted into the staff and out of your own regiment. Now we will smoke a quiet cigar before we turn in. Have you any other story to tell me that you have not already related?"

"Well, yes, I have one, but it is only of a personal interest;" and he then gave an account of his discovery of his cousin in the convent at Oporto, and how he had managed to rescue her, ending by saying: "I have told you the story, Nelson, so that if by any unexpected accident it is found out that she is an escaped nun, and her friends appeal to the general for protection, you may be aware of the circumstances, and help."

"Certainly I will do so," Captain Nelson said, warmly. "You certainly have a wonderful head for devising plans."

"I began it early," Terence laughed. "I was always in mischief before I got my commission, and I suppose that helps me; but you see I had wonderful luck."

"I don't say anything against your luck; but good luck is of no use unless a fellow knows how to take advantage of it, and that is just what you have done. I suppose that you will stay here for a day or two."

"My horse wants a couple of days' rest, and I have my uniform to get. I suppose I can get one made in a couple of days, whether it is a Portuguese or an English one."

"Yes, I dare say you will be able to manage that."

The next morning, to his great satisfaction, Terence learned that the general said he had better wear staff uniform, and he accordingly went with Captain Nelson and was measured.

"Your Portuguese seems to have improved amazingly in the two months you have been away," the latter said, as they came out from the shop; "you seem to jabber away quite fluently."

"I have been talking nothing else, and Herrara has acted as my instructor, so I get on very fairly now."

At this moment a carriage drove past them.

"That is the Bishop of Oporto," said Terence; "I suppose he has just arrived."

"It is a good thing that he does not know you as well as you know him," Captain Nelson said, dryly; "if he did, your adventures would be likely to be cut short by a knife between your shoulders some dark night."

"He does not know me at all," Terence laughed; "the advantages are all on my side in the present case."

"It is an advantage," Captain Nelson laughed. "When I think that you have raised your hand against that venerable but somewhat truculent prelate, I shudder at your boldness. I only caught a glimpse of him as he passed, but I could see that he looks rather scared."

"Perhaps he hasn't recovered yet from the fright I gave him," laughed Terence; "I have seen and heard enough of his doings, and paid him a very small instalment of the debt due to him."

The uniforms were promised for the next evening, and Terence felt when he put them on that they were a considerable improvement upon his late one, stained and discoloured as it was by wet, mud, and travel. After paying a visit to the general to say good-bye, Terence mounted and started for Coimbra.

Upon his arrival there four days later he at once reported himself to the commandant.

"I received a copy of the general order of last Tuesday," the latter said, "and congratulate you warmly on being confirmed in your rank. I thought that it would be so, for one could not reckon that, had another taken your place, your corps would have maintained its present state of efficiency."

"You are very good to say so, Colonel, but any British officer appointed to command it would do as well or better than I should."

"I don't think that he would in any way; but certainly he would not be followed with the same confidence by his men as they would follow you, and with troops like these everything depends upon their confidence in their commander."

"The corps is now attached to our army, Colonel; you were good enough to order them to be rationed before, but I have now an order from the general for them to draw pay and rations the same as the British troops."

"That is all right," the colonel said, examining the document; "I will take a copy of it, but as it is a general order you must keep the original yourself. I see that you have now adopted the uniform of the staff. It is certainly a great improvement upon that of an infantry officer, and appearances go for a good deal among these Portuguese. I see, by the way, that you have got your step in our army."

"Yes, Colonel, the general was good enough to recommend me. Of course I am glad in one way, but I am sorry that it has put me out of the regiment that I have been brought up with. But, of course, it was necessary, for I could not have gone over other men's heads in it."

"No, when a man gets special promotion it is always into another regiment for that reason. You will be glad to hear that your men have been behaving extremely well in your absence, and that I have not heard of a single case of drunkenness or misconduct among them. I have been down there several times, and always found them hard at work drilling; they seem to me to improve every time I see them."

On leaving the colonel's quarters Terence rode to his cousin's. Mary rose with an exclamation of surprise as he entered.

"What a handsome uniform, Terence! How is it that you have changed it?"

"I am now regularly on the general's staff, Mary, and this is the uniform."

"You look very well in it," she said; "don't you think so, Lorenza?"

"I do, indeed," her friend agreed; "it does make a difference."

"Well, to begin with, it is clean and new," Terence laughed; "and though the other was not old, it had seen its best days. But I have more news, Mary; you have now to address your cousin as colonel."

Mary clapped her hands, and Don Jose and his family uttered exclamations of pleasure.

"It is quite right," Mary said; "it is ridiculous that Señor Herrara should be colonel and you only Mr. O'Connor."

"It does not matter much about a name," he said. "I commanded before and I shall do so now, but I have got Portuguese rank."

"Why did not they make you an English colonel?" Mary asked, rather indignantly.

Terence laughed. "I shall be lucky if I get that in another twenty years, Mary. I am a lieutenant now--I have got the step since you saw me last--but I am to rank as a colonel in the Portuguese army as long as I command this corps, which I am glad to say is now to form a part of the British army. Herrara is to have the rank of lieutenant-colonel. Bull and Macwitty will, I hope, get their commissions as ensigns in the British army, with local rank of majors. The general will recommend that Herrara's troopers all get commissions in the Portuguese army."

"Ah, well! I am pleased that your services are appreciated, Terence. We are very glad that you have come back, Lorenza especially so, as, now you have returned, she thinks she will see more of Señor Herrara."

"The bishop is in Lisbon, Mary."

"That is not such good news, Terence. I will be very careful to keep out of his way."

"Do," he said. "I have spoken to Captain Nelson, one of the general's staff, about you, and if by any chance you should be recognized as an escaped nun, I hope that Don Jose will go to him at once and ask him to obtain the general's protection for you, which will, I am sure, be given. Your father was an Irishman. You are a British subject, and have a right to protection. You won't forget the name, Don Jose--Captain Nelson?"

"I will write it down at once," the Portuguese said, "but as Donna Mary will pass under the name of Dillon, and her dress has so changed her appearance, I do not think that there is the smallest fear of her being recognized. Indeed, no one could know her except the bishop himself."

"You may be sure that I shall not go out much in Lisbon," Mary said, "and if I do I will keep my promise to be always closely veiled."

CHAPTER XX. WITH THE MAYOS

The news that Terence brought to the regiment gave great and general satisfaction. Herrara was delighted to hear that he was to be made a lieutenant-colonel in his army. Bull and Macwitty were overjoyed on hearing that they had both been recommended for commissions, and Herrara's troopers were equally pleased. The rank and file felt no less gratification, both at the honour of being attached to the British army, and at the substantial improvement in their condition that this would entail.

On the following day Herrara's friends and Mary O'Connor left for Lisbon, and the latter astonished Terence by bursting into tears as she said good-bye to him.

"I have said nothing yet of the gratitude that I feel to you, Terence, for all that you have done for me, for you have always stopped me whenever I have tried to, but I shall always feel it, always; and shall think of you and love you dearly."

"It has been just as fortunate for me as it has been good for you, Mary," he said. "I have never had a sister, and I seem to have found one now."

The girl looked up, pouting. "I don't think," she said, "I should particularly care about being a sister; I think that I would rather remain a cousin."

Terence looked surprised and a little hurt.

"You are only a silly boy," she laughed, "but will understand better some day. Well, good-bye, Terence," and the smile faded from her face.

"Good-bye, dear. Take great care of yourself in Lisbon, and be sure that you look out to see if the Mayo Fusiliers arrive while you are there. I heard that they were about to embark again with a force that General Hill is bringing out, but my father won't be with them, I am afraid. I have not heard from him, but I should hardly think that he will be fit for hard service again; yet, if he should be, he will tell you where to go to till we get back. At any rate, don't start for England until the regiment comes. I fancy that it will be at Lisbon before you are, and Don Jose can easily find out for you whether father is with it. If he is not, go to Ballinagra. I have written instructions how you are to travel, but you had better write to him there directly you land, and I have no doubt that he will come over and fetch you. I don't know anything about London, but you had better see Captain Nelson at Lisbon. Here is a note I have written to him, asking him where you had better go, and what you had better do when you get to London."

The day after the party had left, Terence marched with his corps north, and established himself at Carvalho, where the road from Oporto passed over the spurs of the Serra de Caramula, in order to check the incursions of French cavalry from Oporto. In the course of the next fortnight he had several sharp engagements with them. In the last of these, when making a reconnaissance with both regiments, he was met by the whole of Franceschi's cavalry. They charged down on all four sides of the square into which he formed his force, expecting that, as upon two previous occasions, the Portuguese would at once break up at their approach. They stood, however, perfectly firm, and received the cavalry with such withering volleys that Franceschi speedily drew off, leaving upwards of two hundred dead behind him.

The day after this fight Terence received a letter from Mary, saying that General Hill had arrived before they reached Lisbon, and that Don Jose had learned that Major O'Connor had retired on half-pay. Also that Captain Nelson had obtained a passage for her in one of the returning transports, and had given her a letter to his mother, who resided in London, asking her to receive her until she heard from the major.

A few days afterwards he learned from Colonel Wilberforce that the English army had marched for Leirya. General Hill's force of five thousand men and three hundred horses for the artillery arrived at an opportune moment. The storming of Oporto, the approach of Victor to Badajos, after totally defeating Cuesta's Spanish army, killing three-fifths of his men, and capturing thousands of prisoners, while Lapisse was advancing from the east, had created a terrible panic in Portugal. Beresford's orders were disobeyed, many of his regiments abandoned their posts, and the populace in Lisbon were in a state of furious turmoil. Hill's arrival to some extent restored confidence, the disorders were repressed, and Sir John Cradock now felt himself strong enough to advance.

Terence's report of the repulse of Franceschi's cavalry was answered by a letter from Cradock himself, expressing warm approval at the conduct of the corps.

"There is but little fear of an advance by Soult at present," he said. "He must know that we have received reinforcements, and he will not venture to march on Lisbon, as the force now gathering at Leirya could operate upon his flank and rear. I shall be glad, therefore, if you would march with your command to the latter town. The example of your troops cannot but have a good effect upon the raw Portuguese levies, and, in the event of our advancing to the relief of Ciudad-Rodrigo, could render good service by clearing the passes, driving in the French outposts, and keeping me well informed of the state of the roads, the accommodation available for the troops, and the existence of supplies."

Immediately on receipt of this Terence marched for Leirya, where the British army was under canvas. On the way down they halted for a night at Coimbra.

"An official letter came for you last night, O'Connor," Colonel Wilberforce said. "I kept it until I should have an opportunity of forwarding it to you. Here it is, duly addressed, Colonel O'Connor, the Minho Regiment."

This was the name Sir John Cradock suggested to Terence, as a memorial of the service they had rendered in repulsing Soult at that river. It was the first time Terence had seen his name with the prefix of colonel.

"It looks like a farce," he said, as he broke the seal.

Inside was an official document, signed by Lord Beresford, to the effect that as a recognition of the very great services rendered by Lieutenant O'Connor, an officer on the staff of Sir John Cradock, when in command of the two battalions of the Minho Regiment, and in accordance with the strong recommendation of the British general, Lieutenant Terence O'Connor is hereby appointed to the rank of colonel in the Portuguese service, with the pay and allowances of his rank. Colonel O' Connor is to continue in command of the regiments, which will be attached to the British army, under the command of Sir John Cradock.

"Here is also a letter for your friend Herrara, and a much more bulky one; will you hand it to him?"

Herrara's letter contained his promotion to lieutenant-colonel, with an order to remain under Terence's command; also fourteen commissions, two giving Bull and Macwitty the Portuguese rank of major, the remaining being captain's commissions for the twelve troopers.

Two days later they reached Leirya. The April sun rendered shelter unnecessary for the Portuguese, and after establishing them, for the present, a quarter of a mile away from the British camp, he went and reported his arrival to the officer in command, and was told that he could not do better than bivouac on the ground he had selected. Leaving the headquarters he soon found where the Mayo regiment was encamped, and made his way to the officers' marquee. They were just sitting down to lunch when, at the entry of an officer on the general's staff, the colonel at once rose gravely. O'Grady was the first to recognize the newcomer.

"Be jabers," he shouted, "but it is Terence O' Connor himself!" There was a general rush to shake hands with him, and a din of voices and a confusion of questions and greetings.

"And what in the world have you got that uniform on for, Terence?" O'Grady asked, when the din somewhat subsided. "We saw that the general had appointed you as one of his aides-de-camp when you got here after Corunna, but you would wear your own uniform all the same."

"What matters about his uniform, O'Grady?" the others exclaimed. "What we want to know is how he saved his life at Corunna, when we all thought that he was either killed or taken prisoner."

"Wait till the lad has got something to eat and drink," the colonel said, peremptorily. "Pray take your seats, gentlemen. You take this chair by me, O'Connor; and now, while you are waiting for your plate, tell us in a few words how you escaped. Everyone made sure that you were killed. We heard that Fane had sent you to carry an order, that you had delivered it, and then started to rejoin him; from that time nobody saw you alive or dead."

"The matter was very simple, Colonel. My horse was hit in the head with a round shot. I went a frightful cropper on some stones in the middle of a clump of bushes. I lay there insensible all night, and coming-to in the morning, saw that the French had advanced, and the firing on the hill over the town told me that the troops had got safely on board ship. I lay quiet all day, and at night made off, sheltered for a couple of days with some peasants on the other side of the hill, joined Romana, went to the Portuguese frontier with him, and then rode to Lisbon, where Sir John Cradock was good enough to put me on his staff."

"We heard you had turned up safely at Lisbon, and glad we were, as you may be sure, and a good jollification we had over it. As for O'Grady, it has served as an excuse for an extra tumbler ever since."

"Bad excuses are better than none," Terence laughed, "and if it hadn't been that, it would have been something else."

"Shut up, you young scamp," O'Grady said. "How is it that you have not answered my question? Why are you wearing staff-officer's uniform instead of your own?"

"Have you not heard, Colonel," Terence said, "that I no longer belong to the regiment?"

There was a chorus of expressions of regret round the table.

"And how has that happened, Terence?" the colonel asked. "That is bad news for us all, anyway."

"I was gazetted lieutenant a month ago, Colonel. I suppose you had sailed from England before the Gazette came out."

"I suppose so, lad. Well, you richly deserved your promotion, if it was only for that affair on board the Sea-horse, and you ought to have had it long ago."

"I am awfully sorry to leave the regiment. It has been my home as long as I can remember, and wherever I may be, I shall always regard it in that light."

"And so you remain on the staff at present, O'Connor?"

"Well, sir, I am on the staff still, but for the present I am on detached duty."

"What sort of duty, Terence?"

"I have the honour to command two Portuguese regiments that marched in an hour ago."

A shout of laughter followed the announcement.

"Bedad, Terence," O'Grady said, "that crack on your head hasn't changed your nature, thanks to your thick skull. I suppose it is poking fun at us that you are. But you won't take us in this time."

"I saw the regiments pass at a distance," the colonel said, "and they marched in good order, too, which is more than I have seen any other Portuguese troops do. Now you mention it, I did see an officer, in what looked like a British uniform, riding with the men, but it was too far off to see what branch of the service he belonged to. That was you, was it?"

"That was me, sure enough, Colonel."

"And what were you doing there? Tell us, like a good boy."

"Absurd as it may appear, and, indeed, absurd as it is, I am in command of those two regiments."

Again a burst of incredulous laughter arose. Terence took out his commission and handed it to the colonel.

"Perhaps, Colonel, if you will be kind enough to read that out loud, my assurance will be believed."

"Faith, it was not your assurance that we doubted, Terence, me boy!" O'Grady exclaimed. "You have plenty of assurance, and to spare; it is the statement that we were doubting."

The colonel glanced down the document, and his face assumed an expression of extreme surprise.

"Gentlemen," he said, rising, "if you will endeavour to keep silence for a minute, I will read this document."

The surprise on his own face was repeated on the faces of all those present, as he proceeded with his reading. O'Grady was the first to break the silence.

"In the name of St. Peter," he said, "what does it all mean? Are you sure that it is a genuine document, Colonel? Terence is capable of anything by way of a joke."

"It is undoubtedly genuine, O'Grady. It is dated from Lord Beresford's quarters, and signed by his lordship himself as commander-in-chief of the Portuguese army. How it comes about beats me as much as it does you. But before we ask any questions we will drink a toast. Gentlemen, fill your glasses; here is to the health of Colonel Terence O'Connor."

The toast was drank with much enthusiasm, mingled with laughter, for many of them had still a suspicion that the whole matter was somehow an elaborate trick played by Terence.

"Now, Colonel O'Connor, will you please to favour us with an account of how General Cradock and Lord Beresford have both united in giving you so big a step up."

"It is a long story, Colonel."

"So much the better," the colonel replied. "We have nothing to do, and it will keep us all awake."

Terence's account of his interview with the colonel of the ordenanças, the demand by Cortingos that he should hand over the money he was escorting, and the subsequent gathering to attack the house, and the manner in which the leaders were captured, the rioters appeased and subsequently advised to direct their efforts to obtain arms and ammunition, excited exclamations of approval; but the belief that the story was a pure romance still prevailed in the minds of many, and Terence saw Captain O'Grady and Dick Ryan exchanging winks. It was not until Terence spoke of his rapid march to the mouth of the Minho, as soon as he heard that the French were concentrating there, that he began to be seriously listened to; and when he told how Soult's attempt to cross had been defeated, and the French general obliged to change the whole plan of the campaign, and to march round by Orense, the conviction that all this was true was forced upon them.

"By the powers, Terence!" the colonel exclaimed, bringing his hand down on his shoulder, "you are a credit to the ould country. I am proud of you, me boy, and it is little I thought when O'Flaherty and myself conspired to get ye into the regiment that you were going to be such a credit to it. Gentlemen, before Colonel O'Connor goes further, we will drink his health again."

This time there was no laughter mixed with the cheers. Many of the officers left their seats and came round to shake his hand warmly, O'Grady foremost among them.

"Sure I thought at first that it was blathering you were, Terence; but, begorra, I see now that it's gospel truth you are telling, and I am proud of you. Faith, I am as proud as if I were your own father, for haven't I brought you up in mischief of all kinds? Be the poker, I would have given me other arm to have been with you."

The rest of the story was listened to without interruption. When it was concluded, Colonel Corcoran again rose.

"Gentlemen, we will for the third time drink to the health of Colonel O'Connor, and I think that you will agree with me that if ever a man deserved to be made a colonel it's himself."

This time O'Grady and three others rushed to where Terence was sitting, seized him, and before he knew what they were going to do, hoisted him onto the shoulders of two of them, and carried him in triumph round the table. When at length quiet was restored, and Terence had resumed his seat, the colonel said:

"By the way, Terence, there was a little old gentleman called on me three days after we landed to ask if Major O'Connor was with the regiment. I told him that he was not, having gone on half-pay for the present on account of a wound. He seemed rather pleased than otherwise, I thought, and I asked him pretty bluntly what he wanted to know for. He brought an interpreter with him, and said through him that he hoped that I would not press that question, especially as a lady was concerned in the matter. It bothered me entirely. Why, from the time we landed at the Mondego till your father was hit at Vimiera I don't believe we ever had the chance to speak to a woman. It may be that it was some lady that nursed him there after we had marched away, and who had taken a fancy to him. The ould man may have been her father, and was perhaps mighty glad to hear that the major was not coming back again."

Terence burst into a shout of laughter.

"My dear Colonel," he said, "the respectable old gentleman did not call on behalf of his daughter, but on behalf of a cousin of mine, who was wanting to find my father; and Don Jose, who was in charge of her, was glad to hear that he was going to remain in England."

"A cousin!" O'Grady exclaimed. "Why how in the name of fortune does a lady cousin of yours come to be cruising about in such an outlandish place as this?"

"That is another story, Colonel, and I have talked until I am hoarse now, so that that must keep until another sitting. It is quite time that I was off to see how my men are getting on."

"Of course you will dine with us?"

"Not to-night, Colonel; this has been a long sitting, and I would rather not begin a fresh one."

"Well, we will come and have a look at your regiments."

"I would rather you did not come until to-morrow, Colonel. The men have marched five-and-twenty miles a day for the last five days, and they want rest, so I should not like to parade them again. If you will come over, say at twelve o'clock to-morrow, I shall be proud to show them."

The corps now possessed five tents, Terence having obtained four more at Coimbra. Herrara and himself occupied one, while two were allotted to the officers of each regiment. Bull and Macwitty had both by this time picked up sufficient Portuguese to be able to get on comfortably, and had agreed with Terence that although they would like to remain together, it was better that each should stay with the officers of his own regiment.

At twelve o'clock next day Colonel Corcoran came over with nearly the whole of the officers of the Mayo regiment, and was accompanied by many others, as they had the night before given many of their acquaintances an outline of Terence's story.

The men had been on foot from an early hour after breakfast. There had been a parade. Every man's firelock, accoutrements, and uniform had been very closely inspected, and when they fell in again at a quarter to twelve a most rigid inspection would have failed to find any fault with their appearance. Terence joined the colonel as soon as he came on the ground.

"So your officers are all mounted, I see, Terence?"

"Yes, Colonel; you see the companies are over two hundred strong, for the losses we had have been filled up since, and one officer to each corps could do but little unless he were mounted."

"The men looked uncommonly well, Terence, uncommonly well. I should like to walk along the line before you move them."

"By all means, Colonel. Their uniforms do not fit as well as I should like, but I had to take them as they were served out, and have had no opportunity of getting them altered."

Since the inspection at Coimbra the men had been taught the salute, and as Terence shouted:

"Attention! General salute! Present arms!" the men executed the order with a sharpness and precision that would have done no discredit to a British line regiment. Then the colonel and officers walked along the line, after which the troops were put through their manoeuvres for an hour, and then dismissed.

"Upon my word, it is wonderful," Colonel Corcoran said. "Why, if the beggars had been at it six months they could not have done it better."

There was a chorus of agreement from all the officers round.

"We could not have done some of those movements better ourselves, could we, O'Driscol?"

"That we could not," the major said, heartily. "Another three months' work and these two regiments would be equal to our best; and I can understand now how they stood up against the charge of Franceschi's cavalry regiments."

"Now, Colonel, I cannot ask you all to a meal," Terence said; "my arrangements are not sufficiently advanced for that yet; but I managed to get hold of some very good wine this morning, and I hope that you will take a glass all round before you go back to camp."

"That we will, and with pleasure, for the dust has well-nigh choked me. It is a different thing drilling on this sandy ground from drilling on a stretch of good turf. Of course, you will come back and lunch with us, and bring your friend Herrara."

Herrara, however, excused himself. He did not know a word of English, and felt that until he could make himself understood he would feel uncomfortable at a gathering of English officers. After lunch Terence was called upon to tell the story about his cousin. Among his friends of the regiment he had no fear of his adventure with the bishop getting abroad, and he therefore related the whole story as it happened.

"By my sowl," O'Grady said to him, afterwards, "Terence O'Connor, you take me breath away altogether. To think that a year ago you were just a gossoon, and here ye are a colonel--a Portuguese colonel, I grant, but still a colonel--fighting Soult, and houlding defiles, and making night attacks, and thrashing the French cavalry, and carrying off a nun from a convent, and outwitting a bishop, and playing all Sorts of divarsions. It bates me entirely. There is Dicky Ryan, who, as I tould him yesterday, had just the same chances as you have had, just Dicky Ryan still. I tould him he ought to blush down to his boots."

"And what did he say, O'Grady?"

"The young spalpeen had the impudence to say that there was I, Captain O'Grady, just the same as when he first joined, and, barring the loss of an arm, divil a bit the better. And the worst of it is, it was true entirely. If I could but find a pretty cousin shut up in a convent you would see that I would not be backward in doing what had to be done; but no such luck comes to me at all, at all."

"Quite so, O' Grady; I have had tremendous luck. And it has all come about owing to my happening to think it would be a good thing to take possession of that French lugger."

"Don't you think it, me boy," O'Grady said, seriously. "No doubt a man may have a turn of luck, though it is not everyone who takes advantage of it when it comes. But when you see a man always succeeding, always doing something that other fellows don't do, and making his way up step by step, you may put it down that luck has very little to do with the matter, and that he has got something in him that other men haven't got. You may have had some luck to start with--enough, perhaps, to have got you your lieutenancy, though I don't say that it was luck; but you cannot put the rest of it down to that."

At this moment Dick Ryan came and joined them.

"Well, Dicky," Terence said, "have you had no fun lately in the regiment?"

"Not a scrap," Ryan said, dismally. "There was not much chance of fun on that long march; on board ship there was a storm all the way; then we were kept on board the transport at Cork nearly three months. Everyone was out of temper, and a mouse would not have dared squeak on board the ship. I have had a bad time of it since the day we lost you."

"Oh, well, you will have plenty of chances yet, Dicky."

"It has not been the same thing since you have gone, Terence," he grumbled. "Of course we could not always be having fun; but you know that we were always putting our heads together and talking over what might be done. It was good fun, even if we could not carry it out. I tried to stir up the others of our lot, but they don't seem to have it in them. I wish you could get me transferred to your regiment. I know that we should have plenty of fun there."

"I am afraid that it could not be done, Dicky, though I should like it immensely. But you see you have not learned a word of Portuguese, and you would be of no use in the world."

"There it is, you see," O'Grady said. "That is one of the points which had no luck in it, Terence. You were always trying to talk away with the peasants; and, riding about as you did as Fane's aide-de-camp, you had opportunities of doing so and made the most of them. Now there are not three other fellows in the regiment who can ask a simple question. I can shout Carajo! at a mule-driver who loiters behind, and can add two or three other strong Portuguese words, but there is an end of it. Cradock would never have sent you that errand to Romana if you could not have talked enough to have made yourself understood. You could never have jawed those mutineers and put them up to getting hold of the arms. If Dicky Ryan and I had been sent on that mission we should just have been as helpless as babies, and should, like enough, have been murdered by that mob. There was no luck about that, you see; it was just because you had done your best to pick up the language, and nobody else had taken the trouble to learn a word of it."

"I see that, O'Grady," Ryan said, dolefully. "I don't envy Terence a bit. I know that he has quite deserved what he has got, and that if I had had his start, I should never have got any farther. Still, I wish I could go with him. I know that he has always been the one who invented our plans. Still, I have had a good idea sometimes."

"Certainly you have, Dicky; and if I have generally started an idea, you have always worked it up with me. Well, if you will get up Portuguese a bit, and I see a chance of asking for another English officer, say as adjutant, I will see if I cannot get you; but I could not ask for you without being able to give as a reason that you could speak Portuguese well."

"I will try, Terence; upon my honour, I will try hard," Ryan said. "I will get hold of a fellow and begin to-day."

"Quite right, Dicky," O'Grady said. "Faith, I would do it meself, if it wasn't in the first place that I am too old to learn, and in the second place that I niver could learn anything when I was a boy. I used to get thrashed every day regularly, but divil a bit of difference did it make. I got to read and write, and there I stuck. As for the ancients, I was always mixing them up together; and whether it was Alexander or Caesar who marched over the Alps and burnt Jerusalem, divil a bit do I know, and I don't see that if I did know it would do me a hap'orth of good."

"I don't think that particular piece of knowledge would, O'Grady," Terence agreed, with a hearty laugh; "still, even if you did learn Portuguese, I couldn't ask for you. I don't mind Dicky, because he is only a year senior to me; but if they made me commander-in-chief of the Portuguese army, I could never have the cheek to give you an order."

Three weeks later came the startling news that Sir Arthur Wellesley had arrived at Lisbon, and was to assume the command of the army. Sir John Cradock was to command at Gibraltar. There was general satisfaction at the news, for the events of the last campaign had given all who served under him an implicit confidence in Sir Arthur; but it was felt that Sir John Cradock had been very hardly treated. In the first place, he was a good way senior to Sir Arthur, and in the second place, he had battled against innumerable difficulties, and the time was now approaching when he would reap the benefit of his labours. To Terence the news came almost as a blow, for he felt that it was probable he might be at once appointed to a British regiment.

Personally he would not have cared so much, but he would have regretted it greatly for the sake of the men who had followed him. It was true that they might obey Herrara as willingly as they did himself, but he knew that the native officers did not possess anything like the same influence with the Portuguese that the English did, and that there might be a rapid deterioration in their discipline and morale. He remained in a state of uncertainty for a week, at the end of which time he received a letter from Captain Nelson, and tearing it open, read as follows:--

My Dear O' Connor,

I dare say you have been feeling somewhat doubtful as to your position since you heard that Sir Arthur has superseded Sir John Cradock. I may tell you at once that he has taken over the whole of Sir John's staff, yourself, of course, included. I ventured to suggest to Sir John that he should mention your case to Sir Arthur, and he told me that he had intended to take the opportunity of the first informal talk he had with him to do so. The opportunity came yesterday, and Sir John went fully into your case, showed him the reports, and mentioned how he came to appoint you because of the clear and lucid description you gave of the movements of every division of Moore's army.

Sir Arthur remembered your name at once, and the circumstances under which he had mentioned you in general orders for your conduct on board the transport coming out. Sir John told me that he said, 'There is no doubt that O'Connor is a singularly promising young officer, Sir John. The check he gave Soult on the Minho might have completely reversed the success of the Frenchman's campaign had he had any but Spaniards and Portuguese to oppose him. The report shows that O'Connor has done wonders with those two regiments of his, and I shall not think of removing him from their command. A trustworthy native corps of that description would be of the greatest advantage, and will act, like Trant and Wilson's commands, as the eyes of the army. I am much obliged to you for your having brought the case before my notice, for otherwise, not knowing the circumstances, I might very well have considered that the position of a lieutenant on my staff as the commander of two native regiments was an anomalous one. I should, no doubt, have inquired how it occurred before I thought of superseding an officer you had selected, but your explanation more than justifies his appointment.' So you see, Terence, the change will make no difference in your position. And as I fancy Sir Arthur will not let the grass grow under his feet, you are likely to have a lively time of it before long. By the way, a Gazette has arrived, and it contains the appointment of your two men to commissions.

While waiting at Leirya, Terence had ordered uniforms for all the officers. He had, after consultation with Herrara, decided upon one approximating rather to the cavalry than to infantry dress, as being more convenient for mounted officers. It consisted of tight-fitting green patrol jacket, breeches of the same colour, and half-high boots and a gold-embroidered belt and slings. The two English officers wore a yellow band round their caps, and Herrara a gold one.

"I am sure, Colonel O'Connor," Bull said, when Terence told Macwitty and him that they had been gazetted to commissions, "we cannot thank you enough. Macwitty and I have done our best, but it has been nothing more than teaching drill to a lot of recruits."

"We had two or three hard fights, too, Bull; and I have very good reason for thinking most highly of you, for I should never have got the corps into an efficient state without your assistance. And, indeed, I doubt whether I should have ventured upon the task at all if I had not been sure that I should be well seconded by you."

"It is good of you to say so, Colonel," Macwitty said; "but at any rate, it has been a rare bit of luck for us, and little did we think when we were ordered to accompany you it was going to lead to our getting commissions. Well, we will do our best to deserve them."

"That I am sure you will, Macwitty; and now that the campaign is going to commence in earnest, and we may have two or three years' hard fighting, you may have opportunities of getting another step before you go home."

Three days later an order came to Terence to march north again with his corps, and to place himself in some defensible position north of the Mondego, and to co-operate, if necessary, with Trant and Silveira, also ordered to take post beyond the river. Cuesta, the Portuguese general, had gathered a fresh army of six thousand cavalry and thirty thousand infantry. The greater portion were in a position in front of Victor's outposts. Between the Tagus and the Mondego were 16,000 Portuguese troops of the line, under Lord Beresford, that had been drilled and organized to some extent by British officers. The British and German troops numbered 22,000 fighting men.

Sir Arthur Wellesley, at Lisbon, had the choice of either falling upon Victor or Soult. The former would be the most advantageous operation, but, upon the other hand, the Portuguese were most anxious to recover Oporto, their second city, with the fertile country round it.

Another fact which influenced the decision was that Cuesta was alike incapable and obstinate, and was wholly indisposed to co-operate warmly with the British. The British commander, therefore, decided in the first place to attack Soult, and the force at Leirya was ordered to march to Coimbra. Five British battalions and two regiments of cavalry, with 7,000 Portuguese troops, were ordered to Abrantes and Santarem to check Victor, should he endeavour to make a rapid march upon Lisbon. Four Portuguese battalions were incorporated in each British brigade at Coimbra, Beresford retaining 6,000 under his personal command. On the 2d of May Sir Arthur reached Coimbra and reviewed the force, 25,000 strong, 9,000 being Portuguese, 3,000 Germans, and 13,000 British.

Soult was badly informed of the storm that was gathering about him, or many of his officers were disaffected, and were engaged in a plot to have him supplanted; consequently, they kept back the information they received of the movements of the British.

CHAPTER XXI. PORTUGAL FREED

On the 9th of May Terence was directing the movements of his men, who were practising skirmishing among some rough ground at the bottom of the hill upon which he had taken up his position, to defend, if necessary, the road that crossed if. His men had thrown up several lines of breast-works along the face of the hill to a point where steep ravines protected the flank of his position. Presently he saw a party of horsemen riding down the hill behind him. They reined up suddenly when half-way down the hill and paused to watch what was being done; then they came on again. As they approached, Terence recognized the erect figure of the officer who rode at the head of the party. He cantered up and saluted.

"Who are you, sir, and what troops are these?" Sir Arthur asked, sharply.

"My name is O'Connor, sir. These men constitute the corps that I have the honour to command."

"Form them up in line," the general said, briefly.

Terence rode away at a gallop, and as soon as he reached the spot where his bugler was standing--for bugles had now taken the place of the horns that had before served the purpose--the latter at once blew the assembly, and then the order to form line. The men dashed down at the top of their speed, and in a very short time formed up in a long line with their officers in front.

"Break them into columns of companies," the general, who had now ridden with the staff to the front, said.

The manoeuvre was performed steadily and well.

"Send out the alternate companies as skirmishers, while the other companies form line and move forward in support." When this had been done the order came: "Skirmishers, form into company squares to resist enemy's cavalry."

This had been so frequently practised that in a few seconds the six squares were formed up in an attitude to receive cavalry.

"That is very well done, Colonel O'Connor," Sir Arthur said, with more warmth than was usual with him. "Your men are well in hand and know their business. It is a very creditable display, indeed; you have proved your capacity for command. I have not forgotten what I have heard of you, sir, and it will not be long before your services are utilized."

So saying he rode on. Captain Nelson lingered behind for a moment to shake hands with Terence.

"You may feel proud of that, O'Connor," he said; "Sir Arthur is not given to praise, I can assure you. Good-bye, I must catch them up;" and, turning, he soon overtook the general's staff.

That the general was well satisfied was proved by the fact that three days later the following appeared in general orders:

"The officer commanding-in-chief on Thursday inspected the corps under the command of Lieutenant (with the rank of colonel in the Portuguese army) O'Connor. He was much pleased with the discipline and quickness with which the corps went through certain movements ordered by him. This corps has already greatly distinguished itself, and Sir Arthur would point to it as an example to be imitated by all officers having command of Portuguese troops."

Soult's position had now become very dangerous. The Spanish and Portuguese insurgents were upon the Lima, and the principal portion of his own force was south of the Douro.

Franceschi's cavalry, supported by infantry and artillery, and by Mermet's division, occupied the country between that river and the Vouga, and was without communication with the centre at Oporto, except by the bridge of boats.

Although aware that there was a considerable force gathering at Coimbra, the French general had no idea that the whole of the British army was assembling there. Confident that success would attend his operations, Sir Arthur directed the Portuguese corps to be in readiness to harass Soult's retreat through the mountain denies and up the valley of the Tamega, and so to force him to march north instead of making for Salamanca, where he could unite with the French army there.

A mounted officer brought similar orders to Terence. Half an hour after receiving them the corps was on the march. The instructions were brief and simple:

"You will endeavour to harass Soult as he retreats across the Tras- os-Montes, and try to head him off to the north. Act as circumstances may dictate."

The service was a dangerous one, and Terence felt that it was a high honour that the general should have appointed him to undertake it, for he assuredly would not have sent the corps on such a mission had he not considered that they could be relied upon to take care of themselves. They would be wholly unsupported save by parties of peasants and ordenanças; they would have to operate against an army broken, doubtless, by defeat, but all the more determined to push on, as delay might mean total loss.

He followed the line of the Vouga to the point where it emerged from the hills, crossed these, and came down upon the Douro some ten miles above San Joao, at nearly the same spot where he had before made the passage when on his way to join Romana.

He was now well beyond the district held by the French south of the Douro, and, obtaining a number of boats, crossed the river, and then made for Mirandella on the river Tua, and halted some distance from the town, having made a march of over seventy miles in two days. Learning from the peasants that there were no French troops west of the Tamega, he marched the next day to the crest looking down into the valley, and here halted until he could learn that Soult was retreating, and what road he was following. He had not long to wait for news, for, on the night of the 9th, while he was on his march by the Vouga, the British force had moved forward to Aveiro. Hill's division had there taken boats, and proceeding up the lake to Ovar, had landed at sunrise on the 10th, and placed himself on Franceschi's right.

In the meantime Paget's division had marched to Albergaria, while Cotton's division and Trant's command moved to turn Franceschi's position on its right. The darkness and their ignorance of the roads prevented the movement being attended with the hoped-for success. Had the operation been carried out without a hitch, Franceschi and Mermet would both have been driven off the line of retreat to the bridge of Oporto, and must have been captured or destroyed. As it was, Franceschi fell back fighting, joined Mermet's division at Crijo, a day's march in the rear, and although the whole were driven on the following day from this position, they retired in good order, and that night effected their retreat across the bridge of boats, which was then destroyed.

As Franceschi's report informed Soult that the whole force of the allies was now upon him, he at once sent off his heavy artillery and baggage by the road to Amarante. Mermet was posted at Valongo, with orders to patrol the river and to seize every boat. Those at Oporto were also secured. On the morning of the 12th the British force was concentrated behind the hill of Villa Nova, and Sir Arthur took his place on the top of the Serra Convent, from whence he commanded a view of the city and opposite bank. He saw that the French force was stationed for the most part below Oporto. Franceschi's report had led Soult to believe that Hill's division had come by sea, and he expected that the transports would go up to the mouth of the Douro, and that the British would attempt to effect a landing there.

The river took a sharp turn round the Serra Convent, and Sir Arthur saw that another large convent on the opposite bank, known as the Seminary, was concealed by the hill from Soult's position, and that it might be occupied without attracting the attention of the French. After much search a little boat was found; in this a few men crossed and brought back two large boats from the opposite side of the river. In these the troops at once began to cross, and two companies had taken possession of the convent before Soult was aware of what was going on. Then a prodigious din arose. Troops were hurried through the town, the bugles and trumpets sounded the alarm, while the populace thronged to the roofs of their houses wildly cheering and waving handkerchiefs and scarves, and the church bells added to the clamour.

Three batteries of artillery had been brought up close to the Serra Convent, and now that there was no longer need of concealment these were brought forward, and--as the French issued from the town and hurried towards the post held by the two companies that had crossed--opened a heavy fire upon them. The French pushed on gallantly in spite of this fire and the musketry of the soldiers, but the wall of the convent was strong, more boats had been obtained, and every minute added to the number of the defenders. The attack was, nevertheless, obstinately continued. The French artillery endeavoured to blow in the gate, and for a time the position of the defenders was serious, but the enemy's troops were now evacuating the lower part of the town, and immediately they did so the inhabitants brought boats over, and a brigade under Sherwood crossed there.

In the meantime General Murray had been sent with the German division to effect a passage of the river two miles farther up. Soult's orders to take possession of all the boats had been neglected, and it was not long before Murray crossed with his force. The confusion in the French line of retreat was now terrible. A battery of artillery, who brought up the rear, were smitten by the fire of Sherwood's men; many were killed, and the rest cut their traces and galloped on to join the retreating army. Sherwood's men pressed these in the rear, the infantry on the roof of the Seminary poured their fire on the retiring masses, and the guns on the Serra rock swept the long line.

Had Murray now fallen upon the disordered crowd their discomfiture would have been complete, but he held his force inactive, afraid that the French might turn upon him and drive him into the river. General Stewart and Major Harvey, furious at his inactivity, charged the French at the head of two squadrons of cavalry only, dashed through the enemy's column, unhorsed General Laborde and wounded General Foy. Receiving, however, no support whatever from Murray, the gallant little band of cavalry were forced to fight their way back with loss. Thus, as Franceschi had been saved from destruction from an error as to the road, Soult was saved the loss of this army by Murray's timidity, and in both cases Sir Arthur's masterly plans failed in attaining the complete success they deserved.

Terence had engaged several peasants to watch the roads leading from Oporto, and as soon as he learned that a long train of baggage and heavy guns was leaving the city by the road to Amarante, he crossed the valley, took up a position on the Catalena hill flanking the road, and as the waggons came along opened a sudden and heavy fire upon them. Although protected by a strong guard the convoy fell into confusion, many of the horses being killed by the first volley. Some of the drivers leapt from their seats and deserted their charges, others flogged their horses, and tried to push through the struggling mass. An incessant fire was kept up, but just as Terence was about to order the whole corps to charge down and complete the work, a large body of cavalry, followed by a heavy body of infantry, appeared on the scene.

This was Merle's division, that had hastened up from Valonga on hearing the firing. The advance of the cavalry was checked by the musketry fire, but Merle at once ordered his infantry to mount the hill and drive the Portuguese off. The latter stood their ground gallantly for some time, inflicting heavy loss upon their assailants. Terence saw, however, that he could not hope to withstand long the attack of a whole French division, and leaving two companies behind to check the enemy's advance, he marched along the crest of the hill until he came upon the road crossing from Amarante to the Ave river.

By this time he had been joined by the rear-guard, who had retired in time to make their escape before the French reached the top of the hill. Merle posted a brigade along the crest of the ridge to prevent a repetition of the attack, and to cover Soult's line of retreat, if he were forced to fall back; while Terence took up his position near Pombeiro, whence he presently saw the convoy enter Amarante. He had the satisfaction, however, of noticing that it was greatly diminished in length, a great many of the waggons having been left behind owing to the number of horses that had been killed. His attack had had another advantage of which he was unaware, for it had so occupied Merle's attention that he had neglected to have all the boats taken across the river, which enabled Murray's command to cross the next day, an error which, had Murray been possessed of any dash and energy, would have proved fatal to the French army.

The next day Terence heard the sound of the guns on the Serra height, but the distance was too great for the crack of musketry to reach him, and he had no idea that the British were crossing the river until he saw the French marching across the mouth of the valley towards Amarante. Among such veteran troops discipline was speedly recovered, and they encamped in good order in the valley. That town was, however, in the hands of the Portuguese, Loison, either from treachery or incapacity, having disobeyed Soult's orders and retired before the advance of the Portuguese force under Lord Beresford, and, evacuating Amarante, taken the road to Guimaraens, passing by Pombeiro.

He had sent no news to Soult, and the latter general was altogether ignorant that he had left Amarante. Upon receiving the news from the head of the column he at once saw that the position had now become a desperate one. Beresford, he learned at the same time, had marched up the Tamega valley to take post at Chaves, where Silveira had joined him. A retreat in that direction, therefore, was impossible, and he at once destroyed his baggage, spiked his guns, and at nightfall, guided by a peasant, ascended a path up the Serra Catalena, and, marching all night, rejoined Loison at Guimaraens, passing on his way through Pombeiro. Terence had left the place a few hours before, believing that Soult must return up the valley of the Tamega, and, ignorant that Beresford and Silveira barred the way, he marched after nightfall towards Chaves and took up a position where he could arrest, for a time, the retreat of the French army.

He had left two of his men at Pombeiro, and had halted but a short time after completing his long and arduous march when his two men came up with the news that Soult had passed by the very place he had a few hours before left. As there was more than one route open to Soult, Terence was unable to decide which he had best take. His men had already performed a very long march, and it was absolutely necessary to give them a rest; he therefore allowed them to sleep during the day. Towards evening he crossed the Serra de Cabrierra and came down upon Salamende, and sent out scouts for news. Destroying the guns, ammunition, and baggage of Loison's division, Soult reached the Carvalho on the evening of the 14th, drew up his army on the position that he had occupied two months before at the battle of Braga, reorganized his forces, and ordering Loison to lead the advance, while he himself took command of the rear, continued his march. The next day Sir Arthur Wellesley, who had been obliged to halt at Oporto until the whole army, with its artillery and train, had passed the river, reached Braga, having marched by a much shorter road.

Terence's scouts brought news that the whole of the French army were marching towards Salamende. Wholly unsupported as he was, ignorant of the position of Beresford and Silveira, and knowing nothing of Sir Arthur's march towards Braga, he decided not to attempt with his force to bar the way to Soult's twenty thousand men, but to hold Salamende for a time and then fall back up the mountains. Before doing so he sent a party to blow up the bridge at Ponte Nova across the Cavado, and also sent his second regiment to defend the passage at Riuvaens.

Thinking it likely that Soult would again cross the mountains to Chaves, he sent Herrara in command of the force at the bridge, while he himself remained at Salamende. Here he had the houses facing the road by which the enemy would approach, loopholed and the road itself barricaded. Late in the afternoon the French cavalry were seen approaching, and a heavy fire was at once opened upon them. The rapidity of the discharges showed Franceschi that the place was held by more than a mere party of peasants, and he drew off his cavalry and allowed the infantry to pass him. For half an hour the Portuguese held their ground and repulsed three determined assaults; then, seeing a strong body of troops ascending the hillside to take the position in flank, Terence ordered his troops to fall back. This they did in good order, and took up a position high up on the hill.

The French made but a short pause; a small body of cavalry that Soult had left near Braga brought him the news that the British army was entering that town. Scouts were sent forward at once, and their report that the bridge of Riuvaens was destroyed, and that 1,200 Portuguese regular troops were on the opposite bank, decided him to take the road by the Ponte Nova. The night was a terrible one; the rain had for two days been continuous, and the troops were drenched to the skin and impatient at the hardship that they had suffered. The scouts reported that the bridge here had also been destroyed, but that one of the parapets was still unbroken, and that the force on the other side consisted only of peasants. Soult ordered Major Doulong, an officer celebrated for his courage, to take a hundred grenadiers and secure the passage.

A violent storm was now raging, and their footsteps being deadened by the roar of the wind, the French crept up, killed the Portuguese sentry on their side of the bridge before he could give the alarm, and then crawled across the narrow line of masonry. Then they rushed up the opposite heights, shouting and firing, and the peasantry, believing that the whole French army were upon them, fled at once. The bridge was hastily repaired, and at four o'clock in the morning the whole of the French army had crossed. Their retreat was opposed at a bridge of a single arch over a torrent, by a party of Portuguese peasantry, but after two repulses the French, led by Major Doulong, carried it.

They were just in time, for in the afternoon the British came upon a strong rear-guard left at Salamende. Some light troops at once turned their flank, while Sherwood attacked them in front, and they fled in confusion to the Ponte Nova. As the general imagined that Soult would take the other road, their retreat in this direction was for some time unperceived, but just as they were crossing, the British artillery opened fire upon the bridge with terrible effect, very many of the enemy being killed before they could effect a passage. Their further retreat was performed without molestation. The British troops had made very long marches in the hopes of cutting Soult's line of retreat, and as the French, unlike the British, carried no provisions for their march, there was now little hope of overtaking them, especially as their main body was far ahead.

Sir Arthur halted for a day at Riuvaens, where Terence's corps was now concentrated, he having marched there the night he was driven out of Salamende. As soon as the British entered the place, the general inquired what corps was holding it, and at once sent for Terence.

"Let me hear what you have been doing, Colonel O'Connor."

Terence had, as soon as he heard that the army had arrived at Salamende, written out a report of his movements from the time that he had marched from Vouga. He now presented it. The general waved it aside.

"Tell me yourself," he said.

Terence related as briefly as possible the course he had followed, and the reasons of his movements.

"Good!" the general said, when he had finished. "Your calculations were all well founded; but, of course, you could not calculate on Soult's night march across the Catalena hills, and, as you knew nothing of the whereabouts of Beresford and Silveira, you had good reason to suppose that Soult would continue his march up the valley of the Tamega to Chaves. That was the only mistake you committed, and an older soldier might well have fallen into the same error. When you had found out your mistake, you acted promptly, and could not have done better than to proceed to Salamende. You did well to destroy both bridges, and to place half your force to defend the passage here, for you naturally supposed, as I supposed myself, that Soult would follow this road down to Chaves.

"You were again deceived, but were in no way to blame. Your position was most judiciously chosen on the Catalena hills on Soult's natural line of retreat, and I heard that the enemy's baggage train had been very severely mauled, and was only saved from destruction by Merle deploying his whole division against the force attacking it. Again I see you made a stout defence at Salamende. We saw a large number of French dead there as we marched in. If everyone else had done as well as you have done, young sir, Soult's army would never have escaped me."

Terence bowed, and retired deeply gratified, for he had been doubtful what his reception would be. He knew that he had done his best, but twice he had been mistaken, and each time the mistake had allowed Soult to pass unmolested; and he was, therefore, all the more pleased on learning that so skilful a general had declared that these mistakes, although unfortunate, were yet natural.

Soult reached Orense on the 20th, without guns, stores, ammunition, or baggage, his men exhausted with fatigue and misery, most of them shoeless, and some without muskets. He had left Orense seventy-six days before with 22,000 men, and had lately been joined by 3,500 from Tuy. He returned with 19,500, having lost 6,000 by sword, sickness, assassination, and capture. Of these 3,600 were taken in the hospitals at Oporto, Chaves, Vianna, and Braga. One thousand were killed in the advance, and the remainder captured or killed within the last eight days.

A day later the news arrived that Victor was at last advancing and a considerable number of the troops assembled at Salamende, among them Terence's corps, were ordered to march to join the force opposed to him. Terence started two hours before the bulk of the force got into motion, and traversing the ground at a high rate of speed, struck the road from Lisbon a day in advance of the British troops. There was, however, no occasion for action, for Victor, who had taken Abrantes, had, on receiving news of the fall of Oporto, at once evacuated that town and fallen back, and for a time all operations ceased on that side.

The British army had suffered but slight loss in battle, but the long marches, the terribly wet weather, and the effect of climate told heavily upon them, and upwards of 4,000 men were, in a short time, in hospital.

Fortunately, however, a reinforcement of equal strength arrived from England, and the fighting strength of the army was therefore maintained. There was still, however, a great want of transport animals; the commissariat were, for the most part, new to their duties, and ignorant of the language. Sir Arthur Wellesley was engaged in the endeavour to get Cuesta to co-operate with him, but the obstinate old man refused to do so unless his plans were adopted; and these were of so wild and impracticable a character that Sir Arthur preferred to act alone, especially as Cuesta's army had already been repeatedly beaten by the French, and the utter worthlessness of his soldiers demonstrated.

The pause of operations in Spain, entailed by the concentration of the commands of Soult, Ney, Victor, and Lapisse on the frontier, had given breathing time to Spain. Large armies had again been raised, and the same confident ideas, the same jealousy between generals, and the same quarrels between the Juntas had been prevalent. Once again Spain was confident that she could alone, and unaided, drive the French across the frontier altogether, forgetful of the easy and crushing defeats that had before been inflicted upon her. Like Moore, Sir Arthur Wellesley was to some extent deceived by these boastings, and believed that he should obtain material assistance in the way of transports and provisions, and that at least valuable diversions might be made by the Spanish army.

He accepted, too, to some extent, the estimate of the Spaniards as to the strength of the French, and believed that their fighting force in the Peninsula did not exceed 130,000 men, whereas in reality it amounted to over 250,000. The greatest impediment to the advance was the want of money, for while the British government continued to pour vast sums into Cadiz and Seville, for the use of the Spaniards, they were unable to find money for the advance of their own army. The soldiers consequently were unpaid, badly fed, almost in rags, and a large proportion of them shoeless; and to meet the most urgent wants, the general was forced to raise loans at exorbitant rates at Lisbon. And yet, while a great general and a victorious army were nearly starving in Portugal, the British government had landed 12,000 troops in Italy and had despatched one of the finest expeditions that ever sailed from England, consisting of 40,000 troops and as many seamen and marines of the fleet, to Walcheren, where no small proportion of them died of fever, and the rest returned home broken in health and unfit for active service, without having performed a single action worthy of merit.

The Mayo Fusiliers were among the regiments stationed at Abrantes, and Terence received orders to take up a position four miles ahead of that town, and hold it unless Victor again advanced in overwhelming strength, and then to fall back on Abrantes. This exactly suited his own wishes. It was pleasant to him to be within a short ride of his old regiment, while at the same time his corps were not encamped with a British division, for his own position was an anomalous one, and among the officers who did not know him he was regarded as a young staff-officer. He could not explain the position he held without constantly repeating the manner in which he had gained a commission as colonel in the Portuguese service.

During the month that had passed without movement, he continued his efforts to improve his corps, and borrowed a dozen non-commissioned officers from Colonel Corcoran to instruct his sergeants in their duty, and thus enable them to train others and relieve the officers of some of their work. He had in his first report stated that he had kept back £1,000 of the money he carried to Romana for the use of his corps, and as he had never received any comment or instructions as to the portion that had not been expended, he had still some money in hand. This he spent in supplementing the scanty rations served out. Frequently he rode into Abrantes and spent the evening with the Mayo Fusiliers. The first time he did so he requested the officers always to call him, as before, Terence O'Connor.

"It is absurd being addressed as colonel when I am only a lieutenant in the service. Of course when I am with the corps it is a different thing; I am its colonel, and must be called so; but it is really very annoying to be called so here."

"You must be feeling quite rusty," Colonel Corcoran said to him, "sitting here doing nothing, after nine months of incessant moving about."

"I am not rusting, Colonel, I am hard at work sharpening my blade; that is, improving my corps. Your men drill my sergeants four hours a day, and for the other eight each of them is repeating the instructions that he has received to three others. So that by the time we are in movement again I hope to have a sergeant who knows something of his duty to each fifty men. I can assure you that in addition to the great need for such men when the troops are out skirmishing, or otherwise detached in small parties, I felt that their appearance on parade was greatly marred by the fact that the non-commissioned officers did not know their proper places or their proper work, which neither Bull nor Macwitty, nor indeed the company officers, could instruct them in, all being cavalrymen."

"Yes, I noticed that when I saw them at Leirya," the colonel said. "Of course it was of no consequence at all as far as their efficiency went, but to the eye of an English officer, naturally, something seemed wanting."

"I should be glad of at least four more officers to each company, and at one time thought of writing to Lord Beresford to ask him to supply me with some, but I came to the conclusion that we had better leave matters as they were. In the first place young officers would know nothing of their work, and nothing of me; and in the second place, if they were men of good family they would not like serving under officers who have been raised from the ranks; and lastly, if they became discontented, they might render the men so. We have done very fairly at present, and we had better go on as we are; and when I get a sufficient number of trained men to furnish a full supply of non-commissioned officers, I shall do better than with commissioned ones, for the men are of course carefully selected, and I know them to be trustworthy, whereas those they sent me might be idle, or worse than useless."

"You spake like King Solomon, Terence," O'Grady said; "not that he can have known anything whatever about military matters."

A roar of laughter greeted this very doubtful compliment.

"Thank you, O'Grady," Terence said. "That is one of the prettiest speeches I have heard for a long time. I shall know where to come for a character."

"You are right there, Terence; but you may live a good many years before you get a chance of calling a whole British army under arms, as you did at Salamanca."

Terence was at once assailed with a storm of questions, for with the exception of O'Grady, no one had suspected the share that he and Dicky Ryan had had in that affair. Terence knew that the latter had kept the secret, for he had asked him only two or three days before, and he therefore assumed an expression of innocence.

"What on earth do you mean, O'Grady?"

"What do I mane? Why, that somehow or other you were at the bottom of that shindy when all the troops were turned out on a false alarm."

"Really, O'Grady, that is too bad. You know that every trick that was played at Athlone was your suggestion, and as we never could find out how that alarm originated, of course you put it down to me, whereas it is just as likely to have been your own work. Colonel Corcoran knows that Dicky and I were in the mess-room at the convent at the time when the alarm broke out."

"That was so," the colonel agreed, "for I know that you were talking to me when Hoolan ran in and told us that there was a row in the town. On what do you base your suspicions, O'Grady?"

"Just upon me knowledge of the two lads, Colonel. Faith, there never was a piece of mischief afloat that they were not mixed up with."

"If that is all you have to say, O'Grady," Terence replied, "I should advise you not to go hunting for mares' nests again. I know that you can see as far into a brick wall as most people, but you cannot see what is going on on the other side."

"All the same, Terence," O'Grady said, doggedly, "to the end of me life I will always believe that you had a hand in the matter. There is no one else that I know of except you and Ryan who would have had the cheek to do such a thing, and I don't believe that you can deny it yourself."

"I shall not trouble myself to plead not guilty, except before a regularly constituted court," Terence laughed. "At any rate, as when the march begins we shall go on first as scouts, it may be that I shall send in news which will turn out a British army again."

"I will forgive you if you do, for it is likely that we should have some divarsion after turning out, instead of marching out and back again like a regiment of omadhouns."

CHAPTER XXII. NEWS FROM HOME

A week after arriving at Abrantes, seeing that there was no probability whatever of fighting for a time, Terence had suggested to Herrara that it would be a good opportunity for him to run down to Lisbon for a few days to see his fiancée and his friends in the town.

"I don't know who you really ought to apply to for leave," he said, "but as we are a sort of half-independent corps, it seems the simplest way for me to take the responsibility. Nobody is ever likely to ask any questions about it; and now that it will simply be a matter of hard drill till the army moves again, you can be very well spared. If it is company work, it is the captain's business. If the two regiments are manoeuvring together, they will of course be under Bull and Macwitty, and I should be acting as brigadier."

"I should like to go very much," Herrara said. "I have not yet had the pleasure of introducing myself to my family and friends as a lieutenant- colonel. Of course, I wrote to my people when I received the commission from Lord Beresford; but it would be really fun to surprise some of my school-fellows and comrades, so if you think that it will not be inconvenient I should like very much to go."

"Then if I were you I should start at once. I will give you a sort of formal letter of leave in case you are questioned as you go down. You can get to Santarem to-night and to Lisbon to-morrow afternoon."

"Is there anything that I can do for you?"

"Yes; I wish you would ask Don Jose if he will, through his friends at Oporto, find out whether my cousin's mother was there at the time the French entered, and if she was, whether she got through that horrible business unhurt. I have been hearing about it from my friends, who were a couple of days there before the force marched to Braga. They tell me that, by all accounts, the business was even worse than we feared. The French came upon some of their comrades tied to posts in the great square, horribly mutilated, some of them with their eyes put out, still living, and after that they spared no one; and upon my word, I can hardly blame them, and in fact don't blame them at all, so long as they only their vengeance on men. The people made it worse for themselves by keeping up a desultory fire from windows and housetops when resistance had long ceased to be of any use; and, of course, seeing their comrades shot down in this way infuriated the troops still further.

"I don't suppose it will make the slightest difference in the world to my cousin whether her mother is dead or not, for I fancy from what Mary said that her mother never cared for her in the slightest. Possibly she was jealous that the child had the first place in the father's affections. However that may be, there was certainly no great love between them, and of course her subsequent treatment of my cousin destroyed any affection that might have existed. That either by some deed executed at the time of marriage, or by Portuguese law, Mary has a right to the estate at her mother's death, is clear from the efforts they made to get her to renounce that right. Still, there is no more chance of her ever inheriting it than there would be of her flying. As a nun she would naturally have to renounce all property, and no doubt the law of this priest-ridden country would decide that she had done so. She tells me--and I am sure, truly-- that she refused to open her lips to say a single word when she was forced to go through the ceremony; but as, no doubt, a score of witnesses would be brought forward to swear that she answered all the usual questions and renounced all worldly possessions, that denial would go for nothing."

"Besides," Herrara said, "it would never do for her to set foot in Portugal. She would be seized as an escaped nun immediately, and would never be heard of again."

"I have no doubt that that would be so, Herrara; and as she has a nice fortune from her father, you may be sure that she will not trouble about the estates here, and her mother would be welcome to do as she likes with them, which is, after all, not unreasonable, as they are her property and descended to her from her father. Still, I should be glad to learn, if it does not give any great trouble, whether if, as is almost certain--for the people from all the country round took refuge there long before the French arrived--she was in Oporto, and if so, whether she got through the sack of the town unharmed. No doubt Mary would be glad to hear."

"I am sure Don Jose would be able to find out for you without any difficulty," Herrara said; "indeed I expect he will soon be going back there himself. Now that there is a British garrison in the town, that the bishop must be utterly discredited there, and a good many of his Junta must have been killed, while the rabble of the town has been thoroughly discomfited, the place will be more comfortable to live in than it has been for a long time past. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Nothing whatever."

A quarter of an hour later Herrara left for Lisbon, bearing many messages of kind regards on Terence's part to Don Jose and his family. Terence's last words were:

"By the way, Herrara, if you should be able to find at any store in Lisbon some Irish whisky, I wish you would get six dozen cases for me, or what would be more handy, a sixteen or eighteen gallon keg, and could get it sent on by some cart coming here, I should be very much obliged. It had better be sent to me, care of Colonel Corcoran, Mayo Fusiliers, Abrantes. I should like to be able to give a glass to my friends when they ride out to see me. But have the barrel or cases sewn up in canvas before the address is put on; I would not trust it to the escort of any British guard if they were aware of the nature of the contents. Wine would be safe with them, for they can get that anywhere, but it would be too much for the honesty of any Irishman if he were to see a cask labelled Irish whisky."

A week later Colonel Corcoran said when Terence rode in:

"By the bye, O'Connor, there is a cask of wine for you at my quarters; it was brought up by an ammunition train this morning. The officer said that a Portuguese colonel had begged him so earnestly to bring it up that he could not refuse."

"It was Herrara, no doubt, Colonel; he has gone down to Lisbon for a week."

"Ah! I suppose he sent you a keg of choice wine."

"You shall taste it next time you come out, Colonel. I have been wishing that I had something better than the ordinary wine of the country to offer when you come over to see me. I will send over a couple of men with a cart in the morning to bring it out to me."

On leaving that evening Terence invited all the officers who could get away from duty to come over to lunch the next day.

"Bring your knives and forks with you," he said; "and I think you had better bring your plates, too; I fancy four are all I can muster."

Early next morning Terence told Bull and Macwitty that he expected a dozen officers out to lunch with him. "And I want you to lunch with me too. I know that Captain O'Grady and others have asked you several times to go in and dine at mess, and that you have not gone. I hope to-day you will meet them at luncheon. I can understand that you feel a little uncomfortable at this first meeting with a lot of officers as officers yourselves; but, of course, you must do it sooner or later, and it would be much better doing so at once.

"The next thing is, what can I give them to eat? I should be glad if you will send out a dozen foraging parties in different directions; there must be little villages scattered among the hills that have so far escaped French and English plunderers. Let each party take four or five dollars with them. I want anything that can be got, but my idea is a couple of young kids, three or four ducks, or a couple of geese, as many chickens, and of course any vegetables that you can get hold of. My man Sancho is a capital cook, and he will get fires ready and two or three assistants. They will be here by one o'clock, so the foraging parties had better return by ten."

"If there is anything to be brought you shall have it, Colonel," Bull said; "Macwitty and I will both go ourselves, and we will get half a dozen of the captains to go too; between us it is hard if we don't manage to get enough."

By ten o'clock the officers rode in, almost every one of them having some sort of bird or beast hanging from his saddle-bow; there were two kids, a sucking pig, two hares, half a dozen chickens, three geese, and five ducks, while the nets which they carried for forage for their horses were filled with vegetables. Half a dozen fires had already been lighted, and Sancho had obtained as many assistants, so that by the time the colonel and fifteen officers rode up lunch was ready.

After chatting for a few minutes with them, Terence led the way to a rough table that was placed under the shade of a tree. Ammunition boxes were arranged along for seats. Although but a portion of what had been brought in had been cooked, the effect of the table was imposing.

"Why, O'Connor," the colonel said, "have you got one of the genii, like Aladdin, and ordered him to bring up a banquet for you? I have not seen a winged thing since we marched from Coimbra, and here you have got all the luxuries of the season. No wonder you like independent action, if this is what comes of it; there have we been feeding on tough ration beef, and here are the contents of a whole farmyard."

Almost all the officers had been out before, and Bull and Macwitty had been introduced to them. They now all sat down to the meal.

"I am sorry Major O'Driscol is not here," Terence said.

"He could not get away," the colonel said, from the other end of the table. "If the general had come round and there hadn't been a field- officer left to meet him there would have been a row over it. I have brought pretty nearly all the officers with me, and I dared not stretch it further."

"O'Grady," Terence said, "I wish you would carve this hare for me, I have no idea how it ought to be cut. I can manage a chicken, or a duck, but this is beyond me altogether."

"I will do it gladly, Terence; faith, it is a comfort to find that there is something you can't do." And so, with much laughter and fun, the meal was eaten.

"You have not told us yet where you got all these provisions, O'Connor," the colonel said; "it is too bad to keep all the good things to yourself."

"It has been the work of eight officers, Colonel; they rode off this morning in different directions among the hills, and there was not one of them who returned empty-handed."

"The wine is fairly good," the colonel said, as he set down his tin mug after a long draught, "but it was scarce worth sending all the way up from Lisbon."

"That has to follow, Colonel; I thought you would appreciate it better after you had done eating."

"I have not had such a male since we left Athlone," O'Grady said, when at last he reluctantly laid down his knife and fork. "Be jabers, it would be all up with me if the French were to put in an appearance now, for faith I don't think I could run a yard to save me life."

The tin mugs were all taken away and washed when the table was cleared.

"You are mighty particular, O'Connor," the colonel said.

"One mug is good enough for us. If we liquored-up a dozen times--which, by the way, we never do--one of these wines is pretty well like another, and if there was a slight difference it would not matter."

When the board was cleared a large jug was placed before Terence, and some water-bottles at various points of the table.

"I thought, Colonel, that you might prefer spirits even to the wine," Terence said.

"And you are right, O'Connor. A good glass of wine after a good dinner is no bad thing, but after such a meal as we have eaten I think that even this bastely spirit of theirs--which, after all, is not so bad when you get accustomed to it--is better than wine; it settles matters a bit."

Terence poured some of the spirit from a jug into his tin and filled it up with water. "Help yourself," he said, passing the jug to O'Grady, who sat next to him.

O'Grady was about to do so when he suddenly set the jug down.

"By the powers," he exclaimed, in astonishment, "but it is the real cratur!"

"Go on, O'Grady, go on, the others are all waiting while you are looking at it. If you feel too surprised to take it, pass the jug on."

O'Grady grasped it. "I will defind it wid me life!" he exclaimed. In the meantime the colonel had filled his mug.

"Gentlemen," he said, solemnly, after raising it to his lips, "O'Grady is right; it is Irish whisky, and good at that."

"It is a cruel trick you've played on us," O'Grady said, with a sigh, as he replaced the empty mug upon the table. "I had almost forgotten the taste, and had come to take kindly to the stuff here. Now I shall have to go through it all again. It is like holding the cup to the lips of that old heathen Tartarus, and taking it away again."

"Tantalus, O'Grady."

"Och, what does it matter, when he has been dead and buried thousands of years, how he spilt his name. Where did you get it from, Terence?"

"I asked Herrara to try and find some for me at Lisbon; I thought it was most likely that some English merchant there would have laid in a stock, and it seems that he has found one."

"Do you hear that, Colonel? There is whisky to be had at Lisbon, and us not know it."

"Well, Captain O'Grady, all I can say is that I shall at dinner this evening move a vote of censure upon you as mess president for not having discovered the fact before."

"Don't talk of dinner, Colonel; there is not one of us could think of sitting down to ration beef after such a male as we have had--and with whisky here, too! I move, Colonel, that no further mintion be made of dinner. I have no doubt that Terence will give us some divilled bones-- there is as much left on the table as we have eaten--before we start home to-night."

"I will do that with pleasure. In fact, it is exactly what I reckoned upon," Terence replied.

"I think, O'Grady, we must send to Lisbon for some of this."

"Is it only think, Colonel? Faith, I would go down for it myself, if I had to walk with pays in my boots and to carry it back on me shoulders. Can I find Herrara there?" he asked.

"Yes, I can give you the address where he will be found."

"Anyhow, Colonel," O'Flaherty said, "I must--and I'm sure all present will join me in the matter--protest against Captain O'Grady going down to Lisbon to fetch whisky for the mess. You must know, sir, as well as I do, that he would never return again, and we should probably hear some day that his body had been found by the side of the road with three or four empty kegs beside him."

There was a general burst of agreement.

"Perhaps, Doctor O'Flaherty," O'Grady said, in a tone of withering sarcasm, "it's yourself who would like to be the messenger."

"There might be a worse one," O'Flaherty said, calmly; "but as I believe that Captain Hall is going down on a week's leave to-morrow, I propose that he, being an Englishman, and therefore more trustworthy than any Irish member of the mess would be on such a mission, be requested to purchase some for the use of the mess, and to escort it back again. How much shall I say, Colonel?"

"That is a grave matter, and not to be answered hastily, Doctor. Let me see, there are thirty-two officers with the regiment. Now, what would you say would be a fair allowance per day for each man?"

"I should say half a bottle, Colonel. There are some of them won't take as much, but O'Grady will square matters up."

"I protest against the insinuation," O'Grady said, rising; "and, moreover, I would observe, that it is mighty little would be left for me after each man had taken his whack."

"That is sixteen bottles a day. For a continuance I should consider that too much; but seeing that we have been out of dacent liquor for a month, and may have but a fortnight after it arrives to make up for lost time, we will say sixteen bottles."

"Make it three gallons," O'Grady said, persuasively; "we shall be having lots of men drop in when it gets known that we have got a supply."

"There is something in that, O'Grady. Well, we will say three gallons-- that is, forty-two gallons for a fortnight. We will commission Captain Hall to bring back that quantity."

"If you say forty-five, Colonel, it will give us a drop in our flasks to start with, and we are as likely to be fifteen days as fourteen, anyway."

"Let it be forty-five then," the colonel assented. "Will you undertake that, Captain Hall?"

"Willingly, Colonel. I will get the whisky emptied into wine casks, and as I know one of the chief commissaries at Lisbon, I can get it brought up with the wine for the troops."

After sitting for a couple of hours, the colonel proposed that they should all go for a walk, while those who preferred it should take a nap in the shade.

"I move, O'Connor," he said, "that this meeting be adjourned until sunset."

"I think that will be a very good plan, Colonel."

The proposal was carried out. O'Grady and a few others declared that they should prefer a nap. The rest started on foot, and sauntered about in the shade of the wood for a couple of hours, then all gathered at the table again. At eight o'clock grilled joints of fowls and ducks were put upon the table, and at nine all mounted and rode back to Abrantes.

"How many of those quart jugs have been filled, Sancho?"

"Eight, sir."

"That is not so bad," Terence said to Macwitty. "That is twelve bottles; and as there were sixteen and our three selves, that is only about two bottles between three men."

"I call that vera moderate under the circumstances, Colonel," Macwitty said, gravely. "I have drank more myself many a time."

"They were a good many hours over it too," Terence added; "you may say it was two sittings. You will see that we shall have a great many callers from the camp for the next few days."

A fortnight later Terence received a letter from Don Jose, saying that he had heard from his friend at Oporto, and that they informed him that the Señora Johanna O'Connor had been killed at the sack of Oporto. She had left her own house and taken refuge at the bishop's. That place had been defended to the last, and when the infuriated French broke in, all within its walls had been killed.

Terence was not altogether sorry to hear the news. The woman had been a party to the cruel imprisonment of Mary. No doubt his cousin would feel her death, but her grief could not be very deep; and it was, he thought, just as well for her that her connection with Portugal should be altogether severed. Her mother might have endeavoured to tempt her to return there; and although he felt sure that she would not succeed in this, she might at least have caused some trouble, and it was better that there should be an end of it. As to the woman herself, she had been in agreement with the bishop, had been mixed up in his intrigues, and her death was caused by her misplaced confidence in him. Of course she had not known that he had left the town, and thought that under his protection she would be safe in the palace.

"She must have been a bad lot," he said to himself.

"Evidently she did not make her husband happy, and persecuted her daughter, and I regret her death no more than any other of the ten thousand people who fell in Oporto."

A few days later he received letters both from his father and Mary. Being under eighteen he opened the former first.

MY DEAR TERENCE

I have heard all about you and your doings from Mary, and I am proud of you. It is grand satisfaction that you should have won your lieutenancy, and that you should be on the general's staff; as to your being a colonel, although only a Portuguese one, it is simply astounding. I don't care so much about the rank, for the Portuguese officers are poor creatures, not one in fifty of them knows anything of his duty; but what I do value is your independent command. That will give you opportunities for distinguishing yourself that can never fall in the way of a subaltern of the line, and I fancy, now that you have got Wellesley at the head, there will be plenty of such opportunities.

I was delighted, as you may guess, when I got Mary's letter from London. I had just settled at the old house, and mighty lonely I felt with no one to speak to, and the wind whistling in at the broken windows, and the whole place in confusion. So putting aside Mary, I was glad enough to have some excuse for running away. I took the next coach for Dublin; found, by good luck, a packet just sailing for London; and got there a week later. She is a nice girl and a pretty one; but I suppose I need not tell you that. I told her it was a poor place I was going to take her to, but she would be as welcome as the flowers in May; but she only laughed and said, that after being shut up for a year in a single room, and having nothing but bread and water, it would not matter a pin to her what it was like.

She was in a grand house, and Mrs. Nelson insisted on my putting up there. We stopped three days and then we took ship to Cork. We had to prove that the money lying there belonged to me; that is to say, that I was the person in whose name it had been put. I had all sort of botheration about it, but luckily I knew the colonel of the regiment there, and he went to the bank with me and testified. Then we came down here, and Mary hadn't been here a day before she began to spend money. I said I would not allow it; and she said I could not help it, the money was her own, and she could spend it as she liked, which was true enough; and at present the place is more topsy-turvy than ever.

I won't have anything to do with giving orders, but she has got a score of masons and carpenters over from Athlone, and she is turning the old place upside down. I sha'n't know it myself when she has done with it. There is not a place fit to sit down in, and we are living for the time at the inn at Kilnally, three miles away, and drive backwards and forwards to the house. Except that we quarrel over that, we get on first-rate together. She is never tired of talking about you, and when I hinted one day that it was ridiculous your being made a colonel, she spurred up like a young bantam, and more than hinted that if you had been appointed commander-in-chief instead of Sir Arthur it would not have been beyond your deserts.

My wound hurts me a bit sometimes, but I am able to get about all right, and the surgeon says in a few months I shall be able to walk as straight as anyone. And so, good-bye. I don't think I ever wrote such a long letter before, and as Mary will be telling you everything, I don't suppose I shall ever write such a long one again.

Terence laughed as he put the letter down and opened one from his cousin.

Dear Cousin Terence

Here I am with your father as happy as a bird, and as free. I sing about the place all day, my heart is so light, and should be perfectly happy were it not that I am afraid that you will be fighting again soon, and then I shall be very anxious about you. Your father is just what I thought he would be from what I know of you. He is as kind as if he was my own father, and reminds me of him. You told me it was a tumbledown old place, and it is. When we came it was only fit for owls to live in, so, of course, I set to work at once. Your father was very foolish about it, but, of course, I had my way. What is the use of having money and living in an owl's nest? So I have set a lot of men to work.

Your father won't interfere with it one way or the other. I had a builder down, he shook his head over it and said that it would be cheaper to pull it down and build a new one; but as it was an old family house I could not do that. However, between ourselves, I don't think there will be much of the old one left by the time we have finished. It looks awful at present. I am building a new wall against the old one, so that it will look just the same, only it will be new. The windows are going to be made bigger, and there will be a new roof put on. Inside it will all have to come down, all the woodwork was so rotten that it was dangerous to walk upstairs. It is great fun looking after the workmen. And though your father does keep on grumbling and saying that I am destroying the old place, I don't think he really minds.

As I tell him, one could live in a house without windows nine months in the year in Portugal, but it is not so in Ireland. One wants comfort, Terence; and, as I have plenty of money, I don't see why we should not have it. You can sleep on the ground, and go from morning till night in wet clothes, when you are on a campaign, but that is no reason why you should do it at other times. The weather is fine here now, at least your father says it is fine, and I want to get everything pushed on and finished before it changes to what even he will admit is wet. The people here seem all very nice and pleasant. They are delighted at having your father back again. I drive about with him a great deal, and we call upon the neighbours, who all seem very pleased that the house is going to be occupied again.

The poor people seem very poor. I don't know that they are poorer than they are in Portugal, but I think they look poorer; but they don't seem to mind much. I have made great friends with most of the children already, and always go about with a large bag of sweetmeats in what your father calls "the trap." I think of you very often, Terence, and your father and I generally talk about you all the evening. By what he says you must have been a very naughty boy, indeed, before you became a soldier. Do take care of yourself. We shall be very, very anxious about you as soon as we hear that fighting has begun again. I hope you think very often of your very loving cousin,

MARY O'CONNOR.

"She will do a world of good to my father," Terence said to himself as he put down the letters. "After being so long in the regiment he would have felt being alone in that old place horribly, especially as it has, of course, been a terrible trial to him to be laid aside just as a big campaign is beginning. She will keep him alive, and he won't have any time to mope. Even if for no other reason, it is a lucky thing indeed that I was able to get Mary out. I sha'n't feel a bit anxious about him now."

THE END.

Table of Contents

The Young Buglers

PREFACE

CHAPTER I. A COACHING ADVENTURE.

CHAPTER II. TWO YOUNG PICKLES.

CHAPTER III. ENLISTED.

CHAPTER IV. A TOUGH CUSTOMER.

CHAPTER V. OVERBOARD.

CHAPTER VI. PORTUGAL.

CHAPTER VII. THE PASSAGE OF THE DUORO—TALAVERA.

CHAPTER VIII. A PAUSE IN OPERATIONS.

CHAPTER IX. WITH THE GUERILLAS.

CHAPTER X. MADRID.

CHAPTER XI. THE FIGHT ON THE COA.

CHAPTER XII. BUSACO AND TORRES VEDRAS.

CHAPTER XIII. ALBUERA.

CHAPTER XIV. INVALIDED HOME.

CHAPTER XV. CIUDAD RODRIGO AND BADAJOS.

CHAPTER XVI. SALAMANCA.

CHAPTER XVII. CAUGHT IN A TRAP.

CHAPTER XVIII. JUST IN TIME.

CHAPTER XIX. VITTORIA.

CHAPTER XX. TOULOUSE.

The Young Buglers

PREFACE

To my Young Readers.

I remember that, as a boy, I regarded any attempt to mix instruction with amusement as being as objectionable a practice as the administration of powder in jam; but I think that this feeling arose from the fact that in those days books contained a very small share of amusement and a very large share of instruction. I have endeavored to avoid this, and I hope that the accounts of battles and sieges, illustrated as they are by maps, will be found as interesting as the lighter parts of the story. As in my tale, "The Young Franc-Tireurs," I gave the outline of the Franco-German war, so I have now endeavored to give the salient features of the great Peninsular struggle. The military facts, with the names of generals and regiments, the dates and places, are all strictly accurate, and any one who has read with care the story of "The Young Buglers" could pass an examination as to the leading events of the Peninsular war.

Yours truly,

THE AUTHOR.

CHAPTER I. A COACHING ADVENTURE.

Had any of the boys in the lower forms of Eton in the year 1808, been asked who were the most popular boys of their own age, they would have been almost sure to have answered, without the slightest hesitation, Tom and Peter Scudamore, and yet it is probable that no two boys were more often in disgrace. It was not that they were idle, upon the contrary, both were fairly up in their respective forms, but they were constantly getting into mischief of one sort or another; yet even with the masters they were favorites, there was never anything low, disgraceful, or ungentlemanly in their escapades, and they could be trusted never to attempt to screen themselves from the consequences by prevarication, much less by lying. If the masters heard that a party of youngsters had been seen far out of bounds, they were pretty sure that the Scudamores were among them; a farmer came in from a distance to complain that his favorite tree had been stripped of its apples—for in those days apples were looked upon by boys as fair objects of sport,—if the head-master's favorite white poodle appeared dyed a deep blue, if Mr. Jones, the most unpopular master in the school, upon coming out of his door trod upon a quantity of tallow smeared all over the doorstep, and was laid up for a week in consequence, there was generally a strong suspicion that Tom and Peter Scudamore were concerned in the matter. One of their tricks actually came to the ears of the Provost himself, and caused quite a sensation in the place, but in this case, fortunately for them, they escaped undetected.

One fine summer afternoon they were out on the water with two or three other boys of their own age, when a barge was seen ahead at some short distance from the shore. She was apparently floating down with the stream, and the fact that a horse was proceeding along the towing-path a little way ahead was not noticed, as the rope was slack and was trailing under water. The boys, therefore, as they were rowing against stream, steered their boat to pass inside of her. Just as they came abreast of the horse a man on the barge suddenly shouted to the rider of the horse to go on. He did so, the rope tightened, rose from the water just under the bow of the boat, and in another minute the boys were struggling in the water. All were good swimmers, and would have cared little for the ducking had it occurred accidentally, but the roars of laughter of the bargeman, and the chaff with which he assailed them as they scrambled up the bank, showed clearly enough that they had been upset maliciously. The boys were furious, and one or two proposed that they should report the case, but Tom Scudamore pointed out that the bargeman would of course declare that it was a pure accident, and that the boys were themselves in fault in not looking out whether the barge was being towed, before going inside her, and so nothing would come of reporting.

The boat was dragged ashore and emptied, and in a few minutes they were rowing back towards the town. The distance was but short, and they did not repass the barge before they reached their boat-house. The brothers had exchanged a few words in a low voice on the way, and instead of following the example of the others, and starting at a run for the house where they boarded to change their clothes, they walked down by the river and saw that the barge had moored up against the bank, at a short distance below the bridge. They watched for a time, and saw the bargeman fasten up the hatch of the little cabin and go ashore.

That night two boys lowered themselves with a rope from the window of one of the dames-houses, and walked rapidly down to the river. There were a few flickering oil lamps burning, and the one or two old watchmen were soundly asleep in their boxes. They did not meet a soul moving upon their way to the object of the expedition, the barge that had run them down. Very quietly they slipped on board, satisfied themselves by listening at the half-open hatch to the snoring within that their enemy was there, then loosened the moorings so that they could be thrown off at a moment's notice.

"Now, Peter," the elder brother said, "open our lantern. The night is quite still. You hold your hand behind it, so that the light will not fall on our faces, and I will look whether he is only wrapped up in a blanket or has a regular bed; we must not risk setting the place on fire. Get the crackers ready."

A dark lantern was now taken out from under Tom's jacket, and was found to be still alight, an important matter, for striking a light with flint and steel was in those days a long and tedious business, and then opening it Tom threw the light into the cabin. It was a tiny place, and upon a bench, wrapped up in a blanket, the bargeman was lying. As the light fell on his eyes, he moved, and a moment afterwards started up with an oath, and demanded who was there.

No answer came in words, but half a dozen lighted crackers were thrown into the cabin, when they began to explode with a tremendous uproar. In an instant the hatch was shut down and fastened outside. The rope was cast off, and in another minute she was floating down stream with the crackers still exploding inside her, but with their noise almost deadened by the tremendous outcry of shouts and howls, and by a continued and furious banging at the hatch.

"There is no fear of his being choked, Tom, I hope?"

"No, I expect he's all right," Tom said, "it will be pretty stifling for a bit no doubt, but there's a chimney hole and the smoke will find its way out presently. The barge will drift down to the weir before it brings up, there is not enough stream out for there to be any risk of her upsetting, else we daren't have turned her adrift."

The next day the whole town was talking of the affair, and in the afternoon the bargeman went up to the head-master and accused one of the boys of an attempt to murder him.

Greatly surprised, the Provost demanded what reason the man had for suspecting the boys, and the bargeman acknowledged that he had that afternoon upset a boat with four or five boys in her. "They would not bear you malice on that account," the Provost said; "they don't think much of a swim such weather as this, unless indeed you did it on purpose."

The man hesitated in his answer, and the Provost continued, "You evidently did do it on purpose, and in that case, although it was carried too far, for I hear you had a very narrow escape of being stifled, still you brought it upon yourself, and I hope it will be a lesson to you not to risk the lives of Eton boys for your amusement. I know nothing about this affair, but if you can point out the boys you suspect I will of course inquire into it."

The bargeman departed, grumbling that he did not know one of the young imps from another, but if he did find them, he'd wring their necks for them to a certainty. The Provost had some inquiries made as to the boys who had been upset, and whether they had all been in at lock-up time; finding that they had all answered to their names, he made no further investigation.

This affair had taken place in the summer before this story begins, on the 15th of October, 1808. On that day a holiday was granted in consequence of the head-master's birthday, and the boys set off, some to football, some for long walks in the country.

The Scudamores, with several of their friends, strolled down the towing-path for some miles, and walked back by the road. As they entered their dames-house on their return, Tom Scudamore said for the twentieth time, "Well, I would give anything to be a soldier, instead of having to go in and settle down as a banker—it's disgusting!"

As they entered a boy came up. "Oh, Scudamore, Jackson's been asking for you both. It's something particular, for he has been out three or four times, and he wanted to send after you, but no one knew where you had gone."

The boys at once went into the master's study, where they remained all the afternoon. A short time after they went in, Mr. Jackson came out and said a word or two to one of the senior boys, and the word was quickly passed round, that there was to be no row, for the Scudamores had just heard of the sudden death of their father. That evening, Mr. Jackson had beds made up for them in his study, so that they might not have the pain of having to talk with the other boys. The housekeeper packed up their things, and next morning early they started by the coach for London.

Mr. Scudamore, the father of the young Etonians, was a banker. He was the elder of two brothers, and had inherited his father's business, while his brother had gone into the army. The banker had married the daughter of a landowner in the neighborhood, and had lived happily and prosperously until her death, seven years before this story begins. She had borne him three children, the two boys, now fifteen and fourteen years old respectively, and a girl, Rhoda, two years younger than Peter. The loss of his wife afflicted him greatly, and he received another shock five years later by the death of his brother, Colonel Scudamore, to whom he was much attached. From the time of his wife's death he had greatly relaxed in his attention to his business, and after his brother's death he left the management almost entirely in the hands of his cashier, in whom he had unlimited confidence. This confidence was wholly misplaced. For years the cashier had been carrying on speculation upon his own account with the monies of the bank. Gradually and without exciting the least suspicion he had realized the various securities held by the bank, and at last gathering all the available cash he, one Saturday afternoon, locked up the bank and fled.

On Monday it was found that he was missing; Mr. Scudamore went down to the bank, and had the books taken into his parlor for examination. Some hours afterwards a clerk went in and found his master lying back in his chair insensible. A doctor on arriving pronounced it to be apoplexy. He never rallied, and a few hours afterwards the news spread through the country that Scudamore, the banker, was dead, and that the bank had stopped payment.

People could believe the former item of news, but were incredulous as to the latter. Scudamore's bank was looked upon in Lincolnshire as at least as safe as the Bank of England itself. But the sad truth was soon clear to all, and for awhile there was great distress of mind among the people, for many miles round, for most of them had entrusted all their savings of years to the Scudamores' bank. When affairs were wound up, however, it was found that things were not quite so bad as had been feared. Mr. Scudamore had a considerable capital employed in the bank, and the sale of his handsome house and estate realized a large sum, so that eventually every one received back the money they had entrusted to the bank; but the whole of the capital and the profits of years of successful enterprise had vanished, and it was calculated by the executors that the swindler must have appropriated at least 80,000_l._

For the first month after their father's death the boys stayed with the doctor who had long attended the family and had treated all their ailments since they were born. In the great loss of their father the loss of their fortune affected them but little, except that they were sorry to be obliged to leave Eton; for the interest of the little fortune which their mother had brought at her marriage, and which was all that now remained to them, would not have been sufficient to pay for their expenses there, and indeed such an education would have been out of place for two boys who had to make their own way in life. At the end of this month it was arranged that they were to go to their only existing relative, an elder sister of Mr. Scudamore. The boys had never seen her, for she had not for many years been friends with her brother.

The letter which she had written to the doctor, announcing her willingness to receive them, made the boys laugh, although it did not hold out prospects of a very pleasant future. "I am, of course," she said, "prepared to do my duty. No one can say that I have ever failed in my duty. My poor brother quarreled with me. It was his duty to apologize. He did not do so. Had it been my duty to apologize I should have done so. As I was right, and he was wrong, it was clearly not my duty. I shall now do my duty to my niece and nephews. Yet I may be allowed to say that I regret much that they are not all nieces. I do not like boys. They are always noisy, and not always clean. They do not wipe their shoes, they are always breaking things, they go about with all sorts of rubbish and dirt in their pockets, their hair is always rough, they are fond of worrying cats, and other cruel games. Altogether they are objectionable. Had my brother made up his mind to leave his children in my charge, it was clearly his duty to have had girls instead of boys. However, it is not because other people fail in their duty that I should fail in mine. Therefore, let them come to me this day fortnight. By that time I shall have got some strong and suitable furniture in the room that my nephews will occupy, and shall have time to make other arrangements. This letter will, if all goes well, reach you, I believe, in three days after the date of posting, and they will take the same time coming here. Assure them that I am prepared to do my duty, and that I hope that they will make a serious effort at doing theirs. Ask my nephews, upon the occasion of their first arrival, to make as little noise as they can, because my cat, Minnie, is very shy, and if she is scared at the first meeting, she will take a very long time to get accustomed to them. I also particularly beg that they do not, as they come up to the house, throw stones at any of the pigeons who may be resting upon the roof, for the slates were all set right a few weeks ago, and I am sure I do not wish to have the slater here again; they were hanging about for ten days the last time they came. I do not know that I have anything else to say."

The boys received the reading of this singular epistle with shouts of laughter.

"Poor aunt," Tom said. "What does she think of us that she can suppose that, upon our very first arrival, we should come in like wild Indians, throwing stones at her pigeons, and frightening her Minnie into fits. Did you ever hear such an extraordinary idea, Doctor Jarvis?"

"At any rate, boys," the doctor said, when the laughter had ceased, "you may find your aunt a little peculiar, but she is evidently determined to do her duty to you, and you must do yours to her, and not play more pranks than you can help. As to you, Rhoda, you will evidently be in high favor, and as you are fortunately a quiet little lady, you will, I have no doubt, get on with her very well."

"I hope so," Rhoda said, smiling, "you see she means to be kind, though she does write funny letters, and, at any rate, there are Minnie and the pigeons; it sounds nice, you know. Do you know what aunt's place is like, Dr. Jarvis, and how to get there from here."

"No, my dear, I never was in that part of England. It is close to Marlborough that she lives, a very pretty country, I believe. There is, of course, no way to go across from here. You must go up to London by coach from here, and then to Marlborough by the western coach. I will write to my brother James in town, where you stopped at night as you came through, boys, and I know that he will take you all in for the night, and see that you go off right in the morning."

"You're very kind, indeed, Doctor Jarvis. I do not know how to thank you for all you have done for us," Tom said earnestly, and the others cordially echoed the sentiment.

The day before starting the doctor had a long talk with the boys. He pointed out to them that their future now depended upon themselves alone. They must expect to find many unpleasantnesses in their way, but they must take their little trials pleasantly, and make the best of everything. "I have no fear as to Rhoda," their kind friend said. "She has that happy, amiable, and quiet disposition that is sure to adapt itself to all circumstances. I have no doubt she will become a favorite with your aunt. Try to keep out of scrapes, boys. You know you are rather fond of mischief, and your aunt will not be able to understand it. If you get into any serious difficulty write to me, you can rely upon always finding a friend in me."

The journey to London was no novelty to the boys, but Rhoda enjoyed it immensely. Her place had been taken inside, but most of the journey she rode outside with her brothers. She was greatly amazed at the bustle and noise of London, and was quite confused at the shouting and crowd at the place where the coach drew up, for two or three other coaches had just arrived from other directions. Mr. Jarvis had sent his man-servant to meet them, their luggage was sent direct to the booking-office from which the coach started for Marlborough, and the servant carried a small bag containing their night things. It was evening when they got in, and Rhoda could scarcely keep her eyes open long enough to have tea, for the coach had been two days and nights upon the road. The next day they stayed in town, and Mrs. Jarvis took them out to see the sights of London—the Tower and St. Paul's, and Westminster Abbey, and the beasts at Exeter Change. The boys had twice before spent a whole day in London, their father having, upon two occasions, made his visits to town to fit in with their going up to school, but to Rhoda it was all new, and very, very wonderful.

The next day the coach started early for Marlborough. It was to take rather over twenty-four hours on the way. As before, Rhoda rode outside with her brothers until the evening, but then, instead of going inside, where there were five passengers already, she said, as the night was so fine and warm, she would rather remain with them. They were sitting behind the coachman, there were two male passengers upon the same seat with them, and another in the box seat by the coachman. The conversation turned, as in those days it was pretty sure to turn, upon highwaymen. Several coaches had been lately stopped by three highwaymen, who worked together, and were reported to be more reckless than the generality of their sort. They had shot a coachman who refused to stop, the week before on Hounslow Heath, they had killed a guard on the great north road, and they had shot two passengers who resisted, near Exeter.

Tom and Peter were greatly amused by observing that the passenger who sat next to them, and who, at the commencement of the conversation, showed a brace of heavy pistols with which he was provided, with much boasting as to what he should do if the coach were attacked, when he heard of the fate of the passengers who had resisted, became very quiet indeed, and presently took an opportunity, when he thought that he was not observed, of slipping his pistols under the tarpaulin behind him.

"I hope those dreadful men won't stop our coach," Rhoda said.

"They won't hurt you if they do, Rhoda," Tom said assuringly. "I think it would be rather a lark. I say, Peter," he went on in a whisper, "I think we might astonish them with those pistols that coward next to you has hid behind him."

"I should just think so," Peter said; "the bargee at Eton would be nothing to it."

The hours went slowly on. Rhoda and the boys dozed uncomfortably against each other and the baggage behind them, until they were suddenly roused by a shout in the road beside them: "Stand for your lives!"

The moon was up, and they could see that there were three horsemen. One galloped to the horses' heads, and seized the rein of one of the leaders, the others rode by the coach.

The first answer to the challenge was a discharge from the blunderbuss of the guard, which brought one of the highwaymen from his horse.

The other, riding up to the side of the coach, fired at the guard, and a loud cry told that the shot had taken effect. In another moment the fellow was by the side of the coachman.

"Hold up!" he said, "or I will blow your brains out!"

The coachman did as he was ordered, and indeed the man at the leader's head had almost succeeded in stopping them. The passenger next to the boys had, at the first challenge, again seized his pistols, and the boys thought that he was going to fire after all.

"Lie down at our feet, Rhoda, quick!" Tom said, "and don't move till I tell you." The fate of the guard evidently frightened away the short-lived courage of the passenger, for, as the coachman again pulled up, he hastily thrust the pistols in behind him.

"Get down, every one of you," the highwayman shouted.

"Lie still, Rhoda," Tom whispered. "Now, Peter, get in underneath the tarpaulin."

This was done as the passengers descended. The luggage was not so heavily piled as usual, and the boys found plenty of room beneath the tarpaulin.

"Now, Peter, you take one of these pistols and give me the other. Now peep out. The moon is hidden, which is a good thing; now, look here, you shall shoot that fellow standing down below, who is swearing at the ladies inside for not getting out quicker. I'll take a shot at that fellow standing in front of the horse's heads."

"Do you think you can hit him, Tom?"

"I have not the least idea, but I can try; and if you hit the other one, the chances are he'll bolt, whether I hit him or not. Open the tarpaulin at the side so as to see well, and rest the pistol upon something. You must take a good shot, Peter, for if you miss him we shall be in a mess."

"All right," Peter said, in a whisper, "I can almost touch him with the pistol."

In loud and brutal tones the highwayman now began to order the frightened ladies to give up their watches and rings, enforcing his commands with terrible curses. When suddenly a pistol flashed out just behind him, and he fell off his horse with a ball through his shoulder.

Tom's shot, though equally well intended, was not so truly aimed. The highwayman had dismounted, and was standing just in front of the leaders, so that Tom had a fair view of him between them. The boys had both occasionally fired their father's pistols, for, in those days, each householder in the country always kept loaded pistols in his room, but his skill was not sufficient to make sure of a man at that distance. The bullet flew past at two feet to the left of his head. But its effect was scarcely less startling than if it had actually hit him, for, in its passage, it passed through the ear of the off leader. The horse made a start at the sudden pain, and then dashed forward. The rest of the team, already alarmed by the shot, followed her lead; before the startled highwayman could get out of the way they were upon him, in another instant he was under their heels, and the coach gave a sudden lurch as it passed over his body.

"Lie still, Rhoda, a little longer; it's all right, but the horses have run away," Tom exclaimed, as he scrambled forward, and caught hold of the reins, which the coachman had tied to the rail of the seat as he got down. "Catch hold of the reins, Peter, and help me pull."

Peter did so; but the united strength of the boys was wholly unequal to arresting the headlong flight of the horses.

Fortunately the highwaymen had chosen a low bottom between two hills, to arrest the coach, consequently the road was up a hill of moderate steepness. The boys hoped that the horses would stop when they got to the top; but they went on with redoubled speed.

"This is something like going it," Peter said.

"Isn't it, Peter? They know their way, and we ain't lively to meet anything in the road. They will stop at their stable. At any rate, it's no use trying to steer them. Here, Rhoda dear, get up; are you very much frightened?"

Rhoda still lay quite still, and Peter, holding on with difficulty, for the coach quite rocked with the speed at which they were going, climbed over to her, and stooped, down. "Shall I help you up, Rhoda?"

"No, please, I would rather stop here till it's all over."

Fortunately the hill, up to the Tillage where they made the change, was a steep one, and the horses broke into a trot before they reached the top, and, in another minute drew up at the door of the inn. The astonishment of the ostlers at seeing the horses covered with lather, and coachbox tenanted only by two boys, behind whom a little white face now peered out, was extreme, and they were unable to get beyond an ejaculation of hallo! expressive of a depth of incredulous astonishment impossible to be rendered by words.

"Look here," Tom said, with all the composure, and much of the impudence, which then, as now, characterized the young Etonian, "don't be staring like a pack of stuck pigs. You had better get the fresh horses in, and drive back to the bottom, about four miles from here. There has been regular row with some fellows, and I expect two or three are killed. Now, just put up the ladder; I want to get my sister down."

Almost mechanically the men put the ladder up to the coach, and the boys and Rhoda got down.

"Do you say the coach has been attacked by highwaymen in Burnet bottom?"

"I don't know anything about Burnet bottom," Tom said. "It was a bottom about four miles off. There were three of them. The guard shot one of them, and the others shot the guard. Then we were stopped by them, and every one had to get down. Then the horses ran away, and here we are."

"Then there are two of those highwayman chaps with the passengers," one of the men said.

"You need not be afraid of them," Tom said carelessly; "one got shot, and I don't know about the other, but the wheel of the coach went over him, so I do not suppose he will be much trouble. Now, if I were you, I should not stand staring any more, but should make haste and take the coach back."

"Hullo, look at this grey," one of the men exclaimed, as, at last understanding what had taken place, they began to bustle about to change horses. "He's got blood all over the side of his head. One of those scoundrels has shot him through the ear."

Tom burst out laughing. "I am the scoundrel!" he said. "Peter, that explains why we went off so suddenly. I missed the fellow, and hit the leader in the ear. However, it comes to the same thing. By the way, we may as well take the pistols."

So saying, he ran up the ladder and brought down the pistols. By this time the fresh horses were in.

"I can't make nought of it," one of the ostlers said, climbing up into the coachman's seat. "Jump up, Bill and Harry. It's the rummiest go I ever heard of in coaching."

"Landlady, can you get us some tea at once, please," Tom said, going up to the landlady, who was looking on from the door of the house with an astonishment equal to that of the men at the whole affair; "as quickly as you can, for my sister looks regularly done up with fatigue, and then, please let her lie down till the coach is ready to start again. It will be three quarters of an hour before it is back, and then, I daresay, there will be a lot of talking before they go on. I should think they will be wanting breakfast. At any rate, an hour's rest will do you good, Rhoda."

Rhoda was too worn out with the over-excitement even to answer.

Fortunately there was hot water in order to make hot grog for the

outriders of the coach, some tea was quickly made, and in ten minutes

Rhoda was fast asleep on the landlady's bed.

Tom and Peter expressed their desire for something substantial in the way of eating, for the morning had now fairly broken. The landlady brought in some cold meat, upon which the boys made a vigorous attack, and then, taking possession of two benches, they dozed off until the coach arrived.

It had but three horses, for one had been sent off to carry Bill, the ostler, at full speed to the town at which they had last changed horses, to fetch a doctor and the constable. The other two men had remained with the guard, who was shot in the hip, and the highwayman, whose collar-bone was broken by Peter's shot. The fellow shot by the guard, and the other one, whom the coach wheels had passed over, were both dead.

"There's the coach, Tom."

"What a nuisance, Peter, they'll all be wanting to talk now, and I am just so comfortably off. Well, I suppose it's no use trying to get any more sleep."

So saying, they roused themselves, and went out to the door just as the coach drew up.

There was a general shout of greeting from the passengers, which was stopped, however, by a peremptory order from the coachman.

He was a large, stout man, with a face red from the effects of wind and exposure. "Jack," he said, to a man who was standing near, for the news of the attack upon the coach had quickly spread, and all the villagers were astir to see it come in. "Jack, hold the leader's head. Thomas, open the door, and let the insides out. Gents," he said solemnly, when this was done, "I'm going to do what isn't a usual thing by no means, in fact, I ain't no precedence for doing it; but then, I do not know any precedence for this here business altogether. I never did hear of a coachman standing up on his box to give a cheer, no, not to King George himself; but, then, King George never polished off two highwaymen all to himself, leastway, not as I've heard tell of. Now, these two young gents have done this. They have saved my coach and my passengers from getting robbed, and so I'm going to give 'em three cheers. I'll trouble you to help me up into the box seat, gentlemen."

Assisted by the other passengers, the driver now gravely climbed up into the box seat, steadied himself there by placing one hand upon the shoulder of the passenger next him, took off his low-crowned hat, and said. "Follow me, gents, with three cheers for those young gents standing there; better plucked ones I never came across, and I've traveled a good many miles in my day."

So saying, he gave three stentorian cheers, which were echoed by all the passengers and villagers.

Then there was a momentary silence, and Tom, who, with his brother, had been feeling very uncomfortable, although rather inclined to laugh, seeing that he was expected to say something, said, "Thank you all very much; but we'd much rather you hadn't done it."

Then there was a general laugh and movement, and a general pressing forward of the passengers to shake the boys by the hand. The driver was assisted down from his elevated position, and got off the coach and came up to them. "That's the first speech I ever made, young gentlemen, and, if I know myself, it will be the last; but, you see, I was druv to it. You're a good sort, that's certain. What will you drink?"

The boys declared for beer, and drank solemnly with the driver, imitating him in finishing their mugs at a draught, and turning them topsy-turvy. There was now a great deal of talking, and many questions were asked. Tom and Peter modestly said that there was really nothing to tell. They saw that the gentleman next to them intended to use his pistols; but, not seeing a good opportunity, put them down behind the tarpaulin, and the thought occurred to them that, by slipping behind it, they would get a good chance of a certain shot. Accordingly, they had fired, and then the horse had run away; and there was an end of it. There was nothing extraordinary in the whole matter.

"At any rate, my boys, you have saved me from a loss of a couple of hundred pounds which I had got hid in my boots, but which those fellows would have been sure to have have discovered," one of the passengers said.

There was a general chorus of satisfaction at many watches and trinkets saved, and then the first passenger went on,—

"I propose, gentlemen and ladies, that when we get to the end of our journey we make a subscription, according to the amount we have saved, and that we get each of these young gentlemen a brace of the very best pistols that can be bought. If they go on as they have begun, they will find them useful."

There was a general exclamation of approval, and one of the ladies, who had been an inside passenger, said, "And I think we ought to give a handsome ring to their sister as a memorial through life. Of course, she had not so much to do as her brothers, but she had the courage to keep still, and she had to run the risk, both of being shot, and of being upset by the coach just as they did."

This also was unanimously approved, and, after doing full justice to the breakfast set before them, the party again took their places. Rhoda being carried down asleep, by the landlady, and placed in the coach, one of the inside passengers getting out to make room for her, and she was laid, curled up, on the seat, with her head in a lady's lap, and slept quietly, until, to her astonishment, she was woke up, and told that she was in Marlborough.

CHAPTER II. TWO YOUNG PICKLES.

An old-fashioned open carriage, drawn by a stiff, old-fashioned horse, and driven by a stiff, old-fashioned man, was in waiting at the inn at which the coach drew up at Marlborough. Into this the young Scudamores were soon transferred, and, after a hearty good-bye from their fellow-passengers, and an impressive one from the coachman, they started upon the concluding part of their journey.

"How far is it to aunt's?" Tom asked.

"About six miles, young sir," the driver said gravely.

The young Scudamores had great difficulty to restrain their laughter at Tom's new title; in fact, Peter nearly choked himself in his desperate efforts to do so, and no further questions were asked for some time.

The ride was a pleasant one, and Rhoda, who had never been out of Lincolnshire before, was delighted with the beautiful country through which they were passing. The journey, long as it was—for the road was a very bad one, and the horse had no idea of going beyond a slow trot—passed quickly to them all; but they were glad when the driver pointed to a quaint old-fashioned house standing back from the road, and said that they were home.

"There are the pigeons, Rhoda, and there is Minnie asleep on that open window-sill."

Very many times had the young Scudamores talked about their aunt, and had pictured to themselves what she would be like; and their ideas of her so nearly approached the truth, that she almost seemed to be an old acquaintance as she came to the door as the carriage stopped. She was a tall, upright, elderly lady, with a kind, but very decided face, and a certain prim look about her manner and dress.

"Well, niece Rhoda and nephews, I am glad to see that you have arrived safely," she said in a clear, distinct voice. "Welcome to the Yews. I hope that we shall get on very well together. Joseph, I hope that you have not driven Daisy too fast, and that you did not allow my nephews to use the whip. You know I gave you very distinct instructions not to let them do so."

"No, my lady, they never so much as asked."

"That is right," Miss Scudamore said, turning round and shaking hands with the boys, who had now got out of the carriage and had helped Rhoda down. "I am glad to hear what Joseph tells me, for I know that boys are generally fond of furious driving and like lashing horses until they put them into a gallop. And now, how are you, niece Rhoda! Give me a kiss. That is right. You look pale and tired, child; you must have something to eat, and then go to bed. Girls can't stand racketing about as boys can. You look quiet and nice, child, and I have no doubt we shall suit very well. It is very creditable to you that you have not been spoilt by your brothers. Boys generally make their sisters almost as noisy and rude as they are themselves."

"I don't think we are noisy and rude, aunt," Tom said, with a smile.

"Oh, you don't, nephew?" Miss Scudamore said, looking at him sharply, and then shaking her head decidedly two or three times. "If your looks do not belie you both sadly, you are about as hair-brained a couple of lads as my worst enemies could wish to see sent to plague me; but," she added to herself, as she turned to lead the way indoors, "I must do my duty, and must make allowances; boys will be boys, boys will be boys, so they say at least, though why they should be is more than I can make out. Now, Rhoda, I will take you up with me. Your bedroom leads out of mine, dear. Hester," she said to a prim-looking servant who had come out after her to the door; "will you show my nephews to their room? Dinner will be ready at two; it is just a quarter to the hour now. I see that you have got watches, so that you will be able to be punctual; and I must request you, when you have done washing, not to throw the water out of the window, because my flower-beds are underneath."

Tom had great difficulty in keeping his countenance, while he assured his aunt that his brother and himself never did empty their basins out of the window.

"That is right," Miss Scudamore said doubtfully; "but I have heard that boys do such things."

Once fairly in their room and the door shut, the boys had a great laugh over their aunt's ideas as to boys.

"There is one comfort," Tom said at last; "whatever we do we shall never surprise her."

"I think we shall get on very well with her," Peter said. "She means to be kind, I am sure. This is a jolly room, Tom."

It was a low wainscoted room, with a very wide window divided into three by mullions, and fitted with latticed panes. They were open, and a delicious scent of flowers came in from the garden. The furniture was all new and very strong, of dark stained wood, which harmonized well with the paneling. There were no window curtains, but a valance of white dimity hung above the window. There was a piece of carpet between the beds; the rest of the floor was bare, but the boards were of old oak, and looked as well without it. Several rows of pegs had been put upon the walls, and there was a small chest of drawers by each bed.

"This is very jolly, Peter; but it is a pity that there are bars to the window."

When they came down to dinner they found that Rhoda, quite done up with her journey, had gone to bed.

"You like your room, I hope, nephews," Miss Scudamore said, after they had taken their seats.

"Yes, aunt, very much. There is only one drawback to it."

"What is that, Thomas?"

"Oh, please, aunt, don't call me Thomas; it is a dreadful name; it is almost as bad as Tommy. Please call me Tom. I am always called Tom by every one."

"I am not fond of these nicknames," Miss Scudamore said. "There is a flippancy about them of which I do not approve."

"Yes, aunt, in nicknames; but Tom is not a nickname; it is only a short way of speaking. We never hear of a man being called Thomas, unless he is a footman or an archbishop, or something of that sort."

"What do you mean by archbishop?" Miss Scudamore asked severely.

"Well, aunt, I was going to say footman, and then I thought of Thomas à Becket; and there was Thomas the Rhymer. I have heard of him, but I never read any of his rhymes. I wonder why they did not call them poems. But I expect even Thomas à Becket was called Tom in his own family."

Miss Scudamore looked sharply at Tom, but he had a perfect command of his face, and could talk the greatest nonsense with the most serious face. He went on unmoved with her scrutiny.

"I have often wondered why I was not christened Tom, It would have been much more sensible. For instance, Rhoda is christened Rhoda and not Rhododendron."

"Rhododendron?" Miss Scudamore said, mystified.

"Yes, aunt, it is an American plant, I believe. We had one in the green-house at home; it was sent poor papa by some friend who went out there, I don't see anything else Rhoda could come from."

"You are speaking very ignorantly, nephew," Miss Scudamore said severely. "I don't know anything about the plant you speak of, but the name of Rhoda existed before America was ever heard of. It is a very old name."

"I expect," Peter said, "it must have meant originally a woman of

Rhodes. You see Crusaders and Templars were always having to do with

Rhodes, and they no doubt brought the name home, and so it got settled

here."

"The name is mentioned in Scripture," Miss Scudamore said severely.

"Yes, aunt, and that makes it still more likely that it meant a woman of Rhodes; you see Rhodes was a great place then."

Miss Scudamore was silent for some time. Then she went back to the subject with which the conversation had commenced. "What is the objection you spoke of to the room?"

"Oh! it is the bars to the window, aunt."

"I have just had them put up," Miss Scudamore said calmly.

"Just put up, aunt!" Tom repeated in surprise, "what for?"

"To prevent you getting out at night."

The boys could not help laughing this time, and then Peter said, "But why should we want to get out at night, aunt?"

"Why should boys always want to do the things they ought not?" Miss Scudamore said. "I've heard of boys being let down by ropes to go and buy things. I dare say you have both done it yourselves."

"Well, aunt," Tom said, "perhaps we have; but then, you see, that was at school."

"I do not see any difference, nephew. If you will get out at one window, you will get out at another. There is mischief to be done in the country as well as in towns; and so long as there is mischief to do, so long will boys go out of their way to do it. And now I will tell you the rules of this house, to which you will be expected to adhere. It is well to understand things at once, as it prevents mistakes. We breakfast at eight, dine at two, have tea at half-past six, and you will go to bed at half-past eight. These hours will be strictly observed. I shall expect your hands and faces to be washed, and your hairs brushed previous to each meal. When you come indoors you will always take off your boots and put on your shoes in the little room behind this. And now, if you have done dinner I think that you had better go and lie down on your bed, and get two or three hours' sleep. Take your boots off before you get into the bed."

"She means well, Peter," the elder brother said, as they went upstairs, "but I am afraid she will fidget our lives out."

For two or three days the boys wandered about enjoying the beautiful walks, and surprising and pleasing their aunt by the punctuality with which they were in to their meals. Then she told them that she had arranged for them to go to a tutor, who lived at Warley, a large village a mile distant, and who had some eight or ten pupils. The very first day's experience at the school disgusted them. The boys were of an entirely different class to those with whom they had hitherto associated, and the master was violent and passionate.

"How do you like Mr. Jones, nephews?" Miss Scudamore asked upon their return after their first day at school.

"We do not like him at all, aunt. In the first place, he is a good deal too handy with that cane of his."

"'He who spares the rod—'"

"Yes, we know that, aunt, 'spoils the child,'" broke in Tom, "but we would not mind so much if the fellow were a gentleman."

"I don't know what you may call a gentleman," Miss Scudamore said severely. "He stands very high here a schoolmaster, while he visits the vicar, and is well looked up to everywhere."

"He's not a gentleman for all that," Tom muttered; "he wouldn't be if he visited the Queen. One does not mind being trashed by a gentleman; one is used to that at Eton; but to be knocked about by a fellow like that! Well, we shall see."

For a week the boys put up with the cruelty of their tutor, who at once took an immense dislike to them on finding that they did not, like the other boys, cringe before him, and that no trashing could extract a cry from them.

It must not be supposed that they did not meditate vengeance, but they could hit upon no plan which could be carried out without causing suspicion that it was the act of one of the boys; and in that case they knew that he would question them all round, and they would not tell a lie to screen themselves.

Twice they appealed to their aunt, but she would not listen to them, saying that the other boys did not complain, and that if their master was more severe with them than with others, it could only be because they behaved worse. It was too evident that they were boys of very violent dispositions, and although she was sorry that their master found it necessary to punish them, it was clearly her duty not to interfere.

The remark about violence arose from Miss Scudamore having read in the little paper which was published once a week at Marlborough an account of the incident of the stopping of the coach, about which the boys had agreed to say nothing to her. The paper had described the conduct of her nephews in the highest terms, but Miss Scudamore was terribly shocked. "The idea", she said, "that she should have to associate with boys who had take a fellow-creature's life was terrible to her, and their conduct in resisting, when grown-up men had given up the idea as hopeless, showed a violent spirit, which, in boys so young, was shocking."

A few days after this, as the boys were coming from school, they passed the carrier's cart, coming in from Marlborough.

"Be you the young gentlemen at Miss Scudamore's?" the man asked.

"Because, if you be, I have got a parcel for you."

Tom answered him that they were, and he then handed them over a heavy square parcel. Opening it after the cart had gone on, the boys, to their great delight, found that it consisted of two cases, each containing a brace of very handsome pistols.

"This is luck, Peter," Tom said. "If the parcel had been sent to the house, aunt would never have let us have them; now we can take them in quietly, get some powder and balls, and practice shooting every day in some quiet place. That will be capital. Do you know I have thought of a plan which will enrage old Jones horribly, and he will never suspect us?"

"No; have you, Tom? What is that?"

"Look here, Peter. I can carry you easily standing on my shoulders. If you get a very long cloak, so as to fall well down on me, no one would suspect in the dark that there were two of us; we should look like one tremendously tall man. Well, you know, he goes every evening to Dunstable's to sing with Miss Dunstable. They say he's making love to her. We can waylay him in the narrow lane, and make him give up that new watch he has just bought, that he's so proud of. I heard him say he had given thirty guineas for it. Of course, we don't want to keep it, but we would smash it up between a couple of big stones, and send him all the pieces."

"Capital, Tom; but where should we get the cloak?"

"There is that long wadded silk cloak of aunt's that she uses when she goes out driving. It always hangs up in the closet in the hall."

"But how are we to get in again, Tom? I expect that he does not come back till half-past nine or ten. We can slip out easily enough after we are supposed to have gone to bed; but how are we to get back?"

"The only plan, Peter, is to get in through Rhoda's window. She is very angry at that brute Jones treating us so badly, and if I take her into the secret I feel sure she will agree."

Rhoda was appealed to, and although at first she said it was quite, quite impossible, she finally agreed, although with much fear and trembling, to assist them. First, the boys were to buy some rope and make a rope ladder, which Rhoda was to take up to her room; she was to open the window wide when she went to bed, but to pull the blind down as usual, so that if her aunt came in she would not notice it. Then, when she heard her aunt come tip to bed at half-past nine, she was to get up very quietly, drop the rope ladder out, fastening it as they instructed her, and then get into bed again, and go to sleep if she could, as the boys would not try to come in until after Miss Scudamore was asleep.

Two nights after this the schoolmaster was returning from his usual visit to Mr. Dunstable, when, to his horror, he saw a gigantic figure advance from under a tree which overshadowed the lawn, and heard a deep voice say, "Your money or your life!"

Like all bullies, the schoolmaster was a coward, and no sooner did he see this terrible figure, and his ears caught the ominous click of a pistol which accompanied the words, than his teeth chattered, his whole figure trembled with fear, and he fell on his knees, crying, "Spare my life!—take all that I have, but spare my life!"

"You miserable coward!" the giant said, "I do not want to take your wretched life. What money have you?"

"I have only two shillings," he exclaimed; "I swear to you that I have only two shillings."

"What is the use of two shillings to me?—give them to the first beggar you see."

"Yes, sir," the schoolmaster said; "I swear to you that I will."

"Give me your watch."

The schoolmaster took out his watch, and, getting upon his feet, handed it to the giant.

"There now, you can go; but see," he added, as the schoolmaster turned with great alacrity to leave—"look here."

"Yes, sir."

"Look here, and mark my words well. Don't you go to that house where you have been to-night, or it will be the worse for you. You are a wretch, and I won't see that poor little girl marry you and be made miserable. Swear to me you will give her up."

The schoolmaster hesitated, but there was again the ominous click of the pistol.

"Yes, yes, I swear it," he said hastily. "I will give her up altogether."

"You had better keep your oath," the giant said, "for if you break it, if I hear you go there any more—I shall be sure to hear of it—I will put an ounce of lead in you, if I have to do it in the middle of your school. Do you hear me? Now you may go."

Only too glad to escape, the schoolmaster walked quickly off, and in a moment his steps could be heard as he ran at the top of his speed down the lane.

In a moment the giant appeared to break in two, and two small figures stood where the large one had been.

"Capital, Peter. Now, I'll take the cloak, and you keep the pistol, and now for a run home—not that I'm afraid of that coward getting up a pursuit. He'll be only too glad to get his head under the bedclothes."

Rhoda had carried out her brother's instructions with great exactness, and was in a great fright when her aunt came in to see her in bed, lest she should notice that the window was open. However, the night was a quiet one, and the curtains fell partly across the blind, so that Miss Scudamore suspected nothing, but Rhoda felt great relief when she said good-night, took the candle, and left the room. She had had hard work to keep herself awake until she heard her aunt come up to bed; and then, finding that she did not again come into the room, she got up, fastened one end of the rope ladder to a thick stick long enough to cross two of the mullions, let the other end down very quietly, and then slipped into bed again. She did not awake until Hester knocked at her door and told her it was time to get up. She awoke with a great start, and in a, fright at once ran to the window. Everything looked as usual. The rope ladder was gone, the window was closed, and Rhoda knew that her brothers must have come in safely.

Great was the excitement in Warley next day, when it became known that the schoolmaster had been robbed of his watch by a giant fully eight feet high. This height of the robber was, indeed, received with much doubt, as people thought that he might have been a tall man, but that the eight feet must have been exaggerated by the fear of the schoolmaster.

Two or three days afterwards the surprise rose even higher, when a party of friends who had assembled at Mr. Jones' to condole with him upon his misfortune, were startled by the smashing of one of the windows by a small packet, which fell upon the floor in their midst.

There was a rush to the door, but the night was a dark one, and no one was to be seen; then they returned to the sitting-room, and the little packet was opened, and found to contain some watchworks bent and broken, some pulverized glass, and a battered piece of metal, which, after some trouble, the schoolmaster recognized as the case of his watch. The head-constable was sent for, and after examining the relics of the case, he came to the same conclusion at which the rest had already arrived, namely, that the watch could not have been stolen by an ordinary footpad, but by some personal enemy of the schoolmaster's, whose object was not plunder, but annoyance and injury.

To the population of Warley this solution was a very agreeable one. The fact of a gigantic footpad being in the neighborhood was alarming for all, and nervous people were already having great bolts and bars placed upon their shutters and doors. The discovery, therefore, that the object of this giant was not plunder, but only to gratify a spite against the master, was a relief to the whole place. Every one was, of course, anxious to know who this secret foe could be, and what crime Mr. Jones could have committed to bring such a tremendous enemy upon him. The boys at the school assumed a fresh importance in the eyes of the whole place, and being encouraged now to tell all they knew of him, they gave such a picture of the life that they had led at school, that a general feeling of disgust was aroused against him.

The parents of one or two of the boys gave notice to take their sons away, but the rest of the boys were boarders, and were no better off than before.

Miss Scudamore was unshaken in her faith in Mr. Jones and considered the rumor current about him to be due simply to the vindictive nature of boys.

"Well, aunt," Tom said one day, after a lecture of this sort from her, "I know you mean to be kind to us, but Peter and I have stood it on that account, but we can't stand it much longer, and we shall run away before long."

"And where would you run to, nephew?" Miss Scudamore said calmly.

"That is our affair," Tom said quite as coolly, "only I don't like to do it without giving you warning. You mean kindly, I know, aunt, but the way you are always going on at us from morning to night whenever we are at home, and the way in which you allow us to be treated by that tyrannical brute, is too much altogether."

Miss Scudamore looked steadily at them.

"I am doing, nephew, what I consider to be for your good. You are willful, and violent, and headstrong. It is my duty to cure you, and although it is all very painful to me, at my time of life, to have such a charge thrust upon me, still, whatever it costs, it must be done."

For the next month Mr. Jones' life was rendered a burden to him. The chimney-pots were shut up with sods placed on them, and the fireplaces poured volumes of smoke into the rooms and nearly choked him. Night after night the windows of his bedroom were smashed; cats were let down the chimney; his water-butts were found filled with mud, and the cord of the bucket of his well was cut time after time; the flowers in his garden were dug up and put in topsy-turvy. He himself could not stir out after dark without being tripped up by strings fastened a few inches above the path; and once, coming out of his door, a string fastened from scraper to scraper brought him down the steps with such violence that the bridge of his nose, which came on the edge of a step, was broken, and he was confined to his bed for three or four days. In vain he tried every means to discover and punish the authors of these provocations. A savage dog, the terror of the neighborhood, was borrowed and chained up in the garden, but was found poisoned next morning.

Watchmen were hired, but refused to stay for more than one night, for they were so harassed and wearied out that they came to the conclusion that they were haunted. If they were on one side of the house a voice would be heard on the other. After the first few attempts, they no longer dared venture to run, for between each round strings were tied in every direction, and they had several heavy falls, while as they were carefully picking their way with their lanterns, stones struck them from all quarters. If one ventured for a moment from the other's side his lantern was knocked out, and his feet were struck from under him with a sharp and unexpected blow from a heavy cudgel; and they were once appalled by seeing a gigantic figure stalk across the grass, and vanish in a little bush.

At the commencement of these trials the schoolmaster had questioned the boys, one by one, if they had any hand in the proceeding.

All denied it. When it came to Tom Scudamore's turn, he said. "You never do believe me, Mr. Jones, so it is of no use my saying that I didn't do it; but if you ask Miss Scudamore, she will bear witness that we were in bed hours before, and that there are bars on our windows through which a cat could hardly get."

The boys had never used Rhoda's room after the first night's expedition, making their escape now by waiting until the house was quiet, and then slipping along the passage to the spare room, and thence by the window, returning in the same way.

Under this continued worry, annoyance, and alarm, the schoolmaster grew thin and worn, his school fell off more and more; for many of the boys, whose rest was disturbed by all this racket, encouraged by the example of the boys of the place who had already been taken away, wrote privately to their friends.

The result was that the parents of two or three more wrote to say that their boys would not return after the holidays, and no one was surprised when it became known that Mr. Jones was about to close his school and leave the neighborhood.

The excitement of the pranks that they had been playing had enabled the boys to support the almost perpetual scoldings and complaints of their aunt; but school once over, and their enemy driven from the place, they made up their minds that they could no longer stand it.

One day, therefore, when Rhoda had, as an extraordinary concession, been allowed to go for a walk with them, they told her that they intended to run away.

Poor Rhoda was greatly distressed.

"You see, Rhoda dear," Tom said, "although we don't like leaving you, you will really be happier when we are gone. It is a perpetual worry to you to hear aunt going on, on, on—nagging, nagging, nagging for ever and ever at us. She is fond of you and kind to you, and you would get on quietly enough without us, while now she is in a fidget whenever you are with us, and is constantly at you not to learn mischief and bad ways from us. Besides you are always in a fright now, lest we should get into some awful scrape, as I expect we should if we stopped here. If it weren't for you, we should not let her off as easily as we do. No, no, Rhoda, it is better for us all that we should go."

Poor Rhoda, though she cried bitterly at the thought of losing her brothers, yet could not but allow to herself that in many respects she should be more happy when she was freed from anxiety, lest they should get into some scrape, and when her aunt would not be kept in a state of continued irritation and scolding. She felt too that, although she herself could get on well enough in her changed life, that it was very hard indeed for the boys, accustomed as they had been to the jolly and independent life of a public school, and to be their own master during the holidays, with their ponies, amusements, and their freedom to come and go when they chose. Rhoda was a thoughtful child, and felt that nothing that they could go through could do them more harm or make them more unhappy than they now were. She had thought it all over day after day, for she was sure that the boys would, sooner or later come to it, and she had convinced herself that it was better for them. Still it was with a very sad heart that she found that the time had come.

For some time she cried in silence, and then, drying her eyes, she said, trying to speak bravely, though her lips quivered.

"I shall miss you dreadfully, boys; but I will not say a word to keep you here, for I am sure it is very, very bad for you. What do you mean to do? Do you mean to go to sea?"

"No, Rhoda; you see uncle was in the army, and used to talk to us about that; and, as we have never seen the sea, we don't care for it as some boys do. No, we shall try and go as soldiers."

"But my dear Tom, they will never take you as soldiers; you are too little."

"Yes, we are not old enough to enlist at present," Tom said; "but we might go in as buglers. We have thought it all over, and have been paying old Wetherley, who was once in the band of a regiment, to teach us the bugle, and he says we can sound all the calls now as well as any bugler going. We did not like to tell you till we had made up our minds to go; but we have gone regularly to him every day since the first week we came here."

"Then you won't have to fight, Tom," Rhoda said joyfully.

"No," Tom said, in a rather dejected tone; "I am afraid they won't let us fight; still we shall see fighting, which is the next best thing."

"I heard in Warley yesterday that there will be a movement of the army in Spain soon, and that some more troops will be sent out, and we shall try and get into a regiment that is going."

They talked very long and earnestly on their plans, and were so engrossed that they quite forgot how time went, and got in late for tea, and were terribly scolded in consequence. For once none of them cared for the storm; the boys exulted over the thought that it would be the last scolding they would have to suffer; and Rhoda had difficulty in gasping down her tears at the thought that it was the last meal that she would take with them, for they had settled that they would start that very night.

CHAPTER III. ENLISTED.

It was a bright moonlight night when the boys, after a sad farewell from Rhoda, let themselves down from the window, and started upon their journey. Each carried a bundle on a stick; each bundle contained a suit of clothes, a few shirts and stockings, a pair of shoes, and a pistol. The other pistols were carried loaded inside their jackets, for there was no saying whom they might meet upon the road. They had put on the oldest suit of clothes they possessed, so as to attract as little attention as possible by the way. After they had once recovered from their parting with Rhoda their spirits rose, and they tramped along lightly and cheerfully. It was eleven o'clock when they started, and through the night they did not meet a single person. Towards morning they got under a haystack near the road, and slept for some hours; then they walked steadily on until they had done twenty miles since their start. They went into a small inn, and had some breakfast, and then purchasing some bread and cold ham, went on through the town, and leaving the London road, followed that leading to Portsmouth, and after a mile or two again took up their quarters until evening, in a haystack.

It is not necessary to give the details of the journey to Portsmouth. After the first two days' tramp, having no longer any fear of the pursuit, which, no doubt, had been made for them when first missed, they walked by day, and slept at night in sheds, or under haystacks, as they were afraid of being questioned and perhaps stopped at inns. They walked only short distances now, for the first night's long journey had galled their feet, and, as Tom said, they were not pressed for time, and did not want to arrive at Portsmouth like two limping tramps. Walking, therefore, only twelve miles a day after the first two days, they arrived at Portsmouth fresh and in high spirits. They had met with no adventures upon the road, except that upon one occasion two tramps had attempted to seize their bundles, but the production of the pistols, and the evident determination of the boys to use them if necessary, made the men abandon their intention and make off, with much bad language and many threats, at which the boys laughed disdainfully.

Arrived at Portsmouth, their first care was to find a quiet little inn, where they could put up. This they had little difficulty in doing, for Portsmouth abounded with public-houses, and people were so much accustomed to young fellows tramping in with their bundles, to join their ships, that their appearance excited no curiosity whatever. Tom looked older than he really was, although not tall for his age, while Peter, if anything, overtopped his brother, but was slighter, and looked fully two years younger. Refreshed by a long night's sleep between sheets, they started out after breakfast to see the town, and were greatly impressed and delighted by the bustle of the streets, full of soldiers and sailors, and still more by the fortifications and the numerous ships of war lying in the harbor, or out at Spithead. A large fleet of merchantmen was lying off at anchor, waiting for a convoy, and a perfect fleet of little wherries was plying backwards and forwards between the vessels and the shore.

"It makes one almost wish to be a sailor," Peter said, as they sat upon the Southsea beach, and looked out at the animated ocean.

"It does, Peter; and if it had been ten years back, instead of at present, I should have been ready enough to change our plans. But what is the use of going to sea now? The French and Spanish navies skulk in harbor, and the first time our fellows get them out they will he sure to smash them altogether, and then there is an end to all fighting. No, Peter, it looks tempting, I grant, but we shall see ten times as much with the army. We must go and settle the thing to-morrow. There is no time to be lost if the expedition starts in a fortnight or three weeks."

Returning into the town, the boys were greatly amused at seeing a sailor's wedding. Four carriages and pair drove along; inside were women, while four sailors sat on each roof, waving their hats to the passers-by, and refreshing themselves by repeated pulls at some black bottles, with which they were well supplied. Making inquiries, the boys found that the men belonged to a fine frigate which had come in a day or two before, with several prizes.

The next morning they went down to the barracks. Several non-commissioned officers, with bunches of gay ribbons in their caps, were standing about. Outside the gates were some boards, with notices, "Active young fellows required. Good pay, plenty of prize-money, and chances, of promotion!"

The boys read several of these notices, which differed only from each other in the name of the regiment; and then Tom gave an exclamation of satisfaction as he glanced at a note at the foot of one of them, "Two or three active lads wanted as buglers."

"There we are, Peter; and, oh, what luck! it is Uncle Peter's regiment! Look here, Peter," he said, after a pause, "we won't say anything about being his nephews, unless there is no other way of getting taken; for if we do it won't be nice. We shall be taken notice of, and not treated like other fellows, and that will cause all sorts of ill-feeling and jealousy, and rows. It will be quite time to say who we are when we have done something to show that we shan't do discredit to him. You see it isn't much in our favor that we are here as two runaway boys. If we were older we could go as volunteers, but of course we are too young for that."

It should be mentioned that in those days it was by no means unusual for young men who had not sufficient interest to get commissions to obtain permission to accompany a regiment as volunteers. They paid their own expenses, and lived with the officers, but did duty as private soldiers. If they distinguished themselves, they obtained commissions to fill up vacancies caused in action.

"There is our sergeant, Tom; let's get it over at once."

"If you please," Tom said, as they went up to the sergeant, "are you the recruiting sergeant of the Norfolk Rangers?"

"By Jove, Summers, you are in luck to-day," laughed one of the other sergeants; "here are two valuable recruits for the Rangers. The Mounseers will have no chance with the regiment with such giants as those in it. Come, my fine fellows, let me persuade you to join the 15th. Such little bantams as you are would be thrown away upon the Rangers."

There was a shout of laughter from the other non-commissioned officers.

Tom was too much accustomed to chaffing bargees at Eton to be put out of countenance.

"We may be bantams," he said, "but I have seen a bantam lick a big dunghill cock many a time. Fine feathers don't always make fine birds, my man."

"Well answered, young one," the sergeant of the Rangers said, while there was a general laugh among the others, for the sergeant of the 15th was not a favorite.

"You think yourself sharp, youngster," he said angrily. "You want a licking, you do; and if you were in the 15th, you'd get it pretty quickly."

"Oh! I beg your pardon," Tom said gravely; "I did not know that the 15th were famous for thrashing boys. Thank you; when I enlist it shall be in a regiment where men hit fellows their own size."

There was a shout of laughter, and the sergeant, enraged, stepped forward, and gave Tom a swinging box on the ear.

There was a cry of "shame" from the others; but before any of them could interfere, Tom suddenly stooped, caught the sergeant by the bottom of the trousers, and in an instant he fell on his back with a crash.

For a moment he was slightly stunned, and then, regaining his feet, he was about to rush at Tom, when the others threw themselves in between them, and said he should not touch the boy. He struck him first, and the boy had only given him what served him right.

The sergeant was furious, and an angry quarrel was going on, when an officer of the Rangers came suddenly out of barrack.

"Hullo, Summers, what is all this about? I am surprised at you. A lot of non-commissioned officers, just in front of the barrack gates, quarreling like drunken sailors in a pothouse. What does it all mean?"

"The fact is this, Captain Manley," the sergeant said, saluting, "these two lads came up to speak to me, when Sergeant Billow chaffed them. The lad gave the sergeant as good as he got, and the sergeant lost his temper, and hit him a box on the ear, and in a moment the young one tripped him up, and pretty nigh stunned him; when he got up he was going at the boy, and, of course, we wouldn't have it."

"Quite right," Captain Manley said. "Sergeant Billow, I shall forward a report to your regiment. Chaffing people in the street, and then losing your temper, striking a boy, and causing a disturbance. Now, sergeant," he went on, as the others moved away, "do you know those boys?"

"No, sir; they are strangers to me."

"Do you want to see the sergeant privately, lads, or on something connected with the regiment?"

"I see that you have vacancies for buglers, sir," Tom said, "and my brother and myself want to enlist if you will take us."

Captain Manley smiled. "You young scamps, you have got 'runaway from home' as plainly on your faces as if it was printed there. If we were to enlist you, we should be having your friends here after you to-morrow, and get into a scrape for taking you."

"We have no friends who will interfere with us, sir, I can give you my word of honor as a gentleman." Captain Manley laughed. "I mean," Tom said confused, "my word of honor, as—as an intending bugler."

"Indeed we have no one to interfere with us in any way, sir," Peter put in earnestly. "We wouldn't tell a lie even to enlist in the Rangers."

Captain Manley was struck by the earnestness of the boys' faces, and after a pause he said to the sergeant,—

"That will do, Summers; I will take these lads up to my quarters and speak to them."

Then, motioning to the boys to follow him, he re-entered the barracks, and led the way up to his quarters.

"Sit down," he said, when they had entered his room. "Now, boys, this is a foolish freak upon your part, which you will regret some day. Of course you have run away from school."

"No, sir, we have run away from home," Tom said.

"So much the worse," Captain Manley said gravely. "Tell me frankly, why did you do so? No unkindness at home can excuse boys from running away from their parents."

"We have none, sir," Tom said. "We have lost them both—our mother many years ago, our father six months. Our only living relation, except a younger sister, is an aunt, who considers us as nuisances, and who, although meaning to do her duty, simply drives us out of our minds."

Captain Manley could not resist a smile. "Do you not go to school?"

"We did go to a school near, but unfortunately it is broken up."

Captain Manley caught a little look of amusement between the boys. "I should not be surprised if you had something to do with its breaking up," he said with a laugh. "But to return to your coming here. There is certainly less reason against your joining than I thought at first, but you are too young."

"We are both strong, and are good walkers," Tom said.

"But you cannot be much over fifteen," Captain Manley said, "and your brother is younger."

"We are accustomed to strong exercise, sir, and can thrash most fellows of our own size."

"Very likely," Captain Manley said, "but we can't take that into consideration. You are certainly young for buglers for service work; however, I will go across with you to the orderly-room, and hear what the colonel says."

Crossing the barrack-yard, they found the colonel was in and disengaged.

"Colonel Tritton," Captain Manley said, "these lads want to enlist as buglers."

The colonel looked up and smiled. "They look regular young pickles," he said. "I suppose they have run away from school."

"Not from school, colonel. They have lost both parents, and live with an aunt, with whom they don't get on well. There does not seem to be much chance of their being claimed."

"You are full young," the colonel said, "and I think you will be sorry, boys, for the step you want to take."

"I don't think so, sir," Tom said.

"Of course, you don't at present," the colonel said. "However, that is your business. Mind, you will have a rough time of it; you will have to fight your way, you know."

"I'll back them to hold their own," Captain Manley said, laughing. "When I went out at the barrack-gate just now there was a row among a lot of recruiting sergeants, and when I went up to put a stop to it, I found that a fellow of the 15th had chaffed these boys when they went up to speak to Summers, and that they had got the best of it in that line; and the fellow having lost his temper and struck one of them, he found himself on his back on the pavement. The boy had tripped him up in an instant."

The colonel laughed, and then said suddenly and sharply to Peter,

"Where did you learn that trick, youngster?"

"At Eton," Peter answered promptly, and then colored up hotly at his brother's reproachful glance.

"Oh, ho! At Eton, young gentlemen, eh!" the colonel said. "That alters the matter. If you were at Eton your family must be people of property, and I can't let you do such a foolish thing as enlist as buglers."

"Our father lost all his money suddenly, owing to a blackguard he trusted cheating him. He found it out, and it killed him," Tom said quietly.

The colonel saw he was speaking the truth. "Well, well," he said kindly, "we must see what we can do for you, boys. They are young, Manley, but that will improve, and by the time that they have been a year at the depôt—"

"Oh, if you please, colonel," Tom said, "we want to go on foreign service, and it's knowing that your regiment was under orders for foreign service we came to it."

"Impossible!" the colonel said shortly.

"I am very sorry for that, sir," Tom said respectfully, "for we would rather belong to this regiment than any in the service; but if you will not let us go with it we must try another."

"Why would you rather belong to us than to any other?" the colonel asked, as the boys turned to leave the room.

"I had rather not say, sir," Tom said. "We have a reason, and a very good one, but it is not one we should like to tell."

The colonel was silent for a minute. He was struck with the boys' appearance and manner, and was sorry at the thought of losing them, partly from interest in themselves, partly because the sea service was generally so much more attractive to boys, that it was not easy to get them to enlist as buglers and drummers.

"You see, lads, I should really like to take you, but we shall be starting in a fortnight, and it would be altogether impossible for you to learn to sound the bugle, to say nothing of learning the calls, by that time."

"We can't play well, sir," Tom answered, his spirits rising again, "but we have practiced for some time, and know a good many of the calls."

"Oh, indeed!" the colonel said, pleased; "that alters the case. Well, lads, I should like to take you with the regiment, for you look straightforward, sharp young fellows. So I will enlist you. Work hard for the next fortnight, and if I hear a favorable report of you by that time, you shall go."

"Thank you very much," the boys said warmly, delighted to find their hopes realized.

"What are your names?" the colonel asked.

"Tom and Peter," Tom answered.

"Tom and Peter what?" the colonel said.

The boys looked at each other. The fact that they would of course be asked their names had never occurred to them, and they not had therefore consulted whether to give their own or another name.

"Come, boys," Colonel Tritton said good-temperedly, "never be ashamed of your names; don't sail under false colors, lads. I am sure you will do nothing to disgrace your names."

Tom looked at Peter, and saw that he agreed to give their real names, so he said, "Tom and Peter Scudamore."

"Peter Scudamore! Why, Manley, these boys must be relations of the dear old colonel. That explains why they chose the regiment. Now, boys, what relation was he of yours?"

"I do not admit that he was a relation at all, colonel," Tom said gravely, "and I hope that you will not ask the question. Supposing that he had been a relation of ours, we should not wish it to be known. In the first place, it would not be altogether creditable to his memory that relations of his should be serving as buglers in his old regiment; and in the second place, it might be that, from a kindness towards him, some of the officers might, perhaps, treat us differently to other boys, which would make our position more difficult by exciting jealousy among others. Should there be any relation between him and us, it will be time enough for us to claim it when we have shown ourselves worthy of it."

"Well said, boys," the officers both exclaimed. "You are quite right," the colonel went on, "and I respect your motive for keeping silence. What you say about jealousy which might arise is very sensible and true. At the same time, I will promise you that I will keep my eye upon you, and that if an opportunity should occur in which I can give you a chance of showing that there is more in you than in other boys, be sure you shall have the chance."

"Thank you very much indeed, colonel," both boys exclaimed.

"Now, Manley, I shall be obliged if you will take them to the adjutant, and tell him to swear them in and attest them in regular form; the surgeon will, of course, examine them. Please tell the quartermaster to get their uniforms made without loss of time; and give a hint to the bugle-major that I should be pleased if he will pay extra attention to them, and push them on as fast as possible."

Captain Manley carried out these instructions, the boys were duly examined by the surgeon and passed, and in half an hour became His Majesty's servants.

"Now, boys," Captain Manley said as he crossed with them to the quarters of the bandmaster, "you will have rather a difficult course to steer, but I have no doubt you will get through it with credit. This is something like a school, and you will have to fight before you find your place. Don't be in a hurry to begin; take all good-natured chaff good-naturedly; resent any attempt at bullying. I have no doubt you will be popular, and it is well that you should be so, for then there will be no jealousy if your luck seems better than that of others. They will, of course, know that you are differently born and educated to themselves, but they will not like you any the worse for that, if they find that you do not try to keep aloof from them or give yourselves airs. And look here, boys, play any tricks you like with the men, but don't do it with the non-commissioned officers. There is nothing they hate so much as impudence from the boys, and they have it in their power to do you a great deal of good or of harm. You will not have much to do with the bandmaster. Only a portion of the band accompanies us, and even that will be broken up when we once enter upon active campaigning. Several of the company buglers have either left lately, or have got their stripes and given up their bugles, and I do not fancy that their places will be filled up before we get out there. Now, your great object will be to get two of these vacancies. I am afraid you are too young, still there will be plenty more vacancies after we are once in the field, for a bullet has no respect for buglers; and you see the better you behave the better your chance of being chosen."

"What is the difference exactly, sir?" Tom asked.

"The company bugler ranks on the strength of the company, messes, marches, and goes into action with them; the other buglers merely form part of the band, are under the bandmaster, play at the head of the regiment on its march, and help in the hospitals during a battle."

"Macpherson," he said as he entered the bandmaster's quarters, where a number of men and a few lads were practicing, "I have brought you two lads who have entered as buglers."

The bandmaster was a Scotchman—a stiff-looking, elderly man.

"Weel, Captain Manley, I'm wanting boys, but they look vera young, and I misdoubt they had better have been at school than here. However, I'll do my best with them; they look smart lads, and we shall have plenty of time at the depôt to get them into shape."

"Lots of time, Macpherson, lots of time. They say they know a few calls on the bugle, so perhaps they had better stick to the calls at present; you will have plenty of time to begin with them regularly with the notes when all the bustle is over."

"Eh, ye know the calls, boys? Hardy and Graves, give them your bugles, and let us hear them. Now for the advance."

Tom and Peter felt very nervous, but they had really practiced hard for an hour a day for the last four months, and could play all the calls they knew steadily and well. The bandmaster made no remark until they had sounded some half a dozen calls as he named them, and then he said, "The lads have a vera gude idea of it, Captain Manley. They are steadier and clearer than mony a one of the boys already. Will ye begin at once, lads, or will ye wait till ye get your uniform?"

"We had rather begin at once," the boys answered together.

"Vera gude. Hardy, take two bugles out of the chest, and then take these lads—What's your name, boys? Eh? Scudamore? A vera gude name—take them over to Corporal Skinner, he will be practicing with the others on the ramp."

With a word of grateful thanks to Captain Manley as he went out before them, the boys followed their new guide out to the ramparts. A guide was hardly necessary, for an incessant bugling betokened the place, where, in one of the bastions behind the barracks, seven or eight buglers were sounding the various calls under the direction of Corporal Skinner.

The corporal was a man of few words, for he merely nodded when the boy—who had not opened his lips on the way, indeed, he was too busy wondering who these young swells were, and what they had run away for, to say a word—gave the bandmaster's message to the effect that the new-comers knew some of the calls and were to be under his tuition for the present, pointed to them where to stand, and in another minute Tom and Peter were hard at work adding to the deafening din. After half an hour's practice they were pleased at seeing Captain Manley stroll up and call their instructor aside, and they felt sure that he was speaking to him of them. This was so, for the officer was carrying out the instructions he had received from Colonel Tritton.

"Corporal," he said, "I want to say a word to you about those boys who have just joined. They seem to have a fair idea of the calls."

"Yes, sir, they only know a few, but those they do know they can sound as well as any of them."

"That is right, corporal. Now look here, what I am going to say is not to go farther, you understand."

"Yes, sir, I will keep my mouth shut."

"Very well. You can see the lads are not like most of our band boys. They are a gentleman's sons who have got into some scrape or other and run away from school."

"I was thinking as much, sir."

"The colonel believes that he knows their family, Skinner; but of course, that will not make any difference in regard to them. Still he would be pleased, I know, if they could sound the calls well enough to go with the regiment. They are most anxious to learn. Now I shall be glad if you can get them up to the mark. It will, of course, entail a lot of extra trouble upon you, but if you can get them fit in time, I will pay you a couple of guineas for your extra time."

"Thank you, sir," the corporal saluted. "I think I can manage it—at any rate if I don't it won't be for want of trying."

"Who are those nice-looking lads I saw with you, Manley?" Major James asked as the captain came into the messroom to lunch.

"Those are two buglers in his Majesty's Norfolk Rangers."

There was a general laugh.

"No, but really, Manley, who are they? I was quite struck with them; good style of boys."

"It is a fact, major. Harding will tell you so," and he nodded to the adjutant.

"Yes, Manley is saying the thing that's right," the adjutant answered.

"The doctor passed them, and I swore them in."

"I am sorry for it," the major said. "There were three or four of us standing on the mess-room steps and we all noticed them. They were gentlemen, if I ever saw one, and a hard life they will have of it with the band boys. However, they are not likely to stay there. They have run away from school, of course, and will be claimed. I wonder you enlisted them."

"The colonel's orders, major," the adjutant said. "Manley took them to him, I believe, and then brought them to me."

"I don't think you need feel anxious about them among the boys, major," Captain Manley said. "I fancy they can hold their own. I found them outside the gate where a row was going on among some of the recruiting sergeants, and one of those boys had just tripped up a sergeant of the 15th and nearly broken his head."

There was a general laugh.

"They are quite interesting, these prodigies of yours, Manley. How did the boy do it? I should not have thought him strong enough to have thrown a man off his balance."

"I asked Summers about it afterwards," Captain Manley said, "the fellow gave one of the boys a box on the ear, and in an instant the boy stooped, caught his foot and pulled it forward and up. The thing was done in a moment, and the sergeant was on his back before he knew what's what."

"By Jove," a young ensign said, "I have seen that trick done at Eton."

"That is just where the boy said he learnt it," Captain Manley said.

"The colonel asked him suddenly, and it slipped out."

"If they're Etonians, I ought to know them," the ensign said. "I only left six months ago. What are their names?"

"Their name is Scudamore."

"By Jove, they were in the same house with me. Uncommonly sharp little fellows, and up to no end of mischief. It was always believed, though no one could prove it, that they were the boys who nearly suffocated the bargee."

There was a roar of laughter.

"Tell us all about, Carruthers."

"Well, there was not very much known about it. It seems the fellow purposely upset a boat with four or five of our fellows in it, and that night a dozen lighted crackers were thrown down into the little cabin where the fellow was asleep; the hatch was fastened and he was sent drifting down stream with the crackers exploding all about him. The smoke nearly suffocated the fellow, I believe There was a tremendous row about it, but they could not bring it home to any one. We always put it down to the Scudamores, though they never would own to it; but they were the only fellows in the boat who would have done it, and they were always up to mischief."

"But what makes them come here as buglers?" the major asked.

"Their father was a banker, I believe, down in the Eastern Counties somewhere. He died suddenly in the middle of the half before I left, and they went away to the funeral and never came back again."

"The fact is," Captain Manley said, "I fancy by what they say, though they did not mention their father was a banker, that he lost all his money suddenly and died of the shock. At any rate they are alone in the world, and the colonel has no doubt that they are some relation—nephews, I should imagine—of Peter Scudamore, who was our colonel when I joined. One of them is called Peter. They acknowledged that they had a particular reason for choosing this regiment; but they would neither acknowledge or deny that he was a relation. Now that we know their father was a banker, we shall find out without difficulty—indeed I have no doubt the colonel will know whether Peter Scudamore had a brother a banker."

"What's to be done, Manley?" Major James said. "I don't like the thought of poor old Peter's nephews turning buglers. All of us field officers, and the best part of you captains, served under him, and a better fellow never stepped. I think between us we might do something."

"I would do anything I could," Carruthers said, "and there are Watson and Talbot who were at Eton too. Dash it, I don't like to think of two Etonians in a band," "You are all very good," Captain Manley said, "but from what I see of the boys they will go their own way. They have plenty of pride, and they acknowledge that their reason for refusing to say whether they are any relation of the colonel was that they did not want to be taken notice of or treated differently from other boys, because it would cause jealousy, and make their position more difficult. All they asked was that they might accompany the regiment, and not remain behind at the depôt; and as, fortunately, they have both been practising with the bugle, and can sound most of the calls as well as the others, the colonel was able to grant their request. Had they been older, of course, we could have arranged for them to go with us as volunteers, we who knew the colonel, paying their expenses between us: as it is, the only thing we can do for them—and that is what they would like best is to treat them just like the other boys, but to give them every chance of distinguishing themselves. If they don't get knocked over, they ought to win a commission before the campaign is over."

In the meantime Tom and Peter had been introducing themselves to the regiment. The exercise over, they had returned to dinner. It was a rough meal, but the boys enjoyed it, and after it was over a number of the men of the band, with whom they messed, crowded round to ask the usual questions of new-comers—their curiosity heightened in the present instance by the fact that the boys differed so widely from ordinary recruits.

"Look here," Tom said, laughing, "I can't answer you all at once, but if you put me on the table I will tell you all about us."

There was a general laugh, and many of the soldiers other than the band sauntered up to see what was going on.

"The first thing to tell you," Tom said, "is our names. We go by the names of Tom and Peter Scudamore, but I need scarcely tell you that these are not our real names. The fact is—but this is quite a secret—we are the eldest sons of Sir Arthur Wellesley—"

Here Tom was interrupted by a shout of laughter.

"Sir Arthur," Tom went on calmly, "wished to make us colonels of two of the Life Guard regiments, but as they were not going on foreign service we did not see it, and have accordingly entered the regiment which Sir Arthur, our father, in speaking to a friend, said was the finest in the service—namely, the Norfolk Rangers. We believe that it is the custom, upon entering a regiment, to pay our footing, and I have given a guinea to Corporal Skinner, and asked him to make it go as far as he could."

There was great laughter over Tom's speech, which was just suited to soldiers, and the boys from that moment were considered part of the regiment.

"There's good stuff in those boys," an old sergeant said to another, "plucky and cool. I shouldn't be surprised if what Tom Dillon said was about right; he was waiting at mess just now, and though he didn't hear all that was said, he picked up that there was an idea that these boys are related to the old colonel. He was a good fellow, he was, and, though I say nothing against Colonel Tritton, yet we missed Colonel Scudamore terribly. Strict, and yet kind, just the sort of fellow to serve under. If the boys take after him they will be a credit to the regiment, and mark my words, we shan't see them in the band many years."

CHAPTER IV. A TOUGH CUSTOMER.

Like most boys who are fond of play, Tom and Peter Scudamore were capable of hard work at a pinch, and during the three weeks that they spent at Portsmouth they certainly worked with a will. They had nothing to do in the way of duty, except to practice the bugle, and this they did with a zeal and perseverance that quite won the heart of Corporal Skinner, and enabled him to look upon Captain Manley's two guineas as good as earned. But even with the best will and the strongest lungs possible, boys can only blow a bugle a certain number of hours a day. For an hour before breakfast, for two hours before dinner, and for an hour and a half in the evening they practiced, the evening work being extra, alone with their instructor. There remained the whole afternoon to themselves. Their employment of those hours had been undertaken at Peter's suggestion.

"Look here, Tom," he said, at the end of the first day's work, "from what the corporal says, we shall have from one till about five to ourselves. Now, we are going to Spain, and it seems to me that it would be of great use to us, and might do us a great deal of good, to know something of Spanish. We have got four pounds each left, and I don't think that we could lay it out better than in getting a Spanish master and some books, and in setting to in earnest at it. If we work with all our might for four hours a day with a master, we shall have made some progress, and shall pick up the pronunciation a little. I dare say we shall be another ten days or a fortnight on the voyage, and shall have lots of time on our hands. It will make it so much easier to pick it up when we get there if we know a little to start with."

"I think it is a capital idea, Peter; I should think we are pretty sure to find a master here."

There was no difficulty upon that score, for there were a large number of Spanish in England at the time; men who had left the country rather than remain under the French yoke, and among them were many who were glad to get their living by teaching their native language. There were two or three in this condition in Portsmouth, and to one of these the boys applied. He was rather surprised at the application from the two young buglers—for the uniforms were finished twenty-four hours after their arrival—but at once agreed to devote his whole afternoons to them. Having a strong motive for their work, and a determination to succeed in it, the boys made a progress that astonished both themselves and their teacher, and they now found the advantage of their grounding in Latin at Eton. Absorbed in their work, they saw little of the other boys, except at meals and when at practice.

One evening when at supper, one of the buglers, named Mitcham, a lad of nearly eighteen, made some sneering remark about boys who thought themselves above others, and gave themselves airs. Tom saw at once that this allusion was meant for them, and took the matter up.

"I suppose you mean us, Mitcham. You are quite mistaken; neither my brother nor myself think ourselves better than any one, nor have we any idea of giving ourselves airs. The fact is—and I am not surprised that you should think us unsociable—we are taking lessons in Spanish. If we go with the regiment it will be very useful, and I have heard it said that any one who lands in a foreign country, and who knows a little of the grammar and pronunciation, will learn it in half the time that he would were he altogether ignorant of both. I am sorry that I did not mention it before, because I can understand that it must seem as if we did not want to be sociable. I can assure you that we do; and that after this fortnight is over we shall be ready to be as jolly as any one. You see we are altogether behindhand with our work now, and have got to work hard to put ourselves on your level."

Tom spoke so good-temperedly that there was a general feeling in his favor, and several of them who had before thought with Mitcham, that the new-comers were not inclined to be sociable, felt that they had been mistaken. There was, however, a general feeling of surprise and amusement at the idea of two boys voluntarily taking lessons in Spanish. Mitcham, however, who was a surly-tempered young fellow, and who was jealous of the progress which the boys were making, and of the general liking with which they seemed to be regarded, said,—

"I believe that's only an excuse for getting away from us."

"Do you mean to say that you think that I am telling a lie?" Tom asked quietly.

"Yes, if you put it in that way, young 'un," Mitcham said.

"Hold your tongue, Mitcham, or I'll pull your ears for you," Corporal Skinner said: but his speech was cut short by Tom's putting one hand on the barrack table, vaulting across it, and striking Mitcham a heavy blow between the eyes.

There was a cry of "a fight!" among the boys, but the men interfered at once.

"You don't know what you are doing, young 'un," one said to Tom; "when you hit a fellow here, you must fight him. That's the rule, and you can't fight Mitcham; he's two years older, at least, and a head taller."

"Of course I will fight him," Tom said. "I would fight him if he were twice as big, if he called me a liar."

"Nonsense, young 'un!" another said, "it's not possible. He was wrong, and if you had not struck him I would have licked him myself; but as you have done so, you had better put up with a thrashing, and have done with it."

"I should think so, indeed!" Tom said disdainfully. "I may get a licking; I dare say I shall; but it won't be all on one side. Look here, Mitcham, we will have it out to-morrow, on the ramparts behind the barracks. But, if you will apologize to me for calling me a liar, I'll say I am sorry I hit you."

"Oh, blow your sorrow!" the lad said. "I'll give you the heartiest licking you ever had in your life, my young cock."

"Oh, all right," Tom said cheerfully. "We will see all about it when the time comes."

As it was evident now that there was no way out of it, no one interfered further in the matter. Quarrels in the army are always settled by a fair fight, as at school; but several of the older men questioned among themselves whether they ought to let this go on, considering that Tom Scudamore was only between fifteen and sixteen, while his opponent was two years older, and was so much heavier and stronger. However, as it was plain that Tom would not take a thrashing for the blow he had struck, and there did not seem any satisfactory way out of it, nothing was done, except that two or three of them went up to Mitcham, and strongly urged him to shake hands with Tom, and confess that he had done wrong in giving him the lie. This Mitcham would not hear of, and there was nothing further to be done.

"I am afraid, Tom, you have no chance with that fellow." Peter said, as they were undressing.

"No chance in the world, Peter; but I can box fairly, you know, and am pretty hard. I shall be able to punish him a bit, and you may be sure I shall never give in. It's no great odds getting a licking, and I suppose that they will stop it before I am killed. Don't bother about it. I had rather get knocked about in a fight than get flogged at Eton any day. I would rather you did not come to see it, Peter, if you don't mind. When you fought Evans it hurt me ten times as much as if I had been fighting, and, although you licked him, it made me feel like a girl. I can stand twice the punishment if I don't feel that any blow is hitting you as well as myself."

Tom's prediction about the fight turned out to be nearly correct. He was more active, and a vastly better boxer than his antagonist, and although he was constantly knocked down, he punished him very heavily about the face. In fact, the fight was exactly similar to that great battle, fifty years afterwards, between Sayers and Heenan. Time after time Tom was knocked down, and even his second begged him to give in, but he would not hear of it. Breathless and exhausted, but always cool and smiling, he faced his heavy antagonist, eluding his furious rushes, and managing to strike a few straight blows at his eyes before being knocked down. By the time that they had fought a quarter of an hour half the regiment was assembled, and loud were the cheers which greeted Tom each time he came up, very pale and bleeding, but confident, against his antagonist.

At last an old sergeant came forward. "Come," he said, "there has been enough of this. You had better stop."

"Will he say he was sorry he called me a liar?" Tom asked.

"No, I won't," Mitcham answered.

The sergeant was about to use his authority to stop it, when Tom said to him, in a low voice:

"Look, sergeant! please let us go on another five minutes. I think I can stand that, and he can hardly see out of his eyes now. He won't see a bit by that time."

The sergeant hesitated, but a glance at Tom's antagonist convinced him that what he said was correct. Mitcham had at all times a round and rather puffy face, and his cheeks were now so swollen with the effect of Tom's straight, steady hitting, that he could with difficulty see.

It was a hard five minutes for Tom, for his antagonist, finding that he was rapidly getting blind, rushed with fury upon him, trying to end the fight. Tom had less difficulty in guarding the blows, given wildly and almost at random, but he was knocked down time after time by the mere force and weight of the rush. He felt himself getting weak, and could hardly get up from his second's knee upon the call of time. He was not afraid of being made to give in, but he was afraid of fainting, and of so being unable to come up to time.

"Stick a knife into me; do anything!" he said to his second, "if I go off, only bring me up to time. He can't hold out much longer."

Nor could he. His hitting became more and more at random, until at last, on getting up from his second's knee, Mitcham cried in a hoarse voice, "Where is he? I can't see him!"

Then Tom went forward with his hands down. "Look here, Mitcham, you can't see, and I can hardly stand. I think we have both done enough. We neither of us can give in, well because—because I am a gentleman, you because you are bigger than I am; so let's shake hands, and say no more about it."

Mitcham hesitated an instant, and then held out his hand. "You are a good fellow, Scudamore, and there's my hand; but you have licked me fairly. I can't come up to time, and you can. There, I am sorry I called you a liar."

Tom took the hand, and shook it, and then a mist came over his eyes, and his knees tottered, as, with the ringing cheers of the men in his ears, he fainted into his second's arms.

"What a row the men are making!" the major said, as the sound of cheering came through the open window of the mess-room, at which the officers were sitting at lunch. "It's a fight of course, and a good one, judging by the cheering. Does any one know who it is between?"

No one had heard.

"It's over now," the adjutant said, looking out of the window, "Here are the men coming down in a stream. They look very excited over it. I wonder who it has been. Stokes," he said, turning to one of the mess servants, "go out, and find out who has been fighting, and all about it."

In a minute or two the man returned. "It's two of the band boys, sir."

"Oh, only two boys! I wonder they made such a fuss over that. Who are they?"

"One was one of the boys who have just joined, sir. Tom Scudamore, they call him."

"I guessed as much," Captain Manley laughed; "I knew they would not be long here without a fight. Who was the other?"

"Well, sir, I almost thought it must be a mistake when they told me, seeing they are so unequally matched, but they all say so, so in course it's true—the other was Mitcham, the bugler of No. 3 Company."

"What a shame!" was the general exclamation, while Captain Manley got up and called for his cap.

"A brutal shame, I call it," he said hotly. "Mitcham's nearly a man. It ought not to have been allowed. I will go and inquire after the boy. I will bet five pounds he was pretty nearly killed before he gave in."

"He didn't give in, Captain Manley," the servant said. "He won the fight. They fought till Mitcham couldn't see, and then young Scudamore went up and offered to draw it, but Mitcham acknowledged he was fairly licked. It was a close thing, for the boy fainted right off; but he's come round now, and says he's all right."

"Hurrah for Eton!" Carruthers shouted enthusiastically. "Hurrah! By Jove, he is game, and no mistake. He won a hard fight or two at Eton, but nothing like this. I call it splendid."

"The boy might have been killed," the major said gravely; while the younger officers joined in Carruthers's exclamation at Tom's pluck. "It is shameful that it was allowed. I suppose the quarrel began in their quarters. Sergeant Howden is in charge of the room, and ought to have stopped it at once. Every non-commissioned officer ought to have stopped it. I will have Howden up before the colonel to-morrow."

"I think, major," Captain Manley said, "if you will excuse me, the best plan, as far as the boy is concerned, is to take no notice of it. As it is, he must have won the hearts of all the regiment by his pluck, and if he is not seriously hurt, it is the very best thing, as it has turned out, that could have happened. If any one gets into a scrape about it, it might lessen the effect of the victory. I think if you call Howden up, and give him a quiet wigging, it will do as well, and won't injure the boys. What do you think?"

"Yes, you are right, Manley, as it has turned out; but the boy might have been killed. However, I won't do more than give Howden a hearty wigging, and will then learn how the affair begun. I think, Dr. Stathers, that it would be as well if you went round and saw both of them. You had better, I think, order them into hospital for the night, and then the boy can go to bed at once, and come out again to-morrow, if he has, as I hope, nothing worse than a few bruises. Please come back, and tell us how you find them."

The report was favorable, and the next morning Tom came out of hospital, and took his place as usual, with the party upon the ramparts—pale, and a good deal marked, but not much the worse for his battle; but it was some days before the swelling of his adversary's face subsided sufficiently for him to return to duty.

Tom's victory—as Captain Manley had predicted—quite won the hearts of the whole regiment, and the nicknames of "Sir Tom," and "Sir Peter"—which had been given to them in jest after Tom's speech about Sir Arthur Wellesley—were now generally applied to them. The conversation in the mess-room had got about, and the old soldiers who had served under Colonel Scudamore would have done anything for the lads, although, as yet, they were hardly known personally except to the band, as their devotion to work kept them quite apart from the men.

It was just three weeks after they had joined before the order came for embarkation, and a thrill of pleasure and excitement ran through the regiment when it was known that they were to go on board in four days. Not the least delighted were Tom and Peter. It had already been formally settled that they were to accompany the regiment, and it was a proof of the popularity that they had gained, that every one looked upon their going as a matter of course, and that no comment was excited even among those who were left behind. Three days before starting they had met Captain Manley in the barrack-yard, and after saluting, Tom said, "If you please, sir, we wanted to ask you a question."

"What is that, lads?"

"If you please, sir, we understand that the boys of the band have their bags carried for them, but the company buglers carry knapsacks, like the men?"

"Yes, boys; the company buglers carry knapsacks and muskets."

"I am afraid we could not carry muskets and do much marching, sir, but we have each a brace of pistols."

Captain Manley smiled. "Pistols would not look the thing on a parade-ground, boys; but in a campaign people are not very particular, and I have no doubt the colonel will overlook any little breach of strict uniformity in your cases, as it is evident you can't carry muskets. You can use your pistols, I hope," he said with a smile. "Hit a penny every time at twenty paces!"

"No, sir, we can't do that," Tom said seriously. "We can hit a good-sized apple nineteen times out of twenty."

"The deuce you can!" Captain Manley said. "How did you learn to do that?"

"We have practiced twelve shots a day for the last six months, sir. We were thinking of asking you, sir, if you would like to carry a brace of them through the campaign. They are splendid weapons; and we shall only carry one each. They would get rusty and spoil, if we left them behind, and we should be very pleased to think they might be useful to you, after your great kindness to us."

"It is not a very regular thing, boys," Captain Manley said, "for a captain to be borrowing a brace of pistols from two of his buglers; but you are exceptional buglers, and there is something in what you say about rusting. Besides, it is possible you may lose yours, so I will accept your offer with thanks, with the understanding that I will carry the pistols, and you shall have them again if anything happens to yours. But how about the knapsacks?"

"We were thinking of having two made of the regimental pattern, sir, but smaller and lighter, if you think that it would be allowed."

"Well, I think, boys, if you are allowed to carry pistols instead of muskets, no great objection will be made as to the exact size of the knapsacks. Yes, you can get them made, and I will speak to the colonel about it."

"Perhaps," he hesitated, "you may be in want of a little money; do not hesitate if you do. I can let you have five pounds, and you can pay me," he said with a laugh, "out of your share of our first prize-money."

The boys colored hotly.

"No, thank you, Captain Manley; we have plenty of money. Shall we bring the pistols to your quarters?"

"Do, lads, I am going in to lunch now, and will be in in half an hour."

The boys at once went out and ordered their knapsacks. They had just sold their watches, which were large, handsome, and of gold, and had been given to them by their father when they went to Eton. They were very sorry to part with them, but they agreed that it would be folly to keep gold watches when the twenty pounds which they obtained for them would buy two stout and useful silver watches and would leave them twelve pounds in money. They then returned to barracks, took out a brace of their pistols, carefully cleaned them, and removed the silver plates upon the handles, and then walked across to Captain Manley's quarters.

Rather to their surprise and confusion they found five or six other officers there, for Captain Manley had mentioned at lunch to the amusement of his friends that he was going to be unexpectedly provided with a brace of pistols, and several of them at once said that they would go up with him to his quarters, as they wanted to see the boys of whom they had spoken so much during the last fortnight. Tom and Peter drew themselves up and saluted stiffly.

"You need not be buglers here, boys," Captain Manley said. "This is my room, we are all gentlemen, and though I could not, according to the regulations, walk down the street with you, the strictest disciplinarian would excuse my doing as I like here."

The boys flushed with pleasure at Captain Manley's kind address, and as he finished Carruthers stepped forward and shook them warmly by the hand.

"How are you both?" he said. "You have not forgotten me, I hope."

"I had not seen you before. I did not know you were in the regiment,

Carruthers," the boys said warmly, pleased to find a face they

had known before; and then breaking off:—"I beg your pardon—Mr.

Carruthers."

"There are no misters here as far as I am concerned, Scudamore. There were no misters at Eton. This is a change, isn't it? Better than grinding away at Greek by a long way. Well, I congratulate you on your fight. You showed there was some good in dear old Eton still. I wish you had let me know it was coming off. I would have given anything to have seen it—from a distance, you know. If it had been the right thing, I would have come and been your backer."

There was a general laugh, and then the officers all began to talk to the boys. They were quiet and respectful in their manners, and fully confirmed the favorable report which Captain Manley had given of them.

"Where are the pistols, boys?" their friend asked presently.

"Here, sir," and the boys produced them from under their jackets. "We have no case, sir; we were obliged to leave it behind us when we—"

"Ran away," one of the officers said, laughing.

"They are a splendid pair of pistols," Captain Manley said, examining them; "beautifully finished, and rifled. They look quite new, too, though, of course, they are not."

"They are new, sir," Tom said; "we have only had them six months, and they were new then."

"Indeed," Captain Manley said surprised; "I thought, of course, they were family pistols. Why, how on earth, if it is not an impertinent question, did you boys get hold of two brace of such pistols as these? I have no right to ask the question, boys. I see there has been a plate on the handles. But you said you had no relations, and I was surprised into asking."

The boys colored.

"The question was quite natural, sir; the pistols were presented to us by some people we traveled with once; we took the plates off because they made a great fuss about nothing, and we thought that it would look cockey."

There was a laugh among the officers at the boys' confusion.

"No one would suspect you of being cockey, Scudamore," Captain Manley said kindly; "come, let me see the plates."

The boys took the little silver plates from their pockets and handed them silently to Captain Manley, who read aloud, to the surprise of those around him,—"'To Tom' and 'Peter,' they are alike except the names. 'To Tom Scudamore, presented by the passengers in the Highflyer coach on the 4th of August, 1808, as a testimony of their appreciation of his gallant conduct, by which their property was saved from plunder.' Why, what is this, you young pickles, what were you up to on the 4th of August last year?"

"There was nothing in it at all, sir," Tom said; "we were on the coach and were stopped by highwaymen. One of the passengers had pistols, but was afraid to use them, and hid them among the boxes. So when the passengers were ordered to get down to be searched, we hid ourselves, and when the highwaymen were collecting their watches, Peter shot one, and I drove the coach over another. The matter was very simple indeed; but the passengers saved their money, so made a great fuss about it."

There was much laughter over Tom's statement, and then he had to give a detailed account of the whole affair, which elicited many expressions of approval.

"It does you credit, boys," Captain Manley said, "and shows that you are cool as well as plucky. One quality is as valuable as the other. There is every hope that you will do the regiment credit, boys, and you may be sure that we shall give you every chance. And now good-bye for the present."

"Good-bye, sir," Tom and Peter again drew themselves up, gave the military salute, and went off to their comrades.

For when the order came to prepare for the embarkation, both Spanish and bugling were given up, and the boys entered into the pleasure of the holiday with immense zest. They had no regimental duties to perform beyond being present at parade. They had no packing to do, and fewer purchases to make. A ball or two of stout string, for, as Peter said, string is always handy, and a large pocket-knife, each with a variety of blades, were the principal items. They had a ring put to the knives, so that they could sling them round the waist. They had, therefore, nothing to do but to amuse themselves, and this they did with a heartiness which astonished the other boys, and proved conclusively that they did not want to be unsociable. They hired a boat for a sail and took five or six other boys across to Ryde, only just returning in time for tattoo, and they played such a number of small practical jokes, such as putting a handful of peas into the bugles and other wind instruments, that the band-master declared that he thought that they were all bewitched, and he threatened to thrash the boys all round, because he could not find out who had done it.

Especially angry was the man who played the big drum. This was a gigantic negro, named Sam, a kind-hearted fellow, constantly smiling, except when the thought of his own importance made him assume a particularly grave appearance. He was a general favorite, although the boys were rather afraid of him, for he was apt to get into a passion if any jokes were attempted upon him, and of all offences the greatest was to call him Sambo. Now none of the men ventured upon this, for when he first joined, Sam had fought two or three desperate battles on this ground, and his great strength and the insensibility of his head to blows had invariably given him the victory. But, treated with what he conceived proper respect, Sam was one of the best-tempered and best-natured fellows in the regiment; and he himself, when he once cooled down, was perfectly ready to join in the laugh against himself, even after he had been most put out by a joke.

The day before the regiment was to embark, the officers gave a lawn party; a large number of ladies were present, and the band was, of course, to play. The piece which the bandmaster had selected for the commencement began with four distinct beats of the big drum. Just before it began, Captain Manley saw Tom and Peter, who with some of the other boys had brought the music-stands into the ground, with their faces bright with anticipated fun.

"What is the joke, boys?" he asked good-humoredly, as he passed them.

"I can't tell you, sir," Tom said; "but if you walk up close to the band, and watch Sam's face when he begins, you will be amused, I think."

"Those are regular young pickles," Captain Manley said to the lady he was walking with; "they are Etonians who have run away from home, and are up to all kinds of mischief, but are the pluckiest and most straightforward youngsters imaginable. I have no doubt that they are up to some trick with our black drummer."

On their way to where the band was preparing to play, Captain Manley said a word or two to several of the other officers, consequently there was quite a little party standing watching the band when their leader lifted his baton for the overture to begin.

There was nothing that Sam liked better than for the big drum to commence, and with his head thrown well back and an air of extreme importance, he lifted his arm and brought it down with what should have been a sounding blow upon the drum. To his astonishment and to the surprise of all the band, no deep boom was heard, only a low muffled sound. Mechanically Sam raised his other arm and let it fall with a similar result. Sam looked a picture of utter astonishment and dismay, with his eyes opened to their fullest, and he gave vent to a loud cry, which completed the effect produced by his face, and set most of those looking on, and even the band themselves, into a roar of laughter. Sam now examined his sticks, they appeared all right to the eye, but directly he felt them his astonishment was turned into rage. They were perfectly soft. Taking out his knife he cut them open, and found that the balls were merely filled with a wad of soft cotton, the necessary weight being given by pieces of lead fastened round the end of the stick inside the ball with waxed thread.

Sam was too enraged to say more than his usual exclamation of astonishment, "Golly!" and he held out his drumsticks to be examined with the face of a black statue of surprise.

Even the band-master was obliged to laugh as he took the sticks from

Sam's hand to examine them.

"These are not your sticks at all, Sam," he said, looking closely at them. "Here, boy," he called to Tom, who might have been detected from the fact of his being the only person present with a serious face, "run to the band-room and see if you can find the sticks."

In a few minutes Tom returned with the real drumsticks, which, he said truly, he had found on the shelf where they were usually kept. After that things went on as usual; Sam played with a sulky fury. His dignity was injured, and he declared over and over again that if he could "find de rascal who did it, by jingo, I pound him to squash!" and there was no doubt from his look that he thoroughly meant what he said. However, no inquiries could bring to light the author of the trick.

CHAPTER V. OVERBOARD.

There were no lighter hearts than those of Tom and Peter Scudamore on board the transport "Nancy," as, among the hearty cheers of the troops on board, and the waving of hats and handkerchiefs from friends who had come out in small boats to say good-bye for the last time, she weighed anchor, and set sail in company with some ten or twelve other transports, and under convoy of two ships of war. It would be difficult to imagine a prettier scene. The guns fired, the bands of the various regiments played, and the white sails opened out bright in the sun as the sailors swarmed into the rigging, anxious to outvie each other. Even the soldiers pulled and hauled at the ropes, and ran round with the capstan bars to get the anchors apeak. Tom and Peter, of course, had, like the other boys, got very much in the way in their desire to assist, and, having been once or twice knocked over by the rush of men coming along with ropes, they wisely gave it up, and leaned over the side to enjoy the scene.

"This is splendid, Tom, isn't it?"

"Glorious, Peter; but it's blowing pretty strong. I am afraid that we sha'n't find it quite so glorious when we get out of the shelter of the island."

Peter laughed. "No; I suppose we sha'n't all look as jolly as we do now by night-time. However, the wind is nor'-westerly, which will help us along nicely, if, as I heard one of the sailors say just now, it does not go round to the south."

"Bugler, sound companies one, two, and three to breakfast."

The order interrupted the conversation, and, for the next hour, the boys had little time for talk. Half the regiment was on board the "Nancy," and, after breakfast, the men were divided into three watches, of which one was always to be on deck, for the ship was very crowded, and there was scarcely room for all the men to be below together. The boys were in the same watch, for the day previous to starting Tom had been appointed bugler to the 2d Company, Peter to the 3d. The 1st Company, or Grenadiers, were in the watch with the band, the 2d and 3d Companies were together, and the 4th and 5th.

Tom was very ill for the first two days of the voyage, while Peter did not feel the slightest effects from the motion. Upon the third day the wind dropped suddenly, and the vessels rolled heavily in the swell, with their sails flapping against the masts. Tom came up that morning upon deck feeling quite well again, and the boys were immensely amused at seeing the attempts of the soldiers to move about, the sudden rushes, and the heavy falls. A parade had been ordered to take place; but as no one could have stood steady without holding on, it was abandoned as impossible. The men sat about under the bulwarks, and a few amused themselves and the rest by trying to play various games, such as laying a penny on the deck, and seeing which would pitch another to lay nearest to it, from a distance of five yards. The difficulty of balancing oneself in a heavily rolling vessel, and of pitching a penny with any degree of accuracy, is great, and the manner in which the coins, instead of coming down flat and remaining there, rolled away into the scuppers, the throwers not unfrequently following them, produced fits of laughter.

Tom was still feeling weak from his two days' illness, and was not disposed actively to enter into the fun; but Peter enjoyed the heavy rolling, and was all over the ship. Presently he saw Sam, the black drummer, sitting in a dark corner below quietly asleep; his cap was beside him, and the idea at once occurred to Peter that here was a great opportunity for a joke. He made his way to the caboose, and begged the cook to give him a handful of flour. The cook at first refused, but was presently coaxed into doing so, and Peter stole to where Sam was asleep, and put the flour into his cap, relying that, in the darkness, Sam would put it on without noticing it. Then, going up to the deck above, Peter put his head down the hatchway, and shouted loudly, "Sam!"

The negro woke at the sound of his name. "What is it?" he asked.

Receiving no reply, he got on to his feet, muttering, "Some one call

Sam, that for certain, can't do without Sam, always want here, want

there. I go up and see."

So saying, he put on his cap, and made his way up to the upper deck. As he stood at the hatchway and looked round, there was, first a titter, and then a roar of laughter from the men sitting or standing along by the bulwarks. In putting on his cap some of the flour had fallen out, and had streaked his face with white. Sam was utterly unconscious that he was the object of the laughter, and said to one of the men nearest to him, "Who call Sam?"

The man could not reply, but Tom, who was sitting close by, said, "It was no one here, Sam, it must have been the bandmaster; there he is, close to the quarter-deck."

Sam made his way along towards the point indicated, and as he did so some of the officers upon the quarter-deck caught sight of him. "Just look at Sambo," Carruthers exclaimed, "somebody has been larking with him again. Look how all the men are laughing, and he evidently has no suspicion of the figure he is."

The sergeant, who, the bandmaster having remained at the depôt, was now acting as chief of the band, did not see Sam until the latter was close to him. "You want me, sergeant?"

Sergeant Wilson looked up, and was astonished.

"What on earth have you been doing to yourself, Sam?" he asked.

"Me been having little nap down below," Sam said.

"Yes; but your face, man. What have you been doing to your face?"

Sam, in his turn, looked astonished. "Nothing whatsomeber, sargeant."

"Take off your cap, man, and look inside it." Sam did as ordered; and as he removed the cap, and the powder fell from it all over his face and shoulders, there was a perfect shout of laughter from the soldiers and crew, who had been looking on, and the officers, looking down from the rail of the quarter-deck, retired to laugh unnoticed.

The astonishment and rage of Sam were unbounded, and he gave a perfect yell of surprise and fury. He stamped wildly for a minute or two, and then, with a sudden movement rushed up on to the quarter-deck with his cap in his hand. The colonel, who was holding on by the shrouds, and talking with the major, in ignorance of what was going on, was perfectly astounded at this sudden vision of the irate negro, and neither he nor the major could restrain their laughter.

"Scuse me, colonel, sah, for de liberty," Sam burst out; "but look at me, sah; is dis right, sah, is it right to make joke like dis on de man dat play de big drum of de regiment?"

"No, no, Sam; not at all right," the colonel said, with difficulty. "If you report who has played the trick upon you, I shall speak to him very seriously; but, Sam, I should have thought that you were quite big enough to take the matter in your own hands."

"Me big enough, Massah Colonel, me plenty big; but me not able to find him."

"Well, Sam, it is carrying a joke too far; still, it is only a trick off duty, and I am afraid that it is beyond my power to interfere."

Sam thought for a moment, and, having by this time cooled down from his first paroxysm of rage, he said, "Beg pardon, massa, you quite right, no business of any one but Sam; but Sam too angry to 'top to think. Scuse liberty, colonel," and Sam retired from the quarter-deck, and made a bolt below down the nearest hatchway, when he plunged his head into a bucket of water, and soon restored it to its usual ebony hue.

Then he went to the cook and tried to find out to whom he had given flour, but the cook replied at once, "Lor, I've given flour to the men of each mess to make puddings of, about thirty of them," and Sam felt as far off as ever.

Presently, however, a big sailor began to make fun of him, and Sam retorted by knocking him down, after which there was a regular fight, which was carried on under the greatest difficulty, owing to the rolling of the ship. At last Sambo got the best of it, and this restored him so thoroughly to a good temper that he was able to join in the laugh at himself, reserving, however, his right to "knock de rascal who did it into a squash."

The following day the weather changed, a wind sprang up nearly from the north, which increased rapidly, until toward afternoon it was blowing half a gale, before which the whole fleet, with their main and topsails set, ran southward at great speed. A heavy cross sea was running, the wares raised by the gale clashing with the heavy swell previously rolling in from the westward, and so violent and sudden were the lurches and rolls of the "Nancy" that the master feared that her masts would go.

"How tremendously she rolls, Tom."

"Tremendously; the deck seems almost upright, and the water right under our feet each time she goes over. She feels as if she were going to turn topsy-turvy each roll. It's bad enough on deck; but it will be worse down below."

"A great deal worse, Peter, it's nearly dark already; it will strike eight bells in a minute or two, and then we shall have to go down. There's no danger, of course, of the ship turning over, but it won't be pleasant down below. Look out, Peter!"

The exclamation was caused by an awful crash. The ship had given a tremendous lurch, when the long-boat, which was stowed amidships, suddenly tore away from its fastenings and came crashing down. It passed within three feet of where the boys were sitting, and completely tore away the bulwark, leaving a great gap in the side, where it had passed through. "Look, Tom, Sam's overboard!" Peter exclaimed.

Sam had been sitting on the bulwark, a few feet from them, holding on by a shroud, when the boat came down upon him; with a cry he had let go of the shroud and started back, falling into the water just as the boat struck the bulwark. "There he is, Tom," Peter said, as he saw the black only a few yards from the side. "He is hurt, come on," catching up the end of a long rope coiled up on the deck close to their feet, the boys jumped overboard together. A dozen strokes took them up to Sam; but the black hull of the ship had already glanced past them. They could hear loud shouts, but could not distinguish a word.

"Quick, round him, Peter!" and, in a moment, the boys twisted the rope round the body of the black, and knotted it just as the drag of the ship tightened it. Thus Sam's safety was secured, but the strain was so tremendous as they tore through the water, that it was impossible for the boys to hold on, and, in a moment, they were torn from their hold.

"All right, Peter," Tom said cheerily, as they dashed the water from their eyes, "there is the boat."

The remains of the boat were not ten yards distant, and in a few strokes they had gained it. It was stove in and broken, but still held together, floating on a level with the water's edge. With some trouble the boys got inside her, and sat down on the bottom, so that their heads were just out of water.

Then they had time to look round. The ship was already disappearing in the gathering darkness.

"This boat will soon go to pieces, Tom," was Peter's first remark.

"I expect it will, Peter; but we must stick to its pieces. We had better get off our boots. The water is pretty warm, that's one comfort."

"Do you think the ship will come back for us, Tom?"

"I don't think she can, Peter; at any rate, it is certain she can't find us, it would take a long time to bring her round, and then, you see, she could not sail straight back against the wind."

"Look here, Tom, I remember when I climbed up to look into the boats yesterday that there were some little casks lashed under the seats, and a sailor told me they were always kept full of water in case the boats were wanted suddenly. If they are still there we might empty them out, and they could keep us afloat any time."

"Hurrah! Peter, capital, let's see."

To their great delight the boys found four small water-kegs fastened under the seats. Three of these they emptied, and fastening one of them to that which they had left full, and then each taking hold of one of the slings which were fastened to the kegs for convenience of carriage, they waited quietly. In less than ten minutes from the time when they first gained their frail refuge, a great wave broke just upon them, and completely smashed up the remains of the boat. They had cut off some rope from the mast, which they found with its sail furled ready for use in the boat, and now roughly lashed themselves together, face to face, so that they had a keg on each side. They had also fastened a long piece of rope to the other kegs, so that they would float near them.

It was a long and terrible night for them, generally their heads and chests were well above the water, but at times a wave would break with its white crest, and, for a time, the foam would be over their heads. Fortunately the water was warm, and the wind fell a good deal. The boys talked occasionally to each other, and kept up each other's courage. Once or twice, in spite of the heavy sea, they were so much overcome with exhaustion that they dozed uneasily for a while, with their heads upon each other's shoulders, and great was their feeling of relief and pleasure when morning began to break.

"It is going to be a splendid day, Peter, and the wind is dropping fast."

"Look, Tom," Peter said, "there are some of the planks of the boat jammed in with the kegs."

It was as Peter said; the two kegs, one empty and the other full, were floating about ten yards off, at the length of the rope by which they were attached to the boys, while with them was a confused mass of wreckage of the boat.

"That is capital, Peter, we will see if we can't make a raft presently."

As the sun rose and warmed the air, the boys strength and spirits revived, and in a few hours they were so refreshed that they determined to set about their raft. The wind had now entirely dropped, the waves were still very high, but they came in long, smooth, regular swells, over which they rose and fell almost imperceptibly.

"They must be rolling a good deal more in the 'Nancy' than we are here, Peter. Now, the first thing is to have a drink. What a blessing it is we have water." With their knives they soon got the bung out of the water-keg, and each took a long drink, and then carefully closed it up again.

"There, Peter, we have drunk as much as we wanted this time; but we must be careful, there is no saying how long we may be before we are picked up. Hurrah, Peter, here are the masts and sails, so we shall have plenty of cord."

It took the boys nearly three hours to complete their task to their satisfaction. When it was concluded they had the three empty kegs lashed in a triangle about five feet apart, while two planks crossing the triangle, assisted to keep all firm and tight; floating in the center of the triangle was the keg of water. "There, I don't think we can improve that, Peter," Tom said at last, "now, let us get on and try it." They did so, and, to their great delight, found that it floated a few inches above water. "We may as well get the masts on board, Peter, and let the sails tow alongside. They may come in useful; and now the first thing is to dry ourselves and our clothes."

The clothes were soon spread out to dry, and the boys luxuriated in the warmth of the sun.

"What great, smooth waves these are, Tom, sometimes we are down in a valley which runs miles long, and then we are up on a hill."

"Here we lay, all the day, in the bay of Biscay, oh!" Tom laughed. "I only hope that the wished-for morrow may bring the sail in sight, Peter. However, we can hold on for a few days, I suppose. That is a four-gallon keg, so that we have got a quart of water each for eight days, and hunger isn't so bad to bear as thirst. We have pretty well done for our uniforms, our bugles are the only things that have not suffered."

For the boys' companies being on deck at the time of the accident, they both had their bugles on when they jumped overboard.

"Our last upset was when that bargee canted us over at Eton, rather a different business that, Peter."

"My shirt is not dry yet, Tom; but I shall put it on again, for the sun is too hot to be pleasant."

Tom followed Peter's example.

"Do you think, Tom, that we had better try to get up a sort of sail and make for land, or remain where we are?"

"Remain where we are, Peter, I should say. I suppose we must be a hundred miles from the French coast, and even if the wind blew fair we should be a long time getting there, and with the certainty of a prison when we arrived. Still, if there were a strong west wind, I suppose it would be our best way; as it is we have nothing to do but to wait quietly, and hope for a ship. We are in the right line, and there must be lots of vessels on their way, besides those which sailed with us, for Portsmouth. So we must keep watch and watch. Now, Peter, you lie down on that plank, it is just about long enough, you shall have two hours' sleep, and then I'll have two, after that we will have four hours each."

"How are we to count time?" Peter said laughing.

"I never thought of that," Tom said, looking at his watch. "Of course it has stopped. We must guess as near as we can; at any rate, you go to sleep first, and, when I am too sleepy to keep watch any longer, I will wake you up."

So passed that day and the next night. A light breeze sprung up from the southwest, and the sun again shone out brightly.

"I feel as if I wanted breakfast horribly," Peter said, with an attempt at a smile. "Do you think that there is any possibility of catching anything?"

"We have nothing to make hooks with, Peter, and nothing to bait them with if we had."

"There are lots of tiny fish swimming all about, Tom, if we could but catch them."

Tom was silent for awhile; then he said, "Look here, Peter. Let us cut a piece off the sail about five feet long, and say three feet wide, double it longways, and sew up the ends so as to make a bag; we can unravel some string, and make holes with our knives. Then we can sink it down two or three feet, and watch it; and when we see that some little fish have got in it, we can draw it up very gently, and, by raising it gradually from the sea, the water will run out, and we shall catch the fish."

Peter agreed that at any rate it was worth trying; for, even if it did not succeed, it was better for them to be doing something than sitting idle. The sail and the floating wreckage were pulled alongside, and the boys set to work. In three hours a large and shallow bag was made, with some improvements upon Tom's original plan. The mouth was kept open by two crossed pieces of wood, and four cords from the corners were attached to the end of the oar which formed their fishing-rod. At last it was finished, and the bag lowered.

To the horror of the boys, it was discovered that it would not sink. They were ready to cry with vexation, for the want of food had made them feel faint and weak.

"What have we got that is heavy?" Tom asked in despair.

"I have got fourpence in halfpence, Tom, and there are our knives and watches."

Their pockets were ransacked, and the halfpence, knives, and watches were placed in the bottom of the bag and lowered. Still the wood-work kept afloat.

"There are the bugles, Tom," Peter cried in delight. These had been fastened to the raft, and were now hastily untied and placed in the canvas bag.

It sank now, and the boys lowered it five or six feet, so that they could partly see into it. "There are lots of little fish swimming about, Tom," Peter said in a whisper. "Some are almost as long as one's hand. Do you think that they will go in, Tom?"

"I hope the glitter of the bugles and watches will attract them,

Peter."

"There, Tom, there—I saw a whole swarm of little ones go in."

"Wait a minute or two, Peter, to let them get well down, and then draw up as quietly as possible."

Very cautiously the boys raised the point of their rod until the top of the square-mouthed bag was level with the surface; then they brought it close to them and looked in, and as they did so gave a simultaneous cheer. There, in the bottom of the canvas, two feet below them, were a number of little fish moving about. Raising the rod still higher, they gradually lifted the net out of the sea, the water running quickly off as they did so, and then they proceeded to examine their prize.

"We will take out one and one, Peter; give them a nip as you take them up, that will kill them." There were two fish of about three inches long, another three or four of two inches, and some thirty or forty the size of minnows. It was scarcely more than a mouthful each, but it was a stay for a moment to their stomachs, and no one ever said a thanksgiving with deeper feeling and heartiness than did the boys when they had emptied their canvas net.

"We need not be anxious about food now, Peter; if we can catch these in five minutes, we can get enough each day to satisfy us. They quench the thirst too. We must limit ourselves to half a pint of water a day, and we can hold on for a fortnight. We are safe to be picked up before that."

All the afternoon and evening the boys continued to let down and draw up their net, sometimes bringing in only a few tiny fish, sometimes getting half a dozen of the larger kind. By nightfall they had satisfied the cravings of hunger, and felt stronger and better. One or two sails had been seen during the day, but always at such distances that it was evident at once that they could not pass within hail. That night, fatigued with their exertions, both laid down and went to sleep until morning, and slept more comfortably than before; for they had fastened a piece of the sail tightly on the top of the raft, and lay softly suspended in that, instead of being balanced upon a narrow and uncomfortable plank. They felt new creatures when they woke, pulled up their net, had a mouthful of raw fish, took off their clothes, and had a swim, and then set to earnestly to fish. The sun was brighter, and the fish in consequence kept deeper than upon the preceding day; still by evening they had caught enough to take the edge off, if not to satisfy, their hunger. The fishing, however, during the last hours of daylight was altogether neglected, for behind them they could see a sail, which appeared as if it might possibly come close enough to observe them. There was still the long, steady swell coming in from the Atlantic, and a light breeze was blowing from the north. The boys had been so intent upon their fishing, that they had not noticed her until she was within nine or ten miles of them. "She will not be up for an hour and a half, Peter," Tom said, "and the sun will be down long before that. I fear that the chance of their seeing us is very small indeed. However, we will try. Let us get the net out of the water, and hold it and the oar up. It is possible that some one may see the canvas with a telescope before the sun goes down. Take the things out of the net."

The oar with the canvas bag was elevated, and the boys anxiously watched the course of the vessel. She was a large ship, but they could only see her when they rose upon the top of the long smooth waves. "I should think that she will pass within a mile of us, Peter," Tom said, after half an hour's watching, "but I fear that she will not be much closer. How unfortunate she had not come along an hour earlier. She would have been sure to see us if it had been daylight. I don't think that there is much chance now, for there is no moon. However, thank God, we can hold on very well now, and next time we may have better luck."

The sun had set more than half an hour before the ship came abreast of them. They had evidently not been seen.

"Now, Peter," Tom said, "let us both hallo together; the wind is very light, and it is just possible they may hear us."

Again and again the boys shouted, but the ship sailed steadily on. Peter dashed the tears aside, and Tom said, with a quiver in his voice, "Never mind, Peter; better luck next time, old boy. God has been so good to us, that I feel quite confident we shall be saved."

"So do I, Tom," Peter said. "It was only a disappointment for a minute. We may as well put the oar down, for my arm and back ache holding it."

"Mind how you do it, Peter. If we let the end go through the canvas, we shall lose our watches and bugles, and then we shall not be able to fish."

"Oh, Tom, the bugles!"

"What, Peter?" Tom said, astonished.

"We can make them hear, Tom, don't you see?"

"Hurrah, Peter! so we can. What a fool I was to forget it!"

In a moment the bugles rang out the assembly across the water. Again and again the sharp, clear sound rose on the quiet evening air.

"Look, Peter, there are men going up the rigging to look round. Sound again!"

Again and again they sounded the call, and then they saw the ship's head come round, and her bow put towards them, and then they fell on their knees and thanked God that they were saved.

In ten minutes the ship was close to them, thrown up into the wind, a boat was lowered, and in another minute or two was alongside.

"Hallo!" the officer in charge exclaimed, "two boys, all alone. Here, help them in, lads—that's it; now pull for the ship. Here, boys, take a little brandy from this flask. How long have you been on that raft?"

"It is three days since we went overboard, sir; but we were in the water for about eighteen hours before we made the raft."

Tom and Peter drank a little brandy, and felt better for it; but they were weaker than they thought, for they had to be helped up the side of the ship. A number of officers were grouped round the gangway, and the boys saw that they were on board a vessel of war.

"Only these boys?" asked the captain in surprise of the officer who had brought them on board.

"That is all, sir."

"Doctor, you had better see to them," the captain said. "If they are strong enough to talk, after they have had some soup, let them come to my cabin; if not, let them turn in in the sick bay, and I will see them in the morning. One question though, boys. Are there any others about—any one for me to look for or pick up?"

"No one else, sir," Tom said, and then followed the doctor aft. A basin of soup and a glass of sherry did wonders for the boys, and in an hour they proceeded to the captain's cabin, dressed in clothes which the doctor had borrowed from two of the midshipmen for them, for their own could never be worn again; indeed, they had not brought their jackets from the raft, those garments having shrunk so from the water, that the boys had not been able to put them on again, after first taking them off to dry.

The doctor accompanied them, and in the captain's cabin they found the first lieutenant, who had been in charge of the boat which picked them up.

"I am glad to see you looking so much better," the captain said as they entered. "Sit down. Do you know," he went on with a smile, "I do not think that any of us would have slept had you not recovered sufficiently to tell your story to-night. We have been puzzling over it in vain. How you two boys came to be adrift alone on a raft, made up of three water-kegs, as Mr. Armstrong tells me, and how you came to have two bugles with you on the raft, is altogether beyond us."

"The last matter is easily explained, sir," Tom said. "My brother and myself are buglers in H.M.'s Regiment of Norfolk Rangers, and as we were on duty when we went overboard, we had our bugles slung over our shoulders."

"Buglers!" the captain said in surprise. "Why from your appearance and mode of expressing yourselves, I take you to be gentlemen's sons."

"So we are, sir," Tom said quietly, "and I hope gentlemen—at any rate we have been Etonians. But we have lost our father, and are now buglers in the Rangers."

"Well, lads," the captain said after a pause, "and now tell us how you came upon this little raft?"

Tom related modestly the story of their going overboard from the "Nancy," of the formation of the raft, and of their after proceedings. Their hearers were greatly astonished at the story; and the captain said, "Young gentlemen, you have done a very gallant action, and have behaved with a coolness and bravery which would have done credit to old sailors. Had your father been alive he might have been proud indeed of you. I should be proud had you been my sons. If you are disposed to change services I will write directly we reach the Tagus to obtain your discharge, and will give you midshipmen's berths on board this ship. Don't answer now; you can think it over by the time we reach Portugal. I will not detain you now; a night's rest will set you up. Mr. Armstrong will introduce you to the midshipmen to-morrow; you are passengers here now, and will mess with them. Good-night."

It was not many minutes before the boys were asleep in their hammocks. If people's ears really tingle when they are being spoken about, Tom and Peter would have had but little sleep that night. The first lieutenant related the circumstances to the other lieutenants; the second lieutenant, whose watch it was, told the gunner, who related it to the petty officers; the doctor told his mates, who retailed the story to the midshipmen; and so gradually it went over the whole ship, and officers and men agreed that it was one of the pluckiest and coolest things ever done.

The boys slept until nearly breakfast time, and were just dressed when Mr. Armstrong came for them and took them to the midshipmen's berth, where they were received with a warmth and heartiness which quite surprised them. The midshipmen and mates pressed forward to shake hands with them, and the stiflingly close little cock-pit was the scene of an ovation. The boys were quite glad when the handshaking was over, and they sat down to the rough meal which was then usual among midshipmen. As the vessel had only left England four days before, the fare was better than it would have been a week later, for there was butter, cold ham and tongue upon the table. After breakfast they were asked to tell the story over again, and this they did with great modesty. Many questions were asked, and it was generally regretted that they were not sailors. Upon going up on deck there was quite an excitement among the sailors to get a look at them, and the gunner and other petty officers came up and shook hands with them heartily, and the boys wished from the depths of their hearts that people would not make such a fuss about nothing; for, as Tom said to Peter, "Of course we should not have jumped overboard if we had thought that we could not have kept hold of the rope."

That day they dined in the cabin with the captain, who, after the officers present had withdrawn, asked them if they would tell him about their past lives. This the boys did frankly, and took the opportunity of explaining that they had chosen the army because the enemies' fleet having been destroyed, there was less chance of active service in the navy than with the army just starting for Lisbon, and that their uncle having commanded the regiment that they were in, they had entered it, and had received so much kindness that they had fair reason to hope that they would eventually obtain commissions. Hence, while thanking him most warmly for his offer, they had decided to go on in the path that they had chosen.

The captain remarked that, after what they had said, although he should have been glad to have them with him, he thought that they had decided rightly.

The next morning, when the boys woke, they were surprised at the absence of any motion of the vessel, and upon going on deck they found that they were running up the Tagus, and that Lisbon was in sight.

CHAPTER VI. PORTUGAL.

The boys were delighted with the appearance of the Tagus, covered as it now was with a fleet of transports and merchantmen. As they were looking at it, the officer commanding the marines on board, who had talked a good deal to them upon the preceding day, came up to them. "I thought that you would be in a fix about clothes, my lads," he said. "You could not very well join in these midshipman's uniforms, so I set the tailor yesterday to cut down a couple of spare suits of my corps. The buttons will not be right, but you can easily alter that when you join. You had better go below at once and see if the things fit pretty well. I have told the tailor to take them to the cock-pit and if they do not fit they can alter them at once."

Thanking the officer very much for his thoughtful kindness, and much relieved in mind—for they had already been wondering what they should do—the boys ran below, and found that the tailor had guessed their sizes pretty correctly, aided as he had been by the trousers they had worn when they came on board. A few alterations were necessary, and these he promised to get finished in a couple of hours. They had scarcely gone on deck again when the anchor was let fall, and a boat was lowered, in order that the captain might proceed to shore with the despatches of which he was the bearer.

Just as he was upon the point of leaving the deck, his eye fell upon the boys. "I shall be back again in an hour or two," he said; "do not leave until I return. I will find out where your regiment is, and if it has marched I will give you a certificate of how I picked you up, otherwise you may be stopped on the way, and get into a scrape as two boys who have strayed away from their regiment."

So saying, the captain got into his boat and rowed to shore. It was one o'clock before he returned. The boys had dinner with the gunroom officers, then changed their dress, and had now the appearance of buglers in the marines.

The captain at once sent for them. "Your regiment went on yesterday with the rest of the division. It halts to-day ten miles out of the town. There is the certificate I spoke of. Mr. Armstrong is just going off with two boats' crew to assist in unloading stores; I have asked him to hand you over to the charge of some officer going up with a convoy. And now good-bye, lads. I wish you every luck, and hope that some day or other you may win your epaulets."

With renewed thanks for his kindness, the boys went up on deck. There they shook hands and said good-bye to all the officers and midshipmen. As they were waiting while the boats were being lowered, two of the sailors went aft to the captain, who had come up from below and was walking alone on the quarter-deck, and, with a touch of the hat, the spokesman said, "Your honor, we're come to ax as how, if your honor has no objection, we might just give a parting cheer to those 'ere youngsters."

"Well, Jones," the captain said, smiling, "it's rather an unusual thing for the crew of one of His Majesty's ships to cheer two young soldiers."

"It is unusual, your honor, mighty unusual, because soldiers ain't in general of much account at sea; but you see, your honor, this ain't a usual circumstance, nohow. These here boys, which ain't much more than babbies, have done what there ain't many men, not even of those who are born and bred to the sea, would have done; and we should just like to give them a bit of a cheer for good luck."

"Very well, Jones, tell the men they can do as they like."

Accordingly, as the boys took their seats in the boat they were surprised at seeing the crew clustering to the side of the ship, while some of the men ran up the rigging.

"What can the men be up to?" Tom asked Mr. Armstrong in surprise.

The lieutenant smiled, for he knew what was coming.

"Sheer off, men," he said, and as he did so the boatswain of the ship gave the word, "Now, lads, three cheers for them boys; may they have the luck they deserve."

Three thundering cheers burst from the whole crew, the men in the boats tossing their oars in the naval fashion of acknowledgment of the salute. Tom and Peter, astonished and affected, stood up, took off their caps, and waved their hands in thanks to the crowd of faces looking down upon them, and then sat down again and wiped their eyes.

"Row on," the lieutenant said, and the oars fell in the water with a splash; one more cheer arose, and then the boats rowed for the landing-place. The boys were too much affected to look up or speak, until they reached the shore, nor did they notice a boat which rowed past them upon its way to the vessel they had left, just after they had started. It contained an officer in a general's uniform. The boat steered to the ship's side, and the officer ascended the ladder. The captain was on deck. "Ah, Craufurd," he said, "this is an unexpected pleasure."

"I have just come back from my division for a few hours, Merivale; there are a lot of stores which are essential, and some of my artillery is not landed, so I thought I could hurry things up a bit. My spare charger, and most of the chargers of my staff, are being landed, too; the ship they came in was a day or two late; and as I had to confer with the Portuguese Minister of War, I am killing a good many birds with one stone. I heard you had just come in, and as I was on board the "Clio" about my charger, I thought it would not be much out of my way to run round and shake hands with you."

"I am very glad you did. Come into my cabin; you can spare time to take some lunch, I hope."

While they were at lunch General Craufurd remarked, "So you have just lost one of your officers, I see; promoted to another ship, eh?"

"Lost an officer!" Captain Merivale said in surprise. "No, not that I have heard of. What makes you think so?"

"I thought so by the cheering the ship's crew gave that boat that left the ship just before I came up. There was only a naval lieutenant in her, and I supposed that he had just got his ship, and I thought by the heartiness of the cheering what a good fellow he must be."

"But it was not the lieutenant the men were cheering," Captain

Merivale said with a smile.

"No!" General Craufurd said, surprised. "Why, there was no one else in the boat. I looked attentively as I passed. There was only a lieutenant, a midshipman who was steering, the men rowing, and two little marine buglers, who had their handkerchiefs up to their faces. So you see I took a very minute survey."

"You did indeed," Captain Merivale said, laughing. "Well, it was just these little buglers that the crew of the ship were cheering."

General Craufurd looked up incredulously. "You're joking, Merivale. The crew of His Majesty's frigate 'Latona' cheer two buglers of marines! No, no, that won't do."

"It is a fact, though, Craufurd, unlikely as it seems, except that the buglers belong to the Norfolk Rangers, and not to the Marines."

"The Rangers! They are in Hill's division. What is it all about? There must be something very strange about it."

"There is indeed," Captain Merivale said, "very strange." And he then related the whole story to his visitor.

"They are trumps indeed," the general said when the narrative was ended, "and I am very glad that I happened to hear it. I will speak to Hill about it, and will keep my eye upon them. Be assured they shall have their epaulets as soon as possible—that is, if their conduct is at all equal to their pluck. It is the least we can do when, as you say, they have refused midshipmen's berths to stick to us. And now I must be off."

The boat landed General Craufurd at the same landing-place at which Tom and Peter had disembarked half an hour before. Lieutenant Armstrong had spoken a few words to the officer who was superintending the landing of stores and horses, and he, being far too busy to stop to talk, briefly said that the boys could go up to join their regiment with a convoy of stores which would start that night.

After saying good-bye to their friend the lieutenant, the boys sat down upon some bales, and were watching with much amusement and interest the busy scene before them. As General Craufurd passed they rose and saluted.

"You are the boys from the 'Latona,' are you not?"

"Yes, sir," the boys answered in surprise.

"Can you ride?"

"Yes, sir."

"Follow me, then."

Much surprised, the boys followed the general until he made his way through the confusion to a group of newly landed horses. Near them were a couple of mounted Hussars, who, at the sight of the general, rode forward with his charger. He made a sign to them to wait a moment, and walked up to the men who were holding the newly landed horses.

"Which of you have got charge of two horses?"

Several of the men answered at once.

"Which of you are servants of officers on my staff?"

Three of those who had answered before replied now.

"Very well; just put saddles on to two of them. These lads will ride them; they are going out with me at once; they will hand them over to your masters."

In another five minutes Tom and Peter, to their surprise and delight, were clattering along through the streets of Lisbon upon two first-rate horses in company with the two Hussars, while, twenty lengths ahead, trotted General Craufurd with two officers who had been down to Lisbon upon duty similar to his own. Once outside the town, the general put his horse into a gallop, and his followers of course did the same. Once or twice General Craufurd glanced back to see how the boys rode, for a doubt had crossed his mind as to whether he had been wise in putting them upon such valuable horses, but when he saw that they were evidently accustomed to the work, he paid no further attention to them.

The officers riding beside him, however, looked back several times.

"What luck we have, to be sure, Tom," Peter said, "and I can't understand this a bit. How could the general know that we came from the 'Latona'; as he evidently did, and by the way these officers have looked back twice, I can't help thinking that he is talking about us."

Tom was as puzzled as Peter, but they soon forgot the subject, and engaged in an animated conversation with the Hussars as to the situation and position of the army, and the supposed strength and locality of the French, concerning which they were, of course, in complete ignorance. An hour and a half's sharp riding took them to Torres Vedras, a small town which afterwards became celebrated for the tremendous lines which Wellington erected there. The troops were encamped in its vicinity, the general having his quarters at the house of the Alcalde, or Mayor.

"Your regiment is a mile and a half distant, lads," General Craufurd said as they drew up at his quarters; "you will have difficulty in finding it this evening. Sergeant, take these lads round to the house where my orderlies are quartered, and give them some supper. They can join their regiment in the morning. I have heard of you, lads, from Captain Merivale, and shall mention your conduct to General Hill, and be assured I will keep my eye upon you."

The boys were soon asleep upon a heap of straw, and at six next morning were upon the road, having already had some coffee and bread for breakfast. They had no difficulty in finding their way, for orderlies were already galloping about, and the bugle calls came sharp upon their ears. The division was to march at seven. The Rangers happened to be the first in advance, so that they passed through the other regiments to arrive at theirs.

The tents were down when they arrived, and packed in readiness for the bullock carts which stood by. The boys paused a little distance off, and looked on with delight at the busy scene. At a note on the bugle the tents and other baggage were stowed in the carts, and then the men hitched on their knapsacks, unpiled arms, and began to fall into rank.

No one noticed the boys as they passed between the groups and approached the band, who were mustering by the colors, which were as usual placed in front of the guard tent.

"There's Sambo," Tom said; "I am glad they got him safe on board."

The negro was the first to perceive the boys as they came close up to him. As he saw them he gave a sudden start, his eyes opened wider and wider until the whites showed all round, his teeth chattered, the shiny black of his face turned to a sort of dirty gray, and he threw up his hands with a loud cry, "oh, golly, here's dose boys' spirits!"

He stepped back, heedless that the big drum was behind him, and the next moment went back with a crash into it, and remained there with his knees doubled up and his face looking out between them, too frightened and horror-struck to make the least movement to extricate himself.

For a moment no one noticed him, for at his cry they had all turned to the boys, and stood as if petrified at seeing those whom they believed had been drowned before their eyes a week before. The silence did not last long, the boys bursting into a shout of laughter at Sam's appearance.

"Spirits! Sam," Tom said; "not by a long way yet, man. How are you all? Come, get out of that, Sam and shake hands." And as the band with a shout crowded round them, the boys helped Sam, who was trembling all over from the shock and fright, from the drum.

For a moment the boys were quite confused and bewildered, for as they hauled Sam to his feet their comrades of the band pressed round them cheering, every one trying to shake them by the hand.

The news spread like wildfire among the troops, and there was at once a general rush to the spot. The boys were seized in an instant, and each raised on the shoulders of two of the grenadiers, and as they made their appearance above the heads of the crowd a tremendous cheer broke from the whole regiment.

"What can be the matter?" was the general exclamation of the colonel and officers, who were just finishing their breakfasts in a cottage which stood close behind the spot where their tents had been pitched in the rear of the regiment. "What can be the matter?"—and as the cheering continued there was a general rush to the door. There they stood astonished at seeing the whole of the men clustered in one spot, shouting and waving their caps.

"What can be the matter?" the colonel said again; "the whole regiment seems to have gone mad."

"We shall know in a minute," Captain Manley said; "they are coming in this direction."

"Look at that fellow Sambo," exclaimed Carruthers; "he looks madder than all the rest."

In spite of the intense surprise which all were feeling, there was a general laugh, for the black was performing antics like one possessed; his cap was gone, he jumped, he yelled, he waved his arms, with a drumstick in each hand, wildly over his head, he twisted round and round; he seemed really out of his mind. Suddenly he left the crowd, and rushed on ahead at full speed towards the group of officers, still leaping and yelling and waving his drumsticks.

The officers instinctively drew together as he approached, for they thought that the gigantic negro was really out of his mind. He stopped suddenly as he came up to them, and tried to fall into his usual attitude of attention.

"Oh, Massa Colonel," he said in hoarse, sobbing tones, "only to think, only to think. Scuse Sam, sar, but Sam feel he's going to bust right up wid joy, massa. Dat no matter, but only to think. Bress de Almighty, sar! only to think!"

None of the officers spoke for a minute in answer to these disjointed exclamations. They were affected at the man's great emotion. His black skin was still strangely pale, his eyes were distended, his lips quivered, tears were rolling down his cheeks, and his huge frame was shaken with sobs.

"Calm yourself, Sam—be calm, my man," the colonel said kindly. "Try and tell us what has happened. What are the men so excited about? What is the matter with them?"

"Oh, Massa Colonel," Sam said, "me try tell you all 'boat it. Only to think, sar, dose boys cum back again; dose boys, sar, bress dem, dat jumped into de water and got drowned just to save dis poor niggar, sar. Dey cum back again; only tink ob dat!"

The officers looked at one another in surprise.

"I do believe he means the Scudamores! colonel," Captain Manley exclaimed; "but no, it is impossible, no one could have lived five minutes in that sea, and we know that they could not have been picked up, for we were the last ship in the fleet."

"Yes, yes, sar, dat's dem, dey cum back sure enuff," Sam said.

Then Carruthers exclaimed, "I do believe it is so; there are a couple of boys on the shoulders of the men in the middle of the crowd. Yes, and, by Jove, it is the Scudamores. Hurrah! I am glad."

There was a general exclamation of pleasure from the whole group, for the regret for the boys, who had, as was believed, perished in the performance of such a gallant action, had been general and sincere, and Captain Manley lifted his cap and said reverently, "Thank God, these gallant lads are saved;" and those around, although some of them were but little addicted to prayer, repeated the words and imitated the action.

Carruthers would have stepped forward in his eagerness to greet his former school-fellows, but Captain Manley laid his hand quietly on his shoulder and said in a low tone, "Wait, Carruthers, let the colonel welcome them."

And now the crowd came up to the cottage, those in front falling back as they approached, so as to let the grenadiers come forward with their burden. The boys were lowered to the ground, and stood at once at attention; their faces were both flushed with excitement, and their eyes swollen with tears, so much were they both moved by the welcome which had greeted them.

There was a dead silence for a moment, and then Colonel Tritton said in a loud, clear voice, which was heard all over the throng of men, "I am glad, lads, to see you back again. I never expected to have seen you again after we caught a glimpse of you as the sea washed you away. You have seen how the men have welcomed you, and I can assure you that the pleasure of the officers that two such gallant young fellows should have been saved is no less than that of your comrades. A braver act than that which you performed was never done. I shake hands with you, and congratulate you in the name of the whole regiment." And, suiting the action to the words, Colonel Tritton stepped forward and shook the boys warmly by the hand, amidst a great cheer upon the part of the whole regiment. Then he held up his hand for silence again. "Bugler, sound the assembly; fall in, my lads, or we shall be late. Come in here, boys; you can get something to eat, and tell us in a few words how you were saved, for, even now that I see you it seems almost impossible."

CHAPTER VII. THE PASSAGE OF THE DUORO—TALAVERA.

Very severe was the drill and discipline, and not very abundant was the food, and there was a general feeling of pleasure when, by the general concentration of the army at Coimbra, it was evident that active operations were about to commence. On the 5th of May 9000 Portuguese, 3000 Germans, and 13,000 British troops were assembled. Sir Arthur was already there, and upon the 6th General Beresford marched with 10,000 men, and orders were issued for the rest of the army to march out early the next day.

The Norfolk Rangers were in high glee that night, and many were the tales told by the old soldiers of former engagements in which they had taken part. Next morning, at daybreak, the tents were struck, the baggage packed, and the wagons loaded. The people of Coimbra came out in crowds to see the troops march, and many were the blessings and good wishes poured out as the long line wound through the streets of the city.

Hill's division was the last, and the rain was pouring down with great force by the time they started. The march, however, was not a very long one, for Beresford's division, which was to operate upon the Upper Duoro, had a long distance to make, and it was necessary that all should be ready for simultaneous action. For this purpose the army halted the next day, and upon the 9th marched to Aveiro on the River Vonga. Here a large flotilla of boats was found, and the Norfolk Rangers with two other regiments were ordered to embark at once. The Portuguese fishermen entered heart and soul into the business, and in perfect silence the little flats were rowed up the lake of Ovar.

The soldiers were greatly crowded in the boats, and were glad, indeed, when just as morning dawned they landed at the town of Ovar.

By this movement they were placed upon the right flank of Francheschi, the general who commanded the advanced division of the French army. Soon after they had landed the French were attacked in front, and finding their flank turned, and the whole British force, which they had believed to be seven days' march away, in their front, they fell back hastily.

To their great disappointment, the Rangers took no share in this the first skirmish of the war. But Hill's orders were not to press on the enemy's rear. Three days more of marching and skirmishing brought them close to the Duoro on the evening of the 11th. The enemy crossed that evening and destroyed the bridge, and during the night the British troops were all brought up, and massed behind the hill called the Serra. This hill stood upon a sharp elbow which the river makes just above the town of Oporto, and the British were here completely hidden from Marshal Soult, who had no idea that they were so close at hand. Indeed, knowing that the bridge was broken and that all the boats had been carefully taken over to that side of the river, the Marshal dreamt not that Sir Arthur would attempt to cross, but imagined that he would take boats lower down near the mouth of the river and there endeavor to cross. To prevent such an attempt Soult had massed his army below Oporto.

The troops were ordered to pile arms, and eat their breakfast, but to keep in position. "I wonder how we are to cross the river, Tom?" Peter said. "It is three hundred yards across, with a rapid current, no man in the world could swim that, and carry his musket and ammunition across."

"I expect Sir Arthur is reconnoitering, Peter; I saw him go up the hill to that convent there; he must be able to see from there right over Oporto."

An hour passed, and then two or three officers were seen coming down from the hill; one went up to General Hill, who happened at that moment to be talking to Colonel Tritton. "You are to prepare to cross, sir, Colonel Waters has discovered a small boat brought across by a Portuguese in the night. They are going to cross to that great convent you see upon the other side. They will bring back boats with them, and you will cross at once, take possession of the convent, and hold it against any force that may be brought against you until reinforcements arrive."

Very quickly were the orders passed, and with a smile of satisfaction the men took their arms and fell in. They were moved near the river, and kept under shelter of some houses.

"Keep near me," Colonel Tritton said to Tom and Peter, "I may want you to carry messages, there will be no sounding of bugles to-day."

Keeping under the shade of some trees so that they could command a view of the river without being seen from the opposite side, Colonel Tritton with two of his officers and his two buglers, watched what was going on. A few paces ahead of them were Generals Paget and Hill, like themselves, watching the daring experiment. Behind, under shelter of the houses, were the troops in dense masses. The Rangers, as the first regiment in General Hill's division, were in front, and would naturally be the first to cross. It was a most anxious moment, as Colonel Waters and two Portuguese pushed the tiny boat from shore and pulled across stream. The bulk of the Serra Hill hid the river at this point, and even the convent opposite, from the sight of the French army formed up below the town, but there were no doubt stragglers all over the city, and the whole baggage of the French army was in retreat by the road to Valarga which ran at a short distance behind the convent.

Most anxiously their eyes were strained upon the opposite bank, from which they expected to see the flash of musketry, as the little boat neared the convent. All, however, was as still as death. Behind them they heard a rumble, and looking round saw eighteen guns on their way up the hill. From this eminence they could command the ground around the Seminary, as the convent across the water was called, and thus afford some aid to the troops as they crossed.

There was a murmur of satisfaction as the boat neared the opposite shore, and after lying still for a moment to reconnoiter the convent, pulled boldly up to the landing-place, where its occupants disembarked and entered the Seminary. Their absence was not long. In a few minutes they reappeared with eight or ten men, and then at once entered and cast off three large boats moored along side.

The boys could hardly repress a cheer as they saw them fairly under weigh. An officer now left the side of the General, and came to Colonel Tritton, "You will get your first company in readiness to embark, sir; do not let them show themselves until the last moment."

Colonel Tritton joined his men. "Captain Manley, take your company forward, when the first boat touches the shore embark. Let there be no noise or confusion."

"God bless you, Peter," Tom said, as they separated; "your company won't be many minutes after us;" for the bugler of the first company was ill, and Tom was ordered to take his place.

As the boat touched the shore Captain Manley ordered the leading files of his company to come from under cover and take their place in the boat. Twenty-four men entered, and when the other boats were also full Captain Manley took his place, followed by his bugler, and the boats pushed off again.

There was a dead silence in the boat, broken only by the sound of the oars as the Portuguese tugged manfully at them, each oar being double-banked by a soldier. The rest sat with their muskets in their hands, their pouches open ready for use, and their eyes fixed upon the shore. All was quiet, and with a sigh of relief, and a hearty hurrah muttered under their breath, the men leapt from the boat and ran up to the Seminary.

It was a large building with a flat roof, and the enclosure around it was surrounded by a high wall which swept round to the water's edge on either side. The only entrance was through a stout gate studded with iron. This was already closed and barred; the captain at once distributed his men at the upper windows of the Seminary, with orders not to show themselves until the alarm was given.

They had scarcely taken their places when they were joined by the occupants of the second boat, while those of the third, in which General Paget himself crossed, were but a minute or two later. Just as they touched the shore, however, there was a sudden shout heard, this was followed by others, and in five minutes a wild hubbub was heard in the town. Drums beat to arms, and it was evident that the enemy were at last awake to the fact that the British had effected a lodgment upon their side of the stream.

"We shall have it hot presently," Captain Manley said to Tom. "They will be a quarter of an hour before they can get round here, and we shall have the three boats back by that time. The one we came in is half-way across already."

Seven or eight minutes later a heavy column of men was seen pouring out of the upper gate of the town. As they got into the open ground, they threw out clouds of skirmishers, and pushed down towards the convent. A heavy fire was at once opened upon them by the English guns upon the Serra Hill. There was no longer any need for concealment. The soldiers in the convent took their places at the windows, and as they did so could hear the loud hurrahs of their comrades as they crowded down to the bank upon the other side of the river to await their turn to embark. Before the enemy were within musket-shot, three boat loads more had been landed, and there were, therefore, 150 men now in the convent. From the gates of the city the French artillery came pouring out, and, taking up a position upon an eminence, opened fire upon the convent just as the infantry had got within musket-range.

So suddenly did the noise of the enemy's cannonade, the crashing of the balls against the thick walls of the Seminary, the rattle of the enemy's musketry, and the louder roar of the muskets of the defenders, blended on both sides with shouts and cheers, break out, that for a minute or two Tom felt almost bewildered. He had no time, however, to think, for an officer came up to Captain Manley. "The general is up on the roof; he wants a bugler sent up to him."

Captain Manley nodded to Tom, who followed the aide-de-camp on to the roof. Here he could see all that was passing, and an exciting sight it was. Crowds of French soldiers were approaching the wall, keeping up a tremendous musketry fire, whilst behind them three batteries of field-guns were sending their messengers of death. From every upper window of the convent the answering flashes came thick and fast, while overhead hummed the shot from the British guns, on the Serra Hill. Oporto itself was in a state of uproar. Drums were beating, trumpets sounding, bells clanging, while from the house-tops the population, men and women, were waving their handkerchiefs to the English, gesticulating and making all sorts of pantomimic expression of joy.

Looking at the river behind, Tom saw with pleasure that some more boats had been obtained, and that strong reinforcements would soon be across. The whistling of the bullets and the hum of the round shot were incessant, and Tom acknowledged to himself that he felt horribly uncomfortable—much more uncomfortable than he had any idea that he should feel under fire. Had he been actively engaged, he would have hardly experienced this feeling; but to stand impassive under a heavy fire is trying to the nerves of the oldest soldier. He was angry with himself that he was not more indifferent to the whizzing of the balls; but the sensation of discomfort under fire is beyond the control of the will, and it is no unusual thing to see a young soldier who, later in the day, may display an almost reckless courage, yet at first flinch whenever balls hiss close by him, in spite of all his efforts to the contrary. Tom was able, however, to control any outward manifestation of his feelings, and took his place a few paces behind General Paget, who was standing with one of his officers by his side, watching the force which, momentarily increasing, was, in spite of the British fire, making its way onward towards the gate.

It was evident that the general considered the danger to be pressing, as he once or twice looked back to see how quickly the reinforcements were crossing the river. The first time that he did so, his eye fell on Tom. "Get behind those big chimneys, lad. There is no use in exposing yourself unnecessarily."

Tom obeyed the order with alacrity, and, once in shelter, was soon able to bring his nerves under control, and to look round the corner of his shelter without flinching when the bullets sang past. In five minutes General Hill joined Paget on the roof, and just as he did so the latter was severely wounded and fell.

Tom ran forward to assist him, and, kneeling beside him, partially supported him until four men came up and carried him below. The position of the little garrison was now very precarious, the artillery fire concentrated upon them was heavy, and the French swarmed up to the wall, which they in vain endeavored to climb. The English kept up a tremendous fire upon them, cheering constantly as fresh reinforcements arrived, or as the enemy was momentarily repulsed.

Tom had now lost all nervousness, and was standing eagerly watching the fight, when a ball knocked his shako off. The general happened to turn around at the moment. "That was a narrow escape," he said with a smile. "What is your name, lad?"

"Scudamore, sir," Tom answered.

"Scudamore—Scudamore. Yes, I remember the name now. You are one of the lads General Craufurd spoke to me about. I want to see you. Come to me to-morrow with your brother. Go down now and join your company; I do not want you here."

Tom gladly went down, for he longed to be doing something. He soon found his company, and, taking up a firelock of one of the men who had fallen, was soon hard at work loading and firing into the assailants. For an hour the strife continued. Fortunately General Murray had found some boats three miles higher up the stream, and had crossed, thus menacing the enemy's line of retreat. Suddenly a great pealing of bells were heard in Oporto, with shouting and cheering, and the house-tops were covered with people waving their handkerchiefs. The French were evacuating the town. The inhabitants at once took across some large barges to Villa Neva, a suburb lying across the river and just below the Serra Hill. Here Sherbrooke began to cross.

It was now the time for the English to take the offensive. There were now three battalions in the seminary, and as the French drew sullenly off to join the column now flowing steadily out from Oporto along the Valonga road, the gates were thrown open, and the English passing out formed outside the walls, and poured volley after volley into the retreating foe. Had Murray fallen upon their flank, the disaster of the French would have been complete; but this general feared that the enemy would turn upon him, and destroy his division before assistance could arrive, and he therefore remained inactive, and allowed the long column of fugitives to pass unmolested.

For the next eight days the English army followed hotly in pursuit, and several skirmishes occurred; but Soult effected a most masterly retreat, saving his army, when it seemed upon the brink of destruction, by leaving his guns and baggage behind him, and leading his men by paths over mountains supposed to be impassable for any large body of men. He lost altogether 6000 men in this short campaign. This included 3600 prisoners either captured in action or left behind in the hospitals, and 1400 killed. The number of guns left behind was fifty-eight. The English had only 300 killed and wounded.

Sir Arthur's plans for the invasion of Spain were not yet complete, and he accordingly halted his army to await supplies and reinforcements. During this time the young buglers had no opportunity of calling upon Major-General Hill. The transport supplied by the Spanish Government had failed grossly, and the troops were badly fed at a time when, taking long marches, they most required support. The first day after they halted the boys determined that they would, as soon as they were off duty, call upon General Hill. While parade was going on, however, they saw the general ride up to Colonel Tritton, and enter into conversation with him. The bugler, who was standing near, was ordered to sound the call for the officers to assemble in front; and when they did so, Colonel Tritton left the general's side and spoke a few words with them. There was a short conversation, and then the colonel rejoined the general's side, and the officers returned to their places. The colonel now rode forward to the center of the line, and said in loud tones, "Men, I have a piece of news to tell you which I think that you will be glad to hear. Upon my arrival at Lisbon I reported the gallant conduct of Tom and Peter Scudamore in rescuing one of their comrades when washed overboard in the Bay of Biscay. Captain Merivale, of the "Latona," also reported it, and General Hill, when he heard the circumstances, was also good enough to send home a report recommending them for promotion. He has received an answer from the Commander-in-Chief announcing that they are both granted commissions in this regiment as a reward for their act of distinguished gallantry. The regiment is dismissed."

As the men fell out they gave a loud and general cheer, and Tom and Peter were surrounded by their comrades, who shook them by the hand, and congratulated them upon their promotion. The boys were too much surprised and affected to speak, and they had scarcely recovered from their bewilderment, when Carruthers came up to them, and led them to the colonel. Here General Hill first, and then all the officers, warmly shook hands with them. The boys were much touched by the warmth with which they were received, and were soon hurried off to the tents of the officers. Several of the ensigns were slight young men, and they insisted upon rigging the boys out in uniform, and the boys had the less scruple in accepting the kind offer, inasmuch as they expected every day to enter Spain, when the baggage would be cut down to the smallest possible proportion, and the officers as well as the men be obliged to leave almost everything behind them. Sam was delighted at the promotion of his friends, and asked to be appointed their servant, a request which was at once acceded to. The regiment had now been three months in Spain, and the boys had continued to work hard at Spanish, devoting several hours a day to its study, and talking it whenever they could find an opportunity—no difficult matter, as Portugal was full of Spanish who had crossed the frontier to avoid the hated yoke of the French.

The delay in invading Spain was caused partly from want of transport, but more by the utter incapacity of the Spanish Junta or government, and by the arrogance and folly of Cuesta, the Spanish Commander-in-Chief, who was always proposing impracticable schemes to Wellington, and, inflated with Spanish pride and obstinacy, believed that his own worthless troops were fully a match for the French, and was jealous in the highest degree of the British general.

At last, on the 27th of June, the British army advanced. Scarcely had they made a day's march, however, when the utter faithlessness of the Spaniards became manifest. The provisions and transport promised were not forthcoming, and from the very day of their advance the British were badly fed, and indeed often not fed at all; and so great were their sufferings during the campaign—sufferings caused by the heartlessness of the people whom they had come to deliver from a foreign yoke, that the British soldiers came to cherish a deep and bitter hatred against the Spanish; and it was this intense feeling of animosity which had no little to do with the cruel excesses of the English soldiery upon the capture of Burgos and San Sebastian.

After many delays from these causes, the British army reached Oropesa upon the 20th July, and there formed a junction with Cuesta's army. Upon the 22d the allied armies moved forward, and upon the same day the Spaniards came in contact with the French, and should have inflicted a severe blow upon them, but the ignorance and timidity of the Spanish generals enabled the enemy to draw off and concentrate without loss.

The British troops had now been for many days upon half rations, and Sir Arthur gave notice to the Junta, that unless his requisitions were complied with, he should retire from Spain. Cuesta, however, believing that the French were retreating in haste, pushed his army across the river Alberche, with the vain idea of defeating them, and entering Madrid in triumph. Sir Arthur, seeing the fatal consequences which would ensue, were the Spaniards attacked alone, laid aside his previously-formed resolution, and put his army in motion across the Alberche. The position of the allied armies was now most dangerous—far more so, indeed, than the English general supposed. Badly informed by the Spanish, he greatly underrated the enemy's forces. Taking advantage of the delay caused by the want of provisions and carriage, Soult, Victor, and Ney were marching their forces from various points, and concentrating to crush the invading army. Upon the 26th the French met the Spanish army. General Zayas, who commanded the Spanish advance of 4000 infantry and 2000 cavalry, scarcely offered any resistance, his men broke and fled in disorder, and the panic would have spread to the whole Spanish army, had not General Albuquerque brought up 3000 more cavalry and held the French at bay, while Cuesta retreated in great disorder. The Spanish loss by dispersion and flight was no less than 4000 men, and the whole army would have been broken up had not General Sherbrooke advanced with his division, and placed it between the French and the flying Spaniards.

The allies now recrossed the Alberche and took up a position to cover Talavera. Sir Arthur chose a strong defensive position, as it was evident that the Spanish were worse than useless in the open field. The Spaniards were placed with their right resting upon Talavera, their left upon a mound whereon a large field-redoubt was constructed. Their front was covered by a convent, by ditches, stone walls, breastworks, and felled trees; and thus, worthless as were the troops, they could scarcely be driven from a position almost impregnable.

The line beyond the Spanish was continued by Campbell's division, next to which came that of Sherbrooke, its left extending to a steep hill. Mackenzie and Donkin had not yet fallen hack from the Alberche. Hill was in rear. The British troops, including the German legion, were 19,000 strong, with thirty guns. The Spaniards had 33,000 men and seventy guns. The Spanish contingent could, however, be in no way relied upon, and were, indeed, never seriously engaged. The real battle was between the 19,000 British troops and 50,000 French. The French attacked the British outposts with great impetuosity, and Mackenzie and Donkin were driven in with a loss of 4000 men. The latter took up his position with his brigade on the hill on Sherbrooke's left; the former took post with Campbell's division, to which he belonged. The French cavalry now galloped up towards the portion of the line held by the Spanish, and discharged their pistols at them, whereupon 10,000 Spanish infantry and the whole of their artillery broke and fled in wild confusion. For miles they continued their flight, but in the evening the Spanish cavalry were sent round in pursuit, and drove some 4000 of these cowards back to their lines. Seeing the wild confusion which was raging on the allies' right, Victor resolved, although evening was at hand, to make a sudden dash upon the hill upon their left, which, held only by Donkin's brigade, was the key of the position. The hill was very steep upon the front, or French side, while towards the rear it sloped gradually. Ruffin's division was ordered to the attack, followed by Villette in support, while Lapisse was ordered to engage the German legion, which was on the left of Sherbrooke's division.

Hill's division was lying down behind the hill when Ruffin's troops advanced to the attack. There was no expectation of an attack that evening, and the woods and increasing darkness covered the movements of the French troops. Weary and hungry, the English soldiers, disgusted at the inhuman neglect of the Spaniards, and furious at their cowardice, were chatting over the events of the day and discussing the chances, by no means bright, of the expected battle to-morrow. All that day they had had no food whatever save a small portion of grain, served out raw and unground. Tom and Peter had been chatting with the officers, who were grouped under a tree, when Sambo came up to them and beckoned them aside.

"Look here, Massa Tom, here six eggs; tree for you, tree for Massa

Peter."

"Thank you, Sam, that is capital; but you know you will get into a row if you get caught taking things."

"Me no take 'em, massa. Old hen give them to me."

Tom laughed.

"How was that, Sam?"

"Well, Massa, me saw her sitting on nest. Me went up and said to her, 'Give me some eggs, old girl.' She say 'Cluck.' I says, 'Cluck means yes, I suppose?' She say 'Cluck' again. Clear 'nuff that, so me take eggs, eat tree, bring six, young massa."

"I am afraid, Sam," Tom said, laughing, "your story would hardly save you from the triangles, if you had been caught. However, as it is rude to return a present, of course you cannot take them back to the hen. I suppose they are raw?"

"Yes, massa; no good make fire; make hole bofe ends, suck 'em."

"All right, Sam; it is not the nicest way, but, under the circumstances, perhaps it is the best; at any rate, I am too hungry to wait till we can get a fire lighted."

So saying, the boys sucked the raw eggs, and then joined the men, when, just as they did so, first a dropping rifle shot, and then a perfect roar of musketry broke out upon the hill above them. It needed no order to be given. The men fell into their places and prepared to climb the hill and assist Donkin's brigade, which was evidently unable alone to resist the attack. Knapsacks were thrown off, firelocks tightly grasped, and the regiment impatiently awaited orders to advance. None were more impatient than the colonel, who after a few minutes, seeing by the fire that the English were falling back, and that the French had gained the crest of the hill, waited no longer for orders, but gave the word for the regiment to advance. They were but half way up the hill when General Hill himself galloped down to meet them, and then turning, led the way beside Colonel Tritton.

General Hill had had a narrow escape. Donkin had repulsed the French who attacked him in front, but his force was insufficient to guard the whole crest of the hill. Consequently, the enemy had come up round his flank, and were now in actual possession of the crest. General Hill, ignorant of this, had ridden with his brigade-major right into the midst of the French before he found out his mistake. His brigade-major, Fordyce, was killed, his own horse wounded, and his bridle seized by a French grenadier. He had, however, broken away, and had ridden off under a storm of bullets.

With a cheer the Norfolk Rangers followed their gallant leader. They reached the crest, poured a tremendous volley into the enemy, and charged with the bayonet. The French, of whom but a small portion had as yet gained the crest, were unable to resist the impetuous onslaught, and at once gave way.

The Rangers were now joined by the 48th and the 29th, so that these, with Donkin's brigade, formed a strong body of troops. The French, who had fallen back, now united with their main body, and the attack was renewed with all the force of Ruffin's division. The heavy mass pressed upwards, in spite of the destructive fire of the British, and were within twenty yards of the crest, when, with a hearty cheer, the English troops burst upon them with the bayonet, and the French again fell back, broken and disheartened.

This ended the fighting on the 27th of July. Long lines of bivouac fires soon blazed upon either side. The wounded were carried down the hill to the field-hospital, which had been erected under its cover, and the men, eating their scanty supper, wrapped themselves in their great coats, and were soon asleep. The officers chatted for a short time longer, but as all were tired, and the next day was sure to be a severe one, they, too, soon lay down by their fire.

When morning broke, it was seen that the enemy had massed a large force of artillery upon a hill just opposite to the one held by the English. Soon afterwards Ruffin's division, as before supported by Villette, advanced to the attack, covered by the tremendous fire from his artillery. The British had no adequate force of artillery to reply to the iron storm, and the balls swept through their lines, mowing down their ranks, and causing great loss. The regiments in reserve lay down to avoid the iron shower, while the Rangers and 48th prepared to resist the French when they came within fighting distance.

As their men approached the summit of the hill, the French artillery was obliged to cease playing in that direction, and turned its attention to the British center, while a fierce musketry contest took place between the French and Hill and Donkin's men.

The ground was rough, and the troops on both sides, broken up into small bodies, fought desperately. General Hill was wounded, and the British troops fell fast. The French, however, suffered even more, and, as Hill brought up his reserve, the English gained ground foot by foot, until they drove them again down the steep side of the hill. As the French retired, their artillery once more opened fire to cover their retreat.

A pause now ensued; the French in this brief contest had lost 1400 men, and the British had suffered severely. The French then held a council of war, and determined to attack along the whole line in force. Hours passed away; the English munched their corn, smoked their pipes, and watched the enemy scattered over the plain. The weather was very hot, and the men of both sides went down to a little stream which divided their positions, drank, and filled their water-bottles in perfect amity. Some of the officers, who spoke French conversed with the French officers, exchanged cigars for brandy, and joked and laughed as if they had been the best of friends.

At one o'clock the French drums were heard to beat, and the men were soon formed in order. Tom and Peter stood with a group of officers on the brow of the hill. Nothing could be finer than the sight. Far away the view stretched over the country, thickly wooded, and with château and farm-houses scatted here and there. Through the trees the dense masses of the French could be seen, as they moved in columns towards the positions from which they were to attack. Upon an eminence, nearly opposite to their position, the boys could see a long line of the French artillery. Far away, to the right, rose the churches of Talavera, while behind the hill were the British and Spanish cavalry, ready to charge should the French endeavor to turn the British left by pushing round its foot. Fifty paces from the officers of the Norfolk Rangers sat Sir Arthur Wellesley, on horseback, watching attentively through a field-glass the movements of the enemy, and at a short distance behind him were his staff. The British troops were standing in easy order, a little behind the crest of the hill, so as to be sheltered from the artillery fire with which the French were sure to cover the advance of their column of attack.

"This is a grand sight, Peter," Tom said, "but I wish they would begin; it makes one fidgety waiting for it."

Scarcely had Tom spoken when, as if in answer to his wish, a series of jets of white smoke puffed out from the opposite hill, and two or three seconds later came the thunder of eighty guns, and the whizzing sound of as many balls. Instinctively the group drew back a pace, but it was not upon them that this tremendous fire was opened. It was directed against the right of the British line, and almost at the same moment a cloud of skirmishers appeared among the trees, followed by the dark columns of Sebastiani's division.

Upon these the English guns at once opened fire; but rushing forward with their usual impetuosity, they cleared away the obstacles which had been raised across the British front, and charged with fury against the British position. Campbell's division, however, assisted by Mackenzie's brigade and two Spanish battalions, stood firm, and driving back the skirmishers, advanced in line, cheering loudly. The head of the French column withered away under their tremendous fire, and, pushing forward, they overlapped it, and drove them back with terrible loss, capturing ten guns. Then Campbell prudently recalled his men to their first position, and the British artillery, which had necessarily been silent while friend and foe were mingled together, opened furiously upon the French as they tried to re-form upon their supports. A Spanish cavalry regiment dashed down upon their flank, and they retired again in great disorder.

Every incident of the fight could be seen from the British position on the hill, and the troops almost held their breath with excitement as the British lines clashed against the head of the French column, and a loud shout of triumph burst out spontaneously as the French broke and fled.

But it was now the turn of the left. Already Villette's division, preceded by the Grenadiers and supported by Ruffin's division, was advancing, and the British cavalry were ordered to charge them. The ground was, however, quite unfit for cavalry. Colonel Arentschild, a very experienced officer, who commanded the German Hussars, drew up his regiment at the edge of a deep cleft which crossed their front, and refused to take his men to certain destruction. The 23d Dragoons, however, dashed into the ravine. Men and horses rolled over in all directions; still, they got across, and, charging furiously between the French infantry regiments, which poured in a terrible fire, fell upon a brigade of Chasseurs in their rear. Victor sent up his Polish lancers and Westphalian light horse to the assistance of the Chasseurs, who already outnumbered the 23d, and this gallant regiment was completely broken, the survivors escaping to the shelter of Bassecourt's Spanish division, which lay beyond the hill, having lost 257 men and officers.

Tom and Peter did not see this disastrous affair, for on the approach of the enemy's column they fell into their places in the ranks. It was, however, in vain that the French tried to gain the crest of the hill, their efforts at this point being indeed far more feeble than they had been either in the morning or upon the previous night. It was in the center that their great effort was made. Here Lapisse threw his division against that of Sherbrooke, and, covered by his own artillery and by the guns upon the hill, charged right up to the position. The British, however, repulsed them, and the guards, carried away by the excitement of the moment, followed them with reckless ardor. The French reserves of infantry and cavalry came up, the artillery plied the British with shot and shell, the fugitives rallied and again came to the attack, and the Guards fell back in confusion. The Germans next to them, severely pressed, began to waver, and for a time it seemed that the British, victorious upon both flanks, were yet to lose the battle by being broken in the center.

Now, however, the 48th, which Sir Arthur had ordered down from the hill when he saw the rash advance of the Guards, was seen advancing in line through the disordered masses. Wheeling back, it allowed the retreating regiments to pass through it and then again formed and fell upon the flank of the victorious French column. The French paused in their advance, the Guards and Germans rallied and came back again to the fight, the shots of the British guns plowed lines in the column, the French wavered, and, as the British light cavalry trotted up with the intention of charging them, fell back, and drew off to their first position amidst shouts of victory along the whole length of the British line.

Thus the battle ceased, each party occupying the ground it had held in the morning. The British loss in killed, wounded, and missing, in the two days' fighting, was 6200; that of the French 7400. Had the British been in a condition to have sallied from their position and pursued the retiring enemy, the victory would have had far greater results; but, exhausted and half-starved, the British were incapable of following up their advantage.

The next morning at daybreak, the French army quitted its position, and, retiring across the Alberche, formed line of battle there, and awaited the attack, should the English take the offensive. This they were in no position to do, although in the course of the day Craufurd had come up with the 43d, 52d, and 95th Regiments. These three regiments had heard of the first day's fighting from the Spanish fugitives, and had marched with all speed to the assistance of their friends. They had, carrying their kit and ammunition, weighing from 50 lb. to 60 lb., actually marched sixty-two miles in twenty-six hours in the hottest season of the year, one of the greatest feats recorded in military history.

The Rangers had suffered heavily, and in the two days' fighting had lost thirty-eight killed and 109 wounded. Among the former were two officers, while several others were wounded. The Scudamores had, fortunately, both escaped without a scratch. The inhumanity of the Spaniards was now more markedly shown than ever. Although both in Cuesta's army, and in the town of Talavera provisions were abundant, yet the inhabitants carefully concealed them, while both the wounded and fighting men of the British army were in want. So great was the misery and indignation of the soldiers at this shameful treatment, from those for whom they were doing so much, that they would willingly have attacked the Spanish army and plundered the town; and from this period to the end of the war the British hated the Spanish with a deep and bitter hatred.

Wellesley now received news that Soult had crossed the mountains through the pass of Banos, which had been left undefended by the Spanish, and was marching upon his rear. Believing that Soult had only 13,000 men with him—whereas in fact, he had 50,000—Sir Arthur left the Spanish army at Talavera in charge of the hospitals, with 6000 sick and wounded, and retraced his steps, with the intention of giving battle to this new enemy.

Upon the 3d, however, he learned the real strength of Soult's army, and upon the same day heard that General Cuesta had basely retreated from Talavera, without having provided any transport whatever, according to his promise, for the British sick and wounded. All of these who had strength to crawl rejoined the British army, but 1500, who were unable to walk, were left behind, and fell into the hands of the French, by whom they were treated with far greater kindness and attention than they had been by the Spanish. Upon the 4th Cuesta joined Sir Arthur, and at six o'clock next morning the only possible course for safety was adopted. Victor was advancing from Talavera, Soult was hurrying from Placentia to cut off the retreat of the British, and accordingly Sir Arthur fell back upon Arzobispo, on the Tagus.

The artillery, the baggage and wounded, first crossed the bridge, and at two o'clock the entire army was across. So great was the hunger of the men that a herd of swine happening to be seen close to the line of march, the soldiers ran upon them, shot and bayoneted them, and devoured them raw. Taking up a strong position, guarding the bridges of the Tagus, the British army remained quiet until the end of August. During this time they became so weakened by starvation that they could scarcely walk; a great portion of the cavalry horses, and nearly all the baggage animals died of hunger, and at last, Sir Arthur, finding that no remonstrances availed with the Junta, fell back again to the Portuguese frontier by slow marches, for the army was so utterly enfeebled that it resembled a vast body of invalids, rather than an army of unbeaten soldiers.

CHAPTER VIII. A PAUSE IN OPERATIONS.

Talavera was fought in July, 1809, and for four months longer Sir Arthur Wellesley kept his troops on the Spanish frontier, where his presence served as a check against any invasion, even by a very formidable army, of Portugal. After the utter bad faith and cowardice shown by the Spanish, the great commander was determined never again to trust in their promises, or to undertake any movement dependent for success upon their co-operation. The Junta then declared that the Spaniards would alone and unaided sweep the French beyond the Pyrenees, and a Spanish army of 45,000 infantry, 7000 cavalry, and 60 guns advanced in November against Madrid. It was met by a French army of 24,000 infantry, 5000 cavalry, and 50 guns. The battle began at eleven in the morning, and by three the French, with a loss of only 1700 killed and wounded, had utterly routed the Spanish, with a loss of 5000 killed and wounded, 45 guns, and 26,000 prisoners! After this signal and disgraceful defeat, Lord Wellington—for he had now been raised to the peerage—felt that nothing whatever could be done at present in Spain, and so fell back into Portugal, where for many months he occupied himself in preparing to meet the storm which would, he knew, fall ere long upon that country. The Portuguese authorities were as incapable, as untrustworthy, and as intractable as were those of Spain; but here, happily, Lord Wellington had more power. England was paying large subsidies towards keeping up the Portuguese army, which was commanded by Lord Beresford, having under him many British officers. The Portuguese troops were hardy, obedient, and far braver than the Spaniards; but difficulties often arose in keeping the army together, because the Portuguese Government, although England was paying the principal expenses of the army, yet starved their soldiers, and often kept them for months without pay. It was only by the strongest remonstrances, and by the oft-repeated threat that he would embark the British troops, and abandon Portugal altogether, unless these and other abuses were done away with, that Lord Wellington succeeded in reducing this incapable and insolent Government to reason.

Reinforcements arrived but slowly from England, for a considerable portion of the available troops of England were frittered away in holding Cadiz and in an expedition to Sicily. In these two places some 25,000 English troops were wasted—a force, which, had it been added to Wellington's army, would have enabled him to take the field against the French, instead of being forced to remain in Portugal for upwards of a year without discharging a single shot against the enemy. Tom and Peter Scudamore, however, were not destined to remain inactive all these weary months. One day in November, just before the army fell back from the Spanish frontier, General Hill was dining at mess with the regiment; for, rough as was the accommodation, the officers had succeeded in establishing a general mess. The conversation turned upon the difficulty of discovering what force the various French generals had at their disposal, the reports received by the Commander-in-Chief being often ridiculously incorrect. There was also an immense difficulty in communicating with the guerilla chiefs who, almost always beaten when they came to blows with any considerable bodies of the French, yet managed to harass them terribly by cutting off convoys, falling upon small parties, and attacking outposts and bands of foragers. Knowing every mountain pass and road, these men could, if they would, keep Lord Wellington informed of every considerable movement of the enemy, and might in return receive instruction for acting, when required, in concert before the communication of an advancing army, or might create a diversion by uniting their bands, and threatening some important post.

The next day the boys went to Colonel Tritton's quarters, and, referring to the conversation of the day before, said that they were willing to carry any messages that the general might require sent, and to obtain any information wanted.

"Nonsense, boys, you would be hung as spies before you had been gone a week."

"I don't think so, sir," Tom said; "we have had very little to do during the six months we have been out here except to learn the language of the country, and I think now we could pass very well as Spanish boys. Besides, who would suspect boys? We are quite ready to chance detection if we can be allowed to go."

"I don't like it, boys; you are too young. Well, if not too young," he said, in answer to a movement of Tom's to speak, "we all like you too well to run the risk of hearing you have been hung like a couple of young puppies."

"You are very kind, colonel; but you know you promised to give us a chance if you could, and having a chance of course means having extra danger; but I really don't think that there would be any great danger in it."

"Well, boys," Colonel Tritton said, after a few moments' thought, "I do not feel justified in refusing your application, and will mention it to General Hill. There are very few officers in the army who speak Spanish fluently, and you being boys would, as you say, avert suspicion. But I tell you fairly that I hope General Hill will at once refuse to entertain the idea."

"Thank you, sir," the boys said. "Of course that is all we could ask you to do."

The next day, after parade was over, Colonel Tritton walked on to General Hill's quarters at a sort of half farm-house, half country-seat, a short distance from the village, round which the Rangers were encamped. As he came up to the house, General Hill came out from his door talking to a Spanish officer, who had the day before brought some despatches from one of the Spanish generals to Lord Wellington.

Colonel Tritton joined them, and they stood talking together upon the state of affairs in Spain, and of the advance of the Spanish army on Madrid, which was then just taking place. As they did so two very ragged, unkempt Spanish boys, shoeless and wretched-looking, limped up, and began to beg. General Hill shook his head, and the Spaniard impatiently motioned them away.

"Por Dios," one whined; "give us something; we are starving. The French have burnt down our houses, and killed our fathers and mothers—we are starving. 'Por l'amor de Dios!'"

"What's the poor little beggar say?" General Hill asked the Spaniard.

"The usual story—house burnt, father and mother killed, starving. I dare say it's all a lie."

"Where did you live?" he asked in Spanish.

"In the village of Oros, near Valencia."

"And how did you come here?"

"The French burnt the village because the guerillas had killed a party of theirs in it, and they killed all the people, and then carried off the mules and horses, and took us to drive some of them. That was four months ago. We had to drive till the other day at Tamanes, when our men beat the French; our mules were taken, and, as they did not want us as drivers we had nothing to do but to come on in hopes that the kind English would give us food."

The Spanish officer translated what the boy said, and General Hill remarked, "Yes, that was a brilliant affair of the Duke del Pasque's. Here," he called to an orderly, "give these boys some bread. I will see what can be done for them afterwards. I am afraid nothing. Poor little wretches! their story is a very common one."

The boys received the bread with a great show of thankfulness, and, sitting down by the roadside, began to munch it with great appetite. The Spanish officer now mounted his horse and rode off, while General Hill and Colonel Tritton remained standing where he had left them. Colonel Tritton then told General Hill of the Scudamores' request to be allowed to penetrate into Spain as spies or with dispatches.

"The young pickles!" General Hill laughed. "What will they be wanting to do next? Pooh, pooh! it would be out of the question."

"I believe they do really speak Spanish exceedingly well." Colonel Tritton said. "They generally act as interpreters for us, and none of the officers speak Spanish with anything like the same fluency."

"As far as the language goes, they might get on, perhaps," General

Hill said; "but they look as thorough English boys as you could see.

They would be detected at once."

"Yes," Colonel Tritton said, "they are both thorough English boys; I should know them anywhere. What a contrast to the miserable, limping, hang-dog lads there! Poor little chaps! Why, upon my word, I believe the fellows are laughing."

General Hill looked sharply at them, and, as he looked from one to the other, he said sarcastically, "Poor little chaps indeed! You said that very naturally, Tritton. It really does you credit as an actor."

Colonel Tritton looked at the general with an expression of blank astonishment.

"What," said the general, "were you really taken in too"

"Taken in?" repeated Colonel Tritton vaguely.

"Don't you see, Tritton, those poor little chaps you are pitying so are those two young scamps we were talking about."

Colonel Tritton stared in astonishment at the boys, and then, as he recognized them, he joined the general in a shout of laughter, while the two boys stood up and saluted with an attempt at gravity which was only partially successful, so amused were they at the astonishment of their colonel, as well as pleased at the success of their disguise.

Just at this moment there was a sound of tramping horses, and directly afterwards an officer rode up, followed by four or five others, and at a short distance in the rear by an escort of orderlies. The boys needed not the exclamation of General Hill, "Here is Wellington." They knew who the rider was, who checked his horse as he reached the gate, for they had often seen him as he rode through the camp. A slight man, very careful and neat in his dress, with an aquiline nose and piercing eyes. Peter was rising as he drew up his horse, when Tom said, "Don't get up, Peter; go on with your bread. It would look absurd for us to salute now, and would draw attention to us," he went on, as Lord Wellington dismounted, threw the bridle off his horse to an orderly, and saying to General Hill, "I wanted to see you; come in." Colonel Tritton went into the house, followed by the two officers. "We'll stop here till they come out again, Peter. Perhaps General Hill may speak to him about us. At any rate, we will keep up our disguise till they've gone. Let us play at odd and even." It was a game of which Spanish boys are very fond, and they may be seen in any of the Spanish towns sitting by the houses on door-steps in the sun playing. It was half an hour before the general came out again. He was about to mount his horse, when he glanced at the boys, who were sitting against the wall a few paces off, seemingly absorbed in their play, and paying no attention whatever to him. Suddenly he changed his mind, dropped his rein, and walked up to them.

"What are you playing for?" he asked abruptly in Spanish.

"Reals, señor," Tom said looking up, but not moving.

"You are poor; how can you pay?" asked the general.

"Oh! we don't pay," Tom laughed. "We keep count. I owe him twelve thousand now. I will pay him when I get rich. He can wait." And he held out his closed hand again for Peter to guess the number of stones it contained.

"Come inside," Lord Wellington said abruptly, and, turning led the way into the house again, followed by General Hill, Colonel Tritton, and the two boys.

"It is not often I change my mind," he said to General Hill; "but for once I do so now. When you told me about these lads, I refused to employ them on such dangerous service, even when you told me of the courage and coolness which they exhibited on the voyage. Now I have tried them myself, I see that they will do. If they could keep up their disguise when I spoke to them suddenly, and answer without hesitation or any excitement which could have shown that they were not what they pretended to be, they can do so with a French general. I am no judge of the purity of their Spanish; but as you tell me they deceived a Spanish officer just now, they will be able to pass with Frenchmen. Now, lads," he went on turning to them, "you have thought over, of course, the risks you are going to run, and are prepared, if detected, to be hung like dogs." The boys bowed.

"You will receive detailed instructions through Colonel Tritton, together with such despatches as I may wish sent. They will be written as small as possible. You will not go for a week; devote all your time to studying the map. The largest size we have shall be sent to your colonel this afternoon. Of course you will be supplied with money, and for anything you can think of likely to assist you, speak to Colonel Tritton. You are beginning well, young sirs. If you like, you ought to made a noise in the world. Now, Hill, I must be off."

And the general left the room with the officers, while the boys were stammering out their thanks.

"Where did you dress up, boys?" Colonel Tritton asked them after the general had ridden off. "You did not come out from camp like this I hope?"

"No, colonel; we changed in that little wood there."

"What have you colored your skins with?"

"We got some iodine from the doctor, sir, and mixed it with water till it was just thick enough to tinge our skin. It will wash pretty well off with plenty of scrubbing, but we mean to use walnut juice when we start; it lasts much longer, and is a better brown."

"I am not sure, boys, that you had not better leave your faces alone, they and your hands are so sunburnt that you would pass well enough, though you must dye your arms and legs. Fortunately, your hair is pretty dark, for you can't well carry dye. Think well over all these things, for your lives may depend on some trifle of this kind. I shall see you at mess."

So saying, Colonel Tritton walked on, leaving the boys to follow at their leisure. Just as they were about to turn off to make for the woods they saw a soldier coming along the road.

"That's Sam, if I am not mistaken, Peter, we will have some fun with him. We can trust him to say nothing in the regiment about meeting us like this."

The two boys accordingly sat down by a low wall by the roadside, and as Sam came up talked away to each other in Spanish. He passed without paying any attention to them. After he had gone a few yards, Tom said in a deep, loud voice, "Sambo." The black halted suddenly, and turned round. First he looked angrily at the boys, then he went to the side of the road and looked over the wall. Then with a very perplexed air he looked up and down the road.

"Who dat have impudence to call dis colored gentleman Sambo," he said to himself. "Some fellow did, dat for sartin, not dose little Spanish trash, dey not know Sam's name, some rascal in regiment; he's hid somewhere. I pound him to squash when I find him."

Muttering thus he turned to proceed on his way, but before he had gone twenty yards, he again heard a deep shout. "Here, you, Sambo."

The black jumped as if he was shot, "My golly," he exclaimed, and then walked back to the boys, who were talking together, shook his head and again looked over the wall. Then he stooped down to the boys, and shook his fist in their faces, "You little debils, you call Sambo, I pound you to squash." The boys both leapt to their feet with an air of intense surprise and alarm, and began to cry out in Spanish.

"No, can't be you," Sam said, "dis chile must be witched, no place for men to hide, sartin not dem boys. Stone wall can't call Sambo all by self, Sam's going out of mind. Oh! Lor, dis berry bad affair," and Sam sat down by the roadside with a face of such perfect bewilderment and dismay that the boys could stand it no longer, but went off together into a scream of laughter, which caused Sam to jump to his feet again. "What you larf for, what you larf for, you little rascals, you play trick, eh? you call Sambo, who taught you dat name?" and he seized the two boys and shook them furiously.

"Oh! Sam, Sam, you will kill us with laughing," Tom got out at last. "Do leave go, man, or we shall choke," and as Sam, astonished, loosed his hold, the boys sat down and laughed till their sides ached.

"Golly," exclaimed the negro, as he looked at them, "Dose boys again. What on earth you do, Massa Tom, Massa Peter, in dose ragged close, what you dress up like two beggars for? Lor! how you take in dis chile, me tink you little Spanish trash, sure enuff." It was some time before the boys could compose themselves, and then Tom made Sam sit close by his side.

"Look here, Sam, this isn't a joke, this is a serious business and before I tell you anything about it, you must promise to keep the secret strictly, as it would do us a great deal of harm if it was known." Sam declared at once that if they tore him to pieces with wild horses he would say nothing. Tom then explained the whole thing to him and Sam at once declared that he would go too.

"Quite impossible, Sam. You do not speak a word of Spanish and although at any of the seaport towns you could pass as a runaway sailor, there could be no possible reason for your wandering about the country with two Spanish boys."

Sam thought for some time. "Now dat berry unlucky Massa Tom, dat Sam play big drum. Big drum fine music, but big drum not go well by self. If Sam had played fiddle, Sam could go, but Sam couldn't go nohow with big drum."

"I should think not, Sam, with the name of the regiment painted on it. No, no, you must stay behind. There won't be any fighting now till the spring, and by that time we shall be back with the regiment."

"But what you do without Sam? who black Massa's boots? who brush his clothes?"

Tom laughed. "These clothes would fall all to pieces, if they were brushed much, Sam, and at present we have no boots to be blacked."

"Where you get dose clothes, Massa Tom," Sam asked, examining with great disgust the rags the boys had on.

"We bought some peasant's clothes about our size, and the first beggar boys we saw we offered to exchange. You should have seen their faces of astonishment. When we got the clothes we made them into a bundle, and took them to the bakehouse, and got the baker to put them into the oven for a few hours to kill anything there might be in them. Now, Sam, it is time for us to be going. It will take us an hour's scrubbing to get the color off us. Be sure you keep our secret."

CHAPTER IX. WITH THE GUERILLAS.

It was on a fine morning at the end of March that a cortége of muleteers and mules left the little town of Alonqua. It was now four months since the Scudamores left the army, and in the intervening time they had tramped through a large portion of Spain. They had carried with them only a dozen or so little despatches done up in tiny rolls of the length and about the thickness of a bodkin, These were sewn inside the lining of their coats, in the middle of the cloth where it was doubled in at the seams, so that, even were the clothes to be examined carefully and felt all over, the chances of detection were slight indeed. They had each, on starting, half a dozen pieces of Spanish gold coin sewn between the thicknesses of leather of the soles of each of their shoes, for they did not start in the beggar clothes in which they had first disguised themselves. Their clothes were, indeed, worn and somewhat patched, but were of stout material, and they wore shoes, but no stockings. They had, indeed, the appearance of Spanish boys of the peasant class. The weather in the north of Spain is often very cold in winter, and the boys felt that, with rags and bare feet, they should suffer severely. All that they had to say and do had been learned by heart. The names and addresses of the agents of the British Government at every town had been laboriously learned before starting, and, as Peter said ruefully, it was worse than a dozen Greek impositions.

At each place of any importance they would find the person to whom they were instructed to apply, would accost him with some password, and would be put up by him while they remained there. When they had gained the intelligence they required—of the number of French troops in the place and its neighborhood, a knowledge always obtained by going round, counting the men on parade, or, in the case of small villages, finding out easily enough from a peasant the number, quartered there, they would write a report on the number the intentions as far as they could learn them, the amount of food in store, and the sentiments of the population, would enclose the despatch in a goose-quill and give it to their host, who was responsible for forwarding it.

In a great number of cases, indeed, the man to whom they were accredited was a muleteer. These men hated the French with a hatred even more deep and deadly than that of other Spaniards, for, in addition to the national causes of hatred, their mules were constantly being requisitioned or seized by the troops and they themselves forced to accompany the army for long distances at a nominal rate of pay for themselves and their animals. Then, too, they were in close connection with the guerillas, for whom they carried goods up into the mountains from the towns, and when the chance came would leave their animals in the mountains and join in cutting off an enemy's convoy. They acted as messengers and spies too, and took their friends in the hills early news of intended movements of the enemy. Many a day had the boys traveled in the company of these muleteers, merry, careless fellows, singing and talking to their mules, apparently the best-natured of men, until something would be said which would recall the hated foe, and then their black eyes would flash, their fingers clutch their knife-handles, and they would pour out long strings of deep Spanish oaths. Great was the surprise of these men on receiving the password from two boys, but they never hesitated an instant in taking them in, in giving them hospitality as long as they remained, and in either accompanying them to the next town, or handing them over to the charge of some comrade going in that direction. Not even to them did the Scudamores ever betray that they were not what they were taken to be, two Spanish boys employed by the English commander as messengers. Often they were questioned how the English had come to entrust important communications to two boys, and their reply always was that their father and mother had fled to Portugal from the French, and were living there near the English lines, and that they had offered their lives in case of their sons' treachery.

This system of hostages seemed probable enough to their questioners, and if the boys' fare was rather harder, and their treatment more unceremonious than it would have been had they said that they were British officers in disguise, they ran far less risk of detection from an accidental word or sign. Indeed it would have been next to impossible for them, had they desired it, to convince any one of their identity. There was no fear now of their accent betraying them. Since they had left the army they had never, even when alone together, spoken in English. They made the rule and kept to it for two reasons, the one being that they found that if they did not get into this habit of always speaking Spanish, they might inadvertently address each other in English, and thus betray themselves; the second, that they wanted to learn to speak absolutely like natives. This they had in the four months thoroughly learned to do. At first their pronunciation and occasional mistakes excited curiosity when asked questions as to the part of Spain from which they had come, but their constant communication with their muleteer friends had quite removed this, and for the last two months not one person had doubted that they were not only Spanish, but that they came from the northern provinces.

Hitherto they had journeyed principally between large towns and over country held by the French, but that part of their work was finished; they had accurately computed the number of the army with which Massena was to advance shortly to besiege Ciudad Rodrigo, and they had now to carry the despatches to the guerilla leaders. Hitherto they had not in a single instance excited suspicion. Not a Frenchman had asked them a question, and no adventure of anything like an exciting nature had taken place. They were now, however, entering into a country entirely different from that which they had hitherto traversed. The northeast of Spain is wild and mountainous, and offers immense natural facilities for irregular warfare. Through the various passes of the Pyrenees lead all the roads from France, whether to Vittoria on the great road to Madrid, or through Navarre to Catalonia. Here and there fortified towns still held out against the French, and the town of Gerona, in Catalonia, had only fallen after a six months' regular siege, and a desperate defense which fully rivals that of Saragossa. Is it not a little singular that the Spaniards, who in the open field were, with a few remarkable exceptions, absolutely contemptible, yet frequently defended towns with wonderful fortitude, courage, and desperation. It may, indeed, be said that in every siege where the Spaniards were commanded by brave and resolute chiefs they behaved admirably. This great range of hill country was the stronghold of the guerillas, and every convoy from France had to be protected by a large force, and even then often suffered greatly from the harassing attacks of their active enemies.

The bands of the guerilla chiefs differed greatly in strength, varying from merely ten or a dozen men to three or four thousand, and indeed each band varied continually. The men, when not required, would scatter to their homes, cultivate their little patches of ground, and throw down the spade and take up the rifle again when they heard of a convoy to cut off, or an invading column to beat back. The bands, too, would vary in proportion to the renown of their chiefs. An energetic man, who, at the head of a handful, had performed some daring feats, would find himself a week afterwards the leader of many hundreds, while a chief who was slow and dilatory would find his band melt away like snow in summer.

The character of the warfare depended much upon the character of the French generals. A few of these kept the troops under their command sternly in hand, would permit no plundering, and insisted upon their fair treatment of the Spaniards. These in turn wanted nothing better than to remain quietly in their homes, and the guerilla bands would melt away to nothing. Other generals, furious at the savage nature of the warfare, and the incessant toil and loss entailed upon their troops, allowed the latter to do as they pleased, and burning houses and dead bodies marked their course. Then the peasantry, now turned guerillas, retaliated as savagely, giving no quarter, sacrificing all prisoners, and putting the wounded to death, sometimes with torture. On both sides horrible atrocities were committed.

The guerillas were armed partly with rifles and carbines, partly with muskets landed on the coast by the British Government, who also, from time to time, sent powder and money to assist them to continue their resistance to the French. Although nowhere really formidable, yet, being scattered over a great extent of country, these bands occupied very large bodies of French troops, who would otherwise have been disposable for general operations in the field. The English commander-in-chief had, of course, no shadow of authority over the guerillas, or, indeed, over any of the Spanish troops, and his communication to them simply asked what arms and ammunition they required, and begged them to send him a list of the number of men they could each throw on the French communications and lines of retreat in case he should find himself in a position to make a general advance against them. He also recommended most strongly the bearers of the despatch to their care. It was to the chief known as Nunez that they were now bound. The mule train was nominally destined for Vittoria, to which town the leader had got a pass, specifying the number of mules and the nature of the goods they carried, from the French commandant at Alonqua, for no one was allowed to take the goods about the country without a pass, in order to prevent supplies being forwarded to the mountains. This pass, however, only mentioned twelve mules with four drivers, and this was the number which started from Alonqua. Another score of mules, however, joined them at a short distance from the town where a by-road turned off. Some of these had gone out from the town unloaded, as if taken out to graze, others had not entered the town, but had come direct from the sea-coast by by-paths with powder, and had been awaiting the departure of Garcias, the name of the leader of the party. They had eight men with them, all armed to the teeth.

"Is it all right, Garcias?"

"All right," the leader said; "they have sent out their squadrons on the other road, so I think we are safe for to-day."

"What boys have you got there with you?"

"They have business with Nunez; letter from the coast."

The cavalcade was now in motion again, and wound gradually up into the hills. Presently they came to a point where four roads met. A clump of trees grew hard by, and the boys gave a start of horror at seeing the bodies of six French soldiers swinging from them. "Ay, that's Nunez's work, I expect," Garcias said coolly. "There were three of his men swinging there last week, so as a lesson he has hung up six of the French. He is a rough boy to play with, is Nunez."

At sunset the party slept in a small farm, and at daybreak continued their journey. They were now in the heart of the mountains, and their path lay sometimes up deep ravines, sometimes along rocky ledges. At last, about midday, they entered a valley in which stood a small village. "That's Nunez's head-quarters to-day," Garcias said; "to-morrow he may be no one knows where."

"But does he have to sally out by the wretched road by which we have come?" Tom asked.

"No, no," Garcias replied; "he would not catch much prey that way. There are three other ways out of the valley. That winding path you see there leads up to Santona. That road on the other side leads out on to the plain, and thence to Vittoria; while the footpath over the brow opposite leads right down into the wide valley through which the main north road runs. So you see this is a handy spot. From that brow we can see the convoys going to and from France, and can pour down upon them if they are weak; while, if a column is sent in search of us, we can vanish away long before they can catch us. Nunez does not use the direct road over the brow for his attack, but follows the Santona or Vittoria road for a while, and then makes a swoop round. He does not want to bring the French up to this village, for his family and the families of many of the men live here."

As they approached the village, they found that there was a good deal of bustle going on. Armed men were coming out of the cottages, and gathering in a group round a rough stone cross, which stood in the center of a sort of green. "We are just in time," Garcias said; "Nunez is starting on some expedition or other."

When they reached the spot there were nearly two hundred men assembled. They greeted Garcias with shouts of welcome as he arrived. "Ah, ah! Garcias, just in time. Our last skin of wine was emptied last night; we will bring some more up to-morrow; but if you had not come we should have had to start thirsty, and that's unlucky besides being unpleasant."

"Where is Nunez!" Garcias asked.

"Here he comes," was the reply; and the boys turning saw a figure approaching, which by no means answered to the expectation of the celebrated guerilla chief. He was small and almost humpbodied, but very broad. His head seemed too large for his body, and a pair of fierce eyes gleamed out from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. His mustache was thin and bristly and his month wide, but with thin lips. The boys could understand the reputation for cruelty and mercilessness which attached to this sinister-looking figure, but there was none of the savage power which they had expected to see in so celebrated a leader.

"Any news, Garcias?" he asked shortly, as he came up.

"None, captain, except that these boys have brought some despatches for you from the English Lord."

Nunez looked sharply at them, and held out his hand without speaking.

Tom gave him the little quill.

The guerilla opened it, read the contents, and, saying briefly, "An answer to-morrow," strode on to his men, and in a few minutes they were defiling out at the end of the valley.

"That hardly seems a strong enough body to attack a French convoy,

Garcias," Tom remarked.

"No, it would not be, but there is only a part of his band here; the rest will join him at some place agreed on—perhaps ten miles from here. I believe he has about thousand men under his orders. Now come along; we shall be none the worse for dinner," and, leaving his men to unload the mules, he led the way into the little posada, or inn.

"Ah! Mother Morena," he said to an old woman who was crouching near a blazing wood fire, "warming yourself as usual; it's well you've a good fire, for you will be able to get us some dinner all the more quickly. Twelve of us altogether, and all as hungry as wolves."

"Ah!" exclaimed the old woman crossly; "it seems as if I were never to have an hour's quiet, just as all that roaring, greedy lot, with their Mother Morena here and Mother Morena there, and their grumbling at the olla, and their curses and their quarrels, are off, and I think I am going to have a quiet afternoon, then you come in with your twelve hungry wolves."

"Ah! mother, but wolves don't pay, and we do, you see."

The frugal supper over, the boys laid down on the benches, and were soon asleep. The next day passed slowly, for the band were not expected to return until late at night—perhaps not until the next morning, as the pass where the attack would be made was some fifteen miles off, and the convoy might not pass there until late in the afternoon. The boys soon made friends with some of the women and children of the place, to whom they told stories of the great cities of the plain, and of the great water which washed the shores of Spain. The greater portion of the Spanish peasantry are incredibly ignorant, and very few of the inhabitants of this village had ever gone beyond the mountains. Walking about in the village, but apparently mixing but very little in the games of the other children, were two little girls, whose gay dress of rich silk seemed strangely out of place in such a spot.

Tom asked one of the women who they were, and she replied, with a toss of the head, "They are the captain's children. The last time the band went out they found among the baggage and brought up here, the dresses of the children of some fine lady, and the captain kept them all as part of his share, just as if there were no children in the village whom it would become a great deal better than those stuck-up little things. Not," she said, softening a little, "that they were not nice enough before they got these things; but since they came their heads have been quite turned by the finery and they are almost too grand to speak to their old playfellows."

"Is their mother alive?"

"No, poor thing, she was killed by the French when the village she lived in was burned by them, because some of them were found hung in the neighborhood. The captain was away at the time and the children were out in the woods. When he came back he found them crying by the side of their mother's body, in the middle of the burning village. So then he took to the mountains, and he never spares a Frenchman who falls into his hands. He has suffered, of course, but he brought it upon himself, for he had a hand in hanging the French soldiers, and now he is a devil. It will be bad for us all; for some day, when the French are not busy with other things, they will rout us out here, and then who can blame them if they pay us for all the captain's deeds? Ah! me, they are terrible times, and Father Predo says he thinks the end of the world must be very near. I hope it will come before the French have time to hunt us down."

The boys had a hard struggle not to smile, but the woman spoke so earnestly and seriously, that they could only shake their heads in grave commiseration for her trouble; and then Tom asked, "Is the captain very fond of the children?"

"He worships them," the woman said; "he has no heart and no pity for others. He thinks no more of blood than I do of water; but he is as tender as a woman with them. One of them was ill the other day—a mere nothing, a little fever—and he sat by her bedside for eight days without ever lying down."

"I suppose," Tom said, "they never bring prisoners up here?"

"Yes, they do," the woman said; "not common soldiers; they kill them at once; but sometimes officers, if they want to exchange them for some of ours who may have been taken, or if they think they are likely to get a high ransom for them. But there, it always comes to the same thing; there, where you see that mound on the hillside, that's where they are. They blindfold them on their way up here, lest they might find their way back after all. Only one or two have ever gone down again. I wish they would finish with them all down below; they are devils and heretics these French; but I don't care about seeing them killed. Many of us do, though, and we have not many diversions up here, so I suppose it's all for the best."

"I wish that fellow had given us our answer before he went away," Tom said to Peter when they were alone. "I hope he won't bring any prisoners up here; these massacres are frightful, and one side seems as bad as the other. Well, in another month we shall have finished with all this work, and be making for the frontier again. Shan't I be glad when we catch sight of the first red-coats!"

In the middle of the night the boys were roused by a general bustle, and found that a messenger had just arrived, saying that the expedition had been successful, that a portion of the enemy had been cut off, their rear-guard destroyed, and that the whole band would be up soon after daylight. The village was astir early, but it was not until nine o'clock that the guerilla band arrived. The boys saw at a glance that they were stronger in numbers than when they started, and that with them were some twenty or thirty baggage animals.

The women flocked out to meet them with shrill cries of welcome. The booty taken was not of any great value in money, but was more valuable than gold to the guerillas.

Each one of the band carried, in addition to his own piece, a new French musket, while in the barrels on the mules were powder and ball; there were bales of cloth, and some cases of brandy and champagne, and a few boxes and portmanteaus of officers' baggage. In the rear of all, under a strong guard, were two French officers, both wounded, a lady and a child of some seven or eight years old.

After a boisterous greeting to their wives, the band broke up, and scattered over the village, three or four men remaining to guard the captives, who were told to sit down against a wall.

The whole band were soon engaged in feasting, but no one paid the least attention to the prisoners. The lady had sunk down exhausted, with the little girl nestled close to her, the officers faint and pale from loss of blood, leaned against the wall. One of them asked the guards for some water, but the men paid no attention to the request, answering only with a savage curse. Tom and Peter, who were standing by, immediately went to the inn, filled a jug with water, and, taking a drinking horn and some bread, went back. One of the guards angrily ordered them back as they approached.

"I am not going to free them," Tom said, soothingly; "there can be no reason why they should die of thirst, if they are enemies."

"I am thirsty myself," one of the guard said, "and it does us good to see them thirst."

"What, has no one brought you anything to drink?" Tom said, in a tone of surprise. "Here, Peter, you give this bread and water to these prisoners; I will run to Mother Morena's and bring some wine for the guard."

The guard would not allow Peter to approach the captives until Tom arrived with a large jug of wine, and a cold fowl, which he had obtained at the inn. These the Spaniards accepted, and allowed the boys to give the water to the prisoners. All drank eagerly, with every expression of thankfulness, the lady seizing Peter's hand and kissing it as he handed the horn to the child. The lady was a very bright, pretty woman, though now pale and worn with fatigue and emotion, and the child was a lovely little creature.

The boys, on leaving the prisoners, hurried to Garcias.

"What are they going to do with the prisoners, Garcias?"

"They have brought them up here to exchange for Nunez's lieutenant, who was taken last week. One of the men went off last night to Vittoria with a letter to offer to exchange. One of the officers is a colonel, and the young one a captain. The lady is, they say, the wife of General Reynier."

"Then they are safe," Tom said joyfully, "for, of course the French would exchange a guerilla against three such prisoners."

"Yes," Garcias said, "they are safe if Vagas has not been shot before the messenger gets to Vittoria. The messenger will hear directly he gets there, and if they have finished Vagas, he will come straight back, for his letter will be of no use then."

"But the French would pay a ransom for them."

"Yes; but the captain is never fond of ransoming, and if the news comes that Vagas is shot it is all up with them."

"But they will never murder a woman and child in cold blood!" Tom said, in tones of indignant horror.

"Women are killed on both sides," the muleteer said, placidly. "I don't hold to it myself, but I don't know, after all, why a woman's life is a bit more precious than a man's. Vagas's wife and children are here, too, and if the news comes of his death, she would stir the band up to kill the prisoners, even if the captain wanted to save them, which he certainly will not do."

"When is the messenger expected back?"

"If he goes to Vittoria and finds Vagas is alive, and arranges for the exchange, he won't be back till late to-night, perhaps not till to-morrow; but, if he hears, either on the way or directly he gets there, that he is dead, he may be back this afternoon." Soon after this conversation Garcias was sent for to the chief, and returned with a small note, which he handed to the boys as the answer to the despatch, and urged them to go at once. The boys said that they could not leave until they saw the end of this terrible drama which was passing before their eyes. It was early in the afternoon when a man was seen coming along the path from Vittoria. A hundred eager eyes examined him, and ere long it was declared as certain that it was the messenger. The boys' heart sank within them as they saw the fierce look cast by the Spaniards in the direction of the prisoners, for every one in the village was well aware of the meaning of this early return. The boys had arranged upon the course they would pursue, and they at once hurried to Garcias.

"Please come with us at once to Nunez. We want to see him before the messenger arrives."

"I will come with you," Garcias said; "but if you think that any talking of yours will persuade Nunez to move out of his way, you are mistaken. It is more likely to cost you your own lives, I can tell you; however, I gave you the promise I would do my best for you when you started with me, and I will go with you now, though what you want to interfere for here is more than I can make out. Pshaw! what matters two or three of these accursed French, more or less?"

As they neared the chief's house they saw him coming towards them. His brow was as black as thunder; he was evidently prepared for the news of his lieutenant's death.

"These messengers want to speak to you for a moment," Garcias said.

The chief stopped with an impatient gesture.

"Señor," Tom said, with a dignity which surprised the chief; "we are not what we seem. We are two English officers, and we have come to beg of you, to implore you, not to tarnish the cause for which you fight by shedding the blood of women and children."

The boys had agreed that it would be altogether hopeless to try to save the French officers.

"British officers, indeed," exclaimed Nunez, "a likely story. Do you know them as such, Garcias?"

"No," Garcias said bluntly, "I never guessed at it; but now they say so, I think it's likely enough, for they don't seem to see things in the same way as other people."

"I can give you proof of it," Tom said, calmly, pulling up the sleeve of his coat, and showing a cicatrix in his forearm. Taking a knife from his pocket, he cut into the skin, and drew forth a tiny silver tube. This he opened, and handed to Nunez a paper signed by Lord Wellington, declaring the bearers to be British officers, and requesting all loyal Spaniards to give them every assistance.

The captain read it through, and flung it down. "You may be officers," he said contemptuously; "but if you were Lord Wellington himself, I would not spare these accursed French. Listen!" and as he spoke a howl of rage ran from the other end of the village, and told too plainly the nature of the tidings the messenger had brought.

"I again protest," Tom said firmly. "I protest, as a British officer, and in the name of humanity, against this cold-blooded murder of a woman and child. It is a disgrace to Spain, a disgrace to the cause, it is a brutal and cowardly act."

The guerilla furiously drew a pistol; but Garcias placed himself between him and Tom. "I have promised him a safe conduct," he said, "and have given my word for his safety. He is only a boy, and a young fool; don't trouble with him."

Fortunately at this moment, for the guerilla was still irresolutely handling his pistol, a crowd was seen coming towards them, headed by a woman who seemed frantic with rage and grief. All were shouting, "Death to the assassins! death to the French!" The chief at once moved forward to meet them.

Tom and Peter gave a significant glance towards each other, and then Tom turned to go back towards the house which Nunez inhabited, while Peter hurried towards the spot where the prisoners were kept. Already a crowd was assembling who were talking threateningly at the French officers. Peter made his way through them until he stood by the lady, who, with her child clinging to her neck, looked in terror at the angry crowd, whose attention, however, was directed to the officers, who stood looking calmly indifferent to their threats and insults.

"Do you speak Spanish, madam?" Peter asked, leaning over her.

She shook her head.

"Do you speak English?" he asked, in that tongue.

"Yes, yes, a little." the lady said, eagerly; "who are you? What is this fierce crowd about?"

"Hush!" Peter said. "I am a friend. Listen. In a few minutes they are going to shoot you all." The lady gave a stifled cry, and pressed her child close to her. "Remember, when they come to you, ask for a priest; gain a few minutes, and I hope to save you and the child."

So saying, he slipped away into the crowd again. He had scarcely done so when Nunez arrived, accompanied by many of his men. The crowd fell back, and he strode up to the French officers. "French dogs," he said, "you are to die. I spared you to exchange, but your compatriots have murdered my lieutenant, and so now it's your turn. You may think yourselves lucky that I shoot you, instead of hanging you. Take them to that wall," he said, pointing to one some twenty yards off.

The Frenchmen understood enough Spanish to know that their fate was sealed. Without a word they took each other's hands, and marched proudly to the spot pointed out. Here, turning round, they looked with calm courage at the Spaniards, who formed up with leveled muskets at a few paces distance. "Vive la France! Tirez," said the elder, in a firm, voice, and in a moment they fell back dead, pierced with a dozen balls.

Peter had turned away when Nunez appeared on the scene, to avoid seeing the murder, and with his eyes fixed in the direction in which Tom had gone, he listened almost breathlessly to what should come. The French lady had sat immovable, cowering over her child, while her countrymen were taken away and murdered. As Nunez passed where she crouched, he said to two of his men, "Put your muskets to their heads, and finish them!" As the men approached, she lifted up her face, pale as death, and said,—

"Un prêtre, uno padre!"

"She wants a priest," the men said, drawing back; "she has a right to absolution."

There was a murmur of assent from those around, and two or three started to the priest's house, situated only a few yards away, being one of the end houses of the village. The priest soon appeared, came up to the spot, and received orders to shrive the Frenchwoman. He attempted a remonstrance, but was silenced by a threat from Nunez, and knowing from experience of such scenes that his influence went for nothing with Nunez and his fierce band, he bent over her, and the crowd drew back, to let them speak unheard. At this moment, to Peter's intense relief, he saw Tom approaching with the captain's two children walking beside him. Absorbed in what was passing before them, no one else looked round, and Peter slipped away and joined his brother. They came within twenty yards of the crowd, and then paused.

"Wait a minute," Tom said to the children, "your father is busy."

In another minute Nunez shouted roughly, "There that will do; finish with it and have done! I want to be off to my dinner."

Tom and Peter simultaneously drew out a large Spanish knife, and each took one of the children firmly by the shoulder.

"Stop! Señor Nunez!" Tom shouted in a loud, clear tone. "Stop! or by heaven there will be four victims instead of two! Let one of you lift a finger against these captives—let one of you come one step nearer to us—and, by the Holy Virgin, we will drive our knives into these children's hearts!"

A cry of astonishment broke from the crowd, and one of agony and rage from Nunez, who tottered against a wall in horror at the danger in which his daughters were placed.

"Listen! all of you," Tom said, "we are English officers, we have shown our papers to Nunez, and he knows it is so. We will not suffer this murder of a mother and her child. If they are to die, we will die with them; but these two children shall die too! Now, what is it to be?"

A dozen of the guerillas leveled their guns at the two daring boys.

"No! no!" Nunez shrieked; "lower your guns. Don't hurt the children, señors. The captives shall not be hurt; I swear it! They shall go free. Give me my children."

"Not if I know it," Tom said; "Do you think I could trust the word of a man who would murder women and children in cold blood? No; these girls shall go with us as hostages, till we are safe under French guard."

"They will tell them the way up here," said one of the woman in the group, "and then we shall be all killed."

"No," Tom said; "the lady shall swear not to tell the way up here. She shall swear on your priest's crucifix. We will give you our words as British officers."

"But how are the children to get back here again?" another asked, for Nunez was so paralyzed that he could only gaze on the children, who were crying bitterly, and implore them to stand quiet, and not try to get away. After more parleying the arrangements were completed. The crowd fell back on either side, so as to leave a large space round the French lady. Tom and Peter then went up to them with the little girls. The lady was sobbing with joy and excitement at this unexpected relief.

"Can you walk?" Tom asked her in English.

"Yes," she said, getting up hastily, but almost falling again.

"Garcias will go first, as guide. The priest will give you his arm," Tom went on, "these two young women will go with you and carry your child if necessary. You will walk on, twenty yards ahead of us. We follow with these girls. No one is to follow us, or accompany us. We are to go on like that till we come upon your outposts, and then the priest and the two women will bring back Nunez's children."

"You will send them safe back, you swear?" asked Nunez, in tremulous tones.

"Psha!" Tom said contemptuously, "you don't suppose we are child-murderers, like yourself."

"Remember!" the guerilla said, in a sudden burst of passion, "if you ever cross my path again, I will—"

"Do terrible things no doubt," Tom said scornfully; "and do you beware, too. It is wild beasts like yourself who have brought disgrace and ruin on Spain. No defeat could dishonor and disgrace her as much as your fiendish cruelty. It is in revenge for the deeds that you and those like you do, that the French carry the sword and fire to your villages. We may drive the French out, but never will a country which fights by murder and treachery become a great nation. Are you ready, Garcias!"

"I am ready," the muleteer said, stepping forward from the silent and scowling throng.

"We can trust you," Tom said heartily; "take us the short way straight down into the valley; we may have the luck to come upon a passing French troop in an hour. Think of that, madam," he said to the French lady, "let that give you strength and courage."

So saying, the procession set out in the order Tom had indicated, amidst the curses of the guerillas, who were furious at seeing themselves thus bearded. At the brow of the hill Tom looked back, and saw that the guerillas were still standing in a group, in front of which he could distinguish the figure of Nunez. Taking off his hat, he waved an ironical farewell, and then followed the party down the hillside into the broad valley below. They could see the road stretching like a thread along it, but to their disappointment, not a figure was visible upon it. Now that there was no longer danger of treachery, the party closed up together.

"How far is it to Vittoria, Garcias?"

"Twenty good miles, señor."

"But we shall never get there," Tom said in dismay. "I am sure the lady could not walk another five miles; she is quite exhausted now."

"You will not have to go five miles, señor. There is a body of four or five hundred French in that large village you see there; it is not more than three miles at most."

It was a weary journey, for the French lady, exhausted by fatigue and excitement, was often obliged to stop and sit down to rest, and, indeed, could not have got on at all had not Garcias on one side and the padre on the other helped her on. At last, just as the sun was setting, they approached the village, and could see the French sentries at its entrance. When within a hundred yards they paused.

"We are safe now," Tom said; "it is not necessary for you to go farther. Good-by, little ones; I am sorry we have given you such a fright, but it was not our fault. Good-by, padre; I know that you will not grudge your walk, for the sake of its saving the lives of these unfortunates. Good-by, Garcias; thanks for your kindness and fidelity. I will report them when I return, and will, if I get a chance, send you a remembrance of our journey together."

"Good-by, señors," Garcias said, shaking them by the hand; "you English are different to us, and I am not surprised now at your General holding Portugal against all the French armies." Then he lowered his voice, so that the Spanish women standing by could not hear him. "Be on your guard, señors; don't move on from the village without a strong convoy is going on; change your disguise, if possible; distrust every one you come across, and, in heaven's name, get back to your lines as soon as possible, for you may be assured that your steps will be dogged, and that you will be safe nowhere in Spain from Nunez's vengeance. The guerillas communicate with each other, and you are doomed if you fall into the hands of any, except, perhaps, one or two of the greater chiefs. Be always on your guard; sleep with your eyes open. Remember, except in the middle of a French regiment, you will never be really safe."

"Thanks, Garcias!" the boys said earnestly, "we will do our best to keep our throats safe. At any rate, if we go down, it shall not be for want of watchfulness!"

Another shake of the hands, and the party separated. The Spanish woman who was carrying the sleeping French child handed her over to Tom, who took her without waking her while Peter lent his arm to the French lady.

"Madam," Tom said in English, "you will soon be among your friends. I know that you will keep your promise not to divulge the situation of the village you have left. I must ask you, also, to promise me not to say that we speak English, or to say anything which may create a suspicion that we are not what we seem. You will, of course, relate your adventures, and speak of us merely as Spanish boys, who acted as they did being moved by pity for you. We must accompany you for some time, for Nunez will move heaven and earth to get us assassinated, and all we want is that you shall obtain permission for us to sleep in the guard-room, so as to be under shelter of French bayonets until we can decide upon our course of action."

The lady assented with a gesture, for she was too exhausted to speak, and as they reached the French sentries she tottered and sank down on the ground insensible.

CHAPTER X. MADRID.

The French sentries, who had been watching with surprise the slow approach of two peasant boys, the one carrying a child, the other assisting a woman clad in handsome, but torn and disheveled clothes, on seeing the latter fall, called to their comrades, and a sergeant and some soldiers came out from a guard-room close by.

"Hallo!" said the sergeant. "What's all this? Who is this woman? And where do you come from?"

The boys shook their heads.

"Of course," the sergeant said, lifting the lady, "they don't understand French; how should they? She looks a lady, poor thing. Who can she be, I wonder?"

"General Reynier," Tom said, touching her.

"General Reynier!" exclaimed the sergeant to his comrades. "It must be the general's wife. I heard she was among those killed or carried off from that convoy that came through last night. Jacques, fetch out Captain Thibault, and you, Noel, run for Dr. Pasques."

The officer on guard came out, and, upon hearing the sergeant's report, had Madame Reynier at once carried into a house hard by, and sent a message to the colonel of the regiment. The little girl, still asleep, was also carried in and laid down, and the regimental doctor and the colonel soon arrived. The former went into the house, the latter endeavored in vain to question the boys in French. Finding it useless, he walked up and down impatiently until a message came down from the doctor that the lady had recovered from her fainting fit, and wished to see him at once.

Tom and Peter, finding that no one paid any attention to them, sat, quietly down by the guard-house.

In a few minutes the French colonel came down. "Where are those boys?" he exclaimed hastily. There was quite a crowd of soldiers round the house, for the news of the return of General Reynier's wife and child had circulated rapidly and created quite an excitement. "Where are those boys?" he shouted again.

The sergeant of the guard came forward.

"I had no orders to keep them prisoners, sir," he said in an apologetic tone, for he had not noticed the boys, and thought that he was going to get into a scrape for not detaining them; but he was interrupted by one of the soldiers who had heard the question, bringing them forward.

To the astonishment of the soldiers, the colonel rushed forward, and, with a Frenchman's enthusiasm, actually kissed them. "Mes braves garçons!" he exclaimed. "Mes braves garçons! Look you, all of you," he exclaimed to the soldiers, "you see these boys, they are heroes, they have saved, at the risk of their own lives, mark you, General Reynier's wife and daughter; they have braved the fury of that accursed Nunez and his band, and have brought them out from that den of wolves." And then, in excited tones, he described the scene as he had heard it from Madame Reynier.

At this relation the enthusiasm of the French soldiers broke out in a chorus of cheers and excited exclamations. The men crowded round the boys, shook them by the hands, patted them on the back, and in a hundred strange oaths vowed an eternal friendship for them.

After a minute or two, the colonel raised his hand for silence. "Look you," he said to the men. "You can imagine that, after what these boys have done, their life is not safe for a moment. This accursed Nunez will dog them and have them assassinated if he can. So I leave them to you; you will take care of them, my children, will you not?"

A chorus of assurances was the reply, and the boys found themselves as it were adopted into the regiment. The soldiers could not do enough for them, but, as neither party understood the other's language, the intercourse did not make much progress. They had, however, real difficulty in refusing the innumerable offers of a glass of wine or brandy made to them by every group of soldiers as they moved about through the village.

The boys felt that their position was a false one; and although, in point of fact, they had no report to make upon the regiment, still the possibility that if discovered they might be thought to have been acting as spies on men who treated them with so much friendliness was repugnant to them. However, their stay was not to be prolonged, for the regiment had already been stationed for a month at the village, and was to be relieved by another expected hourly from France, and was then to go on to Madrid. This they learned from one of the soldiers who could speak a few words of Spanish.

It was upon the third day after their arrival that the expected regiment came in, and next morning the boys started soon after daybreak with their friends. They had not seen Madame Reynier during their stay in the village, for she was laid up with a sharp attack of illness after the excitement she had gone through. She was still far from fit to travel, but she insisted on going on, and a quantity of straw was accordingly laid in a cart, pillows and cushions were heaped on this, and an awning was arranged above to keep off the sun. The regiment had taken on the transport animals which had come in with the baggage of the troops the night before; hence the mule drivers and other followers were all strangers. The boys were marching beside the regiment, talking with one of the sergeants who had been previously for two years in Spain, and spoke a little Spanish, when the colonel, who had been riding alongside Madame Reynier, told them as he passed on to the head of the regiment, that she wished to speak to them.

The boys fell out, and allowed the troops and the line of baggage animals and carts to pass them. As the latter came along, Tom observed one of the Spanish drivers glance in their direction, and immediately avert his head.

"Peter, that fellow is one of Nunez's band; I will almost swear to his face. No doubt he has joined the convoy for the purpose of stabbing us on the first opportunity. I expected this. We must get rid of them at once."

The boys had both been furnished with heavy cavalry pistols by order of the colonel, to defend themselves against any sudden attack, and, placing his hand on the butt in readiness for instant use, Tom, accompanied by his brother walked up to the Spaniard.

"You and those with you are known," he said. "Unless you all fall out at the next village we come to, I will denounce you, and you haven't five minutes to live after I do so. Mind, if one goes on you all suffer."

The Spaniard uttered a deep execration, and put his hand on his knife, but seeing that the boys were in readiness, and that the French baggage guard marching alongside would certainly shoot him before he could escape, he relinquished his design.

"Mind," Tom said, "the first village; it is only a mile ahead, and we shall probably halt there for five minutes; if one of you goes a single foot beyond it, you will swing in a row."

So saying, the boys dropped behind again until Madame Reynier's cart came along. The sides were open, and the lady, who was sitting up, supported by pillows, with her child beside her, saw them, and called to them to climb up to her. They did so at once, and she then poured forth her thanks in tones of the deepest gratitude.

"My husband is not at Madrid," she said when she saw by the boys' confusion that they would be really glad if she would say no more; "but when he hears of it he will thank you for saving his wife and child. Of course," she went on, "I can see that you are not what you seem. Spanish boys would not have acted so. Spanish boys do not speak English. That makes it impossible for me in any way to endeavor to repay my obligation. Had you been even Spanish peasants, the matter would have been comparatively easy; then my husband could have made you rich and comfortable for life; as it is—"

She paused, evidently hoping that they would indicate some way in which she could serve them.

"As it is, madam," Tom said, "you can, if you will, be of great service to us by procuring for us fresh disguises in Madrid, for I fear that after what happened with Nunez our lives will not be safe from his vengeance anywhere in Spain. Already we have discovered that some of his band are accompanying this convoy with the intention of killing us at the first opportunity."

"Why do you not denounce them instantly?" Madame Reynier said, rising in her excitement and looking round.

"We cannot well do that," Tom said, "at least not if it can be avoided. They know already that we have recognized them, and will leave at the next village; so we are safe at present, but in Madrid we shall be no longer so. We cannot remain permanently under the guard of the bayonets of the 63d Line; and indeed our position is as you may guess, a false and unpleasant one, from which we would free ourselves at the first opportunity. We shall therefore ask you, when you get to Madrid, to provide us with fresh disguises and a pass to travel west as far as the limits of the French lines."

"You can consider that as done," Madame Reynier answered; "I only regret that it is so slight a return. And now," she said lightly, to change the conversation, "I must introduce you to this young lady. Julie," she asked in French, "do you remember those boys?"

"Yes," Julie said; "these are the boys who gave mamma and Julie water when those wicked men would not give us anything to drink when we were thirsty; and it was these boys that mamma said prevented the wicked men from killing us. They are good boys, nice boys, but they are very ragged and dirty."

Madame Reynier smiled, and translated Julie's answer.

"You know," she went on, hesitatingly, "that I know that—that you are English officers. I heard you say so when you saved us. But how is it that you can be officers so very young?"

Tom explained that in England the officers entered for the most part directly, and not, as in the French army, by promotion from the ranks, and that, consequently, the junior officers were much younger than those of equal rank in the French service.

The convoy had now reached the village, and a halt was ordered, and the boys alighting, walked forward to see that their unwelcome attendants quitted them. As the soldiers fell out from their order of march and sat down under the shade of the houses many of the Spaniards with the baggage-train followed their example, and the boys saw the man to whom they had spoken go up to four others, and in a short time these separated themselves from the rest, went carelessly round a corner, and when the order came to continue the march, failed to make their appearance. Their absence passed unnoticed save by the boys, for the natives frequently took advantage of the passage of troops and convoys to travel from one part of the country to another, for the guerillas were for the most part little better than brigands, and would plunder their own countrymen without scruple whenever the opportunity was favorable.

The march to Madrid was accomplished without adventure, and the boys improved the occasion by endeavoring to pick up as many French phrases as they could, as they marched along by the side of the sergeant who had specially taken them under his charge. He knew a little Spanish, so they managed to keep up a conversation with him in a strange medley of the two languages, which helped to pass the time away merrily. At Madrid they took up their quarters in the barracks with the regiment; they had already explained their plan of disguise to Madame Reynier, and she had promised to provide all that was necessary and to obtain the military pass for them.

They had soon reason to congratulate themselves that their stay in Madrid was under the protection of French bayonets. During the day after their arrival they remained quietly in barracks, as the appearance of two Spanish peasants walking about the street with French soldiers would have excited comments. In the evening, however, they agreed with their friend the sergeant, who was going into the town with three or four of his comrades, that they should accompany them, not, however, walking actually with them, but following a few paces behind, so as to be within reach of their assistance should any one molest them.

They reached the Piazza del Sol, the great central square of Madrid, without incident, and amused themselves with the sight of the constant stream of people passing to and fro, the ladies in their graceful black mantillas, the men in cloaks and Spanish sombreros, or round felt hats. Presently the sergeant and his companions left the square, and turning down one of the narrow streets which run into it, amused themselves by looking into the shops, with their gay fans, bright handkerchiefs, and other articles of Spanish manufacture.

Tom and Peter followed their example, keeping some ten paces behind them. It was now nearly dark, and the streets were but badly lighted except by the lamps in the shop windows.

"It may be all fancy, Tom," Peter said, "but I can't help thinking that we are followed. There are three follows who have passed us twice, and I am pretty sure they are particularly noticing us. Keep your hand on your pistol."

As the boys paused at another shop window, the three men again approached, this time from ahead.

"Look out, Tom," Peter said sharply.

As the men came up to them, one of them exclaimed,

"Now!"

The boys faced round, pistol in hand, with a cry to their friends, just as the three Spaniards, with drawn knives, were upon them.

The sudden movement disconcerted them, and two sprang back from the leveled tubes of the pistols, with fierce oaths of surprise, the third, however, rushed in and struck at Tom; the latter instinctively moved aside, and the knife inflicted a heavy gash on the shoulder, and almost at the same moment Peter's bullet crashed through the fellow's skull.

His comrades, with a cry of rage, rushed in, but before they could strike, the sergeant was up and ran one through the body with his sword, whereon the other fled. The whole affair lasted only three or four seconds. In less than a minute the street was absolutely deserted, for rows and fights were so common between the soldiers and the people, that all prudent people got out of the way the moment a knife was drawn.

"Well done, lad," the sergeant said to Peter, "I thought your brother was done for. Luckily I had faced your way when the fellow attacked you, and was on my way to help you before they began, but I feared I should be too late. That was a wonderfully pretty snap shot of yours, and you were as cool as old hands. Peste! I don't know what to make of you boys. Now come along, we had better get away from this carrion before any one comes up and asks questions. First, though, let me tie up your shoulder."

This was soon done, and while the sergeant was engaged upon it, his comrades, old soldiers, turned over the dead Spaniards, searched their pockets, and chuckled as they found several gold pieces.

One or two French soldiers alone came near them before they left the spot, attracted by the sound of the pistol. A word from the sergeant, "These scoundrels attacked us, they have got their coup," satisfied them, and the boys and their friend soon regained the crowded main street, leaving the bodies for the watch to find and bury.

Arrived at the barracks, Tom's arm was examined by the surgeon, and the cut pronounced a deep flesh wound, but of no consequence; it was soon strapped up, and with his arm in a sling Tom went down to the sergeant's quarters, where they slept. Here they had to go through much patting on the back, for their friend had described the readiness and coolness with which they stood at bay, and popular as they were before they were now more so than ever. For the rest of their stay in Madrid the boys did not stir out of barracks. One at least of Nunez's envoys they knew to be alive, and he could enlist any number of the lower class against them, so they resolved not to go out until they should finally start.

After a fortnight's stay they were sent for to the colonel's quarters, where they found Madame Reynier and her child. "I had a letter from my husband this morning," she said, "from his camp near Cordova, thanking you with all his heart for the inestimable service you rendered him, and begging me to tell you that you can count on his gratitude to the extent of his life at any and all times. You need no assurance of mine. And now about your journey. All is prepared for you to leave to-morrow morning. You are to come here to the colonel's quarters soon after daybreak. Here are your two disguises, for the one as a young bachelor of medicine, for the other as a young novice. Here is your pass, signed by the minister, authorizing you both to pass on to your relations at Ciudad Rodrigo, and to go unmolested thence where you choose, also recommending you to the care of all French and Spanish authorities. A regiment marches to-morrow morning for the frontier; the colonel is a cousin of my husband. I have told him that some friends of yours rendered me much kindness and service on my way down, and that I particularly commend you to his care. He has promised to allow you to follow the regiment, and to see that you get quarters at each halting-place. He does not know you for anything but what you appear to be. When you have put on these dresses to-morrow morning, step out by the private door from these quarters, looking carefully when you start to see that there is no one in the street. Then go boldly to No. 15, Rue St. Geronimo; go into the courtyard, there you will see two stout mules with all necessaries, under charge of a soldier, who will have instructions to hand them over to you without asking any questions; then go down to the Retiro and wait till the 16th come along. The Colonel will be on the look-out for you, and you will ride up to him and hand him this note. And now farewell, dear boys; never shall I forget you, or cease to pray for you, and may be when this terrible war is over we may meet as friends again. Keep these little tokens of remembrance of your grateful friends." So saying, Madame Reynier pressed into the boys' hands two magnificent gold watches and chains, held her child up for each of them to kiss, threw her arms round their necks and kissed them herself, and then drawing down her veil to conceal the tears which were standing in her eyes, left them hastily.

That night the boys said good-by to their friend the sergeant, and to those soldiers with whom they had most companionship. "You have guessed, no doubt, sergeant," Tom said, in his mixture of Spanish and French, "that we are not exactly what we seem to be, but if we should ever meet again, under different circumstances, I want you to remember that our connection with the regiment has been in a way forced upon us. I should not like you to think, that is that under the pretence of friendship, we have been treacherously learning things. Do you understand?"

"I understand, mes braves," the sergeant said, "Jacques Pinteau is no fool, and he saw from the first that you were not two ragged Spanish peasant boys by birth. I daresay I can guess what you are, but there need be no ill-will for that, and as you only came among us by accident, as it were, there is no more to be said either way. There is one thing certain, wherever or however we meet, we shall be friends."

So well were Madame Reynier's plans arranged that the boys passed from Madrid to the frontier without a single hitch or unpleasantness. Tom was soberly attired as a student at the university, Peter was muffled up to the eyes as a timid young novice, going from school to enter a convent, of which his aunt was lady superior, at Ciudad Rodrigo. The colonel, and, following his example, the officers of the regiment were polite and civil. The marches were of easy length, the mules stout and smooth-going, with well-filled traveling sacks. The weather was delightful, and the boys enjoyed the fortnight's march exceedingly. Upon the road they learned that Massena had laid siege to Ciudad Rodrigo, and that the 16th was on its way to join the besieging army.

It was the end of June, 1810, when the 16th joined Massena's force before Ciudad Rodrigo. The siege had continued for some time, the British light division, under General Craufurd, lay upon the other side of the river Agueda, which separated them alike from the town and the French army. The colonel of the 16th politely expressed to Tom his regret that he could not, for the present, conduct them to their final destination, but that he hoped that the gate would soon be open for them. Tom thanked him for the civility which he had shown them upon the road, and said that he would, with his sister, take up his abode for the present a few miles from the beleaguered fortress. On leaving the regiment the boys went higher up the Agueda to the little town of Villar, where there was a bridge. This however, was watched by the troops of both armies, and there was, at present, no chance of affecting a passage.

CHAPTER XI. THE FIGHT ON THE COA.

All through the winter of 1809-1810, Wellington had remained quietly on the frontier of Portugal, engaged in disciplining his troops, many of whom were raw drafts from the militia, in urging upon the home Government the necessity of fresh reinforcements, if the war was to be carried on with the smallest hopes of success, and in controversies and disputes with the Portuguese regency. This body of incapables starved their own army, refused supplies and transport to the British, and behaved with such arrogance and insolence that Wellington was several times driven to use the threat that, unless measures were taken to keep the Portuguese troops from starving, and to supply food to the British, he would put his army on board the transports at Lisbon, and give up the struggle altogether.

Spring found the army still on the frontier, and when the French advanced in force in May to lay siege to the Spanish frontier fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo, Wellington to the intense disappointment of his own troops, and the bitter anger of the Portuguese and Spaniards, refused to fight a battle to save the fortress, which, under its gallant old governor, Andrea Hernati, was defending itself nobly.

Wellington's position was, however, a very difficult one, and his responsibilities were immense. Allowing for the detachments which were massing to check three other French columns advancing in different directions, he had but 25,000 men with which to attempt to raise the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo, or to draw off the besieged garrison. Massena had under him 60,000 French veterans, and was desiring nothing more than that Wellington should attack him. The chances of victory then were by no means strong, and in any case victory could only have been purchased by a loss of men which would have completely crippled the British general, and would have rendered it absolutely necessary for him to fall back again at once. A defeat or even a heavy loss of men, would have so dispirited the faint-hearted Government at home that they would undoubtedly have recalled the whole expedition, and resigned Portugal to its fate. Thus Wellington decided not to risk the whole fate of the British army and of Portugal for merely a temporary advantage, and so stood firm against the murmurs of his own troops, the furious reproaches of the Portuguese and Spaniards, and the moving entreaties for aid of the gallant governor of the besieged town.

At the same time that he refused to risk a general battle, he kept Craufurd's division in advance of the Coa, and within two hours' march of the enemy, thereby encouraging the garrison of Ciudad Rodrigo, and preventing Massena from pushing forward a portion of his army while the rest pursued the siege.

Craufurd's front was guarded by the Agueda, a river only passable by two or three bridges and fords in wet weather, but fordable in many places in the dry season. At the commencement of June the Agueda fell, and the French crossed in strength at various places. Craufurd, however, still maintained his position in front of the Coa with great skill and boldness. He had under his command only 4000 infantry, 1100 cavalry, and six guns, and his maintenance of his position, almost within gun-shot of an enemy's army, 60,000 strong, for three months, is one of the finest feats of military audacity and ability ever performed.

Until the 11th of July the boys remained quietly at a cottage occupied by peasants, who believed their story that they were only waiting to proceed when the French army advanced. They were freed from molestation or inquiry upon the part of the French by the pass with which Madame Reynier had supplied them.

Upon that day Ciudad Rodrigo surrendered, and Massena prepared at once to enter Portugal. Upon the 21st the cavalry advanced in great force, and upon the following day the boys resolved upon endeavoring to rejoin the British army. The Agueda was now easily fordable in many places, but the boys determined to swim across, at a distance from the point at which the French army was now pouring forward.

As evening came on they left the cottage, and walked two miles up the stream, and, as soon as night fell, took off the costumes which had proved of such service to them and left them on the bank; then fastening their peasants' suits upon two bundles of rushes to keep them dry, entered the little river, and were soon upon the opposite shore. They knew, from what they had heard in the afternoon, that Craufurd had fallen back upon Almeida, a fortified town, and that it was probable he would at once cross the Coa, as resistance to the force now approaching him seemed nothing short of madness.

No good, indeed, could be gained by a fight in such a position, with a deep river in the rear, crossed by only a narrow bridge, and commanded by both banks, and Wellington's orders had been imperative "that, upon no account whatever was Craufurd to fight beyond the Coa."

Craufurd, however, a rash and obstinate, although a skilful general, was determined upon having a brush with the enemy before he fell back. He anticipated, no doubt, that only an advanced guard of the enemy would come up at first, and his intention was to inflict a severe check upon them with the magnificent little division under his command, and then fall back triumphantly across the Coa. Massena, however, was well aware of the fighting powers of the light division, and was preparing to hurl suddenly upon him a force more than sufficient to crush it.

The Scudamores had but little fear of meeting with any large body of the enemy, as the main French advance was direct from Ciudad Rodrigo; their cavalry would, however, be scattered all over the country, and were they to fall into the hands of any of these parties they would have been shot instantly, upon suspicion of endeavoring to convey news of the French movements to Craufurd.

The point where they crossed the river was between Villar and Naves Frias, and, after an hour's walking, they struck the little rivulet called Duas Casas. This they crossed at once, as they knew that by following its southern bank until they saw some high ground to their left they would find themselves near Almeida, which they hoped to reach before the English retreated.

All night they tramped through the fields of stubble, where the corn had been long since cut for the use of Craufurd's cavalry, but walking at night through an unknown country is slow work, and when day began to break they entered a small wood just beyond the point where the Turones, as the southern arm of the Duas Casas is called, branches off from the main stream. Several times in the course of the day bodies of the enemy's cavalry came near their place of concealment, and the Scudamores congratulated themselves that they had not given way to their impatience, and tried to push on across the twenty miles that alone separated them from their friends.

At nightfall the wind rose, and a heavy rain began to fall. They had no stars by which to steer their course, and were, therefore, forced to follow the bank of the Turones, although they knew that it would lead them some distance to the north of Almeida. It was slow work, indeed, for they had to grope their way along in the storm, following every turn and bend of the river, which formed their only guide. After several hours' toil they came into a road running north and south. This they knew was the road leading from Guarda to Almeida, and it gave them a clue as to the distance they had come. Still following the river, they continued their course until they approached San Pedro, whence they knew that a road ran directly to the British position in front of Almeida, that is if the British still maintained their position there.

As they approached the village, they heard a deep, hollow sound, and stopping to listen, and laying their ears to the ground, could distinguish the rumble of heavy carriages.

"The French are advancing in force, Peter; we are just in time; they are going to attack us in the morning at daybreak. We know the direction now; let us turn to the left, and try to get on in advance of them. They probably will not push on much farther until there is light enough to permit them to form order of battle; they are evidently, by the sound, going to the left, rather than straight on."

The Scudamores now hurried on, and presently the rumbling of the artillery died away, and they ventured to push to their left, and to get on the road, which they found deserted. Half an hour's run, for they knew that every minute was of importance, and they heard the welcome challenge, "Who comes there?" "Two British officers," they answered, and in a few minutes they were taken to the officer in charge of the picket, and having once convinced him of their identity, were heartily greeted and welcomed.

"The French are advancing in great force to attack," Tom said; "please forward us instantly to the general."

The matter was too important for an instant's delay, and a sergeant was at once told off to accompany them.

The first faint blush of daylight was in the east when they arrived at the cottage which served as General Craufurd's quarters, and, upon their speaking to the sentinel at the door, a window was thrown open, and a deep voice demanded "What is it?"

"We have just arrived through the French lines," Tom said, "the enemy are at hand in force."

The casement closed, and an instant afterwards the general came out.

"Who are you?"

"We belong to the Norfolk Rangers, general, and have been detached on service in the interior; we have only just made our way back."

"How am I to know your story is true?" the general asked sharply.

"You may, perhaps, remember, sir, we landed from the 'Latona,' and you kindly lent us horses to accompany you."

"Aha! I remember," the general said. "Well, your news?"

"The French have crossed the Turones in force, sir; at least they have a good many guns with them."

"Which way were they going?"

"As far as we could judge by the sound, sir, they were taking up a position between Villa Formosa and Fort Conception."

"Good," the general said shortly; then turning to three or four of his staff who had followed him from the cottage, "Get the troops under arms at once. Come in here, gentlemen."

The Scudamores entered, and as they came into the light of a candle which stood on the table the general smiled grimly.

"It is lucky you were able to recall yourselves to my memory, for I should have needed some strong evidence to persuade me you were British officers had I seen you before you spoke. You are wet to the skin; there is a brandy bottle, and you will find some bread and cold fowl in that cupboard."

Five minutes later the boys followed General Craufurd from his hut.

Short as was the time which had elapsed since their arrival, the troops were already under arms, for three months of incessant alarm and watchfulness had enabled this splendid division to act as one man, and to fall in at any hour of the day or night in an incredibly short time. Ten minutes later and the ramble of the baggage wagons was heard along the road towards the bridge. The morning was clearing fast, the clouds lifted, and the daylight seemed to break with unusual suddenness.

The dark masses of the French became visible forming up before the Turones, and Craufurd hurried forward his cavalry and guns to check their advance.

"Hurry the infantry up, hurry them up," the general said urgently to the officers by him. "Let them take post along the ridge, and then fall back fighting towards the bridge. Major MacLeod," he said to an officer of the 43d, "take these gentlemen with you; they are officers of the Norfolk Rangers. They will join your regiment for the present. When your regiment falls back, occupy that stone inclosure a little way down the slope at the left of the road, and hold the enemy in check while the troops file over the bridge."

The officer addressed looked with surprise at the boys, and signing to them to follow, hurried off to his regiment, which was on the left of the British line.

Next to them came a regiment of Portuguese riflemen, with a wing of the 95th upon either flank, while the 52d formed the right of the line.

Upon reaching the regiment, Major MacLeod briefly introduced the boys to the colonel, who said, "As you have no arms, gentlemen, I think you had better make for the bridge at once."

"Thank you, sir," Tom replied, "there will be some muskets disposable before long, and directly they are so we will take our place in the ranks."

They had now leisure to look round and examine their position, and a glance was sufficient to show how great was the peril in which General Craufurd's obstinacy had placed his little force. In front of them were 24,000 French infantry, 5000 cavalry, and 30 pieces of artillery. An overwhelming force indeed, and one which could scarcely have been withstood by the 4000 British infantry, even under the most favorable conditions of position. The position, however, was here wholly against the British. They stood at the edge of a plateau, and behind them the ground fell away in a steep hillside to the Coa, a mile distant, and across the Coa there was but a single bridge.

The enemy was approaching fast. Ney's great brigade of cavalry swept the British horse before them, and the infantry were following at a run.

Resistance on the edge of the plateau was hopeless, and Craufurd ordered the infantry to fall back at once. The 43d filed into the inclosure, rapidly cut loopholes in the wall, and as the enemy appeared on the crest above opened a tremendous fire, under cover of which the cavalry and artillery trotted briskly and in good order down the road to the bridge.

The Scudamores, having no duty, stood at the entrance to the inclosure and watched the fight on their right. As the masses of French infantry appeared on the edge of the plateau they made no pause, but opening a heavy fire pressed forward on the retiring British troops, who were falling back in open order, contesting every inch of ground. So rapidly and hotly, however, did the French press after them that the British were soon pushed back beyond the line of the inclosure, and as the French followed closely, it was evident that the 43d would be cut oft and surrounded.

Their colonel saw their danger, and called upon them to fall in and retreat, but the entrance was so narrow that it was clear at a glance that ere one company could pass through it the French would be upon them, and the regiment caught like rats in a trap.

Officers and men alike saw the danger, and there was a pause of consternation.

Peter was standing next to the colonel, and said suddenly as the idea flashed across him, "The wall is not very strong, sir, if the men mass against it and push together I think it will go."

The colonel caught at the idea. "Now, lads, steady, form against the rear wall four deep, close together, shoulder to shoulder, as close as you can pack; now get ready, one, two, three!" and at the word the heavy mass of men swung themselves against the wall; it swayed with the shock, and many stones were displaced; another effort and the wall tottered and fell, and with a glad shout the 43d burst out, and trotting on at the double soon joined the rifles and 95th.

The ground was rough and broken with rocks, vineyards and inclosures, and the troops, fighting with admirable coolness and judgment, took advantage of every obstacle and fell back calmly and in good order before the overwhelming force opposed to them.

Fortunately the jealousies of the French generals, which throughout the campaign contributed in no slight degree to the success of the British, was now the cause of their safety, for Montbrun, who commanded the French heavy cavalry, refused to obey Ney's order to charge straight down to the bridge, in which case the whole English infantry would have been cut off; the French hussars, however, being on the British rear, charged among them whenever the ground permitted them to do so.

Upon the British right the ground was more open than upon the left, and the 52d was therefore obliged to fall back more quickly than the rest of the line, and were the first to arrive at the bridge head, which was still choked with artillery and cavalry. This was the most dangerous moment, the rest of the infantry could not retreat until the bridge was clear, and the French with exulting shouts pressed hard upon them to drive them back upon the river.

Major MacLeod, seeing the urgent danger, rallied four companies of his regiment upon the little hill on the right of the road, while Major Rowan collected two companies on another to the left. Here they were joined by many of the riflemen, and for a while the French advance was checked.

The Scudamores had remained throughout close to Major MacLeod, and had long since armed themselves with the muskets and pouches of fallen men, and with 43d shakoes on their heads, were fighting among the ranks.

The cloud of French skirmishers pressed hotly forward, and MacLeod, seeing that the bridge was still blocked, resolved suddenly upon a desperate measure. Taking off his cap, he pointed to the enemy, and calling upon his men to follow him, rode boldly at them. Peter Scudamore caught up a bugle which had fallen from a dead bugler by his side, blew the charge, and the soldiers, cheering loudly, followed MacLeod against the enemy.

Astounded at this sudden and unexpected attack, the French skirmishers paused, and then fell back before the furious charge of the 43d, who pressed after them with loud and continuous cheering. Looking back, MacLeod saw that the bridge was now clear, and recalled the troops, who fell back rapidly again before the French infantry had recovered sufficiently from their surprise to press them.

The hussars were, however, again forward, and were galloping down the road, which was here sunken between somewhat high banks. Tom and Peter were with the last company, which turned and prepared to receive them, when Tom, pointing to a coil of rope upon a cart which had broken down, shouted, "Quick, tie it to these posts across the road." Two or three men sprang to assist him, and in a minute the rope was stretched across the road at a foot from the ground, and fastened round a stone post on either side. They had scarcely seized their muskets and leapt on the bank again, when the French cavalry came thundering down the road. "Fire, a few of you," Tom said, "so as to call their attention up here," and in accordance with his order a dropping fire was opened. The French came along at a gallop; a few of the leading horses saw the rope and leapt it, but those behind caught it and fell, the mass behind pressed on, and in an instant the lane was choked with a confused mass of men and horses. "Now a volley," Tom cried, "and then to the bridge."

Every musket was emptied in to the struggling mass, and then with a cheer, the men ran briskly down to the bridge, and crossed—the last of the British troops over the Coa.

The rest of the infantry and artillery had already taken ground on the heights behind the river, and these opened fire upon the French as they approached the head of the bridge in pursuit. The British were now, however, safe in the position which they ought to have taken up before the advance of the French, and had General Craufurd obeyed his orders not to fight beyond the Coa, the lives of 306 of his gallant troops, including the officers, would have been saved.

The battle, however, was not yet over. The artillery on both sides played across the ravine, the French skirmishers swarmed down to the river bank, and between them and the British infantry a rapid fire was exchanged, while a heavy column marched down to the bridge. With a deep-sounding cheer they advanced upon it, while with answering cheers the British opened fire upon them. The depth of the ravine at first deceived the British marksmen, and the column pressed on until its head was three-quarters across the bridge. Then the shower smote it, and beneath that terrible fire the head of the column melted away. Still it pressed on until across the bridge the corpses lay piled in a mass as high as the parapet, and beyond this heap, this terrible line, there was no living. Then sullenly and slowly the French fell back, while the British cheers rose exultingly along the hillside.

Twice again did fresh columns pour on to the bridge, but only to melt away under the British fire, neither of them reaching the dreadful line which marked the point reached by the head of the first. The artillery and musketry fire on both sides continued until four in the afternoon, when a heavy rain set in, and the fire ceased altogether.

As the Coa was fordable at several points lower down, and the French could therefore have turned the position next day, the British troops fell back during the night behind the Pinhel river, where Picton's division was also encamped.

Next morning the boys exchanged their Spanish suits for the uniform of British officers, which they obtained from the effects of some of those who had fallen upon the previous day, these being, as is usual in a campaign, at once sold by auction, the amount realized being received by the paymaster for the benefit of the dead men's relatives. Major MacLeod had witnessed their ready presence of mind in throwing the rope across the road, and so checking the French charge, and giving time to the rear-guard to cross the bridge, and had made a very favorable report upon the subject.

Two days later and they joined the Rangers, who were stationed at Guarda, and were received with the greatest heartiness by their brother officers, with warm but respectful greetings by the men, and with uproarious demonstrations of gladness on the part of Sambo.

"The betting was two to one that you had gone down, boys," Captain Manley said, after the first greetings; "but Carruthers and myself have taken up all offers, and win I don't know how many dinners and bottles of wine. I had the strongest faith you would get through somehow. You will take up your quarters with me. I have two bedrooms upstairs there, which Sam has taken possession of in your name. He would have it that you were sure to be back in time for the first fight. Dinner will be ready at six, and after that there will be a general gathering round the fire in the open to hear your adventures. No doubt you would be dining with the colonel, but I know he is engaged to the general."

"Yes, he told us so," Tom said, "and we are to dine with him to-morrow."

"All right, then; we'll make a night of it. Carruthers is coming to dine, and Burke and Lethbridge; but the room won't hold more than six. We are going to have a feast, for Sam has got hold of a sucking-pig; where he got it from I dare not inquire, and Lethbridge said his fellow had, somehow or other, found a turkey; as to wine, we shall have it of the best, for Burke is quartered at the monastery, and the monks are so delighted at finding him a good Catholic that they have given him the run of their cellar."

It was a jovial dinner, and no words can express the satisfaction and delight which beamed on Sam's face as he stood behind his master, or the grin of pride with which he placed the sucking-pig on the table.

"Sam, Sam!" Captain Manley said reprovingly, "I fear that pig is not honestly come by, and that one of these days we shall hear that you have come to a bad end."

"No, no, Massa Captain Manley, sar," Sam said, "dat pig come quite honest, dat pig made present to Sam."

"A likely story that, Sam. Come, out with it. I have no doubt it was quite as honest as Lethbridge's turkey anyhow. Come, tell us how it was."

Thus invoked, Sam's face assumed the pompons air with which he always related a story, and he began,—

"Well, sar, de affair happened in dis way. When de massas arribe, two o'clock, and went in for long talk wid de colonel, dis chile said to himself, 'Now what am I going to get them for dinner?' De rations sarve out dis morning war all skin and bone, and war pretty nigh finished at lunch. Sam say to himself, 'Captain Manley's sure to say, 'You dine wid me;' but as Captain Manley hadn't got no food himself, de invitation was berry kind, berry kind indeed; but massa wasn't likely to get fat on dat invitation."

Sam's narrative was interrupted by a perfect shout of laughter upon the part of all at table, Captain Manley joining heartily in the laugh against himself. When they had a little recovered again, Sam went on as gravely as ever. "Dis struck Sam berry serious, not to have nothing for dinner after being away seben months; presently idea occur to dis chile, and he stroll permiscuous up to big farm-house on hill. When Sam got near house, kept out of sight of window; at last got quite close, took off shako, and put head suddenly in at window. Sure enough, just what Sam expected, dere sat missus of farm, fat ole woman, wid fat ole servant opposite her. De door was open, and dis little pig and several of his broders and sisters was a frisking in and out. De old women look up bofe togeder, and dey give a awful shriek when dey saw dis chile's head; dey fought it were de debil, sure enough. Dey drop down on dere knees, and begin to pray as fast as maybe. Den I give a loud 'Yah! yah!' and dey screams out fresh. 'Oh! good massa debil!' says the ole woman, 'what you want? I been berry, berry bad, but don't take me away.' You see, Massa Tom, I pick up little Spanish, 'nuff to understand since you been gone. I not say nuffin, and de ole woman den go on, 'If you want one soul Massa Debil, take dis here,' pointing to her serbant;' she been much more wicked nor me.' Den de serbant she set up awful shriek, and I says, 'Dis time I hab pity on you, next time I come, if you not good I carry you bofe away. But must take soul away to big debil 'else he neber forgibe me. Dere, I will carry off soul of little pig. Gib it me.' De serbant she gives cry ob joy, jump up, seize little pig, and berry much afraid, bring him to window. Before I take him I say to old missus, 'Dis a free gibt on your part?' and she say, 'Oh, yes, oh, yes, good Massa Debil, you can take dem all if you like.' I say, 'No; only one—and now me gib you bit advice. My Massa down below hear you very bad ole women, never gib noting to de poor, berry hard, berry hard. Me advise you change your conduct, or, as sure as eggs is eggs, he send me up again for you no time.' Den I gave two great 'Yah! yah's!' again berry loud, and showed de white ob my eyes, and dey went down on to knees again, and I go quietly round corner ob house, and walk home wid de pig which was giben to me. Noting like stealing about dat, Massa Manley, sar!"

Sam's story was received with roars of laughter, and when they had recovered themselves a little, Captain Manley said, "It is lucky we march to-morrow, Sam, for if the good woman were to catch a glimpse of you in uniform, and were to find she had been tricked, she might lay a complaint against you, and although, as you say, the pig was freely given to you, I imagine the Provost Marshal might consider that it was obtained under false pretences. But here are the other men outside, we had better adjourn, for every one is longing to hear your adventures."

It was a lovely evening, and as the officers of the Norfolk Rangers sat or lay round the fire, which was lit for light and cheerfulness rather than warmth, the boys, after their long wanderings among strangers, felt how pleasant and bright life was among friends and comrades. They had first to relate their adventures with the guerillas, after which it was agreed that they had earned the right to be silent for the rest of the evening, and song, and jest, and merry story went round the ring.

Sam was installed under the direction of the doctor, a jovial Irishman, as concocter of punch, and his office was by no means a sinecure.

"Now, major, give us the song of the regiment," Captain Manley said, and, as he spoke, there was a general cry round the circle of "The Rangers, the Rangers." "I'm agreeable," the major said. "Give me another tumbler of punch to get my pipes in order. Make it a little sweeter than the last brew, Sam; yes, that's better. Well, here goes—full chorus, and no shirking."

THE RANGERS.

"Hurrah for the Rangers, hurrah! hurrah!

Here's to the corps that we love so well;

Ever the first in the deadly fray,

Steady and firm amid shot and shell.

Scattered as skirmishers out in the front,

Contesting each foot of the ground we hold,

Nor yielding a step though we bear the brunt

Of the first attack of the foeman bold.

Hurrah for the Rangers, hurrah! hurrah!

Here's to the corps that we love so well;

Ever the first in the deadly fray,

Steady and firm amid shot and shell.

"Steady boys, steady, the foe falls back,

Sullenly back to the beat of the drum,

Hark to the thunder that nears our flank

Rally in square, boys, their cavalry come.

Squadron on squadron, wave upon wave,

Dashing along with an ocean's force,

But they break into spray on our bayonets' points,

And we mock at the fury of rider and horse.

Hurrah for the Rangers, &c.

"The gunner may boast of the death he deals

As he shatters the foe with his iron hail,

And may laugh with pride as he checks the charge,

Or sees the dark column falter and quail.

But the gunner fights with the foe afar,

In the rear of the line is the battery's place,

The Ranger fights with a sterner joy

For he strives with his foemen face to face.

Hurrah for the Rangers, &c.

"The cavalry man is dashing and gay,

His steed is fast, and his blade is fine,

He blithely rides to the fiercest fray,

And cuts his way through the foeman's line,

But the wild, fierce joys of the deadly breach,

Or the patient pluck of the serried square

Are far away from the horseman's reach,

While the Norfolk Rangers are sure to be there.

Hurrah for the Rangers, &c."

Long, loud, and hearty was the cheering as the last chorus concluded. "Very good song, very well sung, jolly companions every one," shouted the doctor. "Now, Manley, keep the ball rolling, give us the 'The Bivouac,'" Captain Manley emptied his glass, and, without hesitation, began—

THE BIVOUAC.

"The weary march is over, boys, the camp fire's burning bright,

So gather round the blazing logs, we'll keep high feast to-night,

For every heart is full of joy, and every cheek aglow,

That after months of waiting, at last we meet the foe.

To-morrow's sun will see the fight, and ere that sun goes down,

Our glorious flag another wreath of victory shall crown.

Hurrah, hurrah for the bivouac,

With comrades tried and true,

With faces bright, and spirits light,

And the foemen's fires in view.

"Then fill your cups with Spanish wine, and let the toast go round,

Here's a health to all who love us on dear old England's ground.

Be their tresses gold or auburn, or black as ebon's hue,

Be their eyes of witching hazel, loving gray, or heaven's blue,

Here's to them all, the girls we love, God bless them every one;

May we all be here to toast them when to-morrow's work is done.

Hurrah, hurrah, &c.

"But whate'er to-morrow bring us, it shall shed no gloom to-night,

For a British soldier does not flinch from thought of death in fight;

No better ending could we wish, no worthier do we know,

Than to fall for King and country, with our face towards the foe;

And if we go, our friends who stay will keep our memory bright,

And will drink to us in silence by many a camp-fire's light.

Hurrah, hurrah, &c."

When the last chorus had ceased, the boys, who had had a long march that morning, and were thoroughly tired, stole quietly off to bed, but it was not till long after they had gone to sleep that the jovial party round the fire broke up, and that Sam was relieved from his duties of concocter of punch.

CHAPTER XII. BUSACO AND TORRES VEDRAS.

Instead of pressing forward upon his invasion of Portugal, Massena prepared to besiege Almeida, and for a month the British and Portuguese army remained in their position within a few hours' march of that town. Wellington expected that Almeida would be able to resist for two months, and hoped to find some opportunity for falling suddenly upon the besiegers; but even a resistance of two months would have made it so late in the season that Massena must have postponed his invasion until the next spring.

Upon the morning of the 26th of August the French batteries opened fire, and from Guarda the dull, heavy roar of artillery could be heard all day. As darkness fell, the officers of the Rangers were, as usual, assembling round their fire, when the earth seemed to shake beneath their feet, and a flash like that of summer lightning lit the eastern sky. "What can that be?" was the general exclamation. A minute later, and a deep, heavy, prolonged roar sounded in their ears—then all was quiet.

"That is a big magazine," Captain Manley said, "and I'm afraid it's the town, for it sounded too heavy for a mere field magazine. If it be the town, you'll see it won't hold out much longer; even if the actual damage is not very great, a great explosion always damages the morale of a defense, and in that case we shall have Massena upon us, and there will be wigs on the green ere many days are over."

Captain Manley's conclusions were correct. The magazine of Almeida had exploded with terrific effect. Only six houses were left standing in the town, a considerable portion of the ramparts was thrown down, and five hundred people killed on the spot. The stones were hurled in all directions with such force that forty of the besiegers were hurt in the trenches.

Colonel Cox, who commanded, endeavored to rally the panic-stricken garrison, and upon the following morning attempted to negotiate with Massena, who sent an officer to demand instant surrender.

Defense was, in fact, impossible, but Colonel Cox attempted to negotiate, because he hoped that Wellington would at once advance to his rescue. His intentions were frustrated, however, by the treachery and mutiny of the principal Portuguese officers under him, and the French at once took possession of the ruins.

The British army fell back a short distance when the news of the disaster arrived, and a fortnight of great anxiety and watchfulness passed, as it was not certain by which road or roads Massena would advance.

It was not until the 18th of September that Massena fairly commenced his march, having chosen the road from Visen through Martagoa, and the next day the news reached the Rangers that the British army was to concentrate on the heights of Busaco.

"So we are going to have a fight for it," Carruthers said to the boys, as the officers assembled in readiness to take their places when the troops had fallen in. "What will be the end of it?"

"We shall lick them," an old captain said, "though they are two to one, and then they will march round us somehow, and then we shall have to fall back in all haste on Lisbon, and embark there, and we shall eat our Christmas dinner in England."

There was a general murmur of assent, for at that time the belief was almost universal in the British army that they would be forced to abandon Portugal.

"I do not know," Major Fanshawe said. "I heard last night, from a man who has just returned from sick leave at Lisbon, that there are thousands of peasants employed under our engineers in getting up some tremendous works some fifteen miles this side of Lisbon. I should not be surprised yet if Massena finds the chief a nut too hard to crack, with all his force."

"I have heard something about these works at Torres Vedras," Captain Manley said, "a mere rumor; still I believe there must be something in it. Wellington has only some twenty-five thousand British troops, and as many Portuguese, while Massena has over a hundred thousand veterans at his command. Our game would be hopeless unless we have something to fall back on. No; I have every faith in our general. But there goes the bugle."

On the 24th the Rangers, with the rest of Picton's division, arrived on the crest of Busaco, where Cole's and Craufurd's divisions arrived on the same day. This position was one of immense strength, being a long ridge, with a very deep valley in front. Upon the opposite side of this ravine the slope was as steep and sharp as that of Busaco itself, so that the opposite crest was within easy cannon shot. The enemy, in order to attack the British position, would have to descend into the bottom of this steep ravine, and then climb up the precipitous ascent, to meet the British soldiers awaiting them, fresh and unshaken, at the top. So strong, indeed, was the position that the English generals were doubtful whether Massena would venture to attack.

Upon the 25th Craufurd moved his division forward, and would have repeated his mistake of the Coa had not Wellington himself gone forward and recalled the troops, bringing them off with difficulty in the face of the advancing masses of the French. By three in the afternoon, 40,000 French infantry were on the ridge opposite Busaco, and it appeared probable that the battle would take place that afternoon, in which case the British position would have been precarious, for neither Spencer's, Hill's, nor Leith's divisions were up.

Massena, however, was miles behind, and Ney, who commanded the advance, could not attack without orders; thus, the moment favorable for the French passed by. When Massena arrived next day, the British divisions were all up and in their places, and the long crest of Busaco swarmed with troops. Hill occupied the right across the road to Pena Cova, then came Leith's 5th division, then came Picton with the 3d division, with Spencer's division, the 1st, next to him. On a plateau in front of a convent lay Craufurd and Pack, while Cole, with the 4th division, was on the left.

The 27th and 28th were passed in comparative tranquillity, the rival armies surveying each other across the chasm. From the woods far below came up the constant crack of the rifle, as the skirmishers on either side pushed each other backwards; and on the evening of the 28th this fighting increased so much in strength and intensity, that the British troops were some time under arms in expectation of a night attack, for the enemy's riflemen had pressed far up on the hill-side towards the British lines. As the night went on, however, the fire ceased, and the dark ravine between the two long lines of bright watch-fires became hushed and still.

The Rangers were with Picton's division, and were out as an advance half way down the ravine, two companies being down in the bottom as skirmishers. Morning was but just breaking when a heavy fire burst out in front. The regiment sprang to its feet, and prepared for action. It was not long in coming, for the fire rolled rapidly up the hill towards them, and the skirmishing companies came running back, pressed by a heavy column of the enemy. Reynier had formed in two divisions, one of which was now pressing forward against Picton's right, while the object of the other was to gain the crest still farther to the right, and so place themselves between Picton and Leigh. The whole regiment was at once engaged, but the French assault was too powerful to be resisted, and the Rangers and the other regiments of the advanced brigade gave way sullenly, while the French eagerly pressed up the hill, although a battery opened upon them from the crest, while they were unsupported by their own artillery.

"Golly, Massa Peter, dese fellows fight berry hard; look as if dey lick us dis time," the black, who was in Peter's company, said to him as the regiment retreated.

"The battle has only begun yet, Sam. We have plenty of fresh troops at the top of the hill."

"Good ting, dat, Massa Peter. Berry hard work, dis—climb hill, carry kit, fire gun, dodge de bullets, all sam time."

"You didn't dodge that bullet sharp enough, Sam," Peter said with a laugh, as the negro's shako was carried off with a ball.

"Him cum too fast. Dere, you frog-eating thief." he said angrily as he fired his musket at an advancing foe. "Dat serve you right," he went on to himself as the Frenchman fell. "You spoil Sam's hat. Dis colored gentleman catch cold first time him come on to rain."

The French continued their impetuous advance. Picton's right, as they climbed the hill, fell back towards his center, and in half an hour from the first shot being fired the head of the French column had won the crest, and, being between Leigh and Picton's divisions, had cut the British position. Then the column nearest to Picton's division began to wheel to its right, so as to sweep the crest.

"Lie down, the Rangers; every man down," shouted the colonel, and the breathless men threw themselves panting on the ground. A wild Irish shout was heard behind them as they did so, and a tremendous volley of musketry rang over their heads, and then the 88th and a wing of the 45th dashed across them, and, with fierce cheers, charged that portion of the column engaged in wheeling. Breathless and in disorder from their prodigious efforts, the French were unable to resist this fresh attack. In an instant the British were among them, and mixed up in wild confusion, fighting hand to hand, the mass of combatants went mingled together down the hill. Nor was the success of the French column which had gained the crest of long duration, for Leith brought up one of his brigades; Colonel Cameron, with the 9th Regiment, dashed at the enemy with the bayonet, without firing a single shot, while the 38th attacked their flank; and the French, unable to resist the onslaught, relinquished their position and retreated down the hill. Nor upon the French right had Ney's attack proved more successful.

Napier thus describes the combat in this quarter of the field:—"When the light broke, three heavy masses detached from the sixth corps were seen to enter the woods below, and to throw forward a profusion of skirmishers; one of them, under General Marchand, emerging from the dark chasm and following the main road, seemed intent to turn the right of the light division; a second, under Loison, made straight up the mountain against the front; the third remained in reserve. Simon's brigade, leading Loison's attack, ascended with a wonderful alacrity, and though the light troops plied it incessantly with musketry, and the artillery bullets swept through it from the first to the last section, its order was never disturbed, nor its speed in the least abated. Ross's guns were worked with incredible quickness, yet their range was palpably contracted every round; the enemy's shots came ringing up in a sharper key, the English skirmishers, breathless and begrimed with powder, rushed over the edge of the ascent, the artillery drew back, and the victorious cries of the French were heard within a few yards of the summit. Craufurd, standing alone on one of the rocks, had been intently watching the progress of their attack, and now, with a shrill tone, ordered the two regiments in reserve to charge. The next moment a horrid shout startled the French column, and eighteen hundred British bayonets went sparkling over the hill. Yet so brave, so hardy were the leading French, that each man of the first section raised his musket, and two officers and ten men fell before them. Not a Frenchman had missed his mark. They could do no more. The head of their column was violently thrown back upon the rear, both flanks were overlapped at the same time by the English wings, three terrible discharges at five yards' distance shattered the wavering mass, and a long line of broken arms and bleeding carcases marked the line of flight."

Ney did not renew the attack, and with some desultory skirmishing the battle ended at two o'clock, and an hour's truce enabled both parties to carry off their wounded.

Small parties of the French came in contact with the English skirmishers during the afternoon, but the battle of Busaco was over.

"Don't call dat much of battle," Sam said discontentedly. "Just little fierce fight, berry out of bref, and den, just as second wind came, all ober."

The battle of Busaco was indeed one of secondary importance. The losses were not great on either side, although that of the French was fully threefold greater than that of the British, as the former were exposed during their attack to the grape and shell of the British guns, while the French guns afforded no assistance to their infantry. The French loss, in killed and wounded and prisoners, did not exceed 4000, of which only 800 were killed. Nor was any strategical advantage gained by the battle, for the French, upon the following day, found a road across the hills to the British left from Martagoa through Bonzalva.

Throughout the day they made feints of renewing the attack upon the English position, and it was not until late in the afternoon that long columns of men were seen crossing the hill to the left; and Wellington discovered that Busaco had been won in vain, for that his flank was turned, and there was nothing for it but to fall back upon Torres Vedras. Before night the whole British army was in retreat.

"What a horrible scene of confusion," Tom remarked, as they marched into the town of Coimbra next day.

"Confusion!" Captain Manley said; "it is enough to drive a commander-in-chief out of his mind. Here Wellington has for weeks been endeavoring to get the Portuguese Government to compel all the population to retire upon Lisbon, carrying all they can, destroying the mills, and burning all the corn they could not carry off. The Government did issue the order, but it has taken no steps whatever to carry it out, although they knew all along that we could never repel the invasion in the open. As it is, the greater portion of these poor wretches will lose all they possess, which they might have carried off quietly enough during the last two months. Many of them will lose their lives, and they will block the roads so that we shall have the French down on us to a certainty."

Nothing could be more sad than the scene. The streets of Coimbra were crowded with fugitives from the country round, and these, as well as the inhabitants, were all preparing to push onwards towards Lisbon. Bullock carts and carriages, mules, donkeys, and horses were crowded together, all laden with the aged, the children, the sick, and such property as was most portable and valuable. Happily Massena had a circuitous detour to make; the road in the mountain defile was scarcely passable, and throughout the march he displayed but little energy; consequently it was not until the morning of the first of October that his cavalry engaged those of the light division which was covering the retreat. The division fell back through the town, and the inhabitants, who had lingered to the last in some vague hope that the French would not come, now rushed out again. The bridge behind the town was choked, and the troops had to halt for some time. In the rear the pistol shots of the cavalry told of the approach of the French, and the din made by the panic-stricken fugitives was increased by the yells of the prisoners shut up and forgotten in the prison hard by. Their cries and supplications were too painful to be resisted, and the British forced the prison doors and let them free. Once across the bridge, the troops found the defile of Condeixa so choked up that it was impossible to effect a passage, and, had the French pressed them the division must have been destroyed.

The French infantry, however, had not arrived, and by night the road was cleared, and the troops passed on.

There was no pursuit, for Massena allowed his troops to halt and plunder Coimbra, and the British by easy marches, fell back to Torres Vedras; but though unpursued, the disorder and relaxation of discipline which always marks a retreat, showed itself, and Wellington was obliged to hang several plunderers, and to resort to other severe measures to restore to discipline that army which, only a week before, had repulsed the best troops of France. Towards the end of the march the French pressed them again, and Craufurd, with his light division, had a narrow escape of being cut off.

Great was the satisfaction of the British troops when they took up the position so carefully prepared for them; equally great the surprise of Massena and the French army when they beheld the almost impregnable line of redoubts and fortresses of whose very existence they had only heard a confused rumor two or three days before. And yet formidable as was the chain of forts occupied by the British, this was weak in comparison to the second line, some five or six miles in the rear, to which Wellington would have fallen back if driven from his first position. This second position was indeed that which he had originally intended to have taken up, the redoubts on the exterior range of hills being intended as outposts; but, while Massena delayed his advance, the outside line of fortifications had so grown and increased in strength, that Wellington resolved to hold them in the first place.

There were, therefore, as will be seen by the plan, three lines of defense. The first from Alhandra on the Tagus to Zizandre on the sea-coast. This, following the windings of the hills, was twenty-nine miles long; the second and main line was from Quintella on the Tagus to the mouth of the San Lorenza, twenty-four miles in length; the third, intended to cover an embarkation, in case of necessity, extended from Passo d'Arcos on the Tagus to the town of Junquera on the coast.

Massena spent some days in surveying the British position, and came to the conclusion that it was too strong to be attacked. Had the order of Wellington been carried out, and the whole country wasted of provisions, the French army must have made a precipitate retreat to avoid starvation, for they had no provisions or connection with Spain. Wilson and Trant, with Portuguese levies, hung upon their rear, and captured Coimbra, where Massena had left his sick and wounded, 5000 in number, upon the very day after the main French army advanced from the town. So vast were the supplies, however, left in the country that Massena was able to take up his position, first immediately in front of the British lines, and afterwards at Santarem, within a day's march of them, and to maintain his army in food throughout the winter until the beginning of March.

"Have you seen the Gazette, Scudamore?" Carruthers asked, rushing into the tent one morning about a week after the regiment had settled down in its tents on the heights of Torres Vedras.

"No; what's up?" Tom replied.

"There you are; you have both got your steps. Thomas Scudamore, ensign, Norfolk Rangers, to be lieutenant, for distinguished services in the field. Peter Scudamore, ditto, ditto. I wondered the chief had done nothing for you after your journey through Spain."

"I am sure I did not expect anything," Tom answered, "and was quite content when the colonel told us that Lord Wellington had said he was pleased with the manner we had done our work. However, I am very glad; but it is not pleasant going over five or six fellows' heads."

"Fortune of war," Carruthers said laughing. "Besides, two of them are at the depôt, Sankey is away on sick leave, and none of the three who are senior to you here will ever set the Thames on fire. No, no, you have fairly earned your step and no one can say a word against it."

The news soon spread, and the boys were heartily congratulated by all the officers of the regiment on their promotion, which placed them next on the list to Carruthers, who had previously been the junior lieutenant. Promotion in those days was rapid, and after a severe engagement an ensign only joined upon the previous week might find himself a lieutenant, from the number of death vacancies caused in the ranks above him. The Norfolk Rangers had not suffered heavily at Talavera, or the boys might have had their lieutenant's rank before this, without performing any exceptional services.

"I wish we could get two months' leave, Tom," Peter said that night. "Of course it is impossible, but it would be jolly to drop in upon Rhoda. By her letter she seems well and happy, and aunt is very kind to her. It would be nice; and now we are lieutenants, aunt wouldn't tell us to rub our shoes."

"No," Tom laughed, "or be afraid of our pelting her pigeons and

Minnie."

"No," Peter said. "Evidently she is coming round. Rhoda said that since she has heard that we have got our commissions she has given up prophesying once or twice a day that we shall come to a bad end—probably hanging."

"Yes, and Rhoda said in her letter yesterday that aunt was quite touched with those lace mantillas we got at Madrid, and sent off the day after we rejoined, and actually remarked that, although we could no longer be looked upon as boys, and seemed really as hair-brained and fond of getting into scrapes as ever, yet it was evident that we were good, kindly lads, and meant well at heart."

"I wish," Tom said, with a sudden burst of laughter, "that we could dress in our old disguises, I as a student of theology you as a mild young novice; what a lark we would have with her!" and the boys went off into such shouts of laughter, that their aunt would have thought them more scatter-brained than ever if she had heard them, while from the tent of Captain Manley on one side, and of Carruthers and another young officer on the other, came indignant expostulations, and entreaties that they would keep quiet, and let other people go to sleep.

CHAPTER XIII. ALBUERA.

Very heavily did five months in the lines of Torres Vedras pass to the Norfolk Rangers. When, in the beginning of November, Massena fell back to Sautarem, the greater portion of the army followed him in readiness for attack should any openings be found. Massena, however, entrenched himself in a very strong position, and Wellington could no more attack him than he could attack the lines of Torres Vedras; so that both armies faced each other in inactivity until the beginning of March, when Massena broke up his camp and began to retreat.

The Norfolk Rangers had been one of the regiments which had remained in their quarters on Torres Vedras throughout the winter, and great was the joy with which they received orders to strike their tents and push on in pursuit. The retreat of Massena was masterly. Ney's division covered the rear, and several sharp fights took place which are known in history as the combats of Pombal, Redinha, Cazal Nova, Foz d'Aronce, and Sabugal.

In most of these the enemy were driven from their position by the British outflanking them and threatening their line of retreat; but in the last, by a mistake of General Erskine, a portion of his division attacked the enemy in rear, and, although vastly outnumbered, drove him off from the crest he held with desperate valor. Wellington himself said, "This was one of the most glorious actions British troops were ever engaged in."

The next day the French crossed the Coa and Turones, and took up their position under the guns of Ciudad Rodrigo, which they had left six months before with the full assurance that they were going to conquer Portugal, and drive the British into the sea. The invasion cost Massena thirty thousand men, killed in battle, taken prisoners, or dead from hardships, fatigues and fevers.

The Scudamores were not present at the battle of Sabugal, for on the afternoon after the combat of Foz d'Aronce an orderly rode up to the regiment and handed a note to the colonel. He read it, and at once summoned the Scudamores at his side.

"An order from the commander-in-chief," he said, "for you to go to him at once."

Following the orderly, the boys soon arrived at the cottage at which

Lord Wellington had established his headquarters.

"His lordship is with Lord Beresford," the aide-de-camp to whom they gave their names said, "but the orders are that you are to be shown in at once."

The lads were ushered into a small room, where, seated at a table, were the commanders-in-chief of the British and the Portuguese troops.

"Young gentlemen," the former said, looking up with his keen piercing eyes, "I have not seen you since your return from Spain. I am content with what you did, and with the detailed report you sent me in. I shall keep my eye upon you. Lord Beresford has asked me for two officers as aides-de-camp, and he specially requires them to have a perfect knowledge of Spanish. I have mentioned your names to him. It is not often that I confidently recommend young officers, but from what I know of you I have felt able to do so in the present case. You will, with him, have opportunities of distinguishing yourselves such as you could not have with your regiment. You accept the appointments?"

Tom and Peter would far rather have remained with their regiment, but they felt that, after what Lord Wellington had said, they could not refuse; they consequently expressed at once their willingness to serve, and their thanks to the general for his kindness in recommending them.

"You can ride, I hope?" Lord Beresford, a powerfully-built, pleasant-looking man, said.

"Yes, sir, we can both ride, but at present—"

"You have no horses, of course?" Lord Beresford put in. "I will provide you with horses, and will assign servants to you from one of the cavalry regiments with me. Will you join me at daybreak to-morrow? we shall march at once."

There was a general expression of regret when the Scudamores informed their comrades that they were again ordered on detached duty. As to Sam, when Tom told him that he could not accompany them, he was uproarious in his lamentations, and threatened to desert from his regiment in order to follow them. At this the boys laughed, and told Sam that he would be arrested and sent back before he had gone six hours.

"I tink, Massa Tom, dat you might hab told de general dat you hab got an fust-class serbent, and dat you bring him wid you."

"But we shall be mounted now, Sam, and must have mounted men with us.

You can't ride, you know."

"Yes, massa, dis child ride first-rate, he can."

"Why, Sam, I heard you say not long ago you had never ridden on a horse all your life."

"Never hab, massa, dat's true 'nuff; but Sam sure he can ride. Berry easy ting dat. Sit on saddle, one leg each side—not berry difficult dat. Sam see tousand soldiers do dat ebery day; dey sit quite easy on saddle; much more easy dat dan beat big drum."

The boys laughed heartily at Sam's notion of riding without practice, and assured him that it was not so easy as he imagined.

"Look here, Sam," Peter said at last, "you practice riding a little, and then next time we get away we will ask for you to go with us." And with this Sam was obliged to be content.

Half an hour later, when the boys were chatting with Captain Manley, Carruthers, and two or three other officers, in the tent of the first-named officer, they heard a commotion outside, with shouts of laughter, in which they joined as soon as they went out and saw what was going on.

Sam, upon leaving the Scudamores, determined at once upon trying the experiment of riding, in order that he might—for he had no doubt all would be easy enough—ride triumphantly up to his masters' tent and prove his ability to accompany them at once. He was not long before he saw a muleteer coming along sitting carelessly on his mule, with both legs on one side of the animal, side-saddle fashion, as is the frequent custom of muleteers. It was evident, by the slowness of his pace, that he was not pressed for time.

Sam thought that this was a fine opportunity.

"Let me have a ride?" he said to the muleteer in broken Portuguese.

The man shook his head. Sam held out a quarter of a dollar. "There," he said, "I'll give you that for a hour's ride."

The muleteer hesitated, and then said, "The mule is very bad tempered with strangers."

"Oh, dat all nonsense," Sam thought, "he only pretend dat as excuse; any one can see de creature as quiet as lamb; don't he let his master sit on him sideways?"

"All right," he said aloud, "I try him."

The muleteer dismounted, and Sam prepared to take his place on the saddle. By this time several of the Rangers had gathered round, and these foreseeing, from the appearance of the mule and the look of sly amusement in the face of the muleteer, that there was likely to be some fun, at once proposed to assist, which they did by giving advice to Sam of the most opposite nature. Sam was first going to mount on the off side, but this irregularity was repressed, and one wag, taking the stirrup of the near side in his hand, said, "Now, Sam, up you go, never mind what these fellows say, you put your right foot in the stirrup, and lift your left over the saddle."

Sam acted according to these instructions, and found himself, to his intense amazement and the delight of the bystanders, sitting with his face to the mule's tail.

"Hullo," he exclaimed in astonishment, "dis all wrong; you know noting about de business, you Bill Atkins."

And Sam prepared to descend, when, at his first movement, the mule put down his head and flung his heels high in the air. Sam instinctively threw himself forward, but not recovering his upright position before the mule again flung up her hind quarters, he received a violent blow on the nose. "Golly!" exclaimed the black in a tone of extreme anguish, as, with water streaming from his eyes, he instinctively clutched the first thing which came to hand, the root of the mule's tail, and held on like grim death. The astonished mule lashed out wildly and furiously, but Sam, with his body laid close on her back, his hands grasping her tail, and his legs and feet pressing tight to her flanks, held on with the clutch of despair.

"Seize de debil!—seize him!—he gone mad!"—he shouted frantically, but the soldiers were in such fits of laughter that they could do nothing.

Then the mule, finding that he could not get rid of this singular burden by kicking, started suddenly off at full gallop.

"Stop him—stop him," yelled Sam. "Gracious me, dis am drefful."

This was the sight which met the eyes of the Scudamores and their brother officers as they issued from their tents. The soldiers were all out of their tents now, and the air rang with laughter mingled with shouts of "Go it, moke!" "Hold on, Sam!"

"Stop that mule," Captain Manley shouted, "or the man will be killed."

Several soldiers ran to catch at the bridle, but the mule swerved and dashed away out of camp along the road.

"Look, look," Tom said, "there are the staff, and Lord Wellington among them. The mule's going to charge them."

The road was somewhat narrow, with a wall of four feet high on either side, and the general, who was riding at the head of the party, drew his rein when he saw the mule coming along at a furious gallop. The staff did the same, and a general shout was raised to check or divert her wild career. The obstinate brute, however, maddened by the shouts which had greeted her from all sides, and the strange manner in which she was being ridden, never swerved from her course. When she was within five yards of the party, the general turned his horse, touched him with his spur, and leaped him lightly over the wall; one or two others followed his example, but the others had not time to do so before the mule was among them. Two horses and riders were thrown down, one on either side, with the impetus of the shock, and then, kicking, striking and charging, the animal made its way past the others and dashed on in despite of the attempts to stop her, and the cries of "Shoot the brute," "Ride him down," and the angry ejaculations of those injured in its passage. Thirty yards behind the group of officers were the escort, and these prepared to catch the mule, when turning to the left she leaped the wall, eliciting a scream of terror from Sam, who was nearly shaken from his hold by the sudden jerk.

The anger of the officers was changed into a burst of amusement at seeing Sam's dark face and staring eyes over the mule's crupper, and even Lord Wellington smiled grimly. An order was hastily given, and four troopers detached themselves from the escort and started off in pursuit. The mule was, however, a fast one, and maddened by fright, and it was some time before the foremost of the troopers was up to her. As he came alongside, the mule suddenly swerved round and lashed out viciously, one of her heels coming against the horse's ribs, and the other against the leg of the rider, who, in spite of his thick jack-boot, for some time thought that his leg was broken.

He fell behind, and the others, rendered cautious by the lesson, came up but slowly, and prepared to close upon the animal's head, one from each side. Just as they were going to do so, however, they were startled by a scattered fire of musketry, and by the sound of balls whizzing about their ears, and discovered that in the ardor of the chase they had passed over the space which separated the French from the English lines, and that they were close to the former. At the same moment they saw a party of cavalry stealing round to cut off their retreat. Turning their horses, the dragoons rode off at full speed, but the French cavalry, on fresher horses, would have caught them before they reached the English lines had not a troop of British horse dashed forward to meet them upon seeing their danger. As to the mule, she continued her wild gallop into the French lines, where she was soon surrounded and captured.

The boys were greatly vexed at the loss of their faithful black, but they had little time for grieving, for an hour after they rode off with General Beresford's division. Three days' march brought them to Campo Mayor, a town which had, two days before, surrendered to the French, who, surprised by the sudden appearance of the British, evacuated the place hastily and retreated, after suffering much from a brilliant charge of the 13th Hussars, who, although unsupported, charged right through the French cavalry, and Beresford then prepared to lay siege to Badajos. Had he pushed forward at once, he would have found the place unprepared for a siege, but, delaying a few days at Elvas to give his tired troops repose, the French repaired the walls, and were in a position to offer a respectable defense, when he made his appearance under its walls. The army was very badly provided with heavy guns, but the approaches were opened and the siege commenced in regular form, when the news arrived that Soult was marching with a powerful army to its relief. The guns were therefore withdrawn, the siege raised, and Beresford marched to meet Soult at Albuera.

On the 15th of May he took up his position on rising ground looking down on Albuera, having the river in his front. Acting with him, and nominally under his orders, was a Spanish force under Blake. This was intended to occupy the right of the position, but with the usual Spanish dilatoriness, instead of being upon the ground, as he had promised, by noon, Blake did not arrive until past midnight; the French accordingly crossed the river unmolested, and the British general found his right turned.

Beresford's position was now a very faulty one, as the woods completely hid the movements of the enemy, and a high hill, which they had at once seized, flanked the whole allied position and threatened its line of retreat.

When the morning of the 16th dawned the armies were numerically very unequal. The British had 30,000 infantry, 2,000 cavalry, and 38 guns; the French, 19,000 infantry, 4,000 cavalry, and 40 guns; but of these the French were all veteran troops, while Beresford had but 6,000 British troops, the remainder being Spanish and Portuguese, upon whom no reliance whatever was to be placed. The British officers present were all of opinion that their chances of success, under the circumstances, were slight indeed.

The battle commenced at nine in the morning by an attack by the French general Godinot upon the bridge of Albuera. Their columns were, however, so completely plowed by the guns of the Portuguese upon the eminence behind it, that they made no progress, and Beresford perceived at once that the main attack would be made on his right. He despatched Tom Scudamore with orders to Blake to throw back his troops at right angles to the main front. The pig-headed Spaniard refused to obey, asserting that the main attack was in front. Colonel Hardinge was sent to insist upon the order being carried out, but Blake still refused, and Beresford himself rode furiously across and took the command just as the French column debouched from the wood on the right.

Before the Spanish movement was completed the French were among them. Their cavalry swept round to the right rear, and menaced the line of retreat, the infantry charged the wavering Spanish battalions, and the latter at once fell into confusion and began to fall back. William Stewart now arrived with a brigade of the second division to endeavor to retrieve the day; but as they were advancing into position, four regiments of French cavalry, whose movements were hidden in the driving rain until they were close at hand, fell upon them and rode down two-thirds of the brigade, the 31st regiment alone having time to form square and repulse the horsemen.

Beresford himself, with his staff, was in the middle of the mélée, and the lads found themselves engaged in hand-to-hand combats with the French troopers. All was confusion. Peter was unhorsed by the shock of a French hussar, but Tom shot the trooper before he could cut Peter down. Free for a moment, he looked round, and saw a French lancer charging, lance at rest, at Lord Beresford. "Look out, sir!" he shouted, and the general, turning round, swept aside the lance thrust with his arm; and as the lancer, carried on by the impetus of his charge, dashed against him, he seized him by the throat and waist, lifted him bodily from his saddle, and hurled him insensible to the ground. Just at this moment General Lumley arrived with some Portuguese cavalry, and the French lancers galloped off.

The Spanish cavalry, who had orders to charge the French cavalry in flank, galloped up until within a few yards of them, and then turned and fled shamefully.

Beresford, now furious at the cowardice of the Spanish infantry, seized one of their ensigns by the shoulder, and dragged him, with his colors, to the front by main force, but the infantry would not even then advance.

The driving rain saved the allied army at this critical moment, for Soult was unable to see the terrible confusion which reigned in their ranks, and kept his heavy columns in hand when an attack would have carried with it certain victory.

In the pause which ensued, the British regiments began to make their way to the front. Colbourn, with the 31st Regiment, was already there; Stewart brought up Haughton's brigade; and the 29th burst its way through the flying Spaniards and joined the 31st, these movements being made under a storm of shot and shell from the French artillery. Colonel Hartman brought up the British artillery, and the Spanish generals Zayas and Ballesteros succeeded in checking and bringing forward again some of the Spanish infantry.

The French advanced in great force, the artillery on both sides poured in grape at short distance, and the carnage was terrible. Still the little band of British held their ground. Stewart was twice wounded, Haughton and Colonels Duckworth and Inglis slain. Of the 57th Regiment twenty-two officers and four hundred men fell out of the five hundred that had mounted the hill, and the other regiments had suffered nearly as severely. Not a third were standing unhurt, and fresh columns of the French were advancing.

The battle looked desperate, and Beresford made preparations for a retreat. At this moment, however, Colonel Hardinge brought up General Cole with the fourth division, and Colonel Abercrombie with the third brigade of Colbourn's second division. Beresford recalled his order for retreat, and the terrible fight continued. The fourth division was composed of two brigades, the one, a Portuguese under General Harvey, was pushed down to the right to keep off the French cavalry, while the Fusilier brigade, composed of the 7th and 23rd fusilier regiments, under Sir William Myers, climbed the desperately contested hill, which Abercombie ascended also, more on the left.

It was time, for the whole of the French reserves were now coming into action; six guns were already in the enemy's possession, the remnant of Haughton's brigade could no longer sustain its ground, and the heavy French columns were advancing exultantly to assured victory.

Suddenly, through the smoke, Cole's fusilier brigade appeared on the right of Haughton's brigade, just as Abercrombie came up on its left. Startled by the sight, and by the heavy fire, the French column paused, and, to quote Napier's glowing words, "hesitated, and then, vomiting forth a storm of fire, hastily endeavored to enlarge their front, while a fearful discharge of grape from all their artillery whistled through the British ranks. Myers was killed, Cole and the three colonels, Ellis, Blakeney and Hawkshawe, fell wounded; and the fusilier battalions, struck by the iron tempest, reeled and staggered like sinking ships; but suddenly and sternly recovering, they closed with their terrible enemies, and then was seen with what a strength and majesty the British soldier fights. In vain did Soult with voice and gesture animate his Frenchmen; in vain did the hardiest veterans break from the crowded columns and sacrifice their lives to gain time for the mass to open out on such a fair field; in vain did the mass itself bear up, and, fiercely striving, fire indiscriminately upon friends and foes, while the horsemen hovering on its flank threatened to charge the advancing line. Nothing could stop that astonishing infantry; no sudden burst of undisciplined valor, no nervous enthusiasm weakened the stability of their order; their flashing eyes were bent on the dark columns in their front, their measured tread shook the ground, their dreadful volleys swept away the head of every formation, their deafening shouts overpowered the dissonant cries that broke from all parts of the tumultuous crowd, as, slowly and with horrid carnage, it was pushed by the incessant vigor of the attack to the farthest edge of the hill. In vain did the French reserves mix with the struggling multitude to sustain the fight; their efforts only increased the irremediable confusion, and the mighty mass breaking off like a loosened cliff, went headlong down the steep; the rain flowed after in streams discolored with blood, and eighteen hundred unwounded men, the remnant of six thousand unconquerable British soldiers, stood triumphant on the fatal hill."

While this dreadful fight was going on, Hamilton's and Collier's Portuguese divisions, ten thousand strong, marched to support the British, but they did not reach the summit of the hill until the battle was over; they suffered, however, a good deal of loss from the French artillery, which, to cover the retreat, opened furiously upon them.

The French were in no position to renew the attack, the allies quite incapable of pursuit, and when night fell the two armies were in the same position they had occupied twenty-four hours before.

Never was British valor more conspicuously displayed than at the battle of Albuera. Out of 6,000 infantry they lost 4,200 killed and wounded, while the Spanish and Portuguese had but 2,600 killed and wounded out of a total of 34,000; the French loss was over 8,000.

This desperate fight had lasted but four hours, but to all engaged it seemed an age. The din, the whirl, the storm of shot, the fierce charges of the cavalry, the swaying backwards and forwards of the fight, the disastrous appearance of the battle from the first, all combined to make up a perfectly bewildering confusion.

The Scudamores, after its commencement, had seen but little of each other. Whenever one or other of them found their way to the general, who was ever in the thickest of the fray, it was but to remain there for a moment or two before being despatched with fresh messages.

Tom's horse was shot under him early in the day, but he obtained a remount from an orderly and continued his duty until, just as the day was won, he received a musket ball in the shoulder. He half fell, half dismounted, and, giddy and faint, lay down and remained there until the cessation of the fire told him that the battle was over. Then he staggered to his feet and sought a surgeon. He presently found one hard at work under a tree, but there was so large a number of wounded men lying or sitting round, that Tom saw that it would be hours before he could be attended to. As he turned to go he saw an officer of the staff ride by.

"Ah, Scudamore! Are you hit too?—not very badly, I hope? The chief was asking after you just now."

"My shoulder is smashed, I think," Tom said, "and the doctor has his hands full at present; but if you will tie my arm tight across my chest with my sash, I shall be able to get on."

The officer at once leapt from his horse, and proceeded to bind Tom's arm in the position he requested.

"Have you seen my brother," Tom asked.

"No, I have not; he was close to Beresford when the fusiliers dashed up the hill; his horse fell dead, but he was not hit, for I saw him jump up all right. I did not see him afterwards. As he could not have got a fresh mount then, I expect he joined the fusiliers and went up the hill."

"Is the loss heavy?" Tom asked.

"Awful—awful," the officer said. "If it had lasted another quarter of an hour, there would have been nobody left alive; as it is, there are not 2,000 men at the outside on their feet."

"What, altogether?" Tom exclaimed.

"Altogether," the officer answered sadly. "We have lose two men out of every three who went into it."

"Thank you," Tom said. "Now where shall I find the general?"

"Up on the hill. I shall see you there in a few minutes. I hope you will find your brother all right."

Very slowly did Tom make his way up the steep slope, sitting down to rest many times, for he was faint from loss of blood and sick with the pain of his wound, and it was a long half hour before he joined the group of officers clustered round the commander-in-chief.

He was heartily greeted; but in answer to his question as to whether any one had seen his brother, no one could give a satisfactory reply. One, however, was able to confirm what had been before told to him, for he had seen Peter on foot advancing with the fusilier brigade. Tom's heart felt very heavy as he turned away towards the front, where the fusiliers were standing on the ground they had so hardly won. The distance he had to traverse was but short, but the journey was a ghastly one. The ground was literally heaped with dead. Wounded men were seen sitting up trying to stanch their wounds, others lay feebly groaning, while soldiers were hurrying to and fro from the water carts, with pannikins of water to relieve their agonizing thirst.

"Do you know, sergeant, whether they have collected the wounded officers, and, if so, where they are?"

"Yes, sir, most of them are there at the right flank of the regiment."

Tom made his way towards the spot indicated, where a small group of officers were standing, while a surgeon was examining a long line of wounded laid side by side upon the ground. Tom hardly breathed as he ran his eye along their faces, and his heart seemed to stop as he recognized in the very one the surgeon was then examining the dead-white face of Peter.

He staggered forward and said in a gasping voice, "He is my brother—is he dead?"

The surgeon looked up. "Sit down," he said sharply, and Tom, unable to resist the order, sank rather than sat down, his eyes still riveted on Peter's face.

"No," the surgeon said, answering the question, "he has only fainted from loss of blood, but he is hit hard, the bullet has gone in just above the hip, and until I know its course I can't say whether he has a chance or not."

"Here, sergeant, give me the probe," and with this he proceeded cautiously to examine the course of the ball. As he did so his anxious face brightened a little.

"He was struck slantingly," he said, "the ball has gone round by the back; turn him over, sergeant. Ah, I thought so; it has gone out on the other side. Well, I think it has missed any vital part, and in that case I can give you hope. There," he said after he had finished dressing the wound and fastening a bandage tightly round the body; "now pour some brandy-and-water down his throat, sergeant, and sprinkle his face with water. Now, sir, I will look at your shoulder."

But he spoke to insensible ears, for Tom, upon hearing the more favorable report as to Peter's state, had fainted dead off.

The surgeon glanced at him. "He'll come round all right," he said. "I will go on in the mean time," and set to work at the next in the ghastly line.

It was some time before Tom recovered his consciousness; when he did so, it was with a feeling of intense agony in the shoulder.

"Lie quiet," the surgeon said, "I shan't be long about it."

It seemed to Tom, nevertheless, as if an interminable time passed before the surgeon spoke again.

"You'll do," he said. "It is an awkward shot, for it has broken the shoulder bone and carried a portion away, but with quiet and care you will get the use of your arm again. You are lucky, for if it had gone two inches to the left it would have smashed the arm at the socket, and two inches the other way and it would have been all up with you. Now lie quiet for awhile; you can do nothing for your brother at present. It may be hours before he recovers consciousness."

Tom was too faint and weak to argue, and a minute later he dropped off to sleep, from which he did not wake until it was dusk. Sitting up, he saw that he had been aroused by the approach of an officer, whom he recognized as one of General Beresford's staff.

"How are you, Scudamore?" he asked. "The general has just sent me to inquire."

"He is very kind," Tom said. "I think that I am all right, only I am horribly thirsty."

The officer unslung a flask from his shoulder. "This is weak brandy-and-water. I have brought it over for you. I am sorry to hear your brother is so bad, but the doctor gives strong hopes of him in his report."

Tom bent down over Peter. "He is breathing quietly," he said. "I hope it is a sort of sleep he has fallen into. What are we doing?"

"Nothing," the officer answered; "there is nothing to do; every unbounded man is under arms in case the French attack us in the night. I expect, however, they will wait till morning, and if they come on then, I fear our chance is a slight one indeed. We have only 1,800 of our infantry; the German regiments and the Portuguese will do their best; but the Spanish are utterly useless. Soult has lost more men than we have, but we are like a body which has lost its back-bone; and if the French, who are all good soldiers, renew the battle, I fear it is all up with us."

"Have you got all our wounded in?" Tom asked.

"No," the officer said bitterly. "Our unwounded men must stand to arms, and Lord Beresford sent over to Blake just now to ask for the assistance of a battalion of Spaniards to collect our wounded, and the brute sent back to say that it was the custom in allied armies for each army to attend to its own wounded."

"The brute!" Tom repeated with disgust. "How the poor fellows must be suffering!"

"The men who are but slightly wounded have been taking water to all they can find, and the doctors are at work now, and will be all night going about dressing wounds. The worst of it is, if the fight begins again to-morrow, all the wounded who cannot crawl away must remain under fire. However, the French wounded are all over the hill too, and perhaps the French will avoid a cannonade as much as possible, for their sake. It is a bad look-out altogether; and between ourselves, Beresford has written to Lord Wellington to say that he anticipates a crushing defeat."

"Is there any chance of reinforcements?" Tom asked.

"We hope that the third brigade of the fourth division will be up to-morrow by midday; they are ordered to come on by forced marches. If Soult does not attack till they arrive, it will make all the difference, for 1,500 fresh men will nearly double our strength. But I must be going now. Good-bye."

The surgeon presently came round again to see how the wounded officers were getting on. Tom asked him whether there was anything he could do for Peter; but the surgeon, after feeling his pulse, said: "No, not as long as he breathes quietly like this; but if he moves pour a little brandy-and-water down his throat. Now gentlemen, all who can must look after the others, for there is not an available man, and I must be at work all night on the field."

There were many of the officers who were not hit too severely to move about, and these collected some wood and made a fire, so as to enable them to see and attend to their more severely wounded comrades. Tom took his place close to Peter, where he could watch his least movement, and once or twice during the night poured a little brandy-and-water between his lips. The other officers took it by turns to attend to their comrades, to keep up the fire, and to sleep. Those whose turn it was to be awake sat round the fire smoking, and talking as to the chances of the morrow, getting up occasionally to give drink to such of the badly wounded as were awake.

Tom, faint with his wound, found it, towards morning, impossible to keep awake, and dozed off, to wake with a start and find that it was broad daylight. Soon afterwards, to his intense satisfaction, Peter opened his eyes. Tom bent over him. "Don't try to move, Peter; lie quiet, old boy."

"What's the matter?" Peter asked with a puzzled look.

"You have been hit in the body, Peter, but the doctor means to get you round in no time. Yes," he continued, seeing Peter's eyes fixed on his bandaged shoulder, "I have had a tap too, but there's no great harm done. There, drink some brandy-and-water, and go off to sleep again, if you can."

The morning passed very slowly, the troops being all under arms, expecting the renewed attack of Soult, but it came not; and when early in the afternoon, the third brigade of the fourth division marched into camp, they were received with general cheering. A heavy load seemed taken off every one's heart, and they felt now that they could fight, if fight they must, with a hope of success.

The new-comers, wearied as they were with their long forced marches, at once took the outpost duties, and those relieved set about the duty of collecting and bringing in all the wounded.

Next morning the joyful news came that Soult was retiring, and all felt with a thrill of triumph that their sacrifices and efforts had not been in vain, and that the hard-fought battle of Albuera was forever to take its place among the great victories of the British army.

CHAPTER XIV. INVALIDED HOME.

Two days after the battle of Albuera, Lord Wellington himself arrived, and from the officers of his staff Tom heard the details of the battle of Fuentes d'Onoro, which had been fought a few days previously, and which had been nearly as hardly contested as had Albuera itself, both sides claiming the victory.

The next day, the bulk of Beresford's army returned to the neighborhood of Badajos, which they again invested, while a long convoy of wounded started for Lisbon. The Scudamores accompanied it as far as Campo Major, where a large hospital had been prepared for those too ill to bear the journey. Peter was still unconscious. Fever had set in upon the day after the battle, and for three weeks he lay between life and death. Tom's arm was mending very slowly, and he would have had hard work indeed in nursing Peter had it not been for the arrival of unexpected assistance. A large villa had been taken close to the main hospital for the use of officers, and one of the rooms was allotted to the Scudamores.

Upon the evening of the second day after their arrival, Tom was sitting by Peter's bedside, when, after a preliminary tap, the door opened, and to Tom's perfect amazement Sambo entered. The negro hurried forward, threw himself on his knees, seized Tom's hand and kissed it passionately, and then looking at the thin and fever-flushed face of Peter, he hid his face in his hands and sobbed unrestrainedly.

"Hush, Sam, hush," Tom said soothingly. "My poor fellow, why, where have you come from? I thought you were a prisoner with the French."

"I knew how it would be, Massa Tom," the black said, paying no attention to the questions. "First thing Sam said to himself when he got among French fellows, 'Dere, dose young gentlemen dey get into all sorts of danger widout Sam, sartin sure dey get hurt widout Sam to look after dem.' Dat idea troubled Sam berry much, took away Sam's sleep altogether."

"Well it turned out so, as you see, Sam," Tom said with a smile, "but tell me how did you get away? But first give me some lemonade out of that jug, then you can tell me all about it."

"Why, Massa Tom," Sam said, when he had complied with the request, "you didn't think dat dis chile was going to stop prisoner with dose French chaps; Sam not such a fool as dat, nohow. When dat cussed mule—I tell you fair, Massa Tom, dis chile conclude dat riding not such a berry easy ting after all—when dat cussed mule ran into French camp, de soldiers dey catch him, and dey take Sam off, and den dey jabber and laugh for all de world like great lots of monkeys. Well, for some time Sam he didn't say nothing, all de wind shook out of his body. Besides which he couldn't understand what dey say. Den all of a sudden, to Sam's surprise, up came a colored soldier, and he speak to Sam in de English tongue. 'Holla, broder, how you come here?" I ask. 'I been cook on board English merchant ship,' he say. 'Ship she taken by French privateer. When dey come to port dey say to me, "You not Englishman, you hab choice, you go to prison, or you be French soldier." Natural, I not want go prison, so I conclude be French soldier. I daresay dey gib you choice too.' Well, massa, a wink as good as a nod to blind hoss. So dey take me to tent, put me under guard, and next day a French officer come dat speak English. He ask me all sorts ob questions, and at last he ask me why I list English soldier. So you see I had got a little lie all ready, and me tell him, me one poor Melican negro man, cook on board Melican ship. Ship taken by English man-ob-war. Put Sam in prison and give him choice to go as soldier. "Den you not care about English,' de officer say, and Sam draw hisself up and pat his chest and say, 'Me Melican citizen, me no Britisher's slave, some day me go back States, go on board Melican man-ob-war, me pay out dese Britishers for make Sam slave.' Den de officer laugh, and say dat if I like I could fight dem now; and if I prefer French uniform to French prison, me could have him. Ob course I accep' offer, and harp an hour after me in French uniform. French officer try to make joke ob Sam, and ask whether I like cavalry or foot soldier. Sam say he had enuff of quadruples at present. Me remain French soldier three weeks, den cum great battle, dey call him Fuentes donory. Sam's regiment fight. Sam not like fire at red coats, so break bullet off catridge, neber put him in gun. We charge right into middle of village full of English soldiers, de bullets fly all about. Sam not see de point ob getting kill by mistake, so he tumble down, pretend to be dead. Presently French beaten back; when English soldier wid doctor cum look at wounded, dey turn Sam ober, and dey say, 'Hullo, here dead nigger.' 'Nigger yourself, John Atkins,' I say for sure enuff it's de ole regiment—'you say dat once again me knock your head off;' me jump up, and all de world call out, 'Hullo, why it's Sam.' Den me splain matter, and all berry glad, cept John Atkins, and next morning me gib him licking he member all his life, me pound him most to a squash. Four days ago colonel send for Sam, say, 'Sam, berry bad job, bofe Massas wounded bad, send you to nurse dem;' so dis chile come. Dat all, Massa Tom. Here letter for you from colonel, now you read dis letter, den you get in bed, you sleep all night, Sam watch Massa Peter."

Greatly relieved to have his faithful servant again, and to know that Peter would be well cared for, instead of being left in charge of the Spanish hospital orderly, whenever weakness and pain obliged him to lie down, Tom abandoned his place by the bedside, and prepared for a tranquil night's rest, first reading the colonel's letter.

"We are all grieved, my dear Scudamore, at hearing that you are both wounded, and that your brother is at present in a serious state. We trust, however, that he will pull through. I hear that Beresford has praised you both most highly in despatches, and that your names are sent home for companies. I heartily congratulate you. We have had some tough work at Fuentes d'Onoro, although nothing to what yours must have been at Albuera, still it was hot enough in all conscience, and we had over a hundred casualties in the regiment. Carruthers and Manley were both slightly wounded. Jones, Anstruther, Palmer, and Chambers were killed, and several of the others hit more or less hard. Sam has leave to remain with you until you rejoin, which will not, I fear, be for some little time. Every one sends kind messages. Yours truly, J. Tritton."

Nothing could exceed the care and devotion with which Sam nursed his two masters, and Tom had the greatest difficulty in persuading him to lie down and get a short sleep each day while he sat by Peter's bed. At the end of three weeks Peter took a favorable turn. His fever abated, and he awoke to consciousness. Another fortnight and he was sufficiently convalescent to be moved, and accordingly they started to travel by very easy stages to Lisbon, there to take ship for England, as the doctor ordered Tom as well as his brother to go home for a while to recruit. Tom was the less reluctant to do so, as it was evident that with the force at his command Wellington would not be able to undertake any great operation, and that the siege and capture of Badajoz was the utmost likely to be accomplished in that season's campaign. The mails in due course had brought out the Gazette, and in it Tom and Peter Scudamore were promoted to be captains, unattached.

Colonel Tritton, upon being applied to, readily gave leave for Sam to accompany his masters. It was a long journey to Lisbon, but the jolting of the country cart was made bearable by a layer of hay, two feet deep, upon which the mattresses were laid, Sam seeing that at each night's halt the hay was taken out, well shaken, and then returned to the cart, so as to preserve it light and elastic. A thick canopy of boughs kept off the heat of the sun, and under it, within reach of the invalids hung a gourd of fresh water, and a basket of fruit. Several other cart-loads of wounded officers accompanied them, and at night they would draw up by a grove of trees where water was handy, those who could walk would get out, the others would be lifted out on their mattresses, a great fire made, and round it the beds laid in a circle, and then the evening would be spent in pleasant chat, with many an anecdote and an occasional song, until the fire burnt low, the talk died away, and each, covered in his blankets to keep off the night dew, fell asleep. Pleasant as was the journey, however, it was with a thrill of delight that they caught their first sight of Lisbon, with its broad river, and the blue line of the sea beyond. A few days later, and they embarked on board a transport, which seven days afterwards, after a calm passage, arrived at Spithead.

Peter was by this time gaining strength fast, but his back was so stiff and sore that he was unable to move it, and was obliged to swing himself along on crutches. The next day the coach took them to London, and they started the morning after for Marlborough. This time they had to go inside the coach, two gentlemen, who had previously secured the seats, kindly giving them up in favor of the wounded young officers, while Sam took his place on the roof, and amused his fellow-passengers with wonderful accounts of his adventures at the war. At the inn at which they took dinner, they alighted, and Tom recognized in the driver the same coachman who had driven them upon the memorable occasion of their being stopped by highwaymen three years before. "You don't remember us, coachman, do you?"

"No, gentlemen, I can't say as how,—but eh! no, why you're the werry boys as shot the highwaymen. Well, I am glad to see you again, though you do look white and bad, both of you. I heard as how there were two wounded officers inside, and that black soldier has been telling all sorts of tales of the wonderful things as his masters had done, but not knowing as how it was you, I didn't much believe all he was telling. Now I quite see as how it was true; and how are you both?"

"Getting on all right," Tom said, returning the warm shake of the coachman's hand, "and do you know, those pistols have saved our lives more than once."

"Have they now," the coachman said, in high admiration, "but there, we most be moving, we are three minutes after time as it is; I shall see you again next time we stop, gentlemen."

During the next stage the coachman and guard recounted to the outside passengers the affair of the stopping the coach, and Sam's black face shone with delight at the tale. Then he had his say, and related the story of his falling overboard and being rescued, and in consequence the lads were quite embarrassed when they next halted, by the attention of their fellow-travelers, who could scarcely understand how it was possible that two mere boys should have performed such feats of bravery.

Arrived at Marlborough they looked round in vain for the one-horsed vehicle which had before met them. "I expect that aunt has not got our letter, Peter," Tom said. "It would probably go up to town in the coach with us, and is likely enough in the letter-bag in the boot. Well, we must have a post-chaise. Won't aunt and Rhoda be surprised; but they must be expecting us, because they will have had our letter from Lisbon."

The horses were soon in, Sam took his seat in the rumble, and in a few minutes they were bounding over the road at a very different pace to that at which they had before traversed it. "There's the house among the trees," Peter said at last, "with aunt's pigeons on the roof as usual, and there's Minnie asleep on the window-sill, and there! yes, there's Rhoda."

As he spoke a girl, who was sitting reading under a tree, leapt to her feet, on hearing a carriage stop, and then, catching sight of Peter waving his hat, while Tom made frantic efforts to open the door, gave a scream of delight, and rushed towards them, threw her arms round Tom's neck as he jumped out, and then leapt into the chaise and hugged and cried over Peter. He was soon helped out, and as they turned to go towards the house they saw their aunt coming out to meet them.

Tom ran forward and throwing his arms round her neck kissed her heartily, and before she could recover from her surprise, Peter was alongside. "Please, aunt, you must kiss me," he said, "for I want my arms for my crutches." His aunt leaned forward and kissed him, and then wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I am glad to see you back, my dear nephews," she said. "We did not understand each other very well before, but we shan't make any more mistakes. This is your black servant, I suppose," she said, as Sam came along, with a trunk in each hand. "Dear! dear! what a dreadfully ugly man."

"How do you do, Sam?" Rhoda said, when he came up. "We have heard so much of you, and how kindly you nursed my brothers."

"Sam quite well, tank you, little missy," Sam said, grinning all over his face and showing his white teeth.

Miss Scudamore shrank towards Tom as Sam passed on, "Dear me, what sharp-looking teeth he has, Tom. They don't eat curious things, these black men, do they?"

"What sort of curious things, aunt?"

"Well, my dear, I know that these outlandish people do eat strange things, and I have heard the Chinese eat dogs and cats. Now, if he has a fancy for cats, I daresay I could buy him some in the village, only he will have to cook them himself, I could never ask Hannah to cook cats; but please ask him not to touch Minnie."

Peter had to stop in his walk and grasp his crutches tightly, not to burst into a scream of laughter, while Tom answered with great gravity, "My dear aunt, do not alarm yourself, I will answer for the safety of Minnie as far as Sam is concerned."

When they reached the house, Miss Scudamore said—

"I think you young people will enjoy yourselves more if you go and sit under the shade of the elm there, you will have a deal to say to each other, and had better be alone." They were all glad at the suggestion, as they were longing to be alone together.

Sam, by Miss Scudamore's directions, carried out a great easy chair, of which Peter took possession. Rhoda sat on the grass at his feet, and Tom threw himself down at full length. They were all too happy to speak much for a time, and could only look fondly at each other. "You have grown a great deal, Rhoda, but I do not think that you are altered a bit otherwise."

"You are neither of you altered so much as I expected," Rhoda said. "I had made up my mind that you would be changed a great deal. It sounds so grand—Captains, indeed! I expected to have curtsey to you and treat you with great respect; instead of that you look regular boys, both of you. Of course you are big, and Peter looks very tall; how tall are you, Peter?"

"Just over six feet," Peter said.

"Yes," Rhoda said, "you are tall enough, and Tom is broad enough for men, but somehow you look regular boys still."

"This is very disrespectful Rhoda, to two Captains in His Majesty's service."

"It seems ridiculous, doesn't it," Rhoda said.

"It does," Tom said heartily, and the three went off into a shout of laughter.

"It isn't really ridiculous you know," Rhoda said, when they had recovered their gravity. "To think of all the dangers you have gone through. Aunt was as proud as could be when she saw your names over and over again in despatches, and I have been like a little peacock. Your doings have been the talk of every one round here, and I am sure that if they had known you had been coming, the village would have put up a triumphal arch, and presented you with an address."

"Thank goodness, they did not know it then," Tom said, "for it would have been a deal worse to stand than the fire of a French battery. Well, Rhoda, and now as to yourself; so you have really been always very happy with aunt?"

"Very happy," Rhoda said; "she is most kind and indulgent, and so that I attend to her little fancies, I can do just as I like. I have had lessons regularly from the rector's eldest daughter, who has been educated for a governess; and in every respect, aunt is all that is kind. Fancy her being afraid of Sam eating Minnie."

After chatting for upwards of an hour, they went into the house, and the rest of the day was spent in talking over all that had happened since they left. Sam was in the kitchen where he made himself very much at home, and although Hannah and the cook were at first rather awed by his size, his black face and rolling eyes, they were soon pacified by his good humor and readiness to make himself useful, and were wonderfully interested by his long stories about what "Massas" had done in the war.

Miss Scudamore, who was a little uneasy as to how things would go on in the kitchen, made some excuse for going in once or twice in the course of the evening. She found things going on much better that she had expected, indeed so much better, that after Rhoda had gone up to bed, where Peter had two hours before betaken himself, she said to Tom as he was lighting his candle, "One minute, nephew; I could not speak before Rhoda, but I wanted to say something to you about your negro. I have heard that all soldiers are very much given to make love, and we know from Shakespeare, that Othello, who was black too, you will remember, nephew, made love to Desdemona, which shows that color does not make so much difference as one would think. Now I do hope your man will not make love to Hannah, I don't think she would like it, my dear, and yet you know she might; one never knows what women will do; they are always making fools of themselves," she added angrily, thinking at the moment how a young girl she had trained up as a cook had, after being with her three years, left a few weeks before to marry the village blacksmith, "and I should be sorry to lose Hannah. She has been with us more than twenty years. If he must fall in love with one, my dear, let it be the cook."

Tom had a great command of his countenance, but he had great difficulty in steadying his muscles. After a moment or two he said, "I will give Sam a hint, aunt, if it becomes necessary, but I do not think you need fear. I do not fancy Sam is matrimonially inclined at present, and he wouldn't leave us even to marry Desdemona herself. Good night, aunt."

So saying, Tom went upstairs, where he repeated to Peter, who was still awake, his conversation with his aunt, and the two went into shouts of laughter over the idea of Sam making love to the prim Hannah.

The next six months passed over quietly and happily. The boys were made a great deal of by the whole county, and Miss Scudamore was greatly gratified at the name and credit they had gained for themselves. She no longer worried about them, but as Rhoda declared, quite spoiled them, and as Sam made no attempt to win the love of the faithful Hannah, there was no cloud to mar the pleasure of the holiday.

CHAPTER XV. CIUDAD RODRIGO AND BADAJOS.

It was in the beginning of December, 1811, that the Scudamores again sailed up the Tagus to Lisbon, after an absence of just six months. When they had passed the medical board, they were transferred from the unattached list to the 52d Regiment, which was, fortunately for them, also in Spain. No events of great importance had taken place during their absence. Wellington, after the battles of Fuentes d'Onoro and Albuera, had been compelled to fall back again to the frontier in the face of greatly superior forces, and had maintained his old position on the Coa till the approach of winter compelled the French to retire into the interior, where they had their magazines and depôts.

The Scudamores found that the 52d were encamped on the Agueda, and they at once prepared to go up country to join them. Their chargers—presents from their aunt on leaving—were fresh and vigorous, and they purchased a strong country horse for Sambo, who, thanks to some practice which he had had in England, was now able to cut a respectable figure on horseback. A few hours were sufficient to make their preparations, and at noon on the day after landing, they mounted, and, followed by Sam, accompanied by a muleteer and two mules carrying their baggage, they started from the hotel at which they had put up.

As they rode down the main street they saw several mounted officers approaching, and at once recognized in the leader the commander-in-chief, who had just arrived from the front to pay one of his flying visits, to endeavor to allay the jealousies in the Portuguese Council, and to insist upon the food which the British Government was actually paying for, being supplied to the starving Portuguese soldiers. Drawing their horses aside, they saluted Lord Wellington as he rode past. He glanced at them keenly, as was his custom, and evidently recognized them as he returned the salute.

When he had passed, they turned their horses and continued their way. They had not gone fifty yards, however, when an officer came up at a gallop. Lord Wellington wished them to call at his quarters in an hour's time.

There are few things more annoying than, after having got through all the trouble of packing and getting fairly on the road, to be stopped; but there was no help for it, and the boys rode back to their hotel again, where, putting up their horses, they told Sam not to let the muleteer leave, for they should probably be on the road again in an hour.

At the appointed time they called at the head-quarters, and giving their cards to two officers on duty, took their seats in the anteroom. It now became evident to them that their chance of an early interview was not great, and that they would in all probability be obliged to pass another night in Madrid. Portuguese grandees passed in and out, staff officers of rank entered and left, important business was being transacted, and the chance of two Line captains having an interview with the commander-in-chief appeared but slight. Two hours passed wearily, and then an orderly sergeant came into the room and read out from a slip of paper the names "Captain Thomas Scudamore; Captain Peter Scudamore. This way, if you please," he added, as the boys rose in answer to their names, and he led the way into a room where a colonel on the staff was seated before a table covered with papers.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I have news which I think will be pleasant to you both. Lord Wellington has not forgotten the services you rendered in carrying his communications to the guerilla chiefs. Your reports were clear and concise, and your knowledge of Spanish especially valuable. Lord Beresford, too, has reported most favorably of your conduct while with him. There happen to be two vacancies on his staff, and he has desired me to fill them up with your names."

Although the Scudamores would in some respects rather have remained with their regiment, yet they could not refuse an honor which was generally coveted as being a post in which an active officer had plenty of opportunities of distinguishing himself, and which was certain to lead to speedy promotion. They accordingly expressed their warm thanks for the honor which Lord Wellington had done them.

"Are you well mounted?" Colonel Somerset asked.

"We have one capital charger each," Tom said.

"You will want another," Colonel Somerset remarked. "There are a lot of remounts landed to-day. Here is an order to Captain Halket, the officer in charge. Choose any two you like. The amount can be stopped from your pay. How about servants; you are entitled to two each?"

"We have one man of the Norfolk Rangers—a very faithful fellow, who has returned with us from leave; if he could be transferred, he would do for us both if we had a cavalry man each for our horses."

The colonel at once wrote an order for Sam's transfer from his regiment on detached service, and also one to the officer commanding a cavalry regiment stationed in Madrid, to supply them with two troopers as orderlies.

"May I ask, sir, if we are likely to stay in Madrid long—as, if so, we will look out for quarters?" Tom asked.

"No; the general returns to-morrow, or next day at latest, to Almeida, and of course you will accompany him. Oh, by-the-by, Lord Wellington will be glad if you will dine with him to-day—sharp six. By-the-way, you will want to get staff uniform. There is the address of a Spanish tailor, who has fitted out most of the men who have been appointed here. He works fast, and will get most of the things you want ready by to-morrow night. Don't get more things than are absolutely necessary—merely undress suits. Excuse my asking how are you off for money? I will give you an order on the paymaster if you like."

Tom replied that they had plenty of money, which indeed they had, for their aunt had given them so handsome a present upon starting, that they had tried to persuade her to be less generous, urging that they really had no occasion for any money beyond their pay. She had insisted, however, upon their accepting two checks, saying that one never knew what was wanted, and it was always useful to have a sum to fall back on in case of need.

Two days later the Scudamores, in their new staff uniforms, were, with some six or eight other officers, riding in the suite of Lord Wellington on the road to the Coa. The lads thought they had never had a more pleasant time, the weather was fine and the temperature delightful, their companions, all older somewhat than themselves, were yet all young men in high health and spirits. The pace was good, for Lord Wellington was a hard rider, and time was always precious with him. At the halting-places the senior officers of the staff kept together, while the aides-de-camp made up a mess of their own, always choosing a place as far away as possible from that of the chief, so that they could laugh, joke, and even sing, without fear of disturbing his lordship.

Sam soon became a high favorite with the light-hearted young fellows, and his services as forager for the mess were in high esteem.

Three days of hard riding took them to Almeida, where the breaches caused by the great explosion had been repaired, and the place put into a defensible position. Tom and Peter had been afraid that there would be at least four months of enforced inactivity before the spring; but they soon found that the post of aide-de-camp to Wellington was no sinecure. For the next month they almost lived in the saddle. The greater portion of the English army was indeed lying on the Agueda, but there were detached bodies of British and large numbers of Portuguese troops at various points along the whole line of the Portuguese frontier, and with the commanders of these Lord Wellington was in constant communication.

Towards the end of December some large convoys of heavy artillery arrived at Almeida, but every one supposed that they were intended to fortify this place, and none, even of those most in the confidence of the commander-in-chief, had any idea that a winter campaign was about to commence. The French were equally unsuspicious of the truth. Twice as strong as the British, they dreamt not that the latter would take the offensive, and the French marshals had scattered their troops at considerable distances from the frontier in winter quarters.

Upon the last day of the year the Scudamores both happened to have returned to the front—Tom from Lisbon, and Peter from a long ride to a distant Portuguese division. There was a merry party gathered round a blazing fire in the yard of the house where they, with several other aides-de-camp, were quartered. Some fifty officers of all ranks were present, for a general invitation had been issued to all unattached officers in honor of the occasion. Each brought in what liquor he could get hold of, and any provisions which he had been able to procure, and the evening was one of boisterous fun and jollity. In the great kitchen blazed a fire, before which chickens and ducks were roasting, turkeys and geese cut up in pieces for greater rapidity of cooking, were grilling over the fire, and as they came off the gridiron they were taken round by the soldier-servants to their masters as they sat about on logs of wood, boxes, and other substitutes for chairs. Most of the officers present had already supped, and the late-comers were finishing their frugal meal, after which the soldiers would take their turn. There was a brewing of punch and an uncorking of many a bottle of generous wine; then the song and laugh went round, and all prepared to usher in the new year joyously, when a colonel of the staff, who had been dining with Lord Wellington, entered. "Here's a seat, colonel," was shouted in a dozen places, but he shook his head and held up his hand.

"Gentlemen, I am sorry to disturb you, but orders must be obeyed. Villiers, Hogan, Scudamores both, Esdaile, Cooper, and Johnson, here are despatches which have to be taken off at once. Gentlemen, I should recommend you all to look to your horses. All attached to the transport had better go to their head-quarters for orders."

"What is up, colonel?" was the general question.

"The army moves forward at daybreak. We are going to take Ciudad."

A cheer of surprise and delight burst from all. There was an emptying of glasses, a pouring out of one more bumper to success, and in five minutes the court was deserted save by some orderlies hastily devouring the interrupted supper, and ere long the tramp of horses could be heard, as the Scudamores and their comrades dashed off in different directions with their despatches.

The next morning a bridge was thrown over the Agueda at Marialva, six miles below Ciudad, but the investment was delayed, owing to the slowness and insufficiency of the transport. Ciudad Rodrigo was but a third-class fortress, and could have been captured by the process of a regular siege with comparatively slight loss to the besiegers. Wellington knew, however, that he could not afford the time for a regular siege. Long before the approaches could have been made, and the breaches effected according to rule, the French marshals would have been up with overwhelming forces.

Beginning the investment on the 7th, Wellington determined that it must be taken at all costs in twenty-four days, the last day of the month being the very earliest date at which, according to his calculations, any considerable body of French could come up to its relief.

Ciudad lies on rising ground on the bank of the Agueda. The fortifications were fairly strong, and being protected by a very high glacis, it was difficult to effect a breach in them. The glacis is the smooth ground outside the ditch. In well-constructed works the walls of the fortification rise but very little above the ground beyond, from which they are separated by a broad and deep ditch. Thus the ground beyond the ditch, that is, the glacis, covers the walls from the shot of a besieger, and renders it extremely difficult to reach them. In the case of Ciudad, however, there were outside the place two elevated plateaux, called the great and small Teson: Guns placed on these could look down upon Ciudad, and could therefore easily breach the walls. These, then, were the spots from which Wellington determined to make the attack. The French, however, were aware of the importance of the position, and had erected on the higher Teson an inclosed and palisadoed redoubt, mounting two guns and a howitzer. A great difficulty attending the operation was that there were neither fuel nor shelter to be obtained on the right bank of the river, and the weather set in very cold, with frost and snow, at the beginning of the siege. Hence the troops had to be encamped on the left bank, and each division, as its turn came, to occupy the trenches for twenty-four hours, took cooked provisions with it, and waded across the Agueda.

On the 8th, Pack's division of Portuguese and the light division waded the river three miles above the fortress, and, making a circuit took up a place near the great Teson. There they remained quiet all day. The French seeing that the place was not yet entirely invested paid but little heed to them. At nightfall, however, Colonel Colborne, with two companies from each of the regiments of the light division, attacked the redoubt of San Francisco with such a sudden rush that it was carried with the loss of only twenty-four men, the defenders, few and unprepared, being all taken prisoners. Scarcely, however, was the place captured than every gun of Ciudad which could be brought to bear upon it opened with fury. All night, under a hail of shot and shell, the troops labored steadily, and by daybreak the first parallel, that is to say, a trench protected by a bank of earth six hundred yards in length was sunk three feet deep. The next day the first division, relieved the light division.

Tom and Peter, now that the army was stationary, had an easier time of it, and obtained leave to cross the river to see the operations. The troops had again to wade through the bitter cold water, and at any other time would have grumbled rarely at the discomfort. When they really engage in the work of war, however, the British soldier cares for nothing, and holding up their rifles, pouches and haversacks, to keep dry, the men crossed the river laughing and joking. There was but little done all day, for the fire of the enemy was too fast and deadly for men to work under it in daylight. At night the Scudamores left their horses with those of the divisional officers, and accompanied the troops into the trenches, to learn the work which had there to be done. Directly it was dusk twelve hundred men fell to work to construct their batteries. The night was dark, and it was strange to the Scudamores to hear the thud of so many picks and shovels going, to hear now and then a low spoken order, but to see nothing save when the flash of the enemy's guns momentarily lit up the scene. Every half minute or so the shot, shell, and grape came tearing through the air, followed occasionally by a low cry or a deep moan. Exciting as it was for a time, the boys having no duty, found it difficult long to keep awake, and presently dozed off—at first to wake with a start whenever a shell fell close, but presently to sleep soundly until dawn. By that time the batteries, eighteen feet thick, were completed.

On the 10th the fourth division, and on the 11th the third, carried on the works, but were nightly disturbed, not only by the heavy fire from the bastions, but from some guns which the French had mounted on the convent of San Francisco in the suburb on the left. Little was effected in the next two days, for the frost hardened the ground and impeded the work. On the night of the 13th the Santa Cruz convent was carried and the trenches pushed forward, and on the next afternoon the breaching batteries opened fire with twenty-five guns upon the points of the wall at which it had been determined to make the breaches, while two cannons kept down the fire of the French guns at the convent of San Francisco. The French replied with more than fifty pieces, and all night the tremendous fire was kept up on both sides without intermission. Just at daybreak the sound of musketry mingled with the roar of cannon, as the 40th Regiment attacked and carried the convent of San Francisco. Through the 16th, 17th, and 18th the artillery duel continued, some times one side, sometimes the other obtaining the advantage; but during each night the trenches of the besiegers were pushed forward, and each day saw the breaches in the ramparts grow larger and larger. On the 19th the breaches were reported as practicable—that is, that it would be possible for men to scramble up the fallen rubbish to the top, and orders were therefore given for the assault for that night.

The attack was to be made at four points simultaneously; the 5th, 94th, and 77th were to attack from the convent of Santa Cruz, to make for the ditch, enter it, and work their way along to the great breach; Mackinnon's brigade of the third division was to attack the great breach from the front; the light division posted behind the convent of San Francisco were to attack from the left, and make their way to the small breach; while a false attack, to be converted into a real one if the resistance was slight, was to be made by Pack's Portuguese at the St. Jago gate at the opposite side of the town. As night fell the troops moved into their position, and Lord Wellington went to the convent of San Francisco, from whose roof he could survey the operations. The Scudamores, with the rest of the staff, took up their places behind him. Suddenly there was a shout on the far right, followed by a sound of confused cheering and firing, while flashes of flame leapt out along the walls, and the guns of the place opened fire with a crash. Now the 5th, 94th, and 77th rushed with great swiftness along the ditch, when, at the foot of the great breach, they were met by the third division. Together they poured up the breach, and the roar of musketry was tremendous. Once at the top of the breach, however, they made no progress. From a trench which had been cut beyond it, a ring of fire broke out, while muskets flashed from every window in the houses near. It was evident that some serious obstacle had been encountered, and that the main attack was arrested.

"This is terrible," Peter said, as almost breathless they watched the storm of fire on and around the breach. "This is a thousand times worse than a battle. It is awful to think how the shot must be telling on that dense mass. Can nothing be done?"

"Hurrah! There go the light division at the small breach," Tom exclaimed, as the French fire broke out along the ramparts in that quarter. A violent cheer came up even above the din from the great breach, but no answering fire lights the scene, for Major Napier, who commanded, had forbidden his men to load, telling them to trust entirely to the bayonet. There was no delay here; the firing of the French ceased almost immediately, as with a fierce rush the men of the light division bounded up the ruins and won the top of the breach. For a moment or two there was a pause, for the French opened so fierce a fire from either side, that the troops wavered. The officers sprang to the front, the soldiers followed with the bayonet, and the French, unable to stand the fierce onslaught, broke and fled into the town. Then the men of the light division, rushing along the walls, took the French who were defending the great breach in rear, and as these gave way, the attacking party swept across the obstacles which, had hitherto kept them, and the town was won. Pack's Portuguese had effected an entrance at the St. Jago gate, which they found almost deserted, for the garrison was weak, and every available man had been taken for the defence of the breaches.

Thus was Ciudad Rodrigo taken after twelve days' siege, with a loss of twelve hundred men and ninety officers, of which six hundred and fifty men and sixty officers fell in that short, bloody fight at the breaches. Among the killed was General Craufurd, who had commanded at the fight on the Coa.

Upon entering the town three days afterwards, at the termination of the disgraceful scene of riot and pillage with which the British soldier, there as at other places, tarnished the laurels won by his bravery in battle, the boys went to the scene of the struggle, and then understood the cause of the delay upon the part of the stormers. From the top of the breach there was a perpendicular fall of sixteen feet, and the bottom of this was planted with sharp spikes, and strewn with the fragments of shells which the French had rolled down into it. Had it not been for the light division coming up, and taking the defenders—who occupied the loopholed and fortified houses which commanded this breach—in rear, the attack here could never have succeeded.

The next few days were employed in repairing the breaches, and putting the place again in a state of defence, as it was probable that Marmont might come up and besiege it. The French marshal, however, when hurrying to the relief of the town, heard the news of its fall, and as the weather was very bad for campaigning, and provisions short, he fall back again to his winter quarters, believing that Wellington would, content with his success, make no fresh movement until the spring. The English general, however, was far too able a strategist not to profit by the supineness of his adversary, and, immediately Ciudad Rodrigo was taken, he began to make preparations for the siege of Badajos, a far stronger fortress than Ciudad, and defended by strong detached forts. Three days after the fall of Rodrigo General Hill came up with his division; to this the Norfolk Rangers now belonged, and the Scudamores had therefore the delight of meeting all their old friends again. They saw but little of them, however, for they were constantly on the road to Lisbon with despatches, every branch of the service being now strained to get the battering-train destined for the attack on Badajos to the front, while orders were sent to Silviera, Trant, Wilson, Lecca, and the other partisan leaders, to hold all the fords and defiles along the frontier, so as to prevent the French from making a counter-invasion of Portugal.

On the 11th of March the army arrived at Elvas, and on the 15th a pontoon bridge was thrown across the Guadiana. The following day the British troops crossed the river, and invested Badajos, with fifteen thousand men, while Hill and Graham, with thirty thousand more moved forward, so as to act as a covering army, in case the French should advance to raise the siege. Badajos was defended by five thousand men, under General Phillipson, a most able and energetic commander, who had in every way strengthened the defences, and put them in a position to offer an obstinate resistance.

Before attacking the fortress it was necessary to capture one of the outlying forts, and that known as the Picurina was selected, because the bastion of the Trinidad, which lay behind it, was the weakest portion of the fortress. The trenches were commenced against this on the night of the 17th, and, although the French made some vigorous sorties, the works progressed so rapidly that all was ready for an assault on the forts on the 25th, a delay of two days having been occasioned by the French taking guns across the river, which swept the trenches, and rendered work impossible, until a division was sent round to drive in the French guns and invest the fortress on that side. The Picurina was strong, and desperately defended, but it was captured after a furious assault, which lasted one hour, and cost nineteen officers and three hundred men. It was not, however, until next evening that the fort could be occupied, for the guns of the town poured such a hail of shot and shell into it, that a permanent footing could not be obtained in it. Gradually, day by day, the trenches were driven nearer to the doomed city, and the cannon of the batteries worked day and night to establish a breach. Soult was known to be approaching, but he wanted to gather up all his available forces, as he believed the town capable of holding out for another month, at least. Still he was approaching, and, although the three breaches were scarcely yet practicable, and the fire of the town by no means overpowered, Wellington determined upon an instant assault, and on the night of the 6th of April the troops prepared for what turned out to be the most terrible and bloody assault in the annals of the British army. There were no less than six columns of attack, comprising in all eighteen thousand men. Picton, on the right with the third division was to cross the Rivillas and storm the castle. Wilson, with the troops in the trenches, was to attack San Roque. In the center the fourth and light division, under Colville and Barnard, were to assault the breaches; and on the left Leith, with the fifth division, was to make a false attack upon the fort of Pardaleras, and a real attack upon the bastion of San Vincente by the river side. Across the river the Portugese division, under Power, was to attack the works at the head of the bridge. The night was dark and clouded, and all was as still as death outside the town, when a lighted carcass, that is a large iron canister filled with tar and combustibles, fell close to the third division, and, exposing their ranks, forced them to commence the attack before the hour appointed. Crossing the Rivillas by a narrow bridge, under a tremendous fire, the third division assaulted the castle, and, although their scaling-ladders were over and over again hurled down, the stormers at last obtained a footing, and the rest of the troops poured in and the castle was won. A similar and more rapid success attended the assault on San Roque, which was attacked so suddenly and violently, that it was taken with scarce any resistance. In the mean time the assaults upon the breaches had commenced, and it is best to give the account of this terrible scene in the words of its eloquent and graphic historian, as the picture is one of the most vivid that was ever drawn.

"All this time the tumult at the breaches was such as if the very earth had been rent asunder, and its central fires bursting upwards uncontrolled. The two divisions had reached the glacis just as the firing at the castle commenced, and the flash of a single musket, discharged from the covered-way as a signal, showed them that the French were ready; yet no stir was heard and darkness covered the breaches. Some hay-packs were thrown, some ladders placed, and the forlorn hopes and storming parties of the light division, five hundred in all, descended into the ditch without opposition; but then a bright flame shooting upwards displayed all the terrors of the scene. The ramparts, crowded with dark figures and glittering arms were on one side, on the other the red columns of the British, deep and broad, were coming on like streams of burning lava. It was the touch of the magician's wand, for a crash of thunder followed, and with incredible violence the storming parties were dashed to pieces by the explosion of hundreds of shells and powder-barrels. For an instant the light division stood on the brink of the ditch, amazed at the terrific sight; but then, with a shout that matched even the sound of the explosion, the men flew down the ladders, or, disdaining their aid, leaped, reckless of the depth, into the gulf below—and at the same moment, amidst a blaze of musketry that dazzled the eyes, the fourth division came running in, and descended with a like fury. There were only five ladders for the two columns, which were close together; and a deep cut, made in the bottom of the ditch as far as the counter-guard of the Trinidad, was filled with water from the inundation. Into that watery snare the head of the fourth division fell, and it is said above a hundred of the fusiliers, the men of Albuera, were there smothered. Those who followed checked not, but, as if such a disaster had been expected, turned to the left, and thus came upon the face of the unfinished ravelin, which, being rough and broken, was mistaken for the breach, and instantly covered with men; yet a wide and deep chasm was still between them and the ramparts, from whence came a deadly fire, wasting their ranks. Thus baffled, they also commenced a rapid discharge of musketry and disorder ensued; for the men of the light division, whose conducting engineer had been disabled early and whose flank was confined by an unfinished ditch intended to cut off the bastion of Santa Maria, rushed towards the breaches of the curtain and the Trinidad, which were, indeed, before them, but which the fourth division had been destined to storm. Great was the confusion, for the ravelin was quite crowded with men of both divisions; and while some continued to fire, others jumped down and ran towards the breach; many also passed between the ravelin and the counterguard of the Trinidad, the two divisions got mixed, the reserves, which should have remained at the quarries, also came pouring in, until the ditch was quite filled, the rear still crowding forward, and all cheering vehemently. The enemy's shouts also were loud and terrible, and the bursting of shells, and of grenades, and the roaring of guns from the flanks, answered by the iron howitzers from the battery of the parallel, the heavy roll, and horrid explosion of the powder-barrels, the whizzing flight of the blazing splinters, the loud exhortations of the officers, and the continual clatter of the muskets, made a maddening din. Now a multitude bounded up the great breach, as if driven by a whirlwind, but across the top glittered a range of sword-blades, sharp-pointed, keen-edged on both sides, and firmly fixed in ponderous beams chained together, and set deep in the ruins; and for ten feet in front the ascent was covered with loose planks, studded with sharp iron points, on which, feet being set, the planks moved, and the unhappy soldiers, falling forward on the spikes, rolled down upon the ranks behind. Then the Frenchmen, shouting at the success of their stratagem, and, leaping forward, plied their shot with terrible rapidity, for every man had several muskets, and each musket, in addition to its ordinary charge, contained a small cylinder of wood, stuck full of wooden slugs, which scattered like hail when they were discharged. Once and again the assailants rushed up the breaches, but always the sword-blades, immovable and impassable, stopped their charge, and the hissing shells and thundering powder-barrels exploded unceasingly. Hundreds of men had fallen, hundreds more were dropping, still, the heroic officers called aloud for new trials, and sometimes followed by many, sometimes by a few, ascended the ruins; and so furious were the men themselves, that, in one of these charges, the rear strove to push the foremost on to the sword-blades, willing even to make a bridge of their writhing bodies, but the others frustrated the attempt by dropping down; and men fell so fast from the shot, it was hard to know who went down voluntarily, who were stricken and many stooped unhurt that never rose again. Vain also would it have been to break through the sword-blades, for the trench and parapet behind the breach were finished, and the assailants, crowded into even a narrower space than the ditch was, would still have been separated from their enemies, and the slaughter would have continued. At the beginning of this dreadful conflict Andrew Barnard had, with prodigious efforts, separated his division from the other, and preserved some degree of military array; but now the tumult was such, no command would be heard distinctly except by those close at hand, and the mutilated carcasses heaped on each other, and the wounded struggling to avoid being trampled upon, broke the formations; order was impossible! Officers of all ranks, followed more or less numerously by the men, were seen to start out as if struck by sudden madness, and rash into the breach, which, yawning and glittering with steel, seemed like the mouth of a huge dragon belching forth smoke and flame. In one of these attempts, Colonel Macleod, of the 43rd, a young man whose feeble body would have been quite unfit for war if it had not been sustained by an unconquerable spirit, was killed; wherever his voice was heard his soldiers had gathered, and with such a strong resolution did he lead them up the fatal ruins that, when one behind him, in falling, plunged a bayonet into his back, he complained, not; but, continuing his course, was shot dead within a yard of the sword-blades. Yet there was no want of gallant leaders, or desperate followers, until two hours passed in these vain efforts had convinced the troops the breach of the Trinidad was impregnable; and, as the opening in the curtain, although less strong, was retired, and the approach to it impeded by deep holes and cuts made in the ditch, the soldiers did not much notice it after the partial failure of one attack which had been made early. Gathering in dark groups, and leaning on their muskets, they looked up with sullen desperation at the Trinidad, while the enemy, stepping out on the ramparts, and aiming their shots by the light of the fire-balls which they threw over, asked, as their victims fell, 'Why they did not come into Badajos?' In this dreadful situation, while the dead were lying in heaps, and others continually falling, the wounded crawling about to get some shelter from the merciless shower above, and withal a sickening stench from the burnt flesh of the slain, Captain Nicholas, of the engineers, was observed by Lieutenant Shaw, of the 43rd, making incredible efforts to force his way with a few men into the Santa Maria Bastion. Shaw immediately collected fifty soldiers, of all regiments, and joined him, and although there was a deep cut along the foot of that breach also, it was instantly passed, and these two young officers led their gallant band, with a rush, up the ruins; but when they had gained two-thirds of the ascent, a concentrated fire of musketry and grape dashed nearly the whole dead to the earth. Nicholas was mortally wounded, and the intrepid Shaw stood alone! With inexpressible coolness he looked at his watch, and saying it was too late to carry the reaches, rejoined the masses at the other attack. After this no further effort was made at any point, and the troops remained passive but unflinching beneath the enemy's shot, which streamed without intermission; for, of the riflemen on the glacis many leaped early into the ditch and joined in the assault, and the rest, raked by a cross-fire of grape from the distant bastions, baffled in their aim by the smoke and flames from the explosions, and too few in number, entirely failed to quell the French musketry. About midnight, when two thousand brave men had fallen, Wellington, who was on a height close to the quarries, ordered the remainder to retire and re-form for a second assault; he had heard the castle was taken, but thinking the enemy would still resist in the town, was resolved to assail the breaches again. This retreat from the ditch was not effected without further carnage and confusion. The French fire never slackened. A cry arose that the enemy was making a sally from the distant flanks, and there was a rush towards the ladders. Then the groans and lamentations of the wounded, who could not move and expected to be slain, increased, and many officers who had not heard of the order, endeavored to stop the soldiers from going back; some would even have removed the ladders but were unable to break the crowd."

While this terrible scene was passing, the victory had been decided elsewhere. The capture of the castle by Picton would, in itself, have caused the fall of the town upon the following day, but Leith, with the fifth division, after hard fighting, scaled the St. Vincente bastion, and came up through the town and took the defenders of the breaches in the rear. Then the French gave way, the British poured in, and the dreadful scenes which had marked the fall of Ciudad Rodrigo were repeated, and even surpassed. Up to the present day the name of an Englishman is coupled with a curse in the town of Badajos. At this siege, as at the last, the Scudamores acted the part of lookers on, and although they bitterly regretted it, it was well for them that it was so. The capture of Badajos cost the allied army five thousand men, of whom three thousand five hundred fell on the night of the assault. Each of the divisions which attacked the breaches lost over twelve hundred men, and the 52nd Regiment, who formed part of the light division, lost their full share. Among the ranks of the officers the slaughter was particularly great, and scarce one escaped without a wound. The Scudamores would fain have volunteered to join their regiment in the assault, but it was well known that Lord Wellington would not allow staff officers to go outside their own work. Therefore they had looked on with beating hearts and pale faces, and with tears in their eyes, at that terrible fight at the Triudad, and had determined that when morning came they would resign their staff appointments and ask leave to join their regiment. But when morning came, and the list of the killed and wounded was sent in, and they went down with a party to the breach to collect the wounded, they could not but feel that they had in all probability escaped death, or what a soldier fears more, mutilation. "After all, Tom," Peter said, "we have done some active service, and our promotion shows that we are not cowards; there can be no reason why we should not do our duty as the chief has marked it out for us, especially when it is quite as likely to lead to rapid promotion as is such a murderous business as this." After this no more was said about resigning the staff appointment, which gave them plenty of hard work, and constant change of scene, whereas had they remained with the regiment they would often have been stationed for months in one place without a move.

CHAPTER XVI. SALAMANCA.

The great triumphs of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajos did not lead to the rapid successes which Wellington had hoped. The French generals, on hearing of the loss of the latter fortress, again fell back, and Wellington was so much hampered by shortness of money, by the inefficiency, obstinacy, and intrigues of the Portuguese Government, and by want of transport, that it was nearly three months before he could get everything in readiness for an advance into Spain. At last all was prepared, and on the 13th of June the army once more crossed the Agueda and marched towards the Tamar in four columns. On the 17th it was within six miles of Salamanca, and Marshal Marmont, unable for the moment to stem the tide of invasion, evacuated the city, which that evening blazed with illuminations, the people being half wild with joy at their approaching deliverance. The French, however, had not entirely departed, for eight hundred men still held some very strong forts overlooking and guarding the city.

These forts held out desperately; the British battering train was weak, and upon the 23d Marmont, having received considerable reinforcements, advanced to raise the siege. Wellington, however, refused to be tempted to leave his trenches to deliver a general battle, but faced the enemy with a portion of his army while he continued the siege.

Marmont, upon his part, believing that the forts could hold out for fifteen days, put off the attack, as he knew that large reinforcements were coming up. His calculations were frustrated by one of the forts taking fire on the 27th, when an assault was delivered, and the whole of the forts surrendered; Marmont at once fell back across the Douro, there to await the arrival of his reinforcements.

Wellington, on his part, followed slowly, and his army took up a position between Canizal and Castrejon, thereby covering the roads from Toro and Tordesillas, the only points at which the French could cross the river. The reports of the spies all agreed that the former was the place at which the crossing would be made.

On the 16th of July an officer rode into Canizal, at headlong pace, with the news that a reconnoitering party had crossed the Douro that morning near Tordesillas, and had found that place deserted, except by a garrison; and an hour later the news came in that three divisions of the enemy were already across the river at Toro. Five minutes later the Scudamores were on horseback, carrying orders that the whole of the army, with the exception of the fourth and light divisions, which were on the Trabancos, under General Cotton, were to concentrate at Canizal that night. By the morning the movement was accomplished.

The day wore on in somewhat anxious expectation, and towards afternoon Wellington, accompanied by Lord Beresford, and escorted by Alten's, Bock's and Le Marchant's brigades of cavalry, started to make a reconnaissance of the enemy's movements. Caution was needed for the advance, as it was quite uncertain whether the French were pushing on through the open country towards Canizal, or whether they were following the direct road from Toro to Salamanca. Evening closed in, but no signs of the French army were seen, and the party halted about six miles from Toro, and small parties of cavalry were despatched right and left to scour the country, and find out where the enemy had gone.

"It's very strange where the French can have got to," was the remark made, for the fiftieth time among the staff.

The detached parties returned, bringing no news whatever, and Lord Wellington again advanced slowly and cautiously towards Toro. Small parties were pushed on ahead, and presently an officer rode back with the news that he had been as far as the river, and that not a Frenchman was to be seen. It was too late to do any more, and they remained in uncertainty whether the enemy had recrossed the river after making a demonstration, or whether they had marched to their right, so as to make a circuit, and throw themselves between Ciudad Rodrigo and Salamanca, upon the line of communication of the British army.

Lord Wellington, with his staff, took possession of a deserted farm-house, the cavalry picketed their horses round it, and the Scudamores, who had been more than twenty-four hours in the saddle, wrapped themselves in their cloaks, and stretching themselves on the floor, were soon asleep. Just at midnight the sound of a horse's footfall approaching at a gallop was heard, and an officer, who had ridden, without drawing rein, from Canizal, dashed up to the farm.

Five minutes later the whole party were in the saddle again. The news was important, indeed. Marmont had drawn his whole army back across the Toro on the night of the 16th, had marched to Tordesillas, crossed there, and in the afternoon, after a march of fifty miles, had fallen upon Cotton's outposts, and driven them across the Trabancos.

Not a moment's time was lost by Wellington after he received the news; but, unfortunately, six precious hours had already been wasted, owing to the despatches not having reached him at Canizal. With the three brigades of cavalry he set off at once towards Alaejos, while an officer was despatched to Canizal, to order the fifth division to march with all speed to Torrecilla de la Orden, six miles in the rear of Cotton's position at Castrejon.

Four hours' riding brought them to Alaejos, where a halt for two or three hours was ordered, to rest the weary horses and men. Soon after daybreak, however, all thought of sleep was banished by the roar of artillery, which told that Marmont was pressing hard upon Cotton's troops. "To horse!" was the cry, and Lords Wellington and Beresford, with their staff, rode off at full speed towards the scene of action, with the cavalry following hard upon their heels. An hour's ride brought them to the ground. Not much could be seen, for the country was undulating and bare, like the Brighton Downs, and each depression was full of the white morning mist, which wreathed and tossed fantastically from the effects of the discharges of firearms, the movements of masses of men, and the charges of cavalry hidden within it. Upon a crest near at hand were a couple of British guns, with a small escort of horse.

Suddenly, from the mist below, a party of some fifty French horsemen dashed out and made for the guns. The supporting squadron, surprised by the suddenness of the attack, broke and fled; the French followed hard upon them, and just as Lord Wellington, with his staff, gained the crest, pursuers and pursued came upon them, and in pell-mell confusion the whole were borne down to the bottom of the hill. For a few minutes it was a wild mélée. Lords Wellington, Beresford, and their staff, with their swords drawn, were in the midst of the fight, and friends and foes were mingled together, when the leading squadrons of the cavalry from Alaejos came thundering down, and very few of the Frenchmen who had made that gallant charge escaped to tell the tale.

The mists were now rapidly clearing up, and in a short time the whole French army could be seen advancing. They moved towards the British left, and Wellington ordered the troops at once to retire. The British fell back in three columns, and marched for the Guarena, through Torrecilla de la Orden. The French also marched straight for the river, and now one of the most singular sights ever presented in warfare was to be seen.

The hostile armies were marching abreast, the columns being but a few hundred yards apart, the officers on either side waving their hands to each other. For ten miles the armies thus pressed forward the officers urging the men, and these straining every nerve to get first to the river. From time to time the artillery of either side, finding a convenient elevation, would pour a few volleys of grape into the opposing columns, but the position of the two armies, did not often admit of this. Gradually Cotton's men, fresher than the French, who had, in the two previous days, marched fifty miles, gained ground, and, reaching the river, marched across by the ford, the winners of the great race by so little that one division, which halted for a moment to drink, was swept by forty pieces of French artillery, which arrived on the spot almost simultaneously with it.

On the Guarena the British found the remaining divisions of the army, which had been brought up from Canizal. These checked Marmont in an attempt to cross at Vallesa, while the 29th and 40th Regiments, with a desperate bayonet charge, drove Carier's French division back as it attempted to push forward beyond Castrillo. Thus the two armies faced each other on the Guarena, and Marmont had gained absolutely nothing by his false movement at Toro, and his long and skillful detour by Tordesillas.

Quickly the rest of the day passed, as did the one which followed, the troops on both sides resting after their fatigues. Wellington expected to be attacked on the next morning and his army was arranged in two lines ready for the combat. At daybreak, however, Marmont moved his army up the river, crossed at a ford there, and marched straight for Salamanca, thus turning Wellington's right, and threatening his communications. The British at once fell back, and the scene of the previous day was repeated the armies marching along the crest of two parallel hills within musket shot distance of each other.

This time however, the French troops, although they had marched considerably farther than the English proved themselves the best marchers, and when night fell Wellington had the mortification of seeing them in possession of the ford of Huerta on the Tormes, thus securing for Marmont the junction with an army which was approaching under King Joseph, and also the option of either fighting or refusing battle. Wellington felt his position seriously threatened, and sent off a despatch to the Spanish General Castanos, stating his inability to hold his ground, and the probability that he should be obliged to fall back upon Portugal. This letter proved the cause of the victory of Salamanca for it was intercepted by the French, and Marmont, fearing that Wellington would escape him, prepared at once to throw himself upon the road to Ciudad Rodrigo, and thus cut the British line of retreat, in spite of the positive order which he had received from King Joseph not to fight until he himself arrived with his army.

Upon the 21st both armies crossed the Tormes, the French at Alba and Huerta, the British at Aldea Lengua, and San Marta. Upon that day the news reached Wellington that General Chauvel, with 2000 cavalry, and 20 guns, would reach Marmont on the evening of the 22d, or the morning of the 23d, and the English general therefore resolved to retreat, unless Marmont should, by some mistake, give him a chance of fighting to advantage.

Close to the British right, and the French left, were two steep and rugged hills, called the Hermanitos, or Brothers, and soon after daybreak on the 22d, the French seized upon the one nearest to them, while the British took possession of the other. Then, watching each other, the two armies remained until noon, for Wellington could not commence his retreat by daylight; but a long cloud of dust along the road to Ciudad Rodrigo showed that the baggage of the army was already en route for Portugal. Marmont now determined to make a bold stroke to cut off Wellington's retreat, and, although all his troops had not yet arrived, he ordered Maucune, with two divisions, to march round by the left and menace the Ciudad road. It was at three o'clock in the afternoon, and Wellington, who had been up all night, thinking that Marmont would make no move that day, had gone to lie down for an hour or two, when Tom Scudamore who, from an elevated point, was watching the movements of the enemy, hurried in with the news that the French were pushing their left round towards the Ciudad Road.

Wellington leaped to his feet, and hurried to the high ground, where he beheld, with stern satisfaction, that Marmont, in his eagerness to prevent the British escape, had committed the flagrant error of detaching his wing from his main body. Instantly he issued orders for an attack, and the great mass of men upon the British Hermanito moved down upon the plain to attack Maucune in flank, while the third division was ordered to throw itself across his line of march, and to attack him in front. As the advance across the plain would be taken in flank by the fire from the French Hermanito, General Pack was ordered to assail that position directly the British line had passed it.

Marmont, standing on the French Hermanito, was thunder-struck at beholding the plain suddenly covered with enemies, and a tremendous fire was at once opened upon the advancing British. Officer after officer was despatched to hurry up the French troops still upon the march, and when Marmont saw the third division dash across Maucune's path, he was upon the point of hurrying himself to the spot, when a shell burst close to him, and he was dashed to the earth with a broken arm, and two deep wounds in his side.

Thus, at the critical point of the battle, the French army was left without a head.

It was just five o'clock when Pakenham, with the third division, fell like a thunderbolt upon the head of Maucune's troops. These, taken by surprise by this attack, on the part of an enemy whom they had thought to see in full flight, yet fought gallantly, and strove to gain time to open out into order of battle. Bearing onwards, however, with irresistible force, the third division broke the head of the column, and drove it back upon its supports. Meanwhile, the battle raged all along the line; in the plain the fourth division carried the village of Arapiles, and drove back Bonnet's division with the bayonet, and the fifth division attacked Maucune's command in flank, while Pakenham was destroying its front.

Marmont was succeeded in his command by Bonnet, who was also wounded, and Clausel, an able general, took the command. He reinforced Maucune with his own divisions, which had just arrived, and, for a while, restored the battle. Then, past the right and left of Pakenham's division, the British cavalry, under Le Marchant, Anson, and D'Urban, burst through the smoke and dust, rode down twelve hundred of the French infantry, and then dashed on at the line behind. Nobly the charge was pressed, the third division following at a run, and the charge ceased not until the French left was entirely broken and five guns, and two thousand prisoners taken.

But forty minutes had passed since the first gun was fired, and the French defeat was already all but irretrievable, and the third, fourth, and fifth divisions now in line, swept forward as to assured victory. Clausel, however, proved equal to the emergency. He reinforced Bonnet's division with that of Fereij, as yet fresh and unbroken, and, at the same moment, Sarrut's and Brennier's divisions issued from the forest, and formed in the line of battle. Behind them the broken troops of Maucune's two divisions re-formed, and the battle was renewed with terrible force.

Pack, at the same moment, attempted unsuccessfully to carry the French Hermanito by assault with his Portuguese division, and the fate of the battle was again in the balance; the British divisions outnumbered, and outflanked, began to fall back, Generals Cole, Leith, and Spry, were all wounded, and the French cavalry threatened the flank of the line. Wellington, however, had still plenty of reserves in hand, and at this critical moment he launched them at the enemy. The sixth division was brought up from the second line, and hurled at the center of the enemy in a fierce and prolonged charge, while the light and first divisions were directed against the French divisions which were descending from the French Hermanito, and against that of Foy, while the seventh division and the Spaniards were brought up behind the first line. Against so tremendous an assault as this the French could make no stand, and were pushed back in ever increasing disorder to the edge of the forest, where Foy's and Maucune's divisions stood at bay, and covered their retreat in the fast gathering darkness.

Wellington believed that he should capture a great portion of the beaten army, for he relied upon the Castle of Alba de Formes, commanding the ford at that place, being held by the Spaniards, but these had evacuated the place on the preceding day, and had not even informed Wellington that they had done so.

Thus, hidden by the night, the French retreated with but slight loss from the pursuing columns. In the battle the French had forty-two thousand men and seventy-four guns; the Allies forty-six thousand and sixty guns, but of the infantry a division were composed of Spaniards, and these could not be relied upon in any way. It was probably the most rapidly fought action ever known, and a French officer described it as the defeat of forty thousand men in forty minutes. The French loss was over twelve thousand in killed, wounded, and prisoners, and so completely were they dispersed that Clausel a week afterwards could only collect twenty thousand to their standards. It was a great victory, and celebrated as the first which Wellington had gained over the French, for although at Talavera and Busaco he had repulsed the French attack, he was not in either case in a position to do more than hold his ground.

Throughout this short and desperate fight the Scudamores had been fully engaged in conveying orders from one part of the field to another. Shot and shell flew around them in all directions, and yet when they met at the end of the action they found that they had escaped without a scratch. The day following the battle the pursuit began. Had King Joseph's advancing army united with Clausel's broken troops, he could have opposed Wellington's advance with a force far superior in numbers to that defeated at Salamanca. But Joseph, after hesitating, fell back in one direction, Clausel retreated in another, the opportunity for concentration was lost, and Wellington found no foe to bar his way on his triumphant march upon Madrid.

Joseph fell back from the capital as the English approached, leaving some thousands of men in the strong place known as the Retiro, together with an immense amount of arms, ammunition, and military stores of all kinds, all of which, including the troops, fell into the hands of the English within a few days of their arrival at Madrid.

It was a proud moment for the Scudamores, as riding behind Lord

Wellington they entered Madrid on the 14th August.

The city was half mad with joy. Crowds lined the streets, while every window and balcony along the route was filled with ladies, who waved their scarves, clapped their hands, and showered flowers upon the heads of their deliverers. Those below, haggard and half-starved, for the distress in Madrid was intense, thronged round the general's horse, a shouting, weeping throng, kissing his cloak, his horse, any portion of his equipments which they could touch. Altogether it was one of the most glorious, most moving, most enthusiastic welcomes ever offered to a general.

The next fortnight was spent in a round of fêtes, bull fights, and balls, succeeding each other rapidly, but these rejoicings were but a thin veil over the distress which was general throughout the town. The people were starving, and many deaths occurred daily from hunger. The British could do but little to relieve the suffering which they saw around them, for they themselves were—owing to the utter breakdown of all the arrangements undertaken by the Portuguese government, and to the indecision and incapacity of the Home Government—badly fed, and much in arrears of their pay. Nevertheless, the officers did what they could, got up soup kitchens, and fed daily many hundreds of starving wretches.

The heat was excessive and a very great deal of illness took place among the troops. The French were gathering strength in the South, and Wellington determined upon marching north and seizing Burgos, an important place, but poorly fortified. Leaving General Hill with two divisions at Madrid, he marched with the rest of the army upon Burgos.

CHAPTER XVII. CAUGHT IN A TRAP.

So much had passed between the first visit of the Scudamores to Madrid as Spanish peasant boys, and their second entry as captains upon Lord Wellington's staff, that they had scarcely given a thought to the dangers they had at that time run, or to the deadly hatred with which they had inspired the guerilla chief Nunez. When they first rode into the town, indeed, they had spoken of it one to the other, and had agreed that it would be pleasant to be able to walk through the streets without fear of assassination; for even, as Tom said, if the scoundrel had any of his band there, they would not be likely to recognize them in their uniforms.

One evening, however, when they had been in Madrid about a fortnight, an incident happened which caused them to doubt whether their security from the hatred of the guerilla was as complete as they had fancied. They were sitting with a number of other officers in a large café in the Puerta del Sol, the principal square in Madrid, when a girl came round begging; instead of holding out her hand silently with a murmur for charity in the name of the holy Virgin, she began a long story, poured out in rapid language.

Several of the officers present knew more or less Spanish, but they were unable to follow her quick utterances, and one of them said laughingly, "Scudamore, this is a case for you, she is beyond us altogether."

The girl followed the direction of the speaker's eye, and moved across to the brothers, who happened to be sitting next to each other, and began her story again. It was a complicated tale of French oppression, and the boys, interrupting her here and there to ask for details, talked with her for some minutes.

"I believe she is lying," Tom said, in English, "she tells her story as if she had learned it by heart, and gets confused whenever we cross-question her; there, give her a few coppers, I am out of change."

As Peter put his hand into his pocket for the money, Tom glanced up sharply at the girl. She was not, as might have been expected, watching Peter's movements with interest, but was looking inquiringly at some one in the crowd of promenaders. Tom followed her glance, and saw a peasant, standing half-hidden behind a group of passers, nod to her, and motion her to come to him. She waited until Peter put the coins into her hand; then, with a brief word of thanks, she moved away into the crowd.

"Peter, I believe those scoundrels are up to their old game, and that we are watched. Once or twice since we have been sitting here I have noticed a heavy-looking fellow glance at us very closely as he passed, and I just saw the same fellow, who was evidently hiding from observation, nod to that girl, and beckon her away."

"Her story was a lie from beginning to end," Peter said, "and it is quite possible that it was a got-up thing, on purpose to see whether we could talk Spanish well. I don't think any one could swear to us who only saw us then; but the fact of our speaking Spanish so well would go a long way towards settling the point in the mind of any one who suspected us!"

"We must be careful in future, Peter, and avoid quiet streets after dark, and keep a sharp look-out at all times, or we shall get a knife between our ribs, as sure as fate."

Time, however, passed on without anything occurring to give any support to their suspicion, they could not discover that they were being watched, or their footsteps dogged. They, nevertheless, continued to be, to a certain extent, upon their guard after dark; in the daytime the number of English soldiers about the streets was so large that there was very little danger of any attack.

On the evening before the army marched for Burgos, Tom, whose turn it was for duty at head-quarters, received a despatch, to carry to one of the generals of division encamped a mile or two out of the town. He did not need to go round to his quarters, as his horse was standing saddled in readiness in the courtyard. He was but an hour away, and, as he knew that he would not be farther required, he rode round to the house where he was quartered. His orderly came forward at his shout, and took his horse, and he mounted the broad stairs of the house, which was a very handsome one, and rang at the door on the second floor; for in Spain, as indeed almost all over the Continent, each floor is a separate dwelling.

Sam opened it.

"Nothing new, Sam?"

"No, sar, nothing new."

Tom passed through the sitting-room, and entered Peter's bedroom. It was in darkness.

"Asleep, old man?" he asked.

There was no answer. He came back into the sitting room, where two lamps were burning, and looked at his watch. "Half-past eleven. He is off to bed early. Sam, bring me some supper if you have got anything, I am hungry."

Sam came in, in a minute, with a small tray.

"How long has my brother been gone to bed?"

"Me did not know he gone to bed at all," Sam said, in surprise. "Me thought Massa Peter been reading book."

Tom took up a light, and went into the bedroom, it was empty. "Sam, there's something wrong here!" Tom said sharply, for a sudden sensation of alarm seized him. "Peter is not here."

Sam came into the bedroom, and looked round in astonishment. "What become of him?" he said. "Where de debil he got to?"

"That's what I want to know, Sam. Now, then, just give all your attention. What time did he come in?"

"He came in at about nine o'clock, sar, with three other officers, Captain Farquharson, Major Heriot, and Captain Brown. Dey have bottle wine, and sit here and smoke. Well, Massa Tom, Sam sit in his room, and smoke him pipe, and he doze off a little; after a bit, may be ten o'clock, Sam hear dem move, and go to door; they were saying good-night, when Massa Peter said, 'I will just go down to see that the horses are all right.' Den dey all go down togeder."

"Did they shut the door?" Tom asked.

"No, Massa Tom, dey did not shut de door, because, a little while after, Sam, he wake up wid little start; he hear de door bang, and 'spose Massa Peter come back. Sam go off to sleep again till you ring bell."

Tom looked very grave. "What can Peter have gone off with Farquharson at this time of night for?"

Then he looked round the room, and said, almost with a cry, "Sam, look there, there are his cap and sword. He has not gone out with the others at all. What can have happened?"

Tom first glanced into his own room, and then ran downstairs in haste, followed by Sam, who was now also thoroughly alarmed. The orderly had just made the horse comfortable for the night, and was leaving the stable.

"Johnstone, when did you see my brother?"

"Well, it may be an hour, or an hour and a half back, sir. He came down with some other officers; I did not see them, but I heard them talking for a minute or two before he came in to look at the horses, and he asked if they were all right, and said they must be saddled by half-past five, and then he went up again—at least, I suppose he went up, for he had not got his cap on. Is anything wrong, sir?"

"I don't know, I am afraid to think," Tom said, in a dazed way. "He is not upstairs; he has not gone out; what can have become of him?"

He stood quiet for a minute or two, and then, with a great effort, brought his thoughts within control again. "The first thing is to assure ourselves whether he returned upstairs. Sam, fetch a lamp, the stairs are not lighted, and I want to examine them."

Sam soon returned with the lamp, and Tom, beginning at the street door, examined every step carefully all the way up, Sam and the soldier following him.

"There has been no scuffle on the stairs," he said; then he went through the little hall into the sitting-room again. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. Then he looked at the floor, which was of polished oak, and knelt down to examine it more closely. "There have been men with dirty shoes standing here," he cried. "Do you see the marks on each side of the door, and there, do you see that scratch and that? There has been a scuffle. Good heavens! what has taken place here?"

Sam's face was pale with apprehension that something had happened to Peter; but, he said, "How dat be, Massa Tom, with Sam in the next room all the time?"

Tom made no reply; but was closely examining the floor—back across the hall. "There is a mark; there is another," he said, "not made by boots, but by their native sandals." Then he went out from the door, and up the next flight of stairs.

"There," he said, "just as I thought." Just round the angle of the stairs two steps were dirty and stained, as if dirty feet had been trampling upon them for some time. "I suppose they knew I was out, and watched here, for hours, perhaps. Then, when Peter went down, they slipped in through the open door, and then"—without completing the sentence, Tom went back into the room, and threw himself into a chair in tearless despair.

Sam sobbed loudly. For some time there was silence. "There is no blood, sir, that I can see, not a speck," the orderly said. "They can't have killed Captain Scudamore, and, if they had, why should they have carried his body away?"

This was the question Tom had been asking himself. Assassinations were, in Madrid, every-day occurrences, and that Peter and he were especially liable to be murdered, owing to the hatred of Nunez and his gang, was clear; but, so far as he could see, not a drop of blood had been shed here. Presently Sam began to sob more loudly. "Dis break my heart, Massa Tom, to tink dat Sam be next door all de time, and, instead of watching, he sleep so sound dat Massa Peter carried straight away."

"You are not to blame, Sam, there was, probably, no noise whatever. But, what can it all mean? Johnstone, you had better go to bed, you can do no good now. Sam, give me my pistols; take that big stick of yours, and come round with me to head-quarters, we will call in at Captain Farquharson's on the way."

That officer, on being roused, and made to understand what was the matter, confirmed the account given by the orderly; he and his companions had parted at the street door, and Peter had gone down the yard to the stable.

"It is clear that Peter has been carried off," Tom said, "and I have not the least doubt that it has been done by some of the band of Nunez. As you have heard me say, they owe us a grudge, and have, no doubt, been on the look-out ever since we came here. We have been on guard, and never gave them a chance, and, I suppose, they got desperate when they found the army was moving again, and so carried out this audacious plan."

"If your brother had been found murdered I should understand it," Captain Farquharson said; "but, what on earth did they carry him off for?"

Tom was silent for a minute.

"That fiend, Nunez, would have had us stabbed if he could do nothing else; but he would, if I judge him rightly, be really contented with nothing short of putting us to death himself in some horrible manner. My own idea is, that Peter is hidden away somewhere near, will be kept in concealment until the road is clear, and will then be taken to Nunez. I must go off and try and save him at all hazards."

Captain Farquharson was silent, while Tom walked up and down the room thoughtfully.

"I don't suppose the chief would refuse me leave," Tom said. "If he does, I must throw up my commission."

"No, no; you are sure to get leave for such a thing as this, but the difficulty of the affair will be to know how to proceed. The country will swarm with French, the guerillas are sure to keep a sharp look-out, and if you find him, how are you going to rescue him?"

"I don't know," Tom said, "but it's got to be done; that's clear. I can't set out as a Spanish peasant," he went on after a pause. "They know me as that now. At least, if I do I must get up as an old man and change my appearance. I might go as a woman, but I am too tall in the first place, and then women don't go wandering over the country in such times as this. But there, I have time to think it over before morning. I suppose the general will be moving about five o'clock; I will see him the first thing, and tell him the whole story. Good-night."

And so Tom went back to his quarters, and sat thinking deeply until morning, while Sam sat gloomily in his little room, sometimes with tears rolling down his cheeks, sometimes muttering terrible threats against the guerillas, at other times cursing himself for having been asleep instead of watching over his young master's safety. Tom had briefly told him that he intended to get leave in order to search for Peter. At daybreak, when he heard Tom moving, he went into the sitting-room.

"Look here, Massa Tom, Sam only one word to say. He going to look for Massa Peter. Sam know dat him color berry spicuous, dat people look at him and tink he de debil. Sam don't spect he going wid you. Dat wouldn't do. Dese fellows watch him, know dat black fellow here. Only Sam go somehow. He trabel night, hide up at day time. He join you de last ting when you go to mash up dem guerillas like squash. Anyhow, Sam must go. If can get leave, berry well, if not he desert. Anyhow he go, dat sartin. Sam kill himself if he stay behind."

Tom had already thought over this. He was sure that the faithful negro would not remain behind, but he had seen that his companionship would be fatal. He had, therefore, formed some plan in his head similar to that which Sam proposed, and he knew that when the moment for action came his courage, strength, and devotion would be invaluable.

"You shall go, Sam," he said, holding out his hand to his attached follower. "As you say, you can't go with me, but you shall go somehow."

"Thank you, Massa Tom," the negro said gratefully, "You berry sure if

Massa Peter die Sam die too."

Tom now went to head-quarters, and found that Lord Wellington was just up. Sending in to say that he wished to speak with him for a few minutes on a matter of urgent personal importance, he was admitted, and related as concisely as he could Peter's disappearance, and told the story of the affair with the guerillas, which accounted for the intense desire for vengeance on the part of Nunez. He ended by asking for leave of absence.

The general heard him to the end, asking a brief question here and there.

"You can have the leave certainly, Captain Scudamore, I know that it is needless for me to point out the risks that you will run, both from the French and guerillas. I think that it might be an advantage if I give you a note which you can, in case of absolute necessity, show to any French officer."

So saying, the general sat down and wrote as follows:—

"To the French officer commanding.—The Earl of Wellington, commander-in-chief of His Britannic Majesty's forces in Spain, gives his assurance that the bearer of this, Captain Scudamore, although not in English uniform, is not engaged upon any mission connected with the army, or to obtain information respecting the strength and position of the French forces. His business is entirely private, and he is engaged in an attempt to discover and rescue a brother who has been carried off by the guerilla chief Nunez in order to gratify private vengeance. The Earl of Wellington, confiding in the natural courtesy of the French nation, trusts that officers of that service will, if applied to, assist Captain Scudamore in any way in their power, and he will feel personally obliged to them by their so doing."

Tom expressed his deep gratitude for this, which might, he foresaw, be of inestimable advantage to him.

"I am taking my servant with me, sir—the negro; he will not travel with me by day, but will join me wherever I tell him; he is very strong and brave, and is deeply attached to us."

"Yes, I remember," the general said; "that is the man whose life you saved. Do you leave at once?"

"No, sir; I am thinking of riding with you to-morrow at any rate. The route lies on the way I have to go, and I am sure to be watched here."

"Very well," the general said; "I wish you good fortune; but you have a difficult, almost a desperate, service before you."

Upon leaving head-quarters, Tom again called on Captain Farquharson.

"Farquharson, I hear that it will be eleven before the chief leaves. I wish you would go to that little shop opposite the opera-house; they have got wigs and all that sort of thing there. Please get me two old men's wigs and beards, and one set of those mutton-chop shaped whiskers, and a woman's wig. I haven't made up my mind yet what I am going to wear, but I want these things to choose from. I am sure to be watched, and if I were to go there they would find out, five minutes afterwards, what I had bought. In the meantime I am going to the head of the police to give notice of Peter's disappearance, and to ask him to have the carts leaving the town for the next few days searched. I have no doubt the fellows will outwit the police, but it's no use throwing away a chance."

It was six days after this that an old man, with long white hair and gray beard, and with a box containing cheap trinkets, beads, necklaces, earrings, knives, scissors, and other like articles, was sitting at the junction of two roads near the lower slopes of the Pyrenees, some twenty miles north of Vittoria. He had one of his sandals off, and appeared to have just risen from a bed of leaves in the forest behind him. The dawn had broken, but it was still twilight. Presently he heard a footstep coming along the road, and at once applied himself to wrapping the bandages, which serve for stockings to the Spanish peasant, round his leg, looking eagerly from under his wide sombrero to see who was approaching. As the new-comer came in sight, the pedlar at once ceased his employment and rose to meet him. He had recognized the figure, but the face was hidden, the Spanish cloak, worn as is usual by peasant and noble alike, with one end thrown over the shoulder, hiding the chin and lower part of the face, while the wide felt hat, pressed well down in front, allowed scarcely a glimpse even of the nose. That, however, would have been sufficient in the present case, for the man was a negro.

Upon seeing the pedlar rise, he ran forward to meet him.

"Ah, Massa Tom, tank de Lord me find you safe and sound. I always keep on tinking you taken prisoner or killed eider by de French or de robbers—one as bad as de oder."

"I have thought the same of you, Sam, for your risk has been far greater than mine. Well, thank God, it is all right thus far. But come back into the wood, I have got some food there, and here any one might come along."

They were soon deep in the wood, where, by a pile of grass and leaves which had evidently been used as a bed, was an open wallet, with some bread, cheese, cold meat and a small skin of wine.

"Are you hungry, Sam?"

"Downright starving, sar; dis chile eat noting for two days."

"Why, how is that, Sam; you had six days' provision with you when you started?"

"Dat true enough, sar, but Sam's appetite bigger than usual, noting to do all day sitting in de woods, waiting for night to come so as to go on again; so had to eat, and de food all went before Sam thought dat dere was two more days before he meet you."

"Well, sit down now, Sam, and eat away; we have plenty of time."

They had much to tell each other. They had traveled by the same road, one by night, the other by day—Sam passing the days sleeping in the woods, his master traveling by day and at night sleeping in wretched village posadas. He, too, would far rather have slept in the woods, for the insects and filth made sleep almost impossible in these places, besides which he ran a good deal of risk as to the discovery of his disguise. He had, however, chosen the inns in hopes of hearing something which might give him a clue as to the object of his search. The only information, which he had gained was to the effect that Nunez still had his quarters at the old place. He had been driven out of it, and the village had been burned by the French, but the position was a convenient one, and the houses had been cleared and roughly roofed with boughs of trees and straw, and the band was still there. This much was satisfactory, and he could hardly have expected to learn more, unless he had happened to meet some of the members of the band itself. They had not traveled by the main road, as upon that large forces of the French were collected; and even if Tom could have passed through, boldly, Sam could not have made his way. Even by the road they had chosen Tom had met several bodies of French, while at Vittoria a very large force was assembling, destined for the relief of Burgos.

Sam had but few incidents to relate. He had been carefully instructed by Tom before starting as to the road he should take, and the position and distances apart of the towns and villages upon it. He had traveled only at night, and had but once or twice exchanged a word with passers by. People did not travel much at night in so disturbed a country, and when Sam heard a foot-passenger approaching, or, as was more frequently the case, a party of French cavalry, he left the road and lay down, until they had passed. The one or two foot-passengers he had met suddenly he had passed with the usual Spanish muttered salutation, and the darkness and the disguise prevented any recognition of his color.

"Now, sar," Sam said, when they had finished breakfast, "what am to be done next?"

"I do not think, Sam, that the party who have got Peter have arrived yet. They could only have started on the day that we did; they have as long a road to go, and most likely they have got a bullock-cart, which won't travel more than fifteen miles a day at the outside. They have got Peter in a cart covered up with something, we may be sure. I don't think they will be here for another day or so at the earliest. If we knew what sort of cart it was, we could attack them on the way if there are not too many of them; but unfortunately we don't know that; and as there are three or four roads up to the village, and they are sure to make a detour, we don't know which they will come by. I hope to learn at the village. We will stay where we are till dark, then we will push on; it is only a couple of miles or so from here. I will steal into the place after dark, and try and overhear what is going on. You shall remain at a point where you can see down into the village and can hear a shout. I will give you this letter of Lord Wellington, and if you hear a pistol shot and hear me shout 'Sam!' you will know I am caught, and must make off as hard as you can to that small town in the plain, where there is a French garrison; ask for the commanding-officer, show this letter, and offer to guide them so as to surprise Nunez and his band. That is our sole chance. But I don't think there is much risk of being caught. I shall be very careful, you may rely upon it; and as I know the position of the house, I shall be able to make my way about. Once night has fallen they go off to bed; and even if I walked boldly about the place I should likely enough meet no one all night."

That evening Tom entered the village as soon as it was fairly dark. He knew, from his former experience, that sentries were always placed at points whence they could get a view of the roads, and he made his way so as to avoid any risk of observation by them; but when he reached a place whence he could in turn view the posts of the watchers, he found that they were deserted, and concluded that the brigands had become careless, from the belief that, now the French had once destroyed the village, they would not be likely to come up to search for them there a second time; besides which, they might reckon that the French had their hands much too full with the advance of the Allied Army to spare either men or time in raids upon the guerillas. In this particular, indeed, they would have argued wrongly, for the French during the whole war, however much they were pressed by Wellington, always kept sufficient forces in hand to scatter the guerillas as fast as they become formidable.

Tom had now taken off his beard and wig, and had put on the small whisker, which is the general fashion of wearing the hair throughout Spain. Thus he trusted, if surprised in the dark, to pass as one of the band. So quiet was the village when he entered, that he at first thought it was deserted; at last, however, he saw a light in one of the houses in the center of the village. Approaching carefully and noiselessly he saw a group of five men sitting and drinking round a fire made on the ground, in the center of one of the windowless rooms, the smoke finding its way out through the roof.

"I tell you," one said, "I am getting sick of this life; I am ready to go and kill the French, but to be left up here, where there is nothing to do, no one to talk to, not a roof to cover one; bah! I am sick of it. But Nunez will be back in three days, and we shall be merry enough then."

"Not we," another said, "this was a pleasant village in the old days, what is it now? There are no women, not even old mother Morena, who used to cook well, if she was free of her tongue. There is not even a priest now to shrive us if one is brought in to die."

"Nunez will come back in a good temper if it is true what Lope said yesterday when he came through, that the lads at Madrid had got one of those English boys who made a fool of him two years ago. That was a go. Demonio! but it was a fine thing. If it is true that they have got him and are bringing him here I would not be in his skin for all the treasures of King Joseph. Yes, Nunez was always a devil, but he is worse now. Somehow we always have bad luck, and the band gets smaller and smaller, I don't suppose there's above fifty with him now. I expect we shall have them pretty well all here this week."

"No fear of a visit from the French?"

"None; Reynier at Vittoria is busy now in sending every man he can spare forward to the army that's gathering near Burgos."

This was enough for Tom, who stole silently away to the spot where Sam was anxiously awaiting him.

CHAPTER XVIII. JUST IN TIME.

"I shall go straight back to Vittoria, Sam. By what they say, General Reynier is in command there, and as it was through his wife that all this terrible business has come about, we have a right to expect him to do his best to get us out of it. I will start at once. Now look here, Sam. You must put yourself where you can keep watch over the village. If you see any party come in, either to-night or to-morrow, you must try and discover if Peter is among them. If he is, light a fire down in that hollow where it can't be seen from above, but where we can see it on that road. It's twenty miles to Vittoria; if I can get to see General Reynier to-morrow, I may be back here with cavalry by night; if he is out or anything prevents it, I will be here next night, as soon after dusk as it will be safe. I will dismount the men and take them over the hill, so as to avoid the sentinel who is sure to be posted on the road when Nunez arrives. If they come in the afternoon, Sam, and you find that anything is going to be done at once, do everything you can to delay matters."

"All right, Massa Tom, if, when you come back you find Massa Peter dead, you be berry sure you find dis chile gone down too."

It was seven o'clock next morning when Tom entered Vittoria, and a few cautious inquiries proved the fact that General Reynier was really in command of the French division there. He at once sought his head-quarters, and after some talk with a woman selling fruit near the house, heard that the general and his staff had started at daybreak, but whither of course she knew not. Tom hesitated for some time, and then, seeing an officer standing at the door, went up to him and asked if the general would be back soon.

"He will be back in an hour or two," the officer replied in Spanish, "but it is no use your waiting to see him. He has his hands full and can't be bothered with petitions as to cattle stolen or orchards robbed. Wait till we have driven the English back, and then we shall have time to talk to you."

"Your pardon," Tom said humbly. "It is not a complaint that I have to make, it is something of real importance which I have to communicate to him."

"You can tell me, I am Colonel Decamps; it will be all the same thing if your news is really important."

"Thank you very kindly, señor, it must be the general himself; I will wait here." Thereupon Tom sat down with his back to the wall a short distance off, pulled out some bread and fruit he had bought in the town, and began quietly to eat his breakfast. An hour later a pretty carriage with two fine horses drew up to the door. It was empty, and was evidently intended for some one in the house. Suddenly, the thought flashed across his mind, perhaps Madame Reynier and her child were there. It was curious that the thought had not occurred to him before, but it had not, and he drew near, when a sentry at the door roughly ordered him to stand further back. Presently a lady came to the door, accompanied by a little girl. There she stood for a minute talking with the officer with whom Tom had spoken. At the moment a young officer passed Tom on his way to the house.

"Monsieur," Tom said, in French, "do me the favor to place that ring in the hands of Madame Reynier. It is a matter of life and death. She will recognize the ring, it is her own," he added, as the young officer in surprise hesitated. He was a bright handsome young fellow, and after a moment's, pause, he went up to the lady. "My dear aunt," he said, "here is a mystery. An old Spanish beggar speaks French, not very good French, but enough to make out, and he begs me to give you this ring, which he says is yours, and which, by the way, looks a valuable one." Madame Reynier, in some surprise, held out her hand for the ring. "It is not mine," she began, when a sudden thought struck her, and turning it round she saw "a Louise Reynier, tumors reconnaissance," which she had had engraved on it, before giving it to Tom. "Who gave it to you, Jules?" she asked eagerly.

"That old pedler," Jules said.

"Bring him in," Madame Reynier said, "the carriage must wait; I must speak to him and alone."

"My dear aunt," began her nephew.

"Don't be afraid, Jules, I am not going to run away with him, and if you are a good boy you shall know all about it afterwards, wait here, Louise, with your cousin;" and beckoning to Tom to follow her, she went into the house, the two officers looking astounded at each other as the supposed Spanish pedler followed her into her sitting-room.

"What is your message?" she asked.

Tom's answer was to remove his wide hat, wig, and beard.

"Himself!" Madame Reynier exclaimed, "my preserver," and she held out both her hands to him. "How glad I am, but oh! how foolish to come here again, and—and"—she hesitated at the thought that he, an English spy, ought not to come to her, the wife of a French general.

Tom guessed her thought. "Even General Reynier might succor us without betraying the interests of his country. Read that, madame; it is an open letter," and he handed her Lord Wellington's letter.

She glanced through it and turned pale. "Your brother! is he in the hands of the guerillas? Where? How?"

"He is in the hands of that scoundrel Nunez; he swore he would be revenged for that day's work, and he has had Peter carried off. No doubt to kill him with torture."

"Oh! and it is through me," Madame Reynier exclaimed, greatly distressed. "What can we do! Please let me consult with my friends, every soldier shall be at your service," and she opened the door. "Colonel Deschamps, Jules, come here directly, and bring Louise with you." These officers, on entering, were struck dumb with astonishment on finding a young peasant instead of an old pedler, and at seeing tears standing in Madame Reynier's eyes. "Louise," she said to her daughter, "look at this gentleman, who is he?"

The child looked hard at Tom; he was dressed nearly as when she first saw him—and as he smiled she recognized him. "Oh, it is the good boy!" she cried, and leaped into Tom's arms, and kissed him heartily.

"Do you think we have gone mad, Jules, Louise and I? This is one of the young English officers who saved our lives, as you have often heard me tell you."

Jules stepped forward, and shook Tom's hand heartily, but Colonel Deschamps looked very serious. "But, madame," he began, "you are wrong to tell me this."

"No, Colonel;" Madame Reynier said, "here is a letter, of which this gentleman is the bearer, from Lord Wellington himself, vouching for him, and asking for the help of every Frenchman."

Colonel Deschamps read it, and his brow cleared, and he held out his hand to Tom. "Pardon my hesitation, sir," he said in Spanish; "but I feared that I was placed in a painful position, between what I owe to my country, and what all French soldiers owe to you, for what you did for Madame Reynier. I am, indeed, glad to find that this letter absolves me from the former duty, and leaves me free to do all I can to discharge the latter debt. Where is your brother, and why has he been carried off? I have known hundreds of our officers assassinated by these Spanish wolves, but never one carried away. An English officer, too, it makes it the more strange!"

Tom now related the story of Peter's abduction; the previous attempts of members of Nunez's band to assassinate them, and the reasons he had for believing that Peter was close to, if not already at, the headquarters of that desperado.

"Is he still there?" Jules asked. "We routed him out directly the general came up here. My aunt declared herself bound by a promise, and would give us no clue as to the position of the village, but he had made himself such a scourge, that there were plenty of others ready to tell; if we had known the roads, we would have killed the whole band, but unfortunately they took the alarm and made off. So he has gone back there again. Ah! there is the general."

Madame Reynier went out to meet her husband, and drawing him aside into another room, explained the whole circumstance to him, with difficulty detaining him long enough to tell her story, as the moment he found that his wife and child's deliverer was in the next room, he desired to rush off to see him. The story over, he rushed impetuously into the room, where Tom was explaining his plans to his French friends, seized him in his arms, and kissed him on both cheeks, as if he had been his son.

"I have longed for this day!" he said, wiping his eyes. "I have prayed that I might some day meet you, to thank you for my wife and child, who would have been lost to me, but for you. And now I hear your gallant brother is paying with his life for that good deed. Tell me what to do, and if necessary I will put the whole division at your orders."

"I do not think that he will have above fifty men with him, general; say eighty, at the outside. Two squadrons of cavalry will be sufficient. They must dismount at the bottom of the hill, and I will lead them up. We must not get within sight of the hill till it is too dark for their look-out to see us, or the alarm would be given, and we should catch no one. We shall know if they have arrived, by a fire my man is to light. If they have not come, then I would put sentries on guard upon every road leading there, and search every cart that comes up; they are sure to have got him hid under some hay, or something of that sort, and there are not likely to be more than two or three men actually with it, so as not to attract attention. It will be all right if they do not arrive there to-day."

"It is about five hours' ride for cavalry," the general said, "that is at an easy pace; it will not be dark enough to approach the hill without being seen till eight o'clock. Two squadrons shall be paraded here at three o'clock. I will go with you myself; yes, and you shall go too, Jules," he said, in answer to an anxious look from his nephew. "In the mean time you can lend our friend some clothes; you are about the same size."

"Come along," Jules said laughing; "I think we can improve your appearance," and, indeed, he did so, for in half an hour Tom returned looking all over a dashing young French hussar, and little Louise clapped her hands and said—

"He does look nice, mamma, don't he? Why can't he stay with us always, and dress like that? and we know he's brave, and he would help papa and Jules to kill the wicked English."

There was a hearty laugh, and Jules was about to tell her that Tom was himself one of the wicked English, but Madame Reynier shook her head, for, as she told him afterwards, it was as well not to tell her, for little mouths would talk, and there was no occasion to set everyone wondering and talking about the visit of an English officer to General Reynier. "There is no treason in it, Jules, still one does not want to be suspected of treason, even by fools."

Sam watched all night, without hearing any sound of vehicles, but in the morning he saw that several more guerillas had come in during the night. In the morning parties of twos and threes began to come in from the direction of Vittoria, and it was evident from the shouting and noise in the village that these brought satisfactory news of some kind. In the afternoon most of them went out again in a body to the wood at the foot of the hill, and soon afterwards Sam saw a cart coming along across the plain. Two men walked beside it, and Sam could see one, if not two more perched upon the top of the load. Three others walked along at a distance of some fifty yards ahead, and as many more at about the same distance behind. He could see others making their way through the fields. "Dis berry bad job," Sam said to himself; "me berry much afraid dat Massa Tom he not get back in time. Der's too many for Sam to fight all by himself, but he must do someting." Whereupon Sam set to to think with all his might, and presently burst into a broad grin. "Sure enough dat do," he said; "now let me arrange all about what dey call de pamerphernalia." First, he emptied out the contents of a couple of dozen pistol cartridges; he wetted the powder and rolled it up in six cartridges, like squibs, three short ones and three much longer. Then he opened Tom's kit, and took out a small box of paints, which Tom had carried with him for making dark lines on his face, and in other ways to assist his disguise. Taking some white paint, Sam painted his eyelids up to his eyebrows, and a circle on his cheeks, giving the eyes at a short distance the appearance of ghastly saucers.

"Dat will do for de present," he said; "now for business. If dey wait till it get dark, all right; if not, Sam do for Nunez and two or three more, and den go down with Massa Peter!"

Then carefully examining the priming of the pair of pistols, which he carried—the very pistols given to Peter by the passengers of the Marlborough coach—he prepared to set out.

It was now six o'clock, and he calculated that the waggon would by this time have mounted the hill, and reached the village; he had already collected a large heap of dry sticks and some logs, at the point Tom had pointed out, these he now lit, and then started for the top of the hill. Looking back, just as he reached the crest, he could see, knowing where it was, a very light smoke curling up over a clump of trees which intervened between him and the fire, but it was so slight that he was convinced that it would not be noticed by an ordinary observer. Sam saw at once, on reaching the top of the hill, that the guerillas were crowded round the waggon, which stood at the edge of a small clump of trees in the middle of the village. The moment was favourable, and he at once started forward, sometimes making a detour, so as to have the shelter of a tree, sometimes stooping behind a low stone wall, until he reached the first house in the village. It was now comparatively easy work, for there were enclosures and walls, the patches of garden-ground were breast-high with weeds, and, stooping and crawling, Sam soon reached a house close to the waggon. It was a mere hut, and had not been repaired. The roof was gone, but the charred shutters and doors still hung on their hinges. It was the very place from which to see without being seen. Sam entered by a door from behind, and found that, through a slight opening in the window-shutter, he could see all that was going on. Some fifty guerillas were standing or sitting in groups at a distance of twenty yards.

In the centre of the groups, lying on the ground, was a figure which he at once recognized as Peter. It was wound round and round with ropes; beside it stood, or rather danced, Nunez pouring forth strings of abuse, of threats, and of curses, and enforcing them with repeated kicks at the motionless figure.

"De debil!" muttered Sam, "me neber able to stand dis. If you not stop dat, Massa Nunez, me put a bullet through dat ugly head of yours, as sure as you stand dere. But me mustn't do it till last ting; for, whether I kill him or not, it's all up with Massa Peter and me if I once fire."

Fortunately Nunez was tired, and in a short time he desisted, and threw himself down on the ground. "Take off his ropes, one of you," he said: "there would be no fear of his running away had he three or four days to live, instead of as many hours. Take the gag out of his mouth, throw some water over him to bring him round, and pour some wine down his throat. I want him to be fresh, so as to be able to enjoy the pleasure we have in store for him. And now let's have dinner."

Sam felt that for another hour at least Peter was safe, and therefore, with the same precaution as before, he crept away from his hiding-place, through the village, and over the hill-crest, to the place where he had made his fire. The logs were burning well, but gave out but little smoke. Sam looked at the sky. "Dusk cum on berry fast," he said; "another hour Massa Tom come on with soldiers. If he see fire, he hurry up sharp." So saying, Sam heaped on a pile of wood, and then made his way back. He knew that Tom would not approach until it was too dark for the movements of the troops to be seen by the look-outs, and that he could not be expected to reach the village until fully an hour after dark. "Just another hour and a half," he said to himself; "ebery thing depend upon what happen before dat time." It was quite dusk before he regained the shelter of the cottage. He had gone round by the wagon, and had taken from it a large stable-fork, muttering as he did so. "Golly! dis de berry ting." Close by he saw the carcase of a bullock which the guerillas had just slaughtered, and from this he cut off the horns and tail.

When Sam peeped out through the shutter he saw that something was going to be done. Nunez was sitting smoking a cigarette, with a look of savage pleasure in his face, while the men heaped up a large fire in front of the trees.

"I don't like dat gentleman's look," Sam said to himself. "It's time dis chile begin to dress for de pantomime, dat quite plain. Massa Tom get here too late." Thus saying, Sam began to deliberately undress.

Peter, his arms and feet still bound, was sitting with his back against a tree, watching what were, he was convinced, the preparations for his death. For the last ten days he had lived in a sort of confused and painful dream. From the moment, when, upon entering his room two hands suddenly gripped his throat, others thrust a gag in the mouth, and then blindfolded him, while some one from behind lashed his arms to his side, and then altogether, lifting him like a log, carried him downstairs and threw him into a cart, he had not till now seen anything. The bandage had never been removed from his eyes, or the cords from his limbs. Sometimes he had been made to sit up, and soup and wine had been poured down his throat, or a piece of bread thrust into his mouth; then he had been again gagged and thrown into a cart. Over him brushwood and fagots had been piled, and there he had lain, until at night a stop was made, when he was taken out, fed, and then thrust back again and covered over.

From the first he had never doubted who were his captors, or what was his destination, and he therefore experienced no surprise whatever, when, on his arrival at the village, on the bandage being taken off his eyes, he saw where he was. That it was useless to beg for mercy of the savages into whose power he had fallen he knew well enough, and he looked as calm and indifferent, as if he did not hear a word of the threats and imprecations which Nunez was heaping on him.

"You see that fire," the enraged guerilla said, "there you shall be roasted! English pig that you are! But not yet. That were too quick a death! Here," he said to his followers, "make a little fire by the side of the big one—there under the arm of that tree; and put on plenty of green leaves: we will smoke our pig a bit before we roast him!"

Peter still eyed him unflinchingly. He was determined that no pain should wring a complaint or prayer for mercy. Even now he did not quite despair, for he thought that he had just one chance of life. He was sure that Tom would move heaven and earth to save him. He reckoned that he would at once guess who had carried him off, and with what object; and he felt that Tom would be certain to set off to his rescue. All this he had reflected over in his long days of weary suffering, and from the moment that he was unbandaged, and propped against the tree, he had listened attentively for any unusual sound. How Tom could rescue him he did not see. He was so utterly crippled, from his long confinement, that he knew that it would be hours, perhaps days, before he could walk a step; yet, still he thought it possible that Tom might try; and he feared more than he hoped, for he trembled lest, if Tom were really there, that he would do some rash thing, which would involve him in his fate. "Whether Tom is here or not," Peter thought as he looked unflinchingly at Nunez, "one thing is certain, if I know my brother, you will not have many days to live after me, for Tom will follow you all over Spain, but he will avenge me at last!" Such were Peter's thoughts, and so likely did he think it that Tom was present, that he was scarcely surprised when he heard, as from the ground behind him, a well-known voice.

"Massa Peter, you keep up your heart. Sam here, Massa Tom he be here in another half hour with French soldiers. If dey go to kill you before dat, Sam play dem trick. Can you run, Massa Peter, if I cut de cord?"

"No, Sam."

"Dat bad job. Neber mind, Massa Peter, you keep up your heart. Sam keep quiet as long as he can, but when de worst come Sam do de trick all right."

"Don't show yourself, Sam. It would only cost you your life, and couldn't help me; besides, it would put them on their guard. They won't kill me yet. They will smoke me, and so on, but they will make it last as long as they can."

Peter was able to say this, for at the moment Nunez was occupied in rolling and lighting a second cigarette. Peter received no answer, for Sam, seeing some guerillas bringing sticks and leaves to make a fire, as Nunez, had ordered, crept back again into the deep shadow behind. The fire was now giving out volumes of smoke, a guerilla climbed up the tree and slung a rope over it, and three others approached Peter. His heart beat rapidly; but it was with hope, not fear. He knew, from the words of Nunez, that at present he was not going to be burned, but, as he guessed, to be hung over the smoke until he was insensible, and then brought to life again with buckets of water, only to have the suffocation repeated, until it pleased Nunez to try some fresh mode of torture.

It was as he imagined. The rope was attached to his legs, and amid the cheers of the guerillas, two men hauled upon the other end until Peter swung, head downwards, over the fire. There was no flame, but dense volumes of pungent smoke rose in his face. For a moment his eyes smarted with agony, then a choking sensation seized him, his blood seemed to rush into his head, and his veins to be bursting: and there was a confused din in his ears and a last throb of pain, and then he was insensible.

"That's enough for the present," Nunez said; "cut him down."

The men advanced to do so, but paused, with astonishment, for from behind the great fire was a loud yell—"Yah, yah, yah!"—each louder than the last, and then, leaping through the flames appeared, as they supposed, the devil. Sam's appearance was indeed amply sufficient to strike horror in the minds of a band of intensely superstitious men. He had entirely stripped himself, with the exception of his sandals, which he had retained in order to be able to run freely; on his head were two great horns; in one hand he held a fork, and in the other what appeared to be his tail, but which really belonged to the slaughtered bullock. From his month, his horns, and the end of his tail poured volumes of fire, arising, it needs not to say, from the squibs he had prepared. The great white circles round the eyes added to the ghastliness of his appearance, and seeing the terrible figure leap apparently from the flames, it is no wonder that a scream of terror rose from the guerillas. Whatever a Spanish peasant may believe about saints and angels, he believes yet more implicitly in a devil. Black, with horns, and a tail—and here he was—with these appendages tipped with fire! Those who were able turned and fled in terror, those who were too frightened to run fell on their knees and screamed for mercy, while one or two fell insensible from fear. Taking the squibs from his mouth, and giving one more startling yell, to quicken the fugitives, Sam made two strides to where Peter was hanging, cut the rope, and lowered him down.

Nunez had at first joined in the flight, but looking over his shoulder he saw what Sam was doing. His rage and frenzy, at the thought of being cheated of his victim, even by the evil one himself, overcame his fear, and he rushed back, shouting, "He is mine! He is mine! I won't give him to you!" and fired a pistol almost in Sam's face. The ball carried away a portion of one of Sam's ears, and with a yell, even more thrilling than those he had given before, he plunged his pitchfork into the body of the guerilla, then, exerting all his immense strength, he lifted him upon it, as if he had been a truss of straw, took three steps to the great bonfire and cast the brigand into it.

There was a volume of sparks, a tumbling together of big logs, and the most cruel of the Spanish guerillas had ceased to exist.

This awful sight completed the discomfiture of the guerillas—some hearing their chief's shouts and the sound o his pistol had looked round, but the sight of the gigantic fiend casting him into the fire was too much for them. With cries of horror and fear they continued their flight; a few of them, who had fallen on their knees, gained strength enough, from fear, to rise and fly; the rest lay on their faces. Sam saw that for the present all was clear, and lifting up Peter's still insensible body, as if it had no weight whatever, he turned and went at a brisk trot out of the village, then over the crest and down towards the fire.

Then he heard a ring of metal in front of him, and a voice said, "Qui vive!" while another voice said, "Is that you, Sam?"

"Bress de Lord! Massa Tom, dis is me sure enough: and what is much better, here is Massa Peter."

"Thank God!" Tom said fervently. "Is he hurt? Why don't you speak,

Peter?"

"He all right, Massa Tom. He talk in a minute or two. Now smoke choke him, he better presently. Here, massa, you take him down to fire, pour a little brandy down his throat. Now, massa officer, I lead de way back to village."

As Tom took Peter in his arms a sudden fire of musketry was heard down on the road.

"Our fellows have got them," Jules said. "I don't know what has alarmed them, but they are running away!"

"Push forward," General Reynier said, "and give no quarter! Jules, keep by the negro, and see that he comes to no harm. The men might mistake him for a guerilla."

The night was pitch dark, and the extraordinary appearance of Sam could not be perceived until after scouring the village and shooting the few wretches whom they found there, they gathered round the fire. Before reaching it, however, Sam had slipped away for a moment into the hut where he had stripped; here he quickly dressed himself, removed the paint from his face, and rejoined the group, who were not a little surprised at seeing his black face.

In a short time the parties who had been posted on all the various roads came in, and it was found that they had between them killed some thirty or forty of the brigands, and had brought in two or three prisoners.

"Have you killed or taken Nunez?" General Reynier asked. "Our work is only half done if that scoundrel has escaped."

"I have asked the prisoners," one of the officers said, "and they tell an extraordinary story, that the devil has just thrown him into the fire!"

"What do they mean by such folly as that," the general asked angrily.

"Were they making fun of you?"

"No, sir, they were certainly serious enough over it, and they were all running for their lives when they fell into our hands; they had been horribly frightened at something."

"Ask that fellow there," the general said, pointing to a prisoner who had been brought in by another detachment, "he cannot have spoken to the others."

The man was brought forward, and then Jules asked him in Spanish:

"What were you all running away for?"

The man gave a glance of horror at the fire. "The devil came with his pitchfork, fire came out of his mouth, his tail and his horns were tipped with sparks, the captain fired at him, of course the bullet did no good, and the devil put his fork into him, carried him to the fire, and threw him in."

Jules and some of the other young officers burst out laughing, but the general said:—

"Humph! We can easily prove a portion of the story. See if there are any human remains in that fire."

The wind was blowing the other way, but as a sergeant went up to the fire in obedience to the general's order, he said:—

"There is a great smell of burnt flesh here, and, sapristi, yes," as he tossed over the logs with his foot "there is a body here, sir, pretty well burnt up."

"It's a curious story," the general said. "Where is that negro, perhaps he can enlighten us?"

But Sam had already left to look after Peter.

"Jules, put these fellows against that wall and give them a volley, then march the men down to the wood where their horses are. We will bivouac here for the night."

A party now brought up Peter, who had quite come round, but was unable to stand, or indeed to move his arms, so injured was he by the ropes, which had completely cut their way into his flesh. However, he was cheerful and bright, and able really to enjoy the supper which was soon prepared. That done, General Reynier said:—

"Captain Scudamore, will you call your black man when he has finished his supper, which, no doubt, he needs? I want him to tell me what took place before we arrived. The prisoners were full of some cock-and-bull story, that the devil had stuck his fork into their captain and pitched him into the fire, and the story is corroborated, at least to the extent of the fact that, on turning the fire over, we found a body there."

Sam, called and questioned, told the whole story, which Tom translated as he went on to the French officers, and it was received with a chorus of laughter at the thought of the oddity of Sam's appearance, and of the brigands' terror, and with warm admiration for the able stratagem and courage shown by the black.

Tom was delighted, and Peter, who had until now been entirely ignorant of the manner in which he had been saved, feebly pressed Sam's hand and said a few words of gratitude and thanks, which so delighted Sam that he retired to cry quietly.

The next day they moved down to Vittoria, where Peter was tenderly nursed by Madame Reynier. A week later he was fit to sit on horseback, and the next day, after a hearty and affectionate parting, they started to rejoin their own army. Both were now dressed as Spanish gentlemen, and Jules, with four troopers accompanied them as an escort.

They made a long detour to avoid the French army in the field under Clausel, and at last came within sight of the British outposts. Here Jules and his escort halted, and after a warm embrace with the merry young Frenchman, they rode forward, and, after the usual parleying with the pickets, were passed forward to the officer commanding the post. He happened to be well known to them, and after the first surprise, and a few words of explanation, they rode on towards the head-quarters of the army besieging Burgos.

CHAPTER XIX. VITTORIA.

General Clausel fell back as Wellington advanced to Burgos, and the British laid siege to the castle of that place. Like all Wellington's sieges this was commenced with a wholly insufficient train of artillery, and without the time necessary to carry out regular siege operations. A considerable portion of the army were posted so as to watch Clausel. The place was badly fortified, but the French under Governor Dubreton defended themselves with immense skill and courage, the English assaults were repulsed, successful sorties were made by the garrison, and at last, after the failure of the fourth assault, the siege was given up, and the allied armies turned their faces once more towards Portugal.

It was time; the operations in the south upon which Wellington had relied to keep at least a portion of the French forces engaged, had failed signally, and the French generals were bringing up their troops from all parts of Spain, and General Souham, having under him Generals Clausel, Maucune, and Foy, with a force far superior to that of the British, advanced to give battle. Then Wellington, whose Anglo-Portuguese troops were much weakened by sickness, fell back rapidly, sending orders to General Hill, who commanded the troops left behind in Madrid, to evacuate that city, and to fall back and unite with him on the Tormes.

It was only by some masterly maneuvering and some stiff fighting at Venta de Pozo, on the Carrion, and on the Huebra, that Wellington drew off his army to Ciudad Rodrigo.

During the retreat the British suffered very severely, and the discipline of the army became greatly impaired, so much so that Lord Wellington issued a general order rebuking the army, saying that "discipline had deteriorated during the campaign in a greater degree than he had ever witnessed or read of in any army, and this without any unusual privation or hardship, or any long marches."

The number of stragglers may be imagined by the fact that the loss of the allied army was upwards of nine thousand, of whom not more than two thousand were killed and wounded at Burgos, and in the combats during the retreat. This number includes the Spanish as well as the Anglo-Portuguese loss.

It was the beginning of December when the allied army reached their winter quarters around Ciudad Rodrigo. It was fortunate that the season of the year, and the necessity which the French had to refill their magazines, and collect food, gave breathing time and rest to the British. Although strengthened by his junction with Hill, and by the arrival of reinforcements from the coast, Wellington was not in a position to have made a stand against such a force as the French could have brought against him.

Tom and Peter Scudamore had rejoined the army at the hottest part of the siege of Burgos, and had taken up their work at once. Lord Wellington heard from Tom a brief account of what had taken place, and said a few kind words expressive of his pleasure at their both having escaped from so great a peril, and, grave and preoccupied as he was with the position of his army, he yet laughed at the account of the scare Sam had given the guerillas. Among their friends nothing was talked of for a day or two but their adventure. The times were stirring, however, and one event rapidly drove out another. Sam became a greater favorite than ever among the officers of the staff, while the orderlies were never tired of hearing how he pretty nearly frightened a band of guerillas to death by pretending to be the evil one in person.

The next four months were passed in preparations for the grand attack with which Wellington confidently hoped to drive the French out of Spain. The news of the defeat of Napoleon in Russia had cheered the hearts of the enemies of France, and excited them to make a great effort to strike a decisive blow. The French army was weakened by the withdrawal of several corps to strengthen the armies which Napoleon was raising for his campaign in Germany, and British gold had been so freely spent, that the Portuguese army was now in a really efficient state; a portion of the Spanish army had been handed over to Wellington, and were now in a far more trustworthy condition than they had been heretofore, while the whole of the north of Spain was in a state of insurrection, which the French, in spite of all their efforts, were unable to repress.

The invasion was delayed until the end of May, in order that the crops might be in a fit state for the subsistence of the cavalry and baggage animals; but in the last week in that month all was ready, and, in several columns, the allied army poured into Spain nearly a hundred thousand strong. The French, ignorant alike of Wellington's intentions and preparations, were in no position to stem effectually this mighty wave of war, and were driven headlong before it, with many fierce skirmishes, until their scattered forces were, for the most part, united on the Ebro.

Here Joseph occupied a strong position, which he thought to hold until the whole of his troops could come up; but Wellington made a detour, swept round his right, and the French fell back in haste, and took up their position in the basin of Vittoria, where all the stores and baggage which had been carried off as the army retreated from Madrid, Valladolid, Burgos, and other towns, were collected. At Vittoria were gathered the Court, and an enormous mass of fugitives, as all the Spaniards who had adhered to the cause of Joseph had, with their wives and families, accompanied the French in their retreat. Hence the accumulation of baggage animals, and carts, of stores of all descriptions, of magazines, of food and artillery, of helpless, frightened people, was enormous, and, for the retreat of the army in case of defeat, there was but one good road, already encumbered with baggage and fugitives!

This terrible accumulation arose partly from the fault of Joseph, who was wholly unequal to the supreme command in an emergency like the present. Confused and bewildered by the urgency of the danger, he had hesitated, wavered, and lost precious time. By resistance at any of the rivers, which Wellington had passed unopposed, he might easily have gained a few days, and thus have allowed time for the great mass of fugitives to reach the French frontier, and for Foy and Clausel, each of whom were within a day's march upon the day of the battle, to have arrived with a reinforcement of 20,000 good fighting men. Instead of this, he had suffered himself to be outflanked day after day, and his army forced into retreat, without an effort at resistance—a course of action irritating and disheartening to all troops, but especially to the French, who, admirable in attack, are easily dispirited, and are ill suited to defensive warfare.

The position which he had now chosen for the battle, on which his kingdom was to be staked, was badly selected for the action. The front was, indeed, covered by the river Zadora, but this was crossed by seven available bridges, none of which had been broken down, while there was but the one good line of retreat, and this, besides being already encumbered with baggage-wagons, could be easily turned by the allies. The French army, weakened by 5000 men, who had marched upon the preceding days, in charge of convoys for France, were still about 70,000 strong, the allies—British, Portuguese, and Spanish—about 80,000. The French were the strongest in artillery.

Wellington, seeing that Joseph had determined to stand at bay, made his arrangements for the battle. On the left, Graham, with 20,000 men, was to attempt to cross the Zadora at Gamara Mayor, when he would find himself on the main road, behind Vittoria, and so cut the French line of retreat. Hill, with a like force, was to attack on the right, through the defile of Puebla, and so, entering the basin of Vittoria, to threaten the French right, and obtain possession of the bridge of Nanclares. In the center, Wellington himself, with 30,000 troops, would force the four bridges in front of the French center, and attack their main position.

At daybreak on the 21st of June, 1813, the weather being rainy with some mist, the troops moved from their quarters on the Bayas, passed in columns over the bridges in front, and slowly approached the Zadora. About ten o'clock, Hill seized the village of Puebla, and commenced the passage of the defile, while one of the Portuguese battalions scaled the heights above. Here the French met them, and a fierce fight ensued; the French were reinforced on their side, while the 71st Regiment and a battalion of light infantry joined the Portuguese.

Villette's division was sent from the French center to join the fray, while Hill sent up reinforcements. While the fight on the heights still raged, the troops in the defile made their way through, and, driving the French back, won the village of Subijano de Alava, in front of the French main position.

Meanwhile, far to the left, Graham came into action with Reille's division at Gamara Mayor. The French here, knowing the vital importance of the position, fought desperately, and the village of Gamara was taken and retaken several times, but no effort upon the part of the allies sufficed to carry either the bridge at this place or that by which the main road crossed the river higher up. A force, however, was pushed still farther to the left, and there took up a position on the road at Durana, drove back a Franco-Spanish force which occupied it, and thus effectively cut the main line of retreat to France for Joseph's army. The main force under Wellington himself was later in coming into action, the various columns being delayed by the difficulties of making their way through the defiles.

While waiting, however, for the third and seventh divisions, which were the last to arrive, a peasant informed Wellington that the bridge of Tres Puentes was unbroken and unguarded. Kempt's brigade of the light division were immediately ordered to cross, and, being concealed by the inequalities of the ground, they reached it and passed over unobserved, taking their place under shelter of a crest within a few hundred yards of the French main line of battle, and actually in rear of his advanced posts.

Some French cavalry now advanced, but no attack was made upon this isolated body of British troops, for the French were virtually without a commander.

Joseph, finding his flank menaced by the movements of Graham and Hill, now ordered the army to fall back to a crest two miles in the rear, but at this moment the third and seventh divisions advanced at a run towards the bridge of Mendoza, the French artillery opened upon them, the British guns replied, a heavy musketry fire broke out on both sides, and the battle commenced in earnest. Now the advantage gained by the passage of Kempt's brigade became manifest, for the riflemen of his division advanced and took the French advanced cavalry and artillery in flank. These, thus unexpectedly attacked, fell back hastily, and a brigade of the third division took advantage of the moment and crossed the bridge of Mendoza. The other brigade forded the river a little higher up, the seventh division and Vandeleur's brigade of the light division followed, Hill pushed the enemy farther back, and the fourth division crossed by the bridge of Nanclares; other troops forded the river, and the battle became general all along the line.

Seeing that the hill in front of Arinez was nearly denuded of troops by the withdrawal of Villette's division earlier in the day to oppose Hill, Wellington launched Picton with the third division and Kempt's brigade against it, and the French, thus attacked with great strength and fury, and dispirited by the order to retreat, began to fall back. Fifty pieces of artillery and a cloud of skirmishers covered the movement, and the British guns answering, the whole basin became filled with a heavy smoke, under cover of which the French retired to the heights in front of Gomecha, upon which their reserves were posted. Picton and Kempt carried the village of Arinez with the bayonet, Vandeleur captured the village of Margarita, and the 87th Regiment won that of Hermandad.

This advance turned the flank of the French troops near Subijana de Alava, and of those on the Puebla mountain, and both fell back in disorder for two miles, until they made a junction with the main body of their army. Still the British troops pressed forward, the French again fell back, and for six miles a running fight of musketry and artillery was kept up, the ground being very broken, and preventing the concerted action of large bodies of troops. At six o'clock in the afternoon the French stood at bay on the last heights before Vittoria, upon which stood the villages of Ali and Armentia. Behind them was the plain upon which the city stood, and beyond the city thousands of carriages, animals, and non-combatants, women, and children, were crowded together in the extremity of terror as the British shots rang menacingly over their heads.

The French here defended themselves desperately, and for a while the allied advance was checked by the terrible fire of shot and shell. Then the fourth division with a rush carried a hill on the left, and the French again commenced their retreat. Joseph, finding the great road absolutely blocked up, gave orders for a retreat by the road to Salvatierra, and the army, leaving the town of Vittoria on its left, moved off in a compact mass towards the indicated road. This, however, like the other, was choked with carriages. It led through a swamp, and had deep ditches on each side; the artillery, therefore, had to cut their traces and leave their guns behind them, the infantry and cavalry thrust aside the encumbrances and continued their march. Reille, who had defended the upper bridges nobly until the last moment, now came up, and his division acting as a rear guard, covered the retreat, and the French retired with little further loss.

They had lost the battle solely and entirely from the utter incapacity of their general, for their loss had been but little greater than that of the allies, and they fell back in perfect order and full of fighting. The French loss, including prisoners, was not more than 6000, and that of the allies exceeded 5000. The French loss, however, in material was enormous. They carried off two guns only, and 143 fell into the hands of the British. They lost all their parks of ammunition, all their baggage, all their stores, all their treasures, all their booty. Last of all, they lost Spain.

The British pursued the French army for some days, and then invested the two fortresses of San Sebastian and Pampeluna.

Ten days after the battle of Vittoria, Napoleon despatched Soult, one of the best of his generals, to displace Joseph and assume the supreme command of the French troops. Traveling with great speed, he reached the frontier upon the 11th of July and took command. He soon collected together the divisions which had retired beaten but not routed from Vittoria, drew together the troops from Bayonne and the surrounding towns, and in a few days found himself at the head of an army, including the garrisons, of 114,000 men. Besides these there were the armies of Aragon and Catalonia, numbering 60,000 men.

After spending a few days in organizing the army, Soult moved forward to relieve Pampeluna, and then in the heart of the Pyrenees were fought those desperate combats at Maya, Roncevalles, Buenza, Sauroren, and Dona Maria, which are known in history as the battles of the Pyrenees. In these terrible nine days' fighting there were ten serious combats, in which the allies lost 7300 men, the French, including prisoners, over 15,000, and Soult fell back baffled and beaten across the frontier.

Throughout this account of the short and sanguinary campaign by which in two short months Wellington shattered the power of the French and drove them headlong from the Peninsula, but little has been said respecting the doings of the Scudamores. Their duties had been heavy, but devoid of any personal achievements or events. Wellington, the incarnation of activity himself, spared no one around him, and from early dawn until late at night they were on horseback, carrying orders and bringing back reports. At night their quarters were sometimes in a village hut, sometimes in a straggling château, which afforded accommodation to the commander-in-chief and his whole staff.

Sam, a good horseman now, was in the highest of spirits at being able to accompany his masters, and, although the Spanish women crossed themselves in horror when they first saw his black face, the boys would hear shouts of laughter arising before they had been a quarter of an hour in fresh quarters. He was a capital cook, and a wonderful hand at hunting up provisions.

There might not be a sign of a feathered creature in a village when the staff came in, but in half an hour Sam would be sure to return from foraging with a couple of fowls and his handkerchief full of eggs. These were, of course, paid for, as the orders against pillaging were of the strictest character, and the army paid, and paid handsomely for everything it ate.

It was, however, difficult to persuade the peasants that payment was intended, and they would hide everything away with vigilant care at the approach of the troops. When by the display of money they were really persuaded that payment was intended, they would produce all that they had willingly enough, but the number of officers wanting to purchase was so great and the amount of live stock so small in the war-ravaged country, that few indeed could obtain even for money anything beside the tough rations of freshly-killed beef issued by the commissariat.

Let the supply be ever so short, however, Sam never returned empty-handed, and the fowls were quickly plucked and on the fire before any one else had succeeded in discovering that there was a bird in the village.

Sam's foraging powers passed into a joke with the staff, and the Scudamores became so curious to discover the reason of his success, that after repeated questioning they persuaded him to tell them.

"Well, massa, de matter berry simple—just easy as fallin' off log. Sam go along, look into yard ob de cottages, presently see feather here, feather there. Dat sign ob fowl. Den knock at door. Woman open always, gib little squeak when she see dis gentleman's colored face. Den she say, 'What you want? Dis house full. Quarter-master take him up for three, four officer.' Den Sam say, 'Illustrious madam, me want to buy two fowls and eggs for master,' and Sam show money in hand. Den she hesitate a little, and not believe Sam mean to pay. Den she say, 'No fowls here.' Den Sam point to de feathers. Den she get in rage and tell lie and say, 'Dem birds all stole yesterday.' Den Sam see it time to talk to de birds—he know dem shut up somewhere in de dark, and Sam he begin to crow berry loud; Sam berry good at dat. He crow for all de world like de cock. Dis wake dem up, and a minute one, two, three, half a dozen cock begin to answer eider from a loft ober house, or from shed, or from somewhere. Den de woman in terrible fright, she say, 'Me sell you two quick, if you will go away and swear you tell no one.' Den Sam swear. Den she run away, come back wid de fowls and some eggs, and always berry much astonished when Sam pay for dem. After dat she lose her fear, she see me pay, and she sells de chickens to oders when they come till all gone. Dat how dis chile manage de affairs, Massa Tom."

The Scudamores had a hearty laugh, and were well pleased to find that Sam's method was one to which not even the strictest disciplinarian could object, a matter concerning which they had previously had grave doubts.

While the battles of the Pyrenees were being fought, the siege of St. Sebastian had continued, and once again the British troops had suffered a terrible loss, from the attempt to carry a fortress with an insufficient siege-train, and without the time necessary to drive the trenches forward in regular form. St. Sebastian stood upon a peninsula. In front of the neck of this peninsula was the hill of San Bartholomeo, on which stood the convent of that name. At the narrowest part of the neck stood a redoubt, which was called the Cask Redoubt, because it was constructed of casks filled with stand. Behind this came the horn-work and other fortifications. Then came the town, while at the end of the peninsula rose a steep rock, called Mount Orgullo, on which stood the citadel. Upon its left side this neck of land was separated from the mainland by the River Urumea; and upon the heights of Mount Olia and the Chofres, across the Urumea, were placed the British batteries, which breached the fortifications facing the river.

General Graham commanded the allied forces, which were detached to undertake the siege, and on the 10th of July batteries were commenced against the convent of San Bartholomeo, which had been fortified by the French. On the 17th the convent was in ruins, and an assault was made upon the position. The 9th Regiment took the place in gallant style, but an attempt being made to carry the cask redoubt, with a rush, the assault was repulsed, the British remaining possessors of San Bartholomeo.

On the 24th the batteries on Mount Olia, having effected what was believed to be a practicable breach, 2000 men of the fifth division, consisting of the 3d battalion of the Royals, the 38th, and the 9th, made an assault at night. To arrive at the breach they had to make their way along the slippery rocks on the bed of the Urumea, exposed to a flank-fire from the river-wall of the town. The breachers had been isolated from the town, and guns placed to take the stormers in flank. The confusion and slaughter were terrible, and at daybreak the survivors fell back, with a loss of forty-nine officers and 520 men.

The whole arrangement of the siege was bad. The plan of Major Smith, of the engineers, a most excellent officer, which had been approved by Wellington, was not followed, and the assault, contrary to Wellington's explicit order, took place at night, instead of by day, the consequence being confusion, delay, and defeat. The total loss to the allies of this first siege of St. Sebastian was 1300 men.

Neither of the Scudamores were present at the first siege, but both witnessed the second assault, of the 31st of August, as Wellington himself was present on the 30th, to see to the execution of the preparation for attack, and they obtained leave to remain for the next day to witness the assault. The siege had been resumed on the 5th of that month, and on the 23d the batteries had opened fire in earnest, and immense damage was done to the defenses and garrison. But upon this occasion, as upon the former one, the proper precautions were not taken; no lodgment had been effected in the horn-work, and, worst of all, the blockade had been so negligently conducted by the fleet, that large bodies of fresh troops, guns, and ammunition had been passed in, and the defense was even stronger than it had been when the first assault was delivered.

General Graham took up his position on the heights of the Chofres to view the assault, and the Scudamores stationed themselves near him. A dense mist hid the fortress from view, and it was not until eight o'clock that the batteries were able to open. Then for three hours they poured a storm of shot and shell upon the defences. The Scudamores sat down in one of the trenches, where they were a little sheltered from the blazing heat of the sun, and Sam took his place at a short distance from them.

As the clock struck eleven the fire slackened, and at that moment Sam exclaimed, "Grolly, Massa Tom, dere dey go." As he spoke Robinson's brigade poured out from the trenches, and, passing through the openings in the sea-wall, began to form on the beach.

It was known that the French had mined the angle of the wall overhanging the beach, and a sergeant, followed by twelve men, dashed gallantly forward to try to cut the train leading to the mine. He was unsuccessful, but the suddenness of the rush startled the French, who at once fired the mine, which exploded, destroying the brave sergeant and his party, and thirty of the leading men of the column, but not doing a tithe of the damage which it would have inflicted had the column been fairly under it.

"Hurrah! dere dey go," Sam exclaimed as the column clambered over the ruins and pursued its way unchecked along the beach. They had, however, to make their way under a storm of fire.

The French, as before, lined the wall, and poured a tremendous musketry fire into their flank, and the batteries of Mount Orgullo and St. Elmo plied them with shot and shell, while two pieces of cannon on the cavalier and one on the horn-work raked them with grape.

Still the column neither halted nor faltered, but dashed, like a wave, up the breach. When, however, they reached the top they could go no farther. A deep gulf separated them from the town, while from every loop-hole and wall behind, the French musketry swept the breach. The troops could not advance and would not retreat, but sullenly stood their ground, heaping the breach with their dead. Fresh bodies of men came up, and each time a crowd of brave men mounted the breach, only to sink down beneath the storm of fire.

"This is awful, horrible, Tom!" Peter said in a choked voice. "Come away, I can't look at this slaughter, it is a thousand times worse than any battle."

Tom made no reply, his own eyes were dim with tears, and he rose to go, taking one more look at the deadly breach, at whose foot the survivors of the last attempt had sunk down, and whence the mass of soldiers were keeping up a musketry fire against the guns and unseen foes who were sweeping them away, when an officer ran up from General Graham's side, and in a minute fifty guns from the Chofres batteries opened a storm of fire upon the curtain and the traverses behind the breach.

It was a terrible trial to the nerves of the assaulting columns when this terrific fire was poured upon a spot only twenty feet above them; but they were not men to shrink, and the men of the light division seized the opportunity to pull up the broken masonry and make a breastwork, known in military terms as a lodgment.

For half an hour the iron storm poured overhead unchecked, smashing the traverse, knocking down the loop-holed walls, and killing numbers of the defenders. Then it ceased, and the troops leapt to their feet, and again rushed up the breach, while the 13th Portuguese Regiment, followed by a detachment of the 24th, waded across the Urumea under a heavy fire from the castle, and attacked the third breach.

But still no entry could be effected. The French fire was as heavy as ever, and the stormers again sank baffled to the foot of the great breach. The assault seemed hopeless, the tide was rising, the reserves were all engaged, and the men had done all that the most desperate courage could do. For five hours the battle had raged, when, just as all appeared lost, one of those circumstances occurred which upset all calculations and decide the fate of battles.

Behind the traverses the French had accumulated a great store of powder barrels, shells, and other combustibles. Just at this moment these caught fire. A bright flame wrapped the whole wall, followed by a succession of loud explosions; hundreds of French grenadiers were destroyed, and before the smoke had cleared away, the British burst like a flood through the first traverse.

Although bewildered by this sudden disaster, the French rallied, and fought desperately; but the British, desperate with the long agony of the last five hours, would not be denied; the light division penetrated on the left, the Portuguese on the right. The French, still resisting obstinately, were driven through the town to the line of defense at the foot of Mount Orgullo, and the town of St. Sebastian was won.

"Will you go across, Peter, and enter the town?"

"No, no, Tom; the sight of that horrible breach is enough for me. Let us mount, and ride off at once. I am quite sick after this awful suspense."

It was as well that the Scudamores did not enter the town, as, had they done so, they might have shared the fate of several other officers, who were shot down while trying to stop the troops in their wild excesses. No more disgraceful atrocities were ever committed by the most barbarous nations of antiquity than those which disgraced the British name at the storming of St. Sebastian. Shameful, monstrous as had been the conduct of the troops at the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo and at Badajos, it was infinitely worse at St. Sebastian. As Rapin says, hell seemed to have broken loose.

The castle held out until the 9th, when it surrendered, and the governor and his heroic garrison marched out with the honors of war. The British loss in the second siege exceeded 2500 men and officers.

There was a pause of two months after the fall of St. Sebastian, and it was not until the 10th of November that Wellington hurled his forces against the lines which, in imitation of those of Torres Vedras, Soult had formed and fortified on the river Nivelle to withstand the invasion of France. After a few hours' desperate fighting the French were turned out of their position with a loss of killed, wounded, and prisoners, of 4265 men and officers, the loss of the allies being 2694.

Now the army of invasion poured into France. The French people, disheartened by Napoleon's misfortunes in Germany, and by the long and mighty sacrifices which they had for years been compelled to make, in order to enable Napoleon to carry out his gigantic wars, showed but slight hostility to the invaders.

Wellington enforced the severest discipline, paid for everything required for the troops, hanging marauders without mercy, and, finding that it was impossible to keep the Spanish troops in order, he sent the whole Spanish contingent, 20,000 strong, back across the Pyrenees.

He then with the Anglo-Portuguese army moved on towards Bayonne, and took up a position on both sides of the river Nive, driving the French from their position on the right bank on December 9th. On the 13th, however, Soult attacked that portion of the army on the right of the river, and one of the most desperate conflicts of the war took place, known as the battle of St. Pierre. General Hill commanded at this battle, and with 14,000 Anglo-Portuguese, with 14 guns, repulsed the furious and repeated attacks of 16,000 French, with 22 guns.

In five days' fighting on the river the French lost more than as many thousand men.

The weather now for a time interrupted operations, but Wellington was preparing for the passage of the Adour. Soult guarded the passages of the river above Bayonne, and never dreamed that an attempt would be made to bridge so wide and rough a river as is the Adour below the town. With the assistance of the sailors of the fleet the great enterprise was accomplished on the 13th of February, and leaving General Hope to contain the force in the entrenched camp at Bayonne, Wellington marched the rest of the army to the Gave.

Behind this river Soult had massed his army. The British crossed by pontoon bridges, and before the operation was concluded, and the troops united, Soult fell upon them near Orthes.

At first the French had the best of the fight, driving back both wings of the allied forces, but Wellington threw the third and sixth divisions upon the left flank of the attacking column and sent the 52nd Regiment to make a detour through a marsh and fall upon their other flank. Taken suddenly between two fires the French wavered, the British pressed forward again, and the French fell back fighting obstinately, and in good order. The allies lost 2300 men, and the French 4000. Soult fell back towards Toulouse, laying Bordeaux open to the British.

CHAPTER XX. TOULOUSE.

Promotion for those who have the good fortune to have a post upon the commander-in-chief's staff is rapid. They run far less risk than do the regimental officers, and they have a tenfold better chance of having their names mentioned in despatches. The Scudamores were so mentioned for their conduct at Vittoria, the Pyrenees, and Orthes, and shortly after the last-named battle the Gazette from England announced their promotion to majorities. This put an end to their service as aides-de-camp, and they were attached to the quarter-master's branch of the staff of Lord Beresford, who was upon the point of starting with a small force to Bordeaux, where the authorities, thinking more of party than of patriotism, had invited the English to enter and take possession, intending to proclaim their adhesion to the Bourbon dynasty.

The boys were sorry at the exchange, as they feared that they should lose the crowning battle of the campaign. It was evident that the resistance of France was nearly at an end, the allies were approaching Paris in spite of the almost superhuman efforts of Napoleon; the people, sick of the war, refused all assistance to the military authorities, and were longing for peace, and the end of the struggle was rapidly approaching.

Lord Beresford, however, divining their thoughts, assured them that his stay at Bordeaux would be but short, and that they might rely upon being present at the great battle which would probably be fought somewhere near Toulouse, towards which town Soult had retreated after the battle of Orthes.

Upon the 8th of March, Beresford marched with 12,000 men for Bordeaux, and meeting with no opposition by the way, entered that city on the 12th. The mayor, a royalist, came out to meet them, and by the upper classes of the town they were received as friends rather than foes. Handsome quarters were assigned to Lord Beresford and his staff, and the Scudamores for a day or two enjoyed the luxury of comfortable apartments and of good food after their hard fare for nine months.

The day after they entered Bordeaux Tom had occasion to call at the office of a banker in order to get a government draft cashed, to pay for a number of wagons which had been purchased for the quarter-master's department. The banker's name was Weale, an American, said to be the richest man in Bordeaux. His fortune had been made, it was said, by large government contracts.

When Tom returned, Peter was surprised to see him looking pale and excited.

"What is the matter, Tom?"

"Do you know, Peter, I am convinced that that American banker I have been to see to-day is neither more nor less than that scoundrel, Walsh, who bolted with all the bank funds, and was the cause of our father's death."

"You don't say so, Tom."

"It is a fact, Peter, I could swear to him."

"What shall we do, Tom?"

"I only cashed one of the two drafts I had with me this morning; Peter, you go this afternoon with the other, and, if you are as certain as I feel about it, we will speak to Beresford at dinner."

Peter returned in the afternoon satisfied that his brother's surmises were correct, and that in the supposed American Weale they had really discovered the English swindler Walsh.

After dinner they asked Lord Beresford to speak to them for a few minutes alone.

The general was greatly surprised and interested at their communication.

"Of how much did this fellow rob your father's bank?" he asked.

"The total defalcation, including money borrowed on title-deeds deposited in the bank, which had to be made good, was, I heard, from 75,000£ to 80,000£," Tom said.

"Very well," said Lord Beresford, "we will make the scoundrel pay up with interest. Order out thirty men of the 13th."

While the men were mustering, the general returned to the dining-room and begged the officers who were dining with him to excuse him for half an hour, as he had some unexpected business to perform. Then he walked across with the Scudamores to the banker's house, which was only in the next street.

Twenty of the men were then ordered to form a cordon round the house and to watch the various entrances. The other ten, together with the officer in command, the general told to follow him into the house. The arrangements completed, he rang at the bell, and the porter at once opened the gate.

He started and would have tried to shut it again, on seeing the armed party. But Lord Beresford said, "I am the general commanding the British troops here. Make no noise, but show me directly to your master."

The man hesitated, but seeing that the force was too great to be resisted, led the way through the courtyard into the house itself.

Some servants in the hall started up with amazement, and would have run off, but Lord Beresford cried, "Stay quiet for your lives. No one will be hurt; but if any one moves from the hall, he will be shot." Then, followed by Tom and Peter only, he opened the door which the porter pointed out to him as that of the room where the banker was sitting.

He was alone, and started to his feet upon beholding three British officers enter unannounced. "What means this?" he demanded angrily. "I am a citizen of the United States, and for any outrage upon me satisfaction will be demanded by my Government."

"I am Lord Beresford," the general said quietly, "and quite know what I am doing. I do not quite agree with you that the Government of the United States will make any demand for satisfaction for any outrage upon your person, nor, if they do so, will it benefit you greatly; for I am about, in five minutes' time, to order you to be shot, Mr. Walsh."

As the name was uttered the banker, who had listened with increasing pallor to the stern words of the general, started violently, and turned ghastly white. For a minute or so he was too surprised and confounded to speak. Then he said, in a husky tone, "It is false; I am an American citizen. I know nothing whatever about James Walsh."

"James Walsh!" the general said; "I said nothing about James. It is you who have told us his Christian name, which is, I have no doubt, the correct one."

He looked to Tom, who nodded assent.

"I know nothing about any Walsh," the banker said doggedly. "Who says

I do?"

"We do, James Walsh," Tom said, stepping forward. "Tom and Peter

Scudamore, the sons of the man you robbed and ruined."

The banker stared at them wildly, and then, with a hoarse cry, dropped into his chair.

"James Walsh," the general said sternly, "your life is doubly forfeit. As a thief and a swindler, the courts of law will punish you with death;" for in those days death was the penalty of a crime of this kind. "In the second place, as a traitor. As a man who has given aid and assistance to the enemies of your country, your life is forfeit, and I, as the general in command here, doom you to death. In five minutes you will be shot in your courtyard as a thief and a traitor."

"Spare me!" the wretched man said, slipping off his chair on to his knees. "Spare my life, and take all that I have. I am rich, and can restore much of that which I took. I will pay 50,000£"

"Fifty thousand pounds!" the general said; "you stole 80,000£, which, with interest, comes up to 100,000£, besides which you must pay for acting as a traitor. The military chest is empty, and we want money. I will value your wretched life at 25,000£.   If you make that sum a present to our military chest, and pay Major Scudamore the 100,000£ of which you swindled his father, I will spare you."

"One hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds!" the banker said fiercely. "Never, I will die first."

"Very well," Lord Beresford said quietly. "Major Scudamore, please call in the officer and four men." Tom did as requested, and Lord Beresford then addressed the officer. "You will take this man, who is an Englishman, who has been acting as a traitor, and giving assistance to the French army, you will take a firing party, place him against the wall of the yard, give him five minutes to make his peace with God, and when the five minutes are up, unless he tells you before that that he wishes to see me, shoot him."

Pale and desperate, the banker was led out.

"He will give way, I hope," Tom said, as the door closed behind him.

"He will give way before the time is up," Lord Beresford said. "He is a coward; I saw it in his face."

Four minutes passed on, the door opened again, and the officer returned with his prisoner. "He says he agrees to your terms, sir"

"Very well" Lord Beresford answered; "remain outside with your men; they may be wanted yet."

The prisoner, without a word, led the way into an adjoining room, which communicated with the public office. This was his private parlor, and in a corner stood a safe. He unlocked it, and, taking out some books and papers, sat down to the table.

His mood had evidently changed. "I was a fool to hold out," he said, "for I had my name for wealth against me, and might have known you would not give way. After all, I do not know that I am altogether sorry, for I have always had an idea that some day or other the thing would come out, and now I can go back and be comfortable for the rest of my life. How will you have the money, gentlemen? I have 50,000£ in cash, and can give you a draft on the Bank of England for the rest. You look surprised, but I have always been prepared to cut and run from this country at the shortest notice, and every penny I have beyond the cash absolutely required is in England or America."

"I will take 25,000£ in cash for the use of the army," Lord Beresford said. "I will send an officer of the commissariat to-morrow for it. The 100,000£ you may pay these gentlemen in drafts on England. Until I hear that these drafts are honored, I shall keep you under surveillance, and you will not be suffered to leave your house."

"It will be all right," Walsh said. "There—is my Bank of England pass-book; you will see that I have 120,000£ standing to the credit of J. Weale there. I have as much in America. I should not tell you this did I not know that you are a gentleman, and therefore will not raise terms now that you see I can pay higher. There, Mr. Scudamore, is the draft, and, believe me or not, I am glad to repay it, and to feel, for the first time for many years, a free man. Please to give me a receipt for the 80,000£ due by me to the Bank, and for 20,000£, five years' interest on the same."

Tom did as he was desired without speaking. There was a tone of effrontery mingled with the half-earnestness of this successful swindler that disgusted him.

"There," the general said, as the receipts were handed over; "come along, lads, the business is over, and I do not think that we have any more to say to Mr. Weale."

So saying, without further word, the three went out.

Upon rejoining the officer without, Lord Beresford directed that a sergeant and ten men were to be quartered in the house, and that a sentry was to be placed at each entrance night and day, and that the banker was not to be permitted to stir out under any pretence whatever until further orders.

"There, lads, I congratulate you heartily," he said as they issued from the gate, in answer to the warm thanks in which the boys expressed their gratitude to him; "it is a stroke of luck indeed that you came with me to Bordeaux. It was rough-and-ready justice, and I don't suppose a court of law in England would approve of it; but we are under martial law, so even were that fellow disposed to question the matter, which you may be very sure he will not, we are safe enough. They say 'ill-gotten gains fly fast' but the scamp has prospered on the money he stole. He owned to having another hundred thousand safe in the States, and no doubt he has at least as much more in securities of one sort or other here. I daresay he was in earnest when he said that he did not mind paying the money to get rid of the chance of detection and punishment, which must have been ever in his mind. The best thing you can do, Scudamore, is to write to James Pearson—he's my solicitor in London—and give him authority to present this draft, and invest the sum in your joint names in good securities. Inclose the draft. I shall be sending off an orderly with despatches and letters at daybreak, and if you give me your letter to-night, I will inclose it in a note of my own to Pearson."

Five days later an order arrived for Lord Beresford to leave the seventh division under Lord Dalhousie, in Bordeaux, and to march with the fourth division to join the Commander-in-Chief, who was gradually drawing near to Toulouse, beneath whose walls Soult was reorganizing his army. The position was a very strong one, and had been rendered almost impregnable by fortifications thrown upon the heights. Wellington had, too, the disadvantage of having to separate his army, as the town lay upon both sides of the Garonne.

On the 10th of April the allied army attacked. Hill attacked the defences of the town on the left bank, while Freyre's Spaniards, Picton, with the third and light divisions, and Beresford with the fourth and the sixth divisions, assaulted a French position. The entrenchments in front of Picton were too strong to be more than menaced. Freyre's Spaniards were repulsed with great loss, and the brunt of the battle fell upon Beresford's division, which nobly sustained the character of the British soldier for stubborn valor in this the last battle of the war. The French fought stubbornly and well, but fort by fort the British drove them from their strong positions, and at five in the afternoon Soult withdrew the last of his troops in good order across the canal which separated the position they had defended from the town itself. The French lost five generals and 3000 killed and wounded; the allies four generals and 4659 killed and wounded, of which 2000 were Spaniards, for they upon this occasion fought bravely, though unsuccessfully.

On the 11th all was quiet, Wellington preparing for an attack upon the city on the following day. Soult, however, finding that the British cavalry had been sent off so as to menace his line of retreat, evacuated the city in the night, drew off his army with great order and ability, and by a march of twenty-two miles placed it in safety. Upon the morning of the 12th Wellington entered Toulouse, and the same afternoon two officers, one British, the other French, arrived together from Paris, with the news of the abdication of Napoleon, and the termination of the war.

These officers had been detained for two days at Blois by the officials there, and this delay had cost the blood of 8000 men, among whom was Tom Scudamore, who had his left arm carried away by a cannon ball. Sam, in the act of carrying his master from the field, was also severely wounded in the head with a musket ball.

Before the battle was fought they had received news from England that the draft had been paid at the Bank of England, and that their future was in consequence secure. The war being over, officers unattached to regiments had little difficulty in getting leave of absence, as the troops were to be embarked for England as soon as possible. Peter's application, therefore, to accompany his brother was acceded to without hesitation, and ten days after the battle of Toulouse he was on board ship with Tom and Sam, both of whom were doing well. Three days afterwards they landed in England.

Rhoda met them, with Miss Scudamore, at Portsmith, having received a letter telling them of Tom's wound, and of their being upon the point of sailing. There was a great reduction of the army at the end of the war, and the Scudamores were both placed upon half pay. This was a matter of delight to Rhoda, and of satisfaction to themselves. They had had enough of adventure to last for a life-time; and with the prospect of a long peace the army no longer offered them any strong attraction.

When they returned to Miss Scudamore's their old friend Dr. Jarvis came to visit them, and a happier party could not have been found in England. The will of Mr. Scudamore, made before he was aware of his ruin, was now acted upon. He had left 20,000£ to Rhoda, and the rest of his fortune in equal parts between his boys. Both Tom and Peter were fond of a country life, and they bought two adjoining estates near Oxford, Rhoda agreeing to stop with them and Miss Scudamore alternately.

For a brief time there was a break in their happiness, Napoleon escaped from Elba, and Europe was in a flame again. All the officers on half pay were ordered to present themselves for duty, and the Scudamores crossed with the army to Belgium, and fought at Waterloo. Neither were hurt, nor was Sam, who had of course accompanied them. Waterloo gave them another step in rank, and the Scudamores returned as colonels to England.

It was their last war. A few years afterwards they married sisters, and Rhoda having the year previous married a gentleman whose estate was in the same county, they remained as united as ever. Sambo held for many a year the important position of butler to Tom, then he found that one of the housemaids did not regard his color as any insuperable obstacle, and they were accordingly married. It was difficult to say after this exactly the position which Sam held. He lived at a cottage on the edge of the estate, where it joined that of Peter, and his time was spent in generally looking after things at both houses, and as years went on his great delight was, above all things, to relate to numerous young Scudamores the adventures of their father and uncle when he first knew them as the Young Buglers.

Table of Contents

Under Wellington's Command

Preface.

Chapter 1: A Detached Force.

Chapter 2: Talavera.

Chapter 3: Prisoners.

Chapter 4: Guerillas.

Chapter 5: An Escape.

Chapter 6: Afloat.

Chapter 7: A French Privateer.

Chapter 8: A Smart Engagement.

Chapter 9: Rejoining.

Chapter 10: Almeida.

Chapter 11: The French Advance.

Chapter 12: Fuentes D'Onoro.

Chapter 13: From Salamanca To Cadiz.

Chapter 14: Effecting A Diversion.

Chapter 15: Dick Ryan's Capture.

Chapter 16: Back With The Army.

Chapter 17: Ciudad Rodrigo.

Chapter 18: The Sack Of A City.

Chapter 19: Gratitude.

Chapter 20: Salamanca.

Chapter 21: Home Again.

Under Wellington's Command

Preface.

As many boys into whose hands the present volume may fall will not have read my last year's book, With Moore in Corunna, of which this is a continuation, it is necessary that a few words should be said, to enable them to take up the thread of the story. It was impossible, in the limits of one book, to give even an outline of the story of the Peninsular War, without devoting the whole space to the military operations. It would, in fact, have been a history rather than a tale; and it accordingly closed with the passage of the Douro, and the expulsion of the French from Portugal.

The hero, Terence O'Connor, was the son of the senior captain of the Mayo Fusiliers and, when the regiment was ordered to join Sir Arthur Wellesley's expedition to Portugal, the colonel of the regiment obtained for him a commission; although so notorious was the boy, for his mischievous pranks, that the colonel hesitated whether he would not get into some serious scrapes; especially as Dick Ryan, one of the ensigns, was always his companion in mischief, and both were aided and abetted by Captain O'Grady.

However, on the way out, the slow old transport, in which a wing of the regiment was carried, was attacked by two French privateers, who would have either taken or sunk her, had it not been for a happy suggestion of the quick-witted lad. For this he gained great credit, and was selected by General Fane as one of his aides-de-camp. In this capacity he went through the arduous campaign, under General Moore, that ended at Corunna.

His father had been so seriously wounded, at Vimiera, that he was invalided home and placed on half pay; and in the same battle Captain O'Grady lost his left arm but, on its being cured, returned to his place in the regiment.

At Corunna Terence, while carrying a despatch, was thrown from his horse and stunned; and on recovering found that the British had already embarked on board the ships of the fleet. He made his way to the frontier of Portugal, and thence to Lisbon. He was then appointed to the staff of Sir John Craddock, who was now in command; and sent in charge of some treasure for the use of the Spanish General Romana, who was collecting a force on the northern border of Portugal. Terence had orders to aid him, in any way in his power, to check the invasion of Portugal from the north.

Of this order he took advantage when, on the way, the agents of the junta of Oporto endeavoured to rob him; attacking the house where he and his escort had taken up their quarters with a newly-raised levy of two thousand five hundred unarmed peasants. By a ruse he got their leaders into his hands, and these showed such abject cowardice that the peasants refused further to follow them, and asked Terence to take the command of the force.

He assented, formed them into two battalions, appointed two British orderlies as majors, the Portuguese officer of his escort lieutenant-colonel, and his troopers captains of companies; put them in the way of obtaining arms and, by dint of hard drill and kindness, converted them into an efficient body of soldiers. Finding that little was to be expected from Romana's force, he acted as a partisan leader and, in this capacity, performed such valuable service that he was confirmed in the command of his force, which received the name of the Minho regiment; and he and his officers received commissions for the rank they held in the Portuguese army.

At Oporto he rescued from a convent a cousin, who, at the death of her father, a British merchant there, had been shut up by her Portuguese mother until she would consent to sign away the property to which she was entitled, and to become a nun. She went to England to live with Terence's father, and came into possession of the fortune which her father, foreseeing that difficulties might arise at his death, had forwarded to a bank at home, having appointed Captain O'Connor her guardian.

The present volume takes the story of the Peninsular War up to the battle of Salamanca, and concludes the history of Terence O'Connor. My readers will understand that, in all actions in which the British army took part, the details are accurately given; but that the doings of the Minho regiment, and of Terence O'Connor as a partisan leader, are not to be considered as strictly historical, although similar feats of daring and adventure were accomplished by Trant, Pack, and other leaders of irregular forces.

G. A. Henty.

Chapter 1: A Detached Force.

"Be jabers, Terence, we shall all die of weariness with doing nothing, if we don't move soon," said Captain O'Grady; who, with Dick Ryan, had ridden over to spend the afternoon with Terence O'Connor, whose regiment of Portuguese was encamped some six miles out of Abrantes, where the division to which the Mayo Fusiliers belonged was stationed.

"Here we are in June, and the sun getting hotter and hotter, and the whisky just come to an end, though we have been mighty sparing over it, and nothing to eat but ration beef. Begorrah, if it wasn't for the bastely drill, I should forget that I was a soldier at all. I should take meself for a convict, condemned to stop all me life in one place. At first there was something to do, for one could forage for food dacent to eat; but now I don't believe there is as much as an old hen left within fifteen miles, and as for ducks and geese, I have almost forgotten the taste of them."

"It is not lively work, O'Grady, but it is worse for me here. You have got Dicky Ryan to stir you up and keep you alive, and O'Flaherty to look after your health and see that you don't exceed your allowance; while practically I have no one but Herrara to speak to, for though Bull and Macwitty are excellent fellows in their way, they are not much as companions.

"However, I think we must be nearly at the end of it. We have got pretty well all the troops up here, except those who are to remain at Lisbon."

"I see the men," O'Grady said, "but I don't see the victuals. We can't march until we get transport and food, and where they are to come from no one seems to know."

"I am afraid we shall do badly for a time in that respect, O'Grady. Sir Arthur has not had time, yet, to find out what humbugs the Spaniards are, and what wholesale lies they tell. Of course, he had some slight experience of it when we first landed, at the Mondego; but it takes longer than that to get at the bottom of their want of faith. Craddock learnt it after a bitter experience, and so did Moore. I have no doubt that the Spaniards have represented to Sir Arthur that they have large disciplined armies, that the French have been reduced to a mere handful, and that they are only waiting for his advance to drive them across the frontier. Also, no doubt, they have promised to find any amount of transport and provisions, as soon as he enters Spain. As to relying upon Cuesta, you might as well rely upon the assistance of an army of hares, commanded by a pig-headed owl."

"I can't make out, meself," O'Grady said, "what we want to have anything to do with the Spaniards for, at all. If I were in Sir Arthur's place, I would just march straight against the French and thrash them."

"That sounds well, O'Grady, but we know very little about where the French are, what they are doing, or what is their strength; and I think that you will allow that, though we have beaten them each time we have met them, they fought well. At Rolica we were three to one against them, and at Vimiera we had the advantage of a strong position. At Corunna things were pretty well even, but we had our backs to the wall.

"I am afraid, O'Grady, that just at present you are scarcely qualified to take command of the army; except only on the one point, that you thoroughly distrust the Spaniards.

"Well, Dick, have you been having any fun lately?"

"It is not to be done, Terence. Everyone is too disgusted and out of temper to make it safe. Even the chief is dangerous. I would as soon think of playing a joke on a wandering tiger, as on him. The major is not a man to trifle with, at the best of times and, except O'Flaherty, there is not a man among them who has a good word to throw at a dog. Faith, when one thinks of the good time one used to have at Athlone, it is heartbreaking."

"Well, come in and refresh yourselves. I have a bottle or two still left."

"That is good news!" O'Grady said fervently. "It has been on the tip of me tongue to ask you, for me mouth is like an oven; but I was so afraid you would say it was gone that I dare n't open me lips about it."

"To tell you the truth, O'Grady, except when some of you fellows come over, there is not any whisky touched in this camp. I have kept it strictly for your sergeants, who have been helping to teach my men drill, and coaching the non-commissioned officers. It has been hard work for them, but they have stuck to it well, and the thought of an allowance at the end of the day's work has done wonders with them.

"We made a very fair show when we came in, but now I think the two battalions could work with the best here, without doing themselves discredit. The non-commissioned officers have always been our weak point, but now my fellows know their work very fairly, and they go at it with a will. You see, they are all very proud of the corps, and have spared no pains to make themselves worthy of it.

"Of course, what you may call purely parade movements are not done as they are by our infantry; but in all useful work, I would back them against any here. They are very fair shots, too. I have paid for a lot of extra ammunition; which, I confess, we bought from some of the native levies. No doubt I should get into a row over it, if it were known; but as these fellows are not likely ever to fire a shot against the French, and it is of importance that mine should be able to shoot well, I didn't hesitate to do it. Fortunately the regimental chest is not empty, and all the officers have given a third of their pay, to help. But it has certainly done a lot of good, and the shooting has greatly improved since we came here."

"I have been working steadily at Portuguese, Terence, ever since you spoke to me about it. One has no end of time on one's hands and, really, I am getting on very fairly."

"That is right, Dicky. If we win this campaign I will certainly ask for you as adjutant. I shall be awfully glad to have you with me, and I really do want an adjutant for each battalion.

"And you, O'Grady?"

"Well, I can't report favourably of meself at all, at all. I tried hard for a week, and it is the fault of me tongue, and not of meself. I can't get it to twist itself to the outlandish words. I am willing enough, but me tongue isn't; and I am afraid that, were it a necessity that every officer in your corps should speak the bastely language, I should have to stay at home."

"I am afraid that it is quite necessary, O'Grady," Terence laughed. "An adjutant who could not make himself understood would be of no shadow of use. You know how I should like to have you with me; but, upon the other hand, there would be inconveniences. You are, as you have said many a time, my superior officer in our army, and I really should not like to have to give you orders. Then again, Bull and Macwitty are still more your juniors, having only received their commissions a few months back; and they would feel just as uncomfortable as I should, at having you under them. I don't think that it would do at all. Besides, you know, you are not fond of work by any means, and there would be more to do in a regiment like this than in one of our own."

"I suppose that it must be so, Terence," O'Grady said resignedly, as he emptied his tumbler; "and besides, there is a sort of superstition in the service that an adjutant should be always able to walk straight to his tent, even after a warm night at mess. Now, although it seems to me that I have every other qualification, in that respect I should be a failure; and I imagine that, in a Portuguese regiment, the thing would be looked at more seriously than it is in an Irish one; where such a matter occurs, occasionally, among men as well as officers."

"That is quite true, O'Grady. The Portuguese are a sober people and would not, as you say, be able to make the same allowance for our weaknesses that Irish soldiers do; seeing that it is too common for our men to be either one way or the other.

"However, Ryan, I do hope I shall be able to get you. I never had much hopes of O'Grady; and this failure of his tongue to aid him, in his vigorous efforts to learn the language, seems to quite settle the matter as far as he is concerned."

At this moment an orderly rode up to the tent. Terence went out.

"A despatch from headquarters, sir," the trooper said, saluting.

"All right, my man! You had better wait for five minutes, and see if any answer is required."

Going into the tent, he opened the despatch.

"Hooray!" he said, as he glanced at the contents, "here is a movement, at last."

The letter was as follows:

"Colonel O'Connor will at once march with his force to Plasencia; and will reconnoitre the country between that town and the Tagus to the south, and Bejar to the north. He will ascertain, as far as possible, the position and movements of the French army under Victor. He will send a daily report of his observations to headquarters. Twenty Portuguese cavalry, under a subaltern, will be attached to his command, and will furnish orderlies to carry his reports.

"It is desirable that Colonel O'Connor's troops should not come in contact with the enemy, except to check any reconnoitring parties moving towards Castello Branco and Villa Velha. It is most necessary to prevent the news of an advance of the army in that direction reaching the enemy, and to give the earliest possible information of any hostile gathering that might menace the flank of the army, while on its march.

"The passes of Banos and Periles will be held by the troops of Marshal Beresford and General Del Parque, and it is to the country between the mountains and Marshal Cuesta's force, at Almaraz, that Colonel O'Connor is directed to concentrate his attention. In case of being attacked by superior forces, Colonel O'Connor will, if possible, retreat into the mountains on his left flank, maintain himself there, and open communications with Lord Beresford's forces at Banos or Bejar.

"Colonel O'Connor is authorized to requisition six carts from the quartermaster's department, and to hand over his tents to them; to draw 50,000 rounds of ball cartridge, and such rations as he may be able to carry with him. The paymaster has received authority to hand over to him 500 pounds, for the payment of supplies for his men. When this sum is exhausted, Colonel O'Connor is authorized to issue orders for supplies payable by the paymaster to the forces, exercising the strictest economy, and sending notification to the Paymaster General of the issue of such orders.

"This despatch is confidential, and the direction of the route is, on no account, to be divulged."

"You hear that, O'Grady; and you too, Dicky. I ought not to have read the despatch out loud. However, I know you will keep the matter secret."

"You may trust us for that, Terence, for it is a secret worth knowing. It is evident that Sir Arthur is going to join Cuesta, and make a dash on Madrid. Well, he has been long enough in making up his mind; but it is a satisfaction that we are likely to have hot work, at last, though I wish we could have done it without those Spaniards. We have seen enough of them to know that nothing, beyond kind words, are to be expected of them and, when the time for fighting comes, I would rather that we depended upon ourselves than have to act with fellows on whom there is no reliance, whatever, to be placed."

"I agree with you there, heartily, O'Grady. However, thank goodness we are going to set out at last; and I am very glad that it falls to us to act as the vanguard of the army, instead of being attached to Beresford's command and kept stationary in the passes.

"Now I must be at work. I daresay we shall meet again, before long."

Terence wrote an acknowledgment of the receipt of the general's order, and handed it to the orderly who had brought it. A bugler at once sounded the field-officers' call.

"We are to march at once," he said, when Herrara, Bull, and Macwitty arrived. "Let the tents be struck, and handed over to the quartermaster's department. See that the men have four days' biscuit in their haversacks.

"Each battalion is to take three carts with it. I will go to the quartermaster's department, to draw them. Tell off six men from each battalion to accompany me, and take charge of the carts. Each battalion will carry 25,000 rounds of spare ammunition, and a chest of 250 pounds. I will requisition from the commissariat as much biscuit as we can carry, and twenty bullocks for each battalion, to be driven with the carts.

"As soon as the carts are obtained, the men will drive them to the ordnance stores for the ammunition, and to the commissariat stores to load up the food. You had better send an officer in charge of the men of each battalion.

"I will myself draw the money from the paymaster. I will go there at once. Send a couple of men with me, for of course it will be paid in silver. Then I will go to the quartermaster's stores, and get the carts ready by the time that the men arrive. I want to march in an hour's time, at latest."

In a few minutes the camp was a scene of bustle and activity. The tents were struck and packed away in their bags, and piled in order to be handed over to the quartermaster; and in a few minutes over an hour from the receipt of the order, the two battalions were in motion.

After a twenty-mile march, they halted for the night near the frontier. An hour later they were joined by twenty troopers of a Portuguese regiment, under the command of a subaltern.

The next day they marched through Plasencia, and halted for the night on the slopes of the Sierra. An orderly was despatched, next morning, to the officer in command of any force that there might be at Banos, informing him of the position that they had taken up.

Terence ordered two companies to remain at this spot, which was at the head of a little stream running down into an affluent of the Tagus; their position being now nearly due north of Almaraz, from which they were distant some twenty miles. The rest of the force descended into the plain, and took post at various villages between the Sierra and Oropesa, the most advanced party halting four miles from that town.

The French forces under Victor had, in accordance with orders from Madrid, fallen back from Plasencia a week before, and taken up his quarters at Talavera.

At the time when the regiment received its uniforms, Terence had ordered that twenty suits of the men's peasant clothes should be retained in store and, specially intelligent men being chosen, twenty of these were sent forward towards the river Alberche, to discover Victor's position. They brought in news that he had placed his troops behind the river, and that Cuesta, who had at one time an advanced guard at Oropesa, had recalled it to Almaraz. Parties of Victor's cavalry were patrolling the country between Talavera and Oropesa.

Terence had sent Bull, with five hundred men, to occupy all the passes across the Sierras, with orders to capture any orderlies or messengers who might come along; and a day later four men brought in a French officer, who had been captured on the road leading south. He was the bearer of a letter from Soult to the king, and was at once sent, under the escort of four troopers, to headquarters.

The men who had brought in the officer reported that they had learned that Wilson, with his command of four thousand men, was in the mountains north of the Escurial; and that spies from that officer had ascertained that there was great alarm in Madrid, where the news of the British advance towards Plasencia was already known; and that it was feared that this force, with Cuesta's army at Almaraz and Venegas' army in La Mancha, were about to combine in an attack upon the capital. This, indeed, was Sir Arthur's plan, and had been arranged with the Supreme Junta. The Junta, however, being jealous of Cuesta, had given secret instructions to Venegas to keep aloof.

On his arrival at Plasencia, the English general had learned at once the hollowness of the Spanish promises. He had been assured of an ample supply of food, mules, and carts for transport; and had, on the strength of these statements, advanced with but small supplies, for little food and but few animals could be obtained in Portugal. He found, on arriving, that no preparations whatever had been made; and the army, thus early in the campaign, was put on half rations. Day after day passed without any of the promised supplies arriving, and Sir Arthur wrote to the Supreme Junta; saying that although, in accordance with his agreement, he would march to the Alberche, he would not cross that river unless the promises that had been made were kept, to the letter.

He had, by this time, learned that the French forces north of the mountains were much more formidable than the Spanish reports had led him to believe; but he still greatly underrated Soult's army, and was altogether ignorant that Ney had evacuated Galicia, and was marching south with all speed, with his command. Del Parque had failed in his promise to garrison Bejar and Banos, and these passes were now only held by a few hundreds of Cuesta's Spaniards.

A week after taking up his position north of Oropesa, Terence received orders to move with his two battalions, and to take post to guard these passes; with his left resting on Bejar, and his right in communication with Wilson's force. The detachments were at once recalled. A thousand men were posted near Bejar, and the rest divided among the other passes by which a French army from the north could cross the Sierra.

As soon as this arrangement was made, Terence rode to Wilson's headquarters. He was received very cordially by that officer.

"I am heartily glad to see you, Colonel O'Connor," the latter said. "Of course, I have heard of the doings of your battalions; and am glad, indeed, to have your support. I sent a messenger off, only this morning, to Sir Arthur; telling him that, from the information brought in by my spies, I am convinced that Soult is much stronger than has been supposed; and that, if he moves south, I shall scarce be able to hold the passes of Arenas and San Pedro Barnardo; and that I can certainly spare no men for the defence of the more westerly ones, by which Soult is likely to march from Salamanca. However, now you are there, I shall feel safe."

"No doubt I could hinder an advance, Sir Robert," Terence said, "but I certainly could not hope to bar the passes to a French army. I have no artillery and, though my men are steady enough against infantry, I doubt whether they would be able to withstand an attack heralded by a heavy cannonade. With a couple of batteries of artillery to sweep the passes, one might make a fair stand for a time against a greatly superior force; but with only infantry, one could not hope to maintain one's position."

"Quite so, and Sir Arthur could not expect it. My own opinion is that we shall have fifty thousand men coming down from the north. I have told the chief as much; but naturally he will believe the assurances of the Spanish juntas, rather than reports gathered by our spies; and no doubt hopes to crush Victor altogether, before Soult makes any movement; and he trusts to Venegas' advance, from the south towards the upper Tagus, to cause Don Joseph to evacuate Madrid, as soon as he hears of Victor's defeat.

"But I have, certainly, no faith whatever in either Venegas or Cuesta. Cuesta is loyal enough, but he is obstinate and pig headed and, at present, he is furious because the Supreme Junta has been sending all the best troops to Venegas, instead of to him; and he knows, well enough, that that perpetual intriguer Frere is working underhand to get Albuquerque appointed to the supreme command. As to Venegas, he is a mere tool of the Supreme Junta and, as likely as not, they will order him to do nothing but keep his army intact.

"Then again, the delay at Plasencia has upset all Sir Arthur's arrangements. Had he pressed straight forward on the 28th of last month, when he crossed the frontier, disregarding Cuesta altogether, he could have been at Madrid long before this; for I know that at that time Victor's force had been so weakened that he had but between fourteen and fifteen thousand men, and must have fallen back without fighting. Now he has again got the troops that had been taken from him, and will be further reinforced before Sir Arthur arrives on the Alberche; and of course Soult has had plenty of time to get everything in readiness to cross the mountains, and fall upon the British rear, as soon as he hears that they are fairly on their way towards Madrid. Here we are at the 20th, and our forces will only reach Oropesa today.

"Victor is evidently afraid that Sir Arthur will move from Oropesa towards the hills, pass the upper Alberche, and so place himself between him and Madrid; for a strong force of cavalry reconnoitred in this direction, this morning."

"Would it not be as well, sir," said Terence, "if we were to arrange some signals by which we could aid each other? That hill top can be seen from the hill beyond which is the little village where I have established myself. I noticed it this morning, before I started. If you would keep a lookout on your hill, I would have one on mine. We might each get three bonfires, a hundred yards apart, ready for lighting. If I hear of any great force approaching the defiles I am watching, I could summon your aid either by day or night by these fires; and in the same way, if Soult should advance by the line that you are guarding, you could summon me. My men are really well trained in this sort of work, and you could trust them to make an obstinate defence."

"I think that your idea is a very good one, and will certainly carry it out. You see, we are really both of us protecting the left flank of our army, and can certainly do so more effectually if we work together.

"We might, too, arrange another signal. One fire might mean that, for some reason or other, we are marching away. I may have orders to move some distance towards Madrid, so as to compel Victor to weaken himself by detaching a force to check me; you may be ordered, as the army advances, to leave your defiles in charge of the Spaniards, and to accompany the army. Two fires might mean, spies have reported a general advance of the French coming by several routes. Thus, you see, we should be in readiness for any emergency.

"I should be extremely glad of your help, if Soult comes this way. My own corps of 1200 men are fairly good soldiers, and I can rely upon them to do their best; but the other 3000 have been but recently raised, and I don't think that any dependence can be placed upon them, in case of hard fighting; but with your two battalions, we ought to be able to hold any of these defiles for a considerable time."

Two days later, Terence received orders to march instantly with his force down into the valley, to follow the foot of the hills until he reached the Alberche, when he was to report his arrival, wait until he received orders, and check the advance of any French force endeavouring to move round the left flank of the British. The evening before, one signal fire had announced that Wilson was on the move and, thinking that he, too, might be summoned, Terence had called in all his outposts, and was able to march a quarter of an hour after he received the order.

He had learned, on the evening he returned from his visit to Sir Robert, from men sent down into the plain for the purpose, that Cuesta's army and that of Sir Arthur had advanced together from Oropesa. He was glad at the order to join the army, as he had felt that, should Soult advance, his force, unprovided as it was with guns, would be able to offer but a very temporary resistance; especially if the French Marshal was at the head of a force anything like as strong as was reported by the peasantry. As to this, however, he had very strong doubts, having come to distrust thoroughly every report given by the Spaniards. He knew that they were as ready, under the influence of fear, to exaggerate the force of an enemy as they were, at other times, to magnify their own numbers. Sir Arthur must, he thought, be far better informed than he himself could be; for his men, being Portuguese, were viewed with doubt and suspicion by the Spanish peasantry, who would probably take a pleasure in misleading them altogether.

The short stay in the mountains had braced up the men and, with only a short halt, they made a forty-mile march to the Alberche by midnight. Scarcely had they lit their fires, when an Hussar officer and some troopers rode up. They halted a hundred yards away, and the officer shouted in English:

"What corps is this?"

Terence at once left the fire, and advanced towards them.

"Two Portuguese battalions," he answered, "under myself, Colonel O'Connor."

The officer at once rode forward.

"I was not quite sure," he said, as he came close, "that my question would not be answered by a volley. By the direction from which I saw you coming, I thought that you must be friends. Still, you might have been an advanced party of a force that had come down through the defiles. However, as soon as I saw you light your fires, I made sure it was all right; for the Frenchmen would not likely have ventured to do so unless, indeed, they were altogether ignorant of our advance."

"At ten o'clock this morning I received orders from headquarters to move to this point at once and, as we have marched from Banos, you see we have lost very little time on the way."

"Indeed, you have not. I suppose it is about forty miles; and that distance, in fourteen hours, is certainly first-rate marching. I will send off one of my men to report who you are. Two squadrons of my regiment are a quarter of a mile away, awaiting my return."

"Have you any reason to believe that the enemy are near?"

"No particular reason that I know of, but their cavalry have been in great force along the upper part of the river, for the last two days. Victor has retired from Talavera, for I fancy that he was afraid we might move round this way, and cut him off from Madrid. The Spaniards might have harassed him as he fell back, but they dared not even make a charge on his rear guard, though they had 3000 cavalry.

"We are not quite sure where the French are and, of course, we get no information from the people here; either their stupidity is something astounding, or their sympathies are entirely with the French."

"My experience is," Terence said, "that the best way is to get as much information as you can from them, and then to act with the certainty that the real facts are just the reverse of the statements made to you."

As soon as the forces halted a picket had been sent out; and Terence, when the men finished their supper, established a cordon of advanced pickets, with strong supports, at a distance of a mile from his front and flanks; so as to ensure himself against surprise, and to detect any movement upon the part of the enemy's cavalry, who might be pressing round to obtain information of the British position. At daybreak he mounted and rode to Talavera, and reported the arrival of his command, and the position where he had halted for the night.

"You have wasted no time over it, Colonel O'Connor. You can only have received the order yesterday morning, and I scarcely expected that you could be here till this evening."

"My men are excellent marchers, sir. They did the forty miles in fourteen hours, and might have done it an hour quicker, had they been pressed. Not a man fell out."

"Your duty will now be to cover our left flank. I don't know whether you are aware that Wilson has moved forward, and will take post on the slopes near the Escurial. He has been directed to spread his force as much as possible, so as to give an appearance of greater strength than he has."

"I knew that he had left his former position," Terence said. "We had arranged a code of smoke signals, by which we could ask each other for assistance should the defiles be attacked; and I learned yesterday morning, in this way, that he was marching away."

"Have you any news of what is taking place on the other side of the hills, since you sent off word two days ago?"

"No, sir; at least, all we hear is of the same character as before. We don't hear that Soult is moving, but his force is certainly put down as being considerably larger than was supposed. I have deemed it my duty to state this in my reports, but the Spaniards are so inclined to exaggerate everything that I always receive statements of this kind with great doubt."

"All our news--from the juntas, from Mr. Frere, and from other quarters--is quite the other way," the officer said. "We are assured that Soult has not fifteen thousand men in condition to take the field, and that he could not venture to move these, as he knows that the whole country would rise, did he do so.

"I have no specific orders to give you. You will keep in touch with General Hill's brigade, which forms our left and, as we move forward, you will advance along the lower slopes of the Sierra and prevent any attempt, on the part of the French, to turn our flank.

"I dare say you do not know exactly what is going on, Colonel O'Connor. It may be of assistance to you, in taking up your position, to know that the fighting is likely to take place on the line between Talavera and the mountains. Cuesta has fallen back, in great haste, to Talavera. We shall advance today and take up our line with him.

"The Spaniards will hold the low marshy ground near the town. Our right will rest on an eminence on his left flank, and will extend to a group of hills, separated by a valley from the Sierra. Our cavalry will probably check any attempt by the French to turn our flank there, and you and the Spaniards will do your best to hold the slope of the Sierra, should the French move a force along there.

"I may say that Victor has been largely reinforced by Sebastiani, and is likely to take the offensive. Indeed, we hear that he is already moving in this direction. We are not aware of his exact strength, but we believe that it must approach, if not equal, that of ourselves and Cuesta united.

"Cuesta has, indeed, been already roughly handled by the French. Disregarding Sir Arthur's entreaties, and believing Victor to be in full retreat, he marched on alone, impelled by the desire to be the first to enter Madrid; but at two o'clock on the morning of the 26th of July, the French suddenly fell upon him, drove the Spanish cavalry back from their advanced position, and chased them hotly. They fled in great disorder, and the panic would have spread to the whole army, had not Albuquerque brought up 3000 fresh cavalry and held the French in check, while Cuesta retreated in great disorder and, had the French pressed forward, would have fled in utter rout. Sherbrooke's division, which was in advance of the British army, moved forward and took up its position in front of the panic-stricken Spaniards, and then the French drew off.

"Cuesta then yielded to Sir Arthur's entreaties, recrossed the Alberche, and took up his position near Talavera. Here, even the worst troops should be able to make a stand against the best. The ground is marshy and traversed by a rivulet. On its left is a strong redoubt, which is armed with Spanish artillery; on the right is another very strong battery, on a rise close to Talavera; while other batteries sweep the road to Madrid. Sir Arthur has strengthened the front by felling trees and forming abattis, so that he has good reason to hope that, poor as the Spanish troops may be, they should be able to hold their part of the line.

"Campbell's division forms the British right, Sherbrooke comes next, the German legion are in the centre, Donkin is to take his place on the hill that rises two-thirds of the way across the valley, while General Hill's division is to hold the face looking north, and separated from the Sierra only by the comparatively narrow valley in which you have bivouacked. At present, however, his troops and those of Donkin have not taken up their position."

The country between the positions on which the allied armies had now fallen back was covered with olive and cork trees. The whole line from Talavera to the hill, which was to be held by Hill's division, was two miles in length; and the valley between that and the Sierra was half a mile in width, but extremely broken and rugged, and was intersected by a ravine, through which ran the rivulet that fell into the Tagus at Talavera.

Chapter 2: Talavera.

On leaving the Adjutant General, Terence--knowing that Mackenzie's brigade was some two miles in advance on the Alberche river, and that the enemy was not in sight--sent off one of the orderlies who accompanied him, with a message to Herrara to fall back and take up his station on the lower slopes of the Sierra, facing the rounded hill; and then went to a restaurant and had breakfast. It was crowded with Spanish officers, with a few British scattered among them.

As he ate his food, he was greatly amused at the boasting of the Spaniards as to what they would accomplish, if the French ventured to attack them; knowing as he did how shamefully they had behaved, two days before, when the whole of Cuesta's army had been thrown into utter disorder by two or three thousand French cavalry, and had only been saved from utter rout by the interposition of a British brigade. When he had finished breakfast, he mounted his horse and rode to the camp of his old regiment.

"Hooroo, Terence!" Captain O'Grady shouted, as he rode up, "I thought you would be turning up, when there was going to be something to do. It's yourself that has the knack of always getting into the thick of it.

"Orderly, take Colonel O'Connor's horse, and lead him up and down.

"Come on, Terence, most of the boys are in that tent over there. We have just been dismissed from parade."

A shout of welcome rose as they entered the tent, where a dozen officers were sitting on the ground, or on empty boxes.

"Sit down if you can find room, Terence," Colonel Corcoran said. "Wouldn't you like to be back with us again, for the shindy that we are likely to have, tomorrow?"

"That I should, but I hope to have my share in it, in my own way."

"Where are your men, O'Connor?"

"They will be, in another hour, at the foot of the mountains over there to the left. Our business will be to prevent any of the French moving along there, and coming down on your rear."

"I am pleased to hear it. I believe that there is a Spanish division there, but I am glad to know that the business is not to be left entirely to them. Now, what have you been doing since you left us, a month ago?"

"I have been doing nothing, Colonel, but watching the defiles and, as no one has come up them, we have not fired a shot."

"No doubt they got news that you were there, Terence," O'Grady said, "and not likely would they be to come up to be destroyed by you."

"Perhaps that was it," Terence said, when the laughter had subsided; "at any rate they didn't show up, and I was very pleased when orders came, at ten o'clock yesterday, for us to leave Banos and march to join the army. We did the forty miles in fourteen hours."

"Good marching," Colonel Corcoran said. "Then where did you halt?"

"About three miles farther off, at the foot of the hills. We saw a lot of campfires to our right, and thought that we were in a line with the army, but of course they were only those of Mackenzie's division; but I sent off an orderly, an hour ago, to tell them to fall back to the slopes facing those hills, where our left is to be posted."

"You are a lucky fellow to have been away from us, Terence, for it is downright starving we have been. The soldiers have only had a mouthful of meat served out to them as rations, most days; and they have got so thin that their clothes are hanging loose about them. If it hadn't been for my man Doolan and two or three others, who always manage, by hook or by crook, to get hold of anything there is within two or three miles round, we should have been as badly off as they are. Be jabers, I have had to take in my sword belt a good two inches; and to think that, while our fellows are well-nigh starving, these Spaniards we came to help, and who will do no fighting themselves, had more food than they could eat, is enough to enrage a saint.

"I wonder Sir Arthur puts up with it. I would have seized that stuck-up old fool Cuesta, and popped him into the guard tent, and kept him there until provisions were handed over for us."

"His whole army might come to rescue him, O'Grady."

"What if they had? I would have turned out a corporal's guard, and sent the whole of them trotting off in no time. Did you hear what took place two days ago?"

"Yes, I heard that they behaved shamefully, O'Grady; still, I think a corporal's guard would hardly be sufficient to turn them, but I do believe that a regiment might answer the purpose."

"I can tell you that there is nothing would please the troops more than to attack the Spaniards. If this goes on many more days, our men will be too weak to march; but I believe that, before they lie down and give it up altogether, they will pitch into the Spaniards, in spite of what we may try to do to prevent them," the Colonel said. "Here we are in a country abounding with food, and we are starving, while the Spaniards are feasting in plenty; and by Saint Patrick's beard, Terence, it is mighty little we should do to prevent our men from pitching into them. There is one thing, you may be sure. We shall never cooperate with them in the future and, as to relying upon their promises, faith, they are not worth the breath it takes to make them."

As everything was profoundly quiet, Terence had no hesitation in stopping to lunch with his old friends and, as there was no difficulty in buying whatever was required in Talavera, the table was well supplied, and the officers made up for their enforced privation during the past three weeks.

At three o'clock Terence left them and rode across to his command, which he found posted exactly where he had directed it.

"It is lucky that we filled up with flour at Banos, before starting, Colonel," Bull said, "for from what we hear, the soldiers are getting next to nothing to eat; and those cattle you bought at the village halfway, yesterday, will come in very handy. At any rate, with them and the flour we can hold out for a week, if need be."

"Still, you had better begin at once to be economical, Bull. There is no saying what may happen after this battle has been fought."

While they were talking, a sudden burst of firing, at a distance, was heard.

"Mackenzie's brigade is engaged!" Terence exclaimed. "You had better get the men under arms, at once. If the whole of Victor's command is upon them, they will have to fall back.

"When the men are ready, you may as well come a few hundred feet higher up the hill, with me. Then you will see all over the country, and be in readiness to do anything that is wanted. But it is not likely the French will attempt anything serious, today. They will probably content themselves with driving Mackenzie in."

Terence went at once up the hill, to a point whence he could look well over the round hills on the other side of the valley, and make out the British and Spanish lines, stretching to Talavera. The troops were already formed up, in readiness for action. Away to his left came the roll of heavy firing from the cork woods near the Alberche and, just as his three officers joined him, the British troops issued pell mell from the woods. They had, in fact, been taken entirely by surprise; and had been attacked so suddenly and vigorously that, for a time, the young soldiers of some of the regiments fell into confusion; and Sir Arthur himself, who was at a large house named the Casa, narrowly escaped capture. The 45th, however, a regiment that had seen much service, and some companies of the 60th Rifles presented a stout front to the enemy.

Sir Arthur speedily restored order among the rest of the troops, and the enemy's advance was checked. The division then fell back in good order, each of its flanks being covered by a brigade of cavalry. From the height at which Terence and his officers stood, they could plainly make out the retiring division, and could see heavy masses of French troops descending from the high ground beyond the Alberche.

"The whole French army is on us!" Macwitty said. "If their advance guard had not been in such a hurry to attack, and had waited until the others came up, not many of Mackenzie's division would have got back to our lines."

It was not long before the French debouched from the woods and, as soon as they did so, a division rapidly crossed the plain towards the allies' left, seized an isolated hill facing the spur on to which Donkin had just hurried up his brigade, and at once opened a heavy cannonade. At the same time another division moved towards the right, and some squadrons of light cavalry could be seen, riding along the road from Madrid towards the Spanish division.

"They won't do much good there," Terence said, "for the country is so swampy that they cannot leave the road. Still, I suppose they want to reconnoitre our position, and draw the fire of the Spaniards to ascertain their whereabouts. They are getting very close to them and, when the Spaniards begin, they ought to wipe them out completely."

At this moment a heavy rattle of distant musketry was heard, and a light wreath of smoke rose from the Spanish lines. The French cavalry had, in fact, ridden up so close to the Spaniards that they discharged their pistols in bravado at them. To this the Spaniards had replied by a general wild discharge of their muskets. A moment later the party on the hill saw the right of the Spanish line break up as if by magic and, to their astonishment and rage, they made out that the whole plain behind was thickly dotted by fugitives.

"Why, the whole lot have bolted, sir!" Bull exclaimed. "Horse and foot are making off. Did anyone ever hear of such a thing!"

That portion of the Spanish line nearest to Talavera had indeed broken and fled in the wildest panic, 10,000 infantry having taken to their heels the instant they discharged their muskets; while the artillery cut their traces and, leaving their guns behind them, followed their example. The French cavalry charged along the road, but Sir Arthur opposed them with some British squadrons. The Spanish who still held their ground opened fire, and the French drew back. The fugitives continued their flight to Oropesa, spreading panic and alarm everywhere with the news that the allies were totally defeated, Sir Arthur Wellesley killed, and all lost.

Cuesta himself had for some time accompanied them, but he soon recovered from his panic, and sent several cavalry regiments to bring back the fugitives. Part of the artillery and some thousands of the infantry were collected before morning, but 6000 men were still absent at the battle, and the great redoubt on their left was silent, from want of guns.

In point of numbers there had been but little difference between the two armies. Prior to the loss of these 6000 men, Cuesta's army had been 34,000 strong, with seventy guns. The British, with the German Legion, numbered 19,000, with thirty guns. The French were 50,000 strong, with eighty guns. These were all veteran troops, while on the side of the allies there were but 19,000 who could be called fighting men.

"That is what comes of putting faith in the Spaniards!" Bull said savagely. "If I had been Sir Arthur, I would have turned my guns on them and given them something to run for. We should do a thousand times better, by ourselves; then we should know what we had to expect."

"It is evident that there won't be any fighting until tomorrow, Macwitty. You will place half your battalion on the hillside, from this point to the bottom of the slope. I don't think that they will come so high up the hill as this; but you will, of course, throw some pickets out above. The other wing of your battalion you will hold in reserve, a couple of hundred yards behind the centre of the line; but choose a sheltered spot for them, for those guns Victor is placing on his heights will sweep the face of this hill.

"This little watercourse will give capital cover to your advanced line, and they cannot do better than occupy it. Lying down, they would be completely sheltered from the French artillery and, if attacked, they could line the bank and fire without showing more than their heads. Of course, you will throw out pickets along the face of the slope in front of you.

"Do you, Bull, march your battalion down to the foot of the hill and take up your post there. The ground is very uneven and broken, and you should be able to find some spot where the men would be in shelter; move a couple of hundred yards back, then Macwitty would flank any force advancing against you. The sun will set in a few minutes, so you had better lose no time in taking up your ground.

"As soon as you have chosen a place go on, with the captains of your companies, across the valley. Make yourselves thoroughly acquainted with the ground, and mark the best spots at which to post the men to resist any force that may come along the valley. It is quite possible that Victor may make an attempt to turn the general's flank tonight. I will reconnoitre all the ground in front of you, and will then, with the colonel, join you."

The position Terence had chosen was a quarter of a mile west of the spur held by Donkin's brigade. He had selected it in order that, if attacked in force, he might have the assistance of the guns there; which would thus be able to play on the advancing French, without risk of his own men being injured by their fire.

Bull marched his battalion down the hill and, as Terence and Herrara were about to mount, a sudden burst of musketry fire, from the crest of the opposite hill, showed that the French were attempting to carry that position. Victor, indeed, seeing the force stationed there to be a small one; and that, from the confusion among the Spaniards on the British right, the moment was very favourable; had ordered one division to attack, another to move to its support, while a third was to engage the German division posted on the plain to the right of the hill, and thus prevent succour being sent to Donkin.

From the position where Terence was standing, the front of the steep slope that the French were climbing could not be seen but, almost at the same moment, a dense mass of men began to swarm up the hill on Donkin's flank; having, unperceived, made their way in at the mouth of the valley.

"Form up your battalion, Macwitty," he shouted, "and double down the hill."

Then he rode after Bull, whose battalion had now reached the valley and halted there.

"We must go to the assistance of the brigade on the hill, Bull, or they will be overpowered before reinforcements can reach them.

"Herrara, bring on Macwitty after us, as soon as he gets down.

"Take the battalion forward at the double, Bull."

The order was given and, with a cheer, the battalion set out across the valley and, on reaching the other side, began to climb the steep ascent; bearing towards their left, so as to reach the summit near the spot where the French were ascending. Twilight was already closing in, and the approach of the Portuguese was unobserved by the French, whose leading battalions had reached the top of the hill, and were pressing heavily on Donkin's weak brigade; which had, however, checked the advance of the French on their front. Macwitty's battalion was but a short distance behind when, marching straight along on the face of the hill, Bull arrived within a hundred yards of the French. Here Terence halted them for a minute, while they hastily formed up in line, and Macwitty came up.

The din on the top of the hill, just above Bull's right company, was prodigious, the rattle of musketry incessant, the exulting shouts of the French could be plainly heard; and their comrades behind were pressing hotly up the hill to join in the strife. There was plainly not a moment to be lost and, advancing to within fifty yards of the French battalions, struggling up the hill in confused masses, a tremendous volley was poured in.

The French, astonished at this sudden attack upon their flank, paused and endeavoured to form up, and wheel round to oppose a front to it; but the heavy fire of the Portuguese, and the broken nature of the ground, prevented their doing this and, ignorant of the strength of the force that had thus suddenly attacked them, they recoiled, keeping up an irregular fire; while the Portuguese, pouring in steady volleys, pressed upon them. In five minutes they gave way, and retired rapidly down the hill.

The leading battalions had gained the crest where, joining those who had ascended by the other face of the hill, they fell upon the already outnumbered defenders. Donkin's men, though fighting fiercely, were pressed back, and would have been driven from their position had not General Hill brought up the 29th and 48th, with a battalion of detachments composed of Sir John Moore's stragglers. These charged the French so furiously that they were unable to withstand the assault, although aided by fresh battalions ascending the front of the hill.

In their retreat the French, instead of going straight down the hill, bore away to their right and, although some fell to the fire of the Portuguese, the greater portion passed unseen in the darkness.

The firing now ceased, and Terence ordered Bull and Macwitty to take their troops back to the ground originally selected, while he himself ascended to the crest. With some difficulty he discovered the whereabouts of General Hill, to whom he was well known. He found him in the act of having a wound temporarily dressed, by the light of a fire which had just been replenished; he having ridden, in the dark, into the midst of a French battalion, believing it to be one of his own regiments. Colonel Donkin was in conversation with him.

"It has been a very close affair, sir," he said; "and I certainly thought that we should be rolled down the hill. I believe that we owe our safety, in no small degree, to a couple of battalions of Spaniards, I fancy, who took up their post on the opposite hill this morning. Just before you brought up your reinforcement, and while things were at their worst, I heard heavy volley firing somewhere just over the crest. I don't know who it could have been, if it was not them; for there were certainly no other troops on my left."

"They were Portuguese battalions, sir," Terence said quietly.

"Oh, is it you, O'Connor?" General Hill exclaimed. "If they were those two battalions of yours, I can quite understand it.

"This is Colonel O'Connor, Donkin, who checked Soult's passage at the mouth of the Minho, and has performed other admirable services."

"You may as well make your report to me, O'Connor, and I will include it in my own to Sir Arthur."

Terence related how, just as he was taking up his position for the night along the slopes of the Sierra, he heard the outbreak of firing on the front of the hill and, seeing a large force mounting its northern slope, and knowing that only one brigade was posted there, he thought it his duty to move to its assistance. Crossing the valley at the double, he had taken them in flank and, being unperceived in the gathering darkness, had checked their advance, and compelled them to retire down the hill.

"At what strength do you estimate the force which so retired, Colonel?"

"I fancy there were eight battalions of them, but three had gained the crest before we arrived. The others were necessarily broken up, and followed so close upon each other that it was difficult to separate them; but I fancy there were eight of them. Being in such confusion and, of course, unaware of my strength, they were unable to form or to offer any effectual resistance; and our volleys, from a distance of fifty yards, must have done heavy execution upon them."

"Then there is no doubt, Donkin, Colonel O'Connor's force did save you; for if those five battalions had gained the crest, you would have been driven off it before the brigade I brought up arrived and, indeed, even with that aid we should have been so outnumbered that we could scarcely have held our ground. It was hot work as it was, but certainly five more battalions would have turned the scale against us.

"Of course, O'Connor, you will send in a written report of your reasons for quitting your position to headquarters; and I shall, myself, do full justice to the service that you have rendered so promptly and efficaciously. Where is your command now?"

"They will by this time have taken up their former position on the opposite slope. One battalion is extended there. The other is at the foot of the hill, prepared to check any force that may attempt to make its way up the valley. Our line is about a quarter of a mile in rear of this spur. I selected the position in order that, should the French make an attempt in any force, the guns here might take them in flank, while I held them in check in front."

The general nodded. "Well thought of," he said.

"And now, Donkin, you had better muster your brigade and ascertain what are your losses. I am afraid they are very heavy."

Terence now returned across the valley and, on joining his command, told Herrara and the two majors how warmly General Hill had commended their action.

"What has been our loss?" he asked.

"Fifteen killed, and five-and-forty wounded, but of these a great proportion are not serious."

Brushwood was now collected and in a short time a number of fires were blazing. The men were in high spirits. They were proud of having overthrown a far superior force of the enemy, and were gratified at the expression of great satisfaction, conveyed to them by their captains by Terence's order, at the steadiness with which they had fought.

At daybreak next morning the enemy was seen to be again in motion, Victor having obtained the king's consent to again try to carry the hills occupied by the British. This time Terence did not leave his position, being able to see that the whole of Hill's division now occupied the heights and, moreover, being himself threatened by two regiments of light troops, which crossed the mouth of the valley, ascended the slopes on his side, and proceeded to work their way along them. The whole of Macwitty's battalion was now placed in line, while Bull's was held in reserve, behind its centre.

It was not long before Macwitty was hotly engaged; and the French, who were coming along in skirmishing order, among the rocks and broken ground, were soon brought to a standstill. For some time a heavy fire was exchanged. Three times the French gathered for a rush; but each time the steady volleys, from their almost invisible foes, drove them back again, with loss, to the shelter they had left.

In the intervals Terence could see how the fight was going on across the valley. The whole hillside was dotted with fire, as the French worked their way up, and the British troops on the crest fired down upon them. Several times parties of the French gained the brow, but only to be hurled back again by the troops held in reserve, in readiness to move to any point where the enemy might gain a footing. For forty minutes the battle continued; and then, having lost 1500 men, the French retreated down the hill again, covered by the fire of their batteries, which opened with fury on the crest, as soon as they were seen to be descending the slope.

At the same time the light troops opposed to Terence also drew off. Seeing the pertinacity with which the French had tried to turn his left, Sir Arthur Wellesley moved his cavalry round to the head of the valley and, obtaining Bassecour's division of Spanish from Cuesta, sent them to take post on the hillside a short distance in rear of Terence's Portuguese.

The previous evening's fighting had cost Victor 1000 men, while 800 British had been killed or wounded; and the want of success then, and the attack on the following morning, tended to depress the spirits of the French and to raise those of the British. It was thought that after these two repulses Victor would not again give battle, and indeed the French generals Jourdan and Sebastiani were opposed to a renewal of hostilities; but Victor was in favour of a general attack. So his opinion was finally adopted by the king, in spite of the fact that he knew that Soult was in full march towards the British rear, and had implored him not to fight a battle till he had cut the British line of retreat; when, in any case, they would be forced to retire at once.

The king was influenced more by his fear for the safety of Madrid than by Victor's arguments. Wilson's force had been greatly exaggerated by rumour. Venegas was known to be at last approaching Toledo, and the king feared that one or both of these forces might fall upon Madrid in his absence, and that all his military stores would fall into their hands. He therefore earnestly desired to force the British to retreat, in order that he might hurry back to protect Madrid.

Doubtless the gross cowardice exhibited by the Spaniards, on the previous day, had shown Victor that he had really only the 19,000 British troops to contend against; and as his force exceeded theirs by two to one, he might well regard victory as certain, and believe he could not fail to beat them.

Up to midday, a perfect quiet reigned along both lines. The British and French soldiers went down alike to the rivulet that separated the two armies, and exchanged jokes as they drank and filled their canteens. Albuquerque, being altogether dissatisfied with Cuesta's arrangements, moved across the plain with his own cavalry and took his post behind the British and German horse; so that no less than 6000 cavalry were now ready to pour down upon any French force attempting to turn the British position by the valley. The day was intensely hot and the soldiers, after eating their scanty rations, for the most part stretched themselves down to sleep; for the night had been a broken one, owing to the fact that the Spaniards, whenever they heard, or thought they heard, anyone moving in their front, poured in a tremendous fire that roused the whole camp; and was so wild and ill directed that several British officers and men, on their left, were killed by it.

Soon after midday the drums were heard to beat along the whole length of the French line, and the troops were seen to be falling in. Then the British were also called to arms, and the soldiers cheerfully took their places in the ranks; glad that the matter was to be brought to an issue at once, as they thought that a victory would, at least, put an end to the state of starvation in which they had for some time been kept. The French had, by this time, learned how impossible it was to surmount the obstacles in front of that portion of the allies' line occupied by the Spaniards. They therefore neglected these altogether, and Sebastiani advanced against the British division in the plains; while Victor, as before, prepared to assail the British left, supported this time by a great mass of cavalry.

The French were soon in readiness for the attack. Ruffin's division were to cross the valley, move along the foot of the mountain, and turn the British left. Villatte was to guard the mouth of the valley with one brigade, to threaten Hill with the other, and to make another attempt to carry it. He was to be aided by half the division of Lapisse, while the other half assisted Sebastiani in his attack on the British centre. Milhaud's dragoons were placed on the main road to Talavera, so as to keep the Spaniards from moving to the assistance of the British.

The battle began with a furious attack on the British right, but the French were withstood by Campbell's division and Mackenzie's brigade, aided by two Spanish columns; and was finally pushed back with great loss, and ten of their guns captured; but as Campbell wisely refused to break his line and pursue, the French rallied on their reserve, and prepared to renew the attack.

In the meantime Lapisse crossed the rivulet and attacked Sherbrooke's division, composed of the Germans and Guards. This brigade was, however, driven back in disorder. The Guards followed hotly in pursuit; but the French reserves came up, and their batteries opened with fury and drove the Guards back, while the Germans were so hotly pressed, by Lapisse, that they fell into confusion. The 48th, however, fell upon the flank of the advancing French; the Guards and the Germans rallied, the British artillery swept the French columns, and they again fell back. Thus the British centre and right had succeeded in finally repelling the attacks made upon them.

On the left, as the French advanced, the 23rd Light Dragoons and the 1st German Hussars charged the head of Ruffin's column. Before they reached them, however, they encountered the ravine through which the rivulet here ran. The Germans checked their horses when they came upon this almost impassable obstacle. The 23rd, however, kept on. Men and horses rolled over each other, but many crossed the chasm and, forming again, dashed in between the squares into which the French infantry had thrown themselves, and charged a brigade of light infantry in their rear. Victor hurled two regiments of cavalry upon them and the 23rd, hopelessly over matched, were driven back with a loss of 207 men and officers, being fully half the number that had ridden forward. The rest galloped back to the shelter of Bassecour's division.

Yet their effort had not been in vain. The French, astonished at their furious charge, and seeing four distinct lines of cavalry still drawn up facing them, made no further movement. Hill easily repulsed the attack upon his position, and the battle ceased as suddenly as it had begun, the French having failed at every point they had attacked.

Terence had, on seeing Ruffin's division marching towards him, advanced along the slope until they reached the entrance to the valley; and then, scattering on the hillside, had opened a heavy and continuous fire upon the French, doing much execution among their columns, and still more when they threw themselves into square to resist the cavalry. He had given orders that, should Ruffin send some of his battalions up the hill against them, they were to retire up the slopes, taking advantage of every shelter, and not to attempt to meet the enemy in close contact. No such attack was, however, made. The French battalion most exposed threw out a large number of skirmishers, and endeavoured to keep down the galling fire maintained from the hillside; but as the Portuguese took advantage of every stone and bush, and scarcely a man was visible to the French, there were but few casualties among them.

The loss of the British was in all, during the two days' fighting, 6200, including 600 taken prisoners. That of the French was 7400. Ten guns were captured by Campbell's division, and seven left in the woods by the French as they drew off, the next morning at daybreak, to take up their position behind the Alberche.

During the day Crauford's brigade came up, after a tremendous march. The three regiments had, after a tramp of twenty miles, encamped near Plasencia, when the alarm spread by the Spanish fugitives reached that place. Crauford allowed his men two hours' rest and then started to join the army, and did not halt until he reached the camp; having in twenty-six hours, during the hottest season of the year, marched sixty-two miles, carrying kit, arms, and ammunition--a weight of from fifty to sixty pounds. Only twenty-five men out of the three regiments fell out and, immediately the brigade arrived, it took up the outpost duty in front of the army.

Terence was much gratified by the appearance, in general orders that day, of the following notice:

"The general commander-in-chief expresses his warm approbation of the conduct of the two battalions of the Minho regiment of Portuguese, commanded by Colonel O'Connor. This officer, on his own discretion, moved from the position assigned to him, on seeing the serious attack made on Colonel Donkin's brigade on the evening of the 27th and, scaling the hill, opened so heavy a fire on the French ascending it that five battalions fell back, without taking part in the attack. This took place at the crisis of the engagement, and had a decisive effect on its result."

At eight o'clock a staff officer rode up, with orders for the Minho regiment to return at once to the pass of Banos, as the news had come in that the enemy beyond the hills were in movement. Terence was to act in concert with the Spanish force there, and hold the pass as long as possible. If the enemy were in too great strength to be withstood, he was given discretion as to his movements; being guided only by the fact that the British army would, probably, march down the valley of the Tagus.

If Soult crossed, "his force," the order added, "was estimated as not exceeding 15,000 men."

Chapter 3: Prisoners.

On the 31st of July Terence reached the neighbourhood of Banos and learned, from the peasantry, that a French army had passed through the town early on the preceding day. No resistance, whatever, had been offered to its passage through the pass of Bejar; and the Spanish at Banos had retreated hastily, after exchanging a few shots with the French advanced guard. The peasantry had all deserted their villages, but had had some skirmishes with small foraging parties of cavalry. Several French stragglers had been killed in the pass.

Hoping to find some of these still alive, and to obtain information from them, Terence continued his march for Banos; sending on two of the best mounted of the Portuguese horsemen, to ascertain if there was any considerable French force left there. He was within half a mile of the town when he saw them returning, at full speed, chased by a party of French dragoons; who, however, fell back when they saw the advancing infantry.

"What is your news?" Terence asked, as the troopers rode up.

"Banos is full of French troops," one of them replied, "and columns are marching down the pass. From what I can see, I should think that there must be 16,000 or 20,000 of them."

In fact, this was Soult's second army corps--the first, which had preceded it, having that morning reached Plasencia, where they captured 400 sick in the hospitals, and a large quantity of stores that had been left there, from want of carriage, when the British army advanced. Terence lost no time in retreating from so dangerous a neighbourhood, and at once made for the mountains he had just left.

Two regiments of French cavalry set out in pursuit, as soon as the party that had chased the Portuguese troopers entered Banos with the news that a body of infantry, some 2000 strong, was close at hand. They came up before the Portuguese had marched more than a mile. The two battalions were halted, and thrown into square. The French rode fearlessly down upon them, but were received with so hot and steady a fire that they speedily drew off, with considerable loss. Then the regiment ascended the hills and, half an hour later, halted.

"The question is, what is to be done?" Terence said to Herrara and his two majors. "It is evident that, for once, the information we obtained from the Spaniards is correct, and that Soult must have at least 30,000 men with him. Possibly his full strength is not up yet. By this time the force that passed yesterday must be at Plasencia, and by tomorrow may be on the Tagus, and Sir Arthur's position must be one of great danger. Putting Cuesta and the Spaniards altogether aside as worthless, he has, even with that brigade we saw marching in soon after we started, only 22,000 or 23,000 men; and on one side of him is Victor, with some 40,000; on the other is Soult, with perhaps as many more. With starving and exhausted troops his chances are small, indeed, unless he can cross the Tagus. He might beat one marshal or the other, but he can hardly beat the two of them.

"The first thing to do is to send two troopers off, with duplicate despatches, telling Sir Arthur of Soult's passage. He might not otherwise hear of it for some time, and then it might be too late. The peasantry and the village authorities will be too busy carrying off their effects, and driving their animals to the hills, to think for a moment of sending information. That is evidently the first thing to be done.

"Until we see what is going to happen, I don't think we can do better than cross the Sierra, and encamp at some spot where we can make out the movements of the French on the plain. At the same time we can keep an eye on the road to Plasencia, and be able to send information to Sir Arthur, if any further bodies of French troops come down into the valley. Our position is evidently a dangerous one. If the news has reached Sir Arthur, he will have fallen back from Talavera at once. Victor will no doubt follow on his heels, and his cavalry and those of Soult will speedily meet each other. Therefore it will be, in all ways, best to see how matters develop themselves before moving down into the plain."

Accordingly two of the troopers were sent off with information that 15,000 French were already in the valley, and that as many more would be there on the following day. Then the regiment marched across the Sierra and took post high up on the slope, with Plasencia ten miles away on the right, and the spires of Oropesa visible across the valley.

On the following day another army corps was seen descending from Banos to Plasencia, while a large body of troops marched from that town to Navalmoral, thus cutting off the retreat of the British by the bridge of boats at Almaraz. Clouds of dust on the distant plain showed that a portion, at least, of the Allied Army had arrived at Oropesa; and bodies of French cavalry were made out, traversing the plain and scattering among the villages. Two more troopers were sent off with reports, and warned, like the others, to take different routes, and make a wide circuit so as to avoid the French, and then to come down upon Oropesa. If the troops there were British, they were to deliver their reports to the general in command. If it was occupied by Spaniards, they were to proceed to Talavera and hand them in at headquarters.

On the following day, still another army corps marched down to Plasencia, raising Soult's force to 54,000. On that day Cuesta, who had undertaken to hold Talavera, retreated suddenly; alarmed by Victor's army making an advance, and leaving to their fate the 1500 British wounded in the hospital. These, however, were benefited by the change. They had been dying of hunger for, although there was an abundance of provisions in Talavera, the inhabitants refused to sell any to the British, and jealously concealed their stores in their houses. Nor would Cuesta do anything to aid them; and thus the men who had fought and suffered for the Spanish cause were left to perish, while there was abundance around them. The conduct of the Spaniards, from the moment the British crossed the frontier to the time of their leaving Spain, was never forgotten or forgiven by the British troops, who had henceforth an absolute hatred for the Spanish, which contributed in no small degree to the excesses perpetrated by them upon the inhabitants of Badajos, and other places, taken subsequently by storm.

The French, on entering Talavera, treated the British wounded with the greatest kindness, and henceforth they were well fed and cared for.

The first report sent by Terence reached Sir Arthur safely, ten hours after it was sent out, and apprised him for the first time of the serious storm that was gathering in his rear; and he had, without an hour's delay, given orders for the army to march to Oropesa, intending to give battle to Soult before Victor could come up to join his fellow marshal. The second report informed him of the real strength of the army towards which he was marching, and showed him the real extent of his danger. So he at once seized the only plan of escape offered to him, marching with all speed to Arzobispo, and crossing the Tagus by the bridge there, Cuesta's army following him. As soon as the Tagus was passed, Crauford's brigade was hurried on to seize the bridge of boats at Almaraz, and prevent the French from crossing there.

Fortunately, Soult was as ignorant of the position of the Allies as Sir Arthur was of his and, believing that the British were following Victor and pressing forward towards Madrid, he had conducted his operations in a comparatively leisurely manner. Therefore, it was not until the British were safely across the Tagus that he ascertained the real state of affairs, and put himself in communication with Victor.

On the morning following the crossing Terence was apprised, by a note sent back by one of the troopers, of the movement that had taken place. It was written upon a small piece of paper, so that it could be destroyed at once, by the bearer, if he should be threatened with capture, and contained only the following words:

"Your report invaluable. The Allied Army moves to Arzobispo, and will cross the Tagus there. You must act according to your judgment. I can give no advice."

"Thank God the British army has escaped!" Terence said, after reading the despatch to his officers; "now we have only to think of ourselves. As to rejoining Sir Arthur, it is out of the question; the valley is full of French troops. Ney has joined Soult, and there are 100,000 Frenchmen between us and our army. If I had any idea where Wilson is, we might endeavour to join him, for he must be in the same plight as ourselves. Our only chance, so far as I can see, is to cross their line of communications and to endeavour to join Beresford, who is reported as marching down the frontier from Almeida."

"Would you propose to pass through Banos, Colonel?" Herrara asked. "The mountains there are almost, if not quite, impassable; but we might get a peasant to guide us."

"I don't like going near Banos, Herrara. The French are almost sure to have left a strong body there, and the chances are against our finding a peasant; for the inhabitants of all the villages, for ten miles round, have almost certainly fled and taken to the hills.

"I think it would be safer to follow along this side of the Sierra, cross the road a few miles above Plasencia, then make for the mountains, and come down on the head of the river Coa. Beresford is probably in the valley of that river. We are more likely to find a guide, that way, than we are by going through Banos. We shall have tough work of it whichever way we go, even if we are lucky enough to get past without running against a single Frenchman."

"Would it not be better to wait till nightfall, Colonel?" Bull asked.

Terence shook his head.

"There is no moon," he said; "and as to climbing about among these mountains in the dark, it would be worse than running the risk of a fight with the French. Besides, we should have no chance whatever of coming across a peasant. No, I think we must try it as soon as it gets light, tomorrow morning. We had better dress up a score of men in peasant clothes; and send them off, in couples, to search among the hills. Whoever comes across a man must bring him in, whether he likes it or not. The Spaniards are so desperately afraid of the French that they will give us no information, whatever, unless forced to do so; and we shall have even more difficulty than the British. There must have been thousands of peasants, and others, who knew that Soult had come down upon Plasencia; and yet Sir Arthur obtained no news.

"There is one comfort: there can be little doubt that Soult is just as much in the dark as to the position of the British army."

By nightfall three peasants had been brought in. All shook their heads stolidly, when questioned in Portuguese; but upon Terence having them placed against a rock, and twelve men brought up and ordered to load their muskets, one of them said, in Spanish:

"I know where a path across the mountains leaves the road, but I have never been over the hills, and know nothing of how it runs."

"Ah! I thought you could make out my question," Terence said. "Well, you have saved the lives of yourself and your comrades. Take us to the path, tomorrow, and set us fairly on it; and you shall be allowed to go free, and be paid five dollars for your trouble."

Then he turned to Bull.

"Put four men to guard them," he said, "and let the guard be changed once every two hours. Their orders will be to shoot the fellows down, if they endeavour to make their escape. They are quite capable of going down into Plasencia and bringing the French upon us."

At daybreak they were on the march and, two hours later, came down into the valley through which the road from Banos ran down to Plasencia. They had just crossed it when the head of a column of cavalry appeared, coming down the valley. It at once broke into a gallop.

"How far is it to where the path begins to ascend the mountains?" Terence asked, holding a pistol to the peasant's head.

"Four miles," the man replied sullenly, looking with apprehension at the French.

Terence shouted orders to Bull and Macwitty to throw their men into square, and as they had been marching, since they reached level ground, in column of companies, the movement was carried out before the enemy arrived.

The French cavalry, believing that the battalions were Spanish, and would break at once, charged furiously down upon them. They were, however, received with so heavy a fire that they drew off discomfited, leaving many men and horses on the ground.

"They are a strong body," Terence said quietly to Bull, in the centre of whose square he had taken up his position. "I should say there are 3000 of them, and I am afraid they are the head of another division."

"Yes, there are the infantry coming down the valley. We must press on, or we shall be caught before we get into the hills."

The battalions were soon in motion but, immediately they started, the cavalry prepared to charge again.

"This will never do, Bull. If we form square every time, we shall be delayed so much that the infantry will soon be up. You must do it now, and quickly; but we will start next time in column, eight abreast; and face the men round in lines, four deep either way, if they charge again."

The French, this time, drew off without pressing their charge home; and then, trotting on, took their place between the Portuguese and the mountains.

"Form your leading company in line, four deep, Bull. The column shall follow you."

The formation was quickly altered and, preceded by the line, to cover them from the charge in front, the column advanced at a rapid pace. The cavalry moved forward to meet them, but as the two parties approached each other the line opened so heavy a fire that the French drew off from their front, both to the right and left. Bull at once threw back a wing of each company, to prevent an attack in flank; and so, in the form of a capital T, the column kept on its way. Several times the French cavalry charged down, compelling them to halt; but each time, after repulsing the attack, the column went on.

"It would be all right if we had only these fellows to deal with," Terence said to Bull, "but their infantry are coming on fast."

The plain behind was, indeed, covered with a swarm of skirmishers, coming along at the double.

"We must go at the double, too, Bull," Terence said, "or they will be up long before we get to the hills. We are not halfway yet. Keep the men well in hand, and don't let them fall into confusion. If they do, the cavalry will be down upon us in a minute."

The cavalry, however, were equally conscious of the importance of checking the Portuguese, and again and again dashed down upon them, with reckless bravery; suffering heavily whenever they did so, but causing some delay each time they charged.

"I shall go back to the rear, Bull. Mind, my orders are precise that, whatever happens behind to us, you are to push forward until you begin to climb the hills."

Then, without waiting for an answer, he galloped back.

Although the column pressed on steadily at the double, the delay caused by the cavalry, and the fact that the French infantry were broken up--and able, therefore, to run more quickly--was bringing the enemy up fast. Herrara was riding at the head of the second battalion, and to him Terence repeated the instructions he had given Bull.

"What are you going to do, Colonel?" the latter asked.

"There is some very broken ground, a quarter of a mile ahead," he replied. "I intend to hold that spot with the rear company. It will be some little time before the French infantry will be able to form and attack us; and the ground looks, to me, too broken for their cavalry to act. As soon as I can see that you are far enough ahead to gain the hill, before they can overtake you again, I shall follow you with the company; but mind, should I not do so, you must take the command of the two battalions, cross the mountains, and join Beresford."

He galloped on to Macwitty, who was riding in the rear, and repeated the order to him.

"Well, Colonel, let me stop behind with the company, instead of yourself."

"No, no, Macwitty. It is the post of danger and, as commanding officer, I must take it. It is a question of saving the two battalions at the cost of the company, and there is no doubt as to the course to be taken. Do you ride on at once, and take your post at the rear of the company ahead of this, and keep them steady. Here come their cavalry down again on the flank."

There was another charge, three or four heavy volleys, and then the French drew off again. The bullets of their infantry were now whistling overhead.

"A hundred yards farther," Terence shouted, "and then we will face them."

In front lay an upheaval of rock, stretching almost like a wall across the line they were following. It was a sort of natural outwork, pushed out by nature in front of the hill, and rose some fifty feet above the level of the plain. There were many places at which it could be climbed, and up one of these the track ran obliquely. Hitherto it had been but an ill-defined path, but here some efforts had been made to render it practicable, by cutting away the ground on the upper side, to enable laden mules to pass up.

Terence reined up at the bottom of the ascent, and directed the men to take up their post on the crest; the leading half of the company to the right, and the other half to the left of the path. Before all were up the French light troops were clustering round, but a rush was prevented by the heavy fire that opened from the brow above, and the company were soon scattered along the crest, a yard apart.

In five minutes some two thousand French infantry were assembled. A mounted officer rode some distance to the right and left, to examine the ground. It was evident that he considered that the position, held by 200 determined men, was a formidable one. Lying down, as they were, only the heads of the Portuguese could be seen; while a force attacking them would have to march across level ground, affording no shelter whatever from the defenders' fire, and then to climb a very steep ascent. Moreover, the whole force they had been pursuing might be gathered, just behind.

After another five minutes' delay, half a battalion broke up into skirmishers; while the rest divided into two parties, and marched parallel to the rocks, left and right. Terence saw that these movements must be successful for, with 200 men, he could not defend a line of indefinite length. However, his object had now been achieved. The descent behind was even and regular, and he could see the column winding up the hill, somewhat over half a mile away. Of the French cavalry he could see nothing. They had, after their last charge, ridden off, as if leaving the matter in the hands of their infantry.

He ordered the bugler to sound the retreat, in open order; and the Portuguese, rising to their feet, went down the gentle slope at a trot. They were halfway to the hills when the long lines of the French cavalry were seen, sweeping down upon them from the right; having evidently ridden along the foot of the steep declivity, until they came to a spot where they were able to ascend it.

At the sound of the bugle the rear company instantly ran together and formed a square and, as the French cavalry came up, opened a continuous fire upon them. Unable to break the line of bayonets, the horsemen rode round and round the square, discharging their pistols into it, and occasionally making desperate efforts to break in. Suddenly the cavalry drew apart, and a battalion of infantry marched forward, and poured their fire into the Portuguese.

Terence felt that no more could be done. His main body was safe from pursuit, and it would be but throwing away the lives of his brave fellows, did he continue the hopeless fight. He therefore waved a white handkerchief, in token of surrender; shouted to his men to cease fire and, riding through them with sheathed sword, made his way to the officer who appeared to be in command of the cavalry.

"We surrender, sir," he said, "as prisoners of war. We have done all that we could do."

He could speak but a few words of French, but the officer understood him.

"You have done more than enough, sir," he said. "Order your men to lay down their arms, and I will guarantee their safety."

He ordered his cavalry to draw back and, riding up to the infantry, halted them. Terence at once ordered his men to lay down their arms.

"You have done all that men could do," he said. "You have saved your comrades, and it is no dishonour to yield to twenty times your own force. Form up in column, ready to march."

The commander of the cavalry again rode up, this time accompanied by another officer.

"The general wishes to know, sir," the latter said in English, "who you are, and what force this is?"

"I am Colonel O'Connor, holding that rank in Lord Beresford's army; and have the honour to be on the staff of Sir Arthur Wellesley, though at present detached on special service. The two battalions that have marched up the hill are the Minho regiment of Portuguese, under my command. We were posted on the Sierra and, being cut off from rejoining the British by the advance of Marshal Soult's army, were endeavouring to retire across the mountains into Portugal, when you cut us off."

The officer translated the words to the general.

"Tell him," the latter said, "that if all the Portuguese fought as well as those troops, there would have been no occasion for the British to come here to aid them. I have never seen troops better handled, or more steady. This cannot be the first time they have been under fire."

Terence bowed, when the compliment was translated to him.

"They fought, General, in the campaign last year," he said, "and the regiment takes its name from the fact that they prevented Marshal Soult from crossing at the mouth of the Minho; but their first encounter with your cavalry was near Orense."

"I remember it well," the general said, "for I was in command of the cavalry that attacked you. Your men were not in uniform, then, or I should have known them again. How did you come to be there? For at that time, the British had not advanced beyond Cintra."

"I had been sent with a message to Romana and, happening to come across this newly-raised levy, without officers or commander, I took the command and, aided by two British troopers and a Portuguese lieutenant, succeeded in getting them into shape; and did my best to hold the pass to Braga."

"Peste!" the general exclaimed. "That was you again, was it? It was the one piece of dash and determination shown by the Portuguese, during our advance to Oporto, and cost us as many men as all the rest of the fighting put together.

"And now, Colonel, we must be marching. Major Portalis, here, will take charge of you."

In a few minutes the French cavalry and infantry were on their march towards Plasencia, the Portuguese prisoners guarded on both sides by cavalry marching with them; their captain being, like Terence, placed in charge of an officer. The Portuguese marched with head erect. They were prisoners, but they felt that they had done well, and had sacrificed themselves to cover the retreat of their comrades; and that, had it not been for the French infantry coming up, they might have beaten off the attacks of their great body of cavalry.

On their arrival at Plasencia, the troops were placed in a large building that had been converted into a prison. Here were some hundreds of other prisoners, for the most part Spaniards, who had been captured when Soult had suddenly arrived.

Terence was taken to the quarters of General Foy, who was in command there. Here he was again questioned, through the officer who spoke English. After he translated his answers to the general, the latter told him to ask Terence if he knew where Wilson was.

"I do not, sir," he replied; "we were together on the Sierra, a fortnight ago, but he marched suddenly away without communicating with me, and I remained at Banos until ordered to march to the Alberche. We took part in the battle there, and were then ordered back, again to support the Spaniards at Banos; but Marshal Soult had marched through the pass, and the Spaniards had disappeared before we got there. We remained among the mountains until yesterday when, hearing that the British had crossed the Tagus, and seeing no way to rejoin them, I started to cross the mountains to join Lord Beresford's force, wherever I might find it."

"General Heron reports that the two battalions under your command fought with extraordinary steadiness, and repulsed all the attempts of his cavalry to break them; and finally succeeded in drawing off to the mountains, with the exception of the two companies that formed the rear guard. How is it that there is only one officer?"

"They were, in fact, one company," Terence said. "My companies are each about 200 strong, and the officer captured with me was its captain."

"General Heron also reports to me that your retreat was admirably carried out," General Foy said, "and that no body of French veterans could have done better.

"Well, sir, if you are ready to give your parole not to escape, you will be at liberty to move about the town freely, until there is an opportunity of sending a batch of prisoners to France."

"Thank you, general. I am ready to give my parole not to make any attempt to escape, and am obliged to you for your courtesy."

Terence had already thought over what course he had best take, should he be offered freedom on parole, and had resolved to accept it. The probabilities of making his escape were extremely small. There would be no chance whatever of rejoining the army; and a passage, alone, across the all-but-impassable mountains, was not to be thought of. Therefore he decided that, at any rate for the present, he would give his promise not to attempt to escape.

Quarters were assigned to him in the town, in a house where several French officers were staying. These all showed him great courtesy and kindness. Between the English and French the war was, throughout, conducted on honourable terms. Prisoners were well treated, and there was no national animosity between either officers or men.

When he went out into the town one of the French officers generally accompanied him, and he was introduced to a number of others. He set to work, in earnest, to improve the small knowledge of French that he possessed and, borrowing some French newspapers, and buying a dictionary in the town, he spent a considerable portion of his time in studying them.

He remained three weeks at Plasencia. During that time he heard that the army of Venegas had been completely routed by Victor, that Cuesta had been badly beaten soon after crossing the Tagus, and Albuquerque's cavalry very roughly treated. Five guns and 400 prisoners had been taken. Ney had marched through Plasencia, on his way back to Valladolid to repress an insurrection that had broken out in that district; and on his way met Wilson, who was trying to retreat by Banos, and who was decisively beaten and his command scattered.

Terence was now told to prepare to leave, with a convoy of prisoners, for Talavera. He was the only British officer and, being on parole, the officer commanding the detachment marching with the prisoners invited him to ride with him, and the two days' journey was made very pleasantly.

At Talavera he remained for a week. The Portuguese prisoners remained there, but the British who had been captured in Plasencia, and the convalescents from the hospital at Talavera--in all 200 strong, among whom were six British officers--were to march to the frontier, there to be interned in one of the French fortresses.

The officer who had commanded the escort, on the march from Plasencia, spoke in high terms of Terence to the officer in charge of the two hundred men who were to go on with them. The party had been directed not to pass through Madrid, as the sight of over two hundred British prisoners might give rise to a popular demonstration by the excitable Spaniards, which would possibly lead to disorder. He was therefore directed to march by the road to the Escurial, and then over the Sierra to Segovia, then up through Valladolid and Burgos. The escort was entirely composed of infantry and, as Terence could not therefore take his horse with him, he joined the other officers on foot.

To his great surprise and joy he found that one of these was his chum, Dick Ryan.

"This is an unexpected pleasure, Dicky!" he exclaimed.

"Well, yes, I am as pleased as you are at our meeting, Terence; but I must own that the conditions might have been more pleasant."

"Oh, never mind the conditions!" Terence said. "It is quite enough, for the present, that we both are here; and that we have got before us a journey that is likely to be a jolly one. I suppose that you have given your parole, as I have; but when we are once in prison there will be an end of that, and it is hard if, when we put our heads together, we don't hit on some plan of escape.

"Do you know the other officers? If so, please introduce me to them."

As soon as the introductions were completed, Terence asked Ryan where he had been wounded.

"I was hit by a piece of a French shell," the latter replied. "Fortunately it did not come straight at me, but scraped along my ribs, laying them pretty well bare. As it was a month ago, it is quite healed up; but I am very stiff still, and am obliged to be very careful in my movements. If I forget all about it, and give a turn suddenly, I regularly yell; for it feels as if a red-hot iron had been stuck against me. However, I have learned to be careful and, as long as I simply walk straight on, I am pretty well all right.

"It was a near case, at first; and I believe I should have died of starvation if the French had not come in. Those brutes of Spaniards would do nothing whatever for me, and I give you my word of honour that nothing passed my lips, but water, for three days."

"Perhaps it was a good thing for you, Dicky, and kept down fever."

"I would have run the chance of a dozen fevers, to have got a good meal," Ryan said indignantly. "I don't know but that I would have chanced it, even for a crust of bread. I tell you, if the French had not come in when they did, there would not have been a man alive in hospital at the end of another forty-eight hours. The men were so furious that, if they could have got at arms, I believe everyone who could have managed to crawl out would have joined in a sally, and have shot down every Spaniard they met in the streets, till they were overpowered and killed.

"Now, let us hear your adventures. Of course, I saw in orders what good work you did, that day when you were in our camp, against the French when they attacked Donkin. Some of our fellows went across to see you, the morning after the big battle; but they could not find you, and heard afterwards, from some men of Hill's division, that you had been seen marching away in a body, along the hills."

Terence then gave an account of the attack by the French upon his regiment, and how he had fallen into their hands.

"That was well done, Terence. There is some pleasure in being taken prisoner, in that sort of way. What will become of your regiment, do you suppose?"

"I have no idea. Herrara may be appointed to the command. I should think that most likely he would be, but of course Sir Arthur may put another English officer at its head. However, I should say that there is no likelihood of any more fighting, this year. Ney's corps has gone north, which is a sign that there will be no invasion of Portugal at present; and certainly Sir Arthur is not likely to take the offensive again, now that his eyes have been thoroughly opened to the rascality and cowardice of the Spaniards; and by next spring we two may be back again. We have got into so many scrapes together, and have always pulled through them, that I don't think the French will keep us long.

"Have you stuck to your Portuguese, Dicky?"

"I have, and am beginning to get on very fairly with it."

"That is right. When we get back I will apply for you as my adjutant, if I get the command of the regiment again."

Chapter 4: Guerillas.

The marches were short, as many of the prisoners were still weak and, indeed, among their guard were many convalescents who had recently been discharged from the hospital at Toledo, and who were going back to France. The little column was accompanied by four waggons, two of which were intended for the conveyance of any who should prove unable to march; and the others were filled with provisions for consumption by the way, together with a few tents, as many of the villages that would be their halting places were too small to afford accommodation for the 400 men, even if every house was taken up for the purpose. Although the first day's march was only twelve miles, the two empty waggons were quite full before they reached their halting place; and many of the guard had placed their guns and cartridge boxes on the other carts.

It was now the middle of August, and the heat in the valley of the Tagus was overpowering. The convoy, however, had marched at six in the morning; and halted at eight, in the shade of a large olive wood; and did not continue its march until five in the afternoon. The night was so warm that the English prisoners, and many of their guards, preferred lying down in the open and throwing the blanket (with which each had been furnished) over him to keep off the dew, to going into the stuffy cottages, where the fleas would give them little chance of rest.

On the third day they arrived at the village of Escurial. The next morning they began to mount the pass over the Sierra, and slept that night in an empty barracks, at Segovia. Here they left the main road leading through Valladolid and took one more to the east, stopping at small villages until they arrived at Aranda, on the Douro. Thence they marched due north, to Gamonal.

They were now on the main road to the frontier, passed through Miranda and Zadorra, and began to ascend the slopes of the Pyrenees. The marches had, for some days, been considerably longer than when they first started. The invalids had gained strength and, having no muskets to carry, were for the most part able to march eighteen or twenty miles without difficulty. Four had been left behind in hospital at Segovia, but with these exceptions all had greatly benefited by steady exercise, and an ample supply of food.

"I could do a good deal of travelling, in this way," one of the officers said, as they marched out from Miranda. "Just enough exercise to be pleasant; no trouble about baggage or route, or where one is to stop for the night; nothing to pay, and everything managed for you. What could one want for, more?"

"We could do with a little less dust," Dick Ryan said, with a laugh; "but we cannot expect everything."

"Unfortunately, there will be an end to our marching, and not a very pleasant one," Terence said. "At present, one scarcely recognizes that one is a prisoner. The French officers certainly do all in their power to make us forget it; and their soldiers, and ours, try their best to hold some sort of conversation together. I feel that I am making great progress in French, and it is especially jolly when we halt for the night, and get the bivouac fires burning, and chat and laugh with the French officers as though we were the best friends in the world."

The march was, indeed, conducted in a comfortable and easy fashion. At starting, the prisoners marched four abreast, and the French two abreast at each side; but before a mile had been passed the order was no longer strictly observed, and the men trudged along, smoking their pipes, laughing and talking, the French and English alternately breaking into a marching song. There was no fear of the prisoners trying to escape. They could, at night, have got away from their guards easily enough; but there was nowhere for them to go, if they had done so. The English, smarting from the cruelty and ill faith of the inhabitants of Talavera and the Spanish authorities, felt a burning hatred of the Spanish; while the Spaniards, on their side, deceived by the lying representations of their Juntas, had no love whatever for the English, though ready enough to receive money and arms from them.

On leaving Zadorra, the French officer in command said to Terence:

"Now, colonel, we shall have to be more careful during our marches, keeping a sharp lookout at night. The country here is infested by guerillas, whom all our efforts cannot eradicate. The mountains of Navarre and Biscay are full of them. Sometimes they are in bands of fifteen or twenty strong, sometimes they are in hundreds. Some of them are at ordinary times goatherds, shepherds, muleteers, and peasants; but a number of them are disbanded soldiers--the remains of armies we have defeated and broken up, and who prefer this wild life in the mountains to returning to their homes. Our convoys are constantly attacked, and have always to be accompanied by a strong guard."

"As we have no waggons with us, I should think that they would hardly care to molest us," Terence said.

"That renders it less likely, certainly, colonel; but they fight from hatred as much as for booty, and no French soldier who falls into their hands is ever spared. Generally they are put to death with atrocious tortures. At first there was no such feeling here and, when my regiment was quartered at Vittoria, some three years ago, things were quiet enough. You see, the feeling gradually grew. No doubt some of our men plundered. Many of the regiments were composed of young conscripts, with very slight notions of discipline. Those from the country districts were, as a rule, quiet lads enough; but among those from the towns, especially such places as Toulouse, Lyons, and Marseilles, were young scoundrels ready for any wickedness, and it is to these that the troubles we now have are largely due.

"Of course the peasants, when they were able to do so, retaliated upon these marauders. The feeling of hatred grew, on both sides. Straggling parties of our men were surrounded, captured, and then hung, shot, or burnt alive.

"Then, on our side, villages were destroyed and the peasants shot down. Lately, that is, after the defeats of their armies, numbers of fugitives took to the hills, threw away their uniforms, obtained peasants' dresses, and set up as what they called guerillas, which is only another term for bandits; for although their efforts are chiefly directed against us, they do not hesitate to plunder their own people, when they need provisions, and are a perfect scourge to all the villages among the hills between the Bay of Biscay and the Mediterranean. Of course, they are strongest along the line of communication with France; but it may be said that, roughly, where there are mountains there are guerillas, though there are but few of them along the hills we crossed between the valley of the Tagus and that of the Douro.

"This is for two reasons: in the first place, there are very few villages, and they would have difficulty in maintaining themselves; and in the second place, because hitherto Leon and Old Castile, on the north of the Sierra, have always been under different commands to that in the Tagus valley, and therefore there has been but small communication between them, except by messengers with despatches from Madrid. The passes have scarcely been used and, indeed, in winter they are practically altogether impassable; except that along the valley of the Ebro. We found that to our cost, when we marched with Napoleon to cut off your British General Moore. We lost nearly two days getting through them, and the delay saved your army."

"Yes, it was a very close thing," Terence said. "As I have told you, I was with Moore; and if the troops from the south had come up but six hours earlier, it would have gone very hard with us."

"It was an awful time," the officer said, "and I think our army must have suffered quite as much as yours did. Soult's force was reduced fully to half its strength, when he first arrived on that hill near Corunna. Of course the stragglers came in rapidly, but a great number never returned to their colours again--some died of cold and hardship, others were cut off and murdered by the peasantry. Altogether, we had an awful time of it. Your men were, in one respect, better off than ours; for your stragglers were not regarded with hostility by the peasants, whereas no mercy was shown to ours."

"Yes, major, one of the battalions that fought at Talavera was entirely composed of men who had straggled in the retreat, and who afterwards succeeded in gaining the Portuguese frontier."

That evening they halted, for the night, at a small village high up in the passes. The French officer took every precaution against surprise. Twenty sentries were placed at various points round the village; and as many more were posted, in pairs, three or four hundred yards farther out.

At three in the morning, several shots were fired. The troops all got under arms, and parties were sent out to the outposts. At two of these posts both the sentries were found stabbed to the heart. At others men had been seen crawling up towards them, and the shots that had aroused the troops had been fired. The outposts were recalled to the village, and the soldiers remained under arms until morning.

As soon as it was daybreak a scattered fire opened from the hills on either side of the valley, and it was evident that these were occupied by strong parties. The villagers, on being questioned, denied all knowledge of these bands; but under threats said that they had heard that Minas, with a very strong force, was in the neighbourhood, and that the Impecinado had been reported to be among the hills between the pass and that of Roncesvalles.

"What strength do you put them down at, colonel?" the major asked Terence.

"I should say, from what we can see of them, that there must be four or five hundred on each hill."

"They must have had information from their spies at Zadorra, colonel, and half a dozen bands must have united to crush us.

"Diable, that was a good shot!" he exclaimed, as his shako was struck from his head by a bullet. "That is the worst of these fellows. They are uncommonly good shots. You see, almost all these mountain men are accustomed to carry guns, and the charcoal burners and shepherds eke out a living by shooting game and sending it down to the towns."

"What are you thinking of doing, major?"

"I shall hold the village," the latter replied. "We might get through the pass, but I doubt whether we should do so; and if we did, my men and yours would suffer terribly. Can I rely upon your fellows keeping quiet?"

"I think so. At any rate, we will all go round and order them to do so."

There was, however, no necessity to impress this on the men. Two of them had already been wounded by the guerillas' fire.

"Why, sir," one of them said, "if we had but muskets here, we would turn out and help the French to drive those fellows off. The French have behaved very well to us, while the Spaniards did their best to starve us to death; and there ain't one of us who wouldn't jump at the chance of paying them out."

"All right, men!" said Terence. "I agree with you, as to the treatment you have received; however, we are not here to fight. We are prisoners, and have nothing to do with the fray, one way or the other; though I don't mean to say that I should not, myself, be glad to see the French beat the guerillas off."

The other officers found the same spirit among the soldiers they questioned.

"I quite agree with them," one of the officers said, "and if there were muskets handy I would not mind leading them, myself, if it were not for the uniform. Sir Arthur would scarcely be pleased if, among all his other worries, he got a despatch from the central Junta, complaining that a large number of innocent peasants had been killed by English troops, fighting by the side of the French."

Gradually the guerillas drew in towards the village, taking advantage of every stone and bush, and rarely giving a chance to the French infantry. Their aim was exceedingly accurate and, whenever a French soldier showed himself from behind a hut to fire, he was fortunate if he got back again without receiving a bullet.

"This is getting serious," the French major said, coming into the cottage where the English officers were gathered. "I have lost thirty-eight killed and wounded, already. I have had the wounded carried into the church, and some of your men are unloading the provision waggons, and taking the contents inside. They have requisitioned every utensil that will hold water in the village. No doubt we shall be able to hold out there till some other detachment comes along the road."

"I think that it is a very good plan, major," Terence said. "They would hardly be able to carry it by assault, unless they burnt down the door; and you ought to be able to prevent them from doing that."

Half an hour later, the whole French force was collected in the church. As soon as the Spaniards found what had happened, they speedily entered the village; and opened fire from every window giving a view of the church, and from loopholes that they quickly made in the walls.

Terence noticed that, when the British soldiers entered the church, most of them carried heavy staves. A sergeant came up, and saluted.

"We have had four men killed and eight wounded, sir. The men declare that they are not going to stand still and see the French murdered by these fellows, and I doubt if any orders will keep them back."

"Very well, sergeant. I will speak to them, presently.

"Now, gentlemen," he said, to the other officers, "three of you are senior to me in our own army and, though I own that I don't know how matters should stand, holding as I do Lord Beresford's commission as colonel, I am perfectly willing to place myself under the orders of whoever may be senior of you."

"I believe I am the senior," one of the captains said; "but I should imagine that Lord Beresford's commission would, for the time, rank just as if it had been signed by our own authorities. Moreover, you are on Wellesley's staff. You have seen more service out here than any of us, and I think that you are certainly entitled to the command; though really, I don't see what we can do, in our uniforms."

"I quite agree with you, Captain Travers, and therefore my proposal is that we shall all take them off, and fight in our shirt sleeves. The guerillas will then not be able to affirm that there were any men in English uniforms assisting the French."

"I think the idea is an excellent one," Captain Travers said.

"Then in that case I will act upon it;" and Terence went up to the English soldiers, who were standing in a group in the middle of the church.

"I am sure you quite understand, my men," he said, "that it would never do for you to be fighting, in British uniforms, against the Spaniards; otherwise, I leave the matter in your hands. But I may mention that it is the intention of myself, and the other officers, to defend this church without our coats and caps. If any of you like to do the same, of course you can join us. I give no orders whatever on the subject, but you see that it would get rid of the inconvenience of soldiers, in British uniforms, fighting against the Spaniards."

The men answered with a shout of satisfaction, mingled with laughter and, in less than a minute, the scarlet uniforms had disappeared. The muskets of the French killed and wounded were appropriated, and the rest of the English prisoners seized their clubs.

For some hours the fight continued and, from the roof of the church belfry and windows, a hot fire answered the incessant fusillade of the Spaniards. The French and English officers were obliged, constantly, to impress upon the men that they must husband their ammunition; as there was no saying how long they might be besieged before a detachment, strong enough to turn the scale, arrived.

"Maintain a fire heavy enough to make them keep at it. Their ammunition is likely to run short as soon as ours, and there is not much chance of their being able to replenish it. But don't fire at random. Let every bullet tell. Take a steady aim at the windows through which they are firing."

Late in the afternoon the fire of the guerillas slackened a good deal, and it was evident that their leaders were enjoining them not to waste their ammunition. As it became dark, the officers gathered again in the body of the church. The total loss had risen to thirty-two killed and fifty wounded, the English casualties being about a third of the whole.

"It is a heavy loss," the major said, "and I have noticed that, as the fire slackened, the proportion of men hit has been larger. I suppose that they are only keeping their best shots at work."

"I should fancy," Terence said, "that if we were to make a sortie, we could scatter them altogether. As soon as it is dark we might get out by that sacristy door at the rear. They gave up the attack on that side some time ago, as they could not get any shelter; and when they found that was so, they betook themselves to houses where they were better covered. If we were to go out noiselessly and sweep round the village; so as to fall upon it in two bodies, one at each end; they will take us for a body of troops just arrived. Even if they do hear us, as we go out, we can go straight at them; and should, I have no doubt, be able to clear the place with a rush.

"The only thing is, major, I should be glad if your soldiers would take off their coatees, too, so that there would be nothing to distinguish our men from yours. What do you think?"

"I think that it will be much the best plan," Captain Travers said. "In the first place, it is probable that they will try to burn us out, tonight; and we could not hope to prevent their piling faggots against the doors, in the dark. For that reason, alone, I think that it will be much better to attack them than wait for them to attack us.

"We need only leave some twenty of the less seriously wounded men to guard the place. When we sally out, the guerillas will have plenty to do without making an attack on the church. I certainly think that we are not likely to lose so many lives in a sortie as we should do in the defence, here, against a night attack."

"I certainly am of your opinion, colonel," the French major said; "and if you and your men will join us, I have no doubt that we shall be able to clear the village."

As soon as it became quite dark, the men on the roof were all called down; with the exception of one or two, who were ordered to continue to fire from various spots there and in the belfry, so that the Spaniards should not discover that the garrison had been withdrawn. Then the French were drawn up, and divided into two parties. The English who had muskets were told off, in equal numbers, to each of these parties; as were those who had nothing but their clubs. The major then ordered his soldiers to take off their coats, and to leave their shakos behind them.

The French major took the command of one party, and asked Terence to take command of the other. This he declined.

"No, sir, it is better that one of your own officers should be in command. We will divide ourselves between the two parties."

The major now impressed upon his men the necessity for absolute quiet, and for marching as lightly and silently as possible. The English officers gave similar instructions to their men. It was arranged that, when the door was opened, the two parties should issue out simultaneously, two abreast; so that if the alarm was given before all were out, they would be able to turn right and left, and attack in both directions at once. A French lieutenant was appointed to remain in the church, and command the little garrison of wounded men.

Those who sallied out were to stoop low as they went, and were to keep a few paces apart. Some hangings in the church were pulled down and torn up into strips, with which the men were directed to muffle their boots.

There was no mistaking the ardour with which the soldiers prepared for the sortie. Both English and French were indignant at being pent up by a foe they thoroughly despised, and were eager to be at the enemy. The casualties added to their wrath; one of the French officers had been killed, and another hurt seriously; while three of the English had also been wounded, though in each case but slightly.

The bolts of the door were noiselessly drawn, and that of the lock forced back; then the two little parties stole out, in the order in which they had been directed. The guerillas had just begun to fire heavily, as a prelude, Terence had no doubt, to a serious attack upon the church. Fortunately there were no houses at the back of the church, and no shout indicated that the party were seen. They therefore kept together, until fifty or sixty yards from the door; then they separated, and continued their way to the ends of the village to which they had been, respectively, assigned.

Then at one end of the village a French trumpeter sounded the charge, and two drummers at the other beat the same order, vigorously, and with loud cheers they rushed down the street, the French and English alike shouting. It had been arranged that, while the French held their way straight on, shooting down the Spaniards as they poured out into the street, the British should break up into small detachments, burst their way into the houses, and overpower the enemy there. They found the first houses they entered deserted, and the soldiers uttered exclamations of impatience as they heard the heavy roll of firing in the main street. As they approached the centre of the village, however, they came upon a number of the Spaniards rushing from their houses.

The men who had arms opened fire at once upon them, while those with clubs dashed forward, levelling the panic-stricken guerillas to the ground with their heavy blows, and arming themselves with their muskets and bandoleers. Thus the firing soon became general, and the Spaniards, struck with utter dismay, and believing that they had been attacked by a heavy column that had just arrived, speedily took to headlong flight, most of them throwing away their arms as they fled. In some of the houses there were short but desperate conflicts but, in a quarter of an hour after the first shot was fired, there was not a guerilla remaining alive in the village, upwards of a hundred and fifty having been killed; while on the side of their assailants only some fifteen had been killed, and twenty-eight wounded.

They soon formed up in the street, and were told off, in parties of twelve, to the houses in the outskirts of the village. Three in each party were to keep watch, by turns, while the rest slept. An English officer was to remain in charge on one side of the street, and a French officer on the other. The rest went back to the church, whose doors were now thrown open.

"I thank you most heartily, gentlemen," the French officer said, to Terence and to the other British officers, "for the immense service that you have rendered us. Had it not been for your aid, our position would have been a very precarious one, before morning. As it is, I think we need fear no further interruption. We are now all armed; and as, with the wounded fit for work, we are still three hundred strong, we should beat off any force likely to attack us; though indeed, I have no belief that they will rally again. At any rate, their losses have been extremely heavy; and the streets were completely strewn with guns, so that I doubt whether half of those who got away have carried their weapons with them."

The next morning, indeed, it was found that in all about 400 muskets had been left behind. All that remained over, after arming the British soldiers, were broken up and thrown down the wells. Enough provisions were collected, among the houses, to furnish the whole with three or four days' rations. The dead were buried in a field near the village, those wounded too severely to march were placed in the waggons; and the rest, who had now resumed their uniforms, set out in high spirits. They were in the same order as before, but the prisoners were told to carry their muskets at the trail, while the French shouldered theirs; so that, viewed from a distance, the British should appear unarmed.

"That has been a grand bit of excitement, Terence," Dick Ryan said gleefully to his friend, as they marched along together. "Those fellows certainly fight a good deal more pluckily than the regular troops do. It was a capital idea to make all the men take off their uniforms, for I don't suppose the Spaniards, even for a moment, dreamt that we were among their assailants; at any rate, they have no proof that we were.

"You really must get me as your adjutant, Terence. I see there is very much more fun to be got out of your sort of fighting than there is with the regiment. I am very pleased, now, that I stuck to Portuguese as you advised me; though it was a great bore, at first."

"I hope, Dicky, we sha'n't find, when we get back in the spring, that the corps has been turned over to Beresford as part of his regular command; for I must say that I quite appreciate the advantage of independence.

"Well, this business ought to do us some good. No doubt the major will report, in warm terms, the assistance we have rendered him; and we shall get good treatment. Of course, some of their prisons must be better than others and, if they will confine us in some place near the frontier, instead of marching us half through France, it will make it all the easier for us to get away. It is not the getting out of prison that is the difficulty, but the travelling through the country. I am getting on well with my French, but there is no hope of being able to speak well enough to pass as a native. As for you, you will have to keep your mouth shut altogether, which will be mightily difficult."

"You will manage it somehow, Terence. I have no fear of you getting me through the country. It is getting out of the country that seems, to me, the difficulty."

"There is one thing, Dicky. We need be in no hurry about it. There is little chance of fighting beginning for another six or seven months and, directly we come to the end of our march, wherever it may be, we must begin to pick up as much French as we can, from our guards. In three or four months I ought, at least, to be able to answer questions; not perhaps in good French, but in French as good as, say, a Savoyard workman or musician might be able to muster."

"Oh, Lor'!" Dick Ryan said, with a deep sigh, "you don't mean to say that I must begin to work on another language, just after I have been slaving, for the last six months, at Portuguese?"

"Not unless you like, Dicky. I can either start alone, or with someone else who has some knowledge of French; but I am not going to run the risk of being recaptured by taking anyone with me who cares so little for liberty that he grudges three or four hours' work, a day, to get up the means of making his escape."

"Oh, of course I shall learn," Ryan said pettishly. "You always get your own way, Terence. It was so at Athlone: you first of all began by asking my opinion, and then carried out things exactly as you proposed, yourself. Learning the language is a horrid nuisance, but I see that it has to be done."

"I expect, Dicky, you will have to make up as a woman. You see, you are not much taller than a tallish woman."

"Well, that would be rather a lark," Ryan said; "only don't you think I should be almost too good-looking for a French woman?"

"You might be that, Dicky. It is certainly a drawback. If I could get hold of a good-sized monkey's skin, I might sew you up in it."

"A bear skin would be better, I should say," Dick laughed; "but I don't think anyone would think that it was a real bear. I saw a chap with one once, at Athlone: no man could open his mouth as wide as that beast did; and as to its tongue, it would be four times as long as mine. No, I think the woman idea would be best; but I should have to shave very close."

"Shave!" Terence repeated, scornfully. "Why, I could not see any hair on your face with a magnifying glass. If that were the only drawback, the matter could be arranged without difficulty."

Without farther adventure, they crossed the mountains and came down to Bayonne. At each halting place where French troops were stationed, the British prisoners were received with warm hospitality by them, when they learned from their comrades that the British had fought side by side with the French against the guerillas, and had saved them from what might have been a very serious disaster. The French shook hands with them warmly, patted them on the shoulders, with many exclamations of "Braves garcons!" and they were led away to cafes, and treated as the heroes of the day, while the officers were entertained by those of the garrison.

At Bayonne they and their escort parted on the most cordial terms, the French exclaiming that it was a shame such brave fellows should be held as prisoners; and that they ought to be released at once, and sent back in a ship, with a flag of truce, to Portugal.

The major, after handing over the soldiers to the prison authorities, took Terence and the other British officers to the headquarters of the governor of the town; and introduced them to him, giving him a lively account of the fight with the guerillas, and the manner in which the prisoners, armed only with clubs and the muskets of the soldiers no longer able to use them, had made common cause with the French and, joining them in the sortie, defeated the Spanish with heavy loss. The governor expressed, courteously, his thanks to the officers for the part they had taken.

"I shall forward Major Marcy's report to headquarters, gentlemen, and shall be happy to give you the liberty of the town on parole. I have no doubt that, if no other good comes of your adventure, you will be placed among an early list of officers to be exchanged."

"I am very much obliged to you, general," Terence said, "but I and Lieutenant Ryan would prefer not to give our parole. I don't say we are likely to make our escape but, at any rate, we should like to be able to take any opportunity, if we saw one."

The general smiled.

"Of course, it must be as you like, sir; but I think that you are wrong. However, at any time, if you like to change your minds, I will give instructions to the officer in command of the prison to release you, immediately you give your parole not to leave the town."

The matter had been talked over on the march, and the others now expressed their willingness to give their parole. They had told Terence they thought he was wrong, and that it would be impossible to make an escape, as it would be necessary to traverse either the whole of Spain or the whole of France before he could find any means of rejoining the army; and that, before long, they might be exchanged.

"I don't think there is a prospect of an early exchange," Terence said. "There cannot have been many prisoners taken, during this short campaign; and I don't suppose there will be any talk of exchanges, for some time to come. I am particularly anxious to get back again, if I possibly can, as I am afraid that my regiment will be broken up; and that, unless I get back before the campaign begins in spring, I shall not get the command again. So I mean to get away, if I can. Anyhow, I would just as soon be in prison as walking about the streets of Bayonne. So I have quite made up my mind not to give my parole."

The officers all returned to the prison quarters assigned to them; the difference being that those on parole could go in and out as they chose, and could, at will, take their meals in the town; while Terence and Ryan were placed together in a room, with a sentry at the door, whose instructions were to accompany them whenever they wished to go beyond the door and to walk in the prison yard, or on the walls surrounding it.

Chapter 5: An Escape.

"Well, here we are, Terence," Ryan said cheerfully, as the door of their cell closed behind them; "and now, what next?"

"The next thing is to look round, Dick. Other matters can wait. One cannot form the remotest idea as to the possibilities of an escape, until one has found out everything about the place. I should say that it will be quite soon enough to discuss it, in another couple of months.

"Now, as to the room; there is nothing to grumble at here. Two truckle beds, not altogether luxurious in appearance but, at any rate, a good deal softer than the ground on which we have been sleeping, for months past. A couple of chairs, designed for use rather than comfort; but which will do to sit on, while we take our meals, and at other times we can use the beds as sofas. A good-sized piece of carpet, a table, and what looks like a pudding dish to wash in.

"Things might have been better, and they might have been a great deal worse. As to our food, we must reserve comment until they bring us some.

"Now, as to funds, I had only twenty-five crowns on me when I was captured. You were rather better off, as you had ten pounds in gold and eight crowns in silver. You see, had we given our parole like the others, and gone in for luxurious feeding outside, our stock would soon have given out; and money is an essential for carrying out an escape, when that escape involves perhaps weeks of travelling, and certainly disguises of different kinds. We have not a penny too much for that, and must resolve to eschew all luxuries except tobacco, and perhaps a bottle of wine on Sundays."

"Our windows, as you observe, are very strongly barred. They look westward, but that range of buildings opposite prevents our getting a view of the sea. One thing is evident, at once: that it is no manner of use for us to think of cutting through those bars, or dislodging them; for we should only, on lowering ourselves, be in the courtyard, and no nearer escape than we were before we began the job. It is a good thing to get at least one point off our mind.

"Now, Dick, before we go further, let us make an agreement that we will always talk in French. I know enough of it to be able to assist you, and it will be an amusement, as well as a help, to accustom ourselves to talk in it."

"All right," Ryan said, resignedly; "but I bargain that, for an hour a day, we drop it altogether. It will be an awful nuisance; and one must give one's tongue a rest, occasionally, by letting it straighten itself out a bit."

The door now opened, and one of the warders entered with two large bowls of broth, a fair-sized piece of the meat from which it was made, a dish of vegetables, a large piece of bread, and a bottle of wine.

"This is your supper, messieurs. In the morning you have coffee and a piece of bread; at twelve o'clock a meal like this, with a bottle of wine between you."

"Thank you," Terence said cheerfully, "that will do extremely well. Are there any other British officers here?"

"None, except your comrades. There were some naval officers here last week, but they have been sent into the interior. We do not have many prisoners here. Those captured at sea, by warships or privateers, are generally taken to Brest and, so far, we have not had many of your nation sent from Spain. There are Spaniards, sometimes, but they do not count. Those that are taken are generally drafted into the Spanish corps of our army."

"Can we buy tobacco?" Terence asked.

"Certainly, monsieur. There is a canteen in the courtyard. It is open from eight till nine o'clock in the morning, and from five to six in the evening. But you are not allowed to get things in from the town; but nevertheless--" and he smiled, "--as your comrades are on parole, doubtless, should you need anything beyond what is sold in the canteen, it may chance that they may bring you just the things you want."

"Thank you. You had better get something from the canteen for yourself," Terence said, handing him a crown.

"Thank you, monsieur. I have heard, from the soldiers who came in with you, that you fought bravely with them against the Spanish brigands; and they think that it is very hard that you and your companion should be shut up here, after having proved such good comrades. I have a cousin among them. He, like myself, is a native of Bayonne and, should it be in his power, I am sure that he and his comrades would do anything they could for Monsieur--as far, of course, as their duty as French soldiers will allow them."

"Thanks. By the way, what is your name?"

"Jean Monier, monsieur."

"Well, Jean, will you please tell your cousin that I am obliged to him for his goodwill? It was a pleasure to fight side by side with such brave soldiers and, should an occasion offer, I will gladly avail myself of his services. The detachment is not going farther, is it?"

"No, monsieur. They will remain here for perhaps two or three months, till the good French air has invigorated them; then they will join some column marching south again. There is nothing more that you will want tonight, monsieur?"

"No, thank you, Jean. Good evening!"

"Good evening, good sleep!" and the warder retired.

"What is all that jabber about, Terence?"

"Very satisfactory jabber, and jabber that is likely to lead to a very good result. A cousin of his is one of the guard that came down with us. He has told this warder about our fight, and asked him to say that he and his comrades were very angry at our being shut up here; and as much as said that they would aid us to escape, if it was in their power, so we may consider that our first difficulty is as good as arranged. No doubt in a short time they will be put on regular garrison duty, and will take their turn in furnishing prison guards. This warder is evidently ready to do anything he can, so that we may look upon our escape from prison as a matter of certainty. I don't suppose that, in any case, the guard is a very vigilant one; for they would not expect that prisoners of war here would try to escape. At Verdun, and other prisons within a few days' journey of the frontier, it would be different."

"Well, that is good news, Terence, though I see myself that our difficulties will really begin only when we get out. There is no doubt that the fight with the guerillas was a lucky thing for us. I would not have missed it for anything, for I must say there was much more excitement in it than in a battle, at least as far as my experience of a battle goes. At Talavera we had nothing to do but stick up on the top of a hill, watch the French columns climbing up, and then give them a volley or two and roll them down the hill again; and between times stand to be shelled by Victor's batteries on the opposite hill. I cannot see that there is any fun about that. This fight, too, has turned out a very good thing for us. I expect we should not have been so well treated if it had not been for it, and the fact that some of these French soldiers are ready to give us a helping hand is first rate.

"You see, it is all your luck, Terence. There never was such a fellow for luck as you are."

"There is no doubt about that," Terence agreed. "Now, Dick, you must really break into French."

"Tomorrow morning will be time enough for that," Ryan said, in a tone of determination. "I want to talk now, really talk; and I can't do that in French, especially after what you have just told me. By the way, I don't see, myself, why we should make this journey through France. Why not try to get a boat, and land somewhere on the coast of Spain?"

"I have been thinking of that, Dick; but it seemed to me, before, altogether too difficult. Still, if we can get help from outside, I don't know why we should not be able to manage it. We should have to go some distance along the Spanish coast, for there are sure to be French garrisons at Bilbao and Santander; but beyond that I should think we might land at any little village. Galicia must certainly have been evacuated by the French, for we know that Ney's corps were down in the Tagus valley; and I should think that they cannot have any great force in the Asturias. The worst of it is, we have not got enough money to buy a boat; and if we had, the soldiers could hardly bargain with a fisherman for one. Of course, if we were free we might arrange with a man to go with us in his boat, and pay him so much for its hire, for three or four days."

"We might make our way down the river, and steal one, Terence."

"Yes, we might do that, but it would be a heavy loss to some poor fellow. Well, I shall look forward to the morning, when we can go out and see all about the prison arrangements."

"Then you have given up the idea of waiting for two months before you do anything, Terence?" Ryan remarked.

"Certainly. You see, these French convalescents may be marched back again, in another month's time and, at present, our plans must be formed upon the supposition that they are ready to help us. It would never do to throw away such an opportunity as that. It would be little short of madness to try and get out, unless we had disguises of some sort. My staff officer's uniform, or your scarlet, would lead to our arrest at the first village we came to.

"Besides, before this news one was willing to wait contentedly, for a time, till some good opportunity presented itself. Now that we have such an unexpected offer of assistance, the sooner we get out of the place the better."

The next morning they went out into the courtyard of the prison. The soldiers who had been captured with them were walking about in groups; but the sentry who accompanied the two British officers led them through these, and took them up to the top of the wall surrounding the prison.

"Messieurs," he said, "when the others are shut up you can go where you please, but my orders are that you are not to communicate with your soldiers."

He then fell back some distance, and left them free to wander about on the wall.

From this point they had a view over the city. Bayonne was a strongly fortified place, standing on the junction of the Nive and Adour, and on the south side of the latter river, two miles from its mouth. The Nive ran through the town, and its waters supplied the ditches of the encircling wall and bastions. The prison was situated on the Nive, at some three or four hundred yards from the spot where it entered the Adour.

"I should say this quite decides it," Terence said, when they had made the circuit of the walls, upon which sentries were placed at short intervals. "Once out of the town the river would be open to us, but it would be next to impossible to pass those semicircles of fortifications on both sides of the town. You can see the masts of the craft lying at the quays and, though I should not like to rob a fisherman of his boat; I should not feel the smallest scruple in taking a ship's boat, which would be, comparatively, a small loss to the owner. The worst of it would be that, directly we were found to be missing, and the owner of the boat reported its loss, they might send out some of their gunboats in search of us, and we should very soon be overtaken."

Discipline was not very strict in the French army, except when in an enemy's country; and the sentries, knowing well that there was really no occasion for watchfulness, answered willingly the questions that Terence asked them as to the names of places within sight.

"It must be rather tedious work for you, on the wall here," Terence said to one whose post was shielded by a building close by, from observation from below.

"Very dull," the soldier said, "and we shall be glad enough when we are relieved and marched into Spain. Here we are doing no good. There is no chance whatever of the prisoners attempting an escape, for if they did get out of here they could get no further; but they say that we shall not stop here long, and we shall be heartily glad when the order comes. They say the convalescents who came in yesterday will take over the prison duties next week."

Terence's motive for speaking to the men was to discover whether they were forbidden to talk, and it was satisfactory to find that, if there was such a rule, it was by no means strictly observed. Leaning on the parapet, he and Ryan stood for some time looking at the sea. There were many fishing boats dotting its surface, and the tapering masts of two schooners could be seen near the mouth of the river.

"I have no doubt that they are privateers," Terence said. "They have just the appearance of that fellow we captured on the way out. One would not have much chance of getting far in a boat, with those fellows after us.

"It seems to me that, if it could possibly be managed, our safest plan would be to lie quiet in the town for a week or so, after we got out; then it would be comparatively safe to get hold of a boat and make off in it."

"Yes, if that could be managed, it certainly would be the safest plan. If we changed our minds about making off by sea, we might then be able to pass out through the fortifications, without question. Of course, they would be vigilant for a short time after we were missing; but I suppose that, at ordinary times, the country people would go in and out unquestioned, just as in any other town for, with no enemy nearer than Portugal, there could be no occasion whatever for watchfulness."

Terence and his companion had seen nothing of their friends on parole, as these, they found, although lodged in prison for their own convenience, were not permitted to have any communication with the other prisoners. Ten days after they arrived at Bayonne, the warder, who had, since he first spoke to them, said nothing beyond the usual salutations, remarked carelessly:

"The soldiers who came down with you took up the prison duties last night. My cousin told me to say that you will know him, and four or five of his comrades of the 72nd of the line, all of whom are thoroughly in agreement with him, by their saying as you pass them:

"'The morning is fair, Colonel.'

"To any of them you can speak, when you find an opportunity of doing so, unobserved."

"Thank you; but will it not be safer for them were you to carry my messages?"

"No; I cannot do that," the warder said. "I think that it is quite right that my cousin, and his comrades, should do anything in their power to aid those who stood by them when attacked; but I wish to know nothing about it. It must be between you and them, for I must be able to swear that I had no hand in the matter, and that I locked you up safely, at night."

"You are quite right, Jean. It is much the best plan that it should be so. I certainly should not, myself, like to know that in making my escape I might endanger the life of one who had acted simply from kindness of heart; and trust that no suspicion, whatever, will fall upon you. I thank you most heartily for having brought me the message from your cousin, and for the goodwill that you have shown us."

When Terence and Ryan went out as usual, after breakfast, all the sentries they passed saluted, as if to one of their own officers. They of course returned the salute, and made a cheery remark to each, such as "Rather a change, this, from our work up in the hills, lad," to which each gave some short and respectful answer, three of them prefacing it with the words: "The morning is fair, mon Colonel ".

Two of these had the number of their regiment on their shako. The other, who had a deep and scarcely-healed scar over the ear, only wore a forage cap, having evidently lost his shako when wounded.

"What do you mean by saluting a prisoner," a French staff officer, when he was passing, angrily asked an old soldier. "You have been long enough in the service, surely, to know that prisoners are not saluted."

The soldier stood at attention.

"Monsieur le Capitaine," he said, "I am not saluting a prisoner. I am saluting a brave officer, whose orders I have obeyed in a hard fight, and to whom I and my comrades probably owed our lives. A mark of respect is due to a brave man, whether a prisoner of war or not."

The officer passed on without answering and, arriving at headquarters, reported the circumstances to the general.

"I am not surprised, Captain Espel," the latter replied, with a slight smile. "A French soldier knows how to respect bravery, and in this case there is little doubt that, but for the assistance of their prisoners, it would have gone very hard with that detachment. That young officer who, strangely enough, is a colonel, was a prisoner when he fought side by side with these men; and it is but natural that they scarcely regard him as one, now. He has refused to give his parole, and I am afraid he means to try to make his escape. I am sorry for, should he do so, he is sure to be captured again."

The third one of the 72nd men, the one with a forage cap, chanced to be posted at the point of the wall that was not overlooked and, after he had repeated the formula agreed upon, Terence said to him:

"You are one of those lads who sent me a message that you would assist me, if you could."

"That is so, mon Colonel. You assisted us when we were somewhat hotly pressed, and tis but good comradeship to repay such a service, if one can. We have been thinking it over and, although it would not be difficult for you to escape from here, we do not see how you are to be got out of the town."

"That is the difficulty I see myself," Terence replied. "We could not hope to pass through the circle of fortifications and, were we to take a boat and make off, we should be pursued and recaptured, to a certainty; for of course, as soon as our escape was known, there would be a hot search made for us.

"There are two things needed. The first is disguises. The second is a shelter, until the search for us slackens, after which it would be comparatively easy for us to make off."

"What sort of disguises would you want, monsieur?"

"If we go by land, peasant dresses; if by water, those of fishermen. We have money, which I can give you to purchase these."

"That we could do for you, monsieur, but the hiding place is more difficult. However, that we will see about. I am a native here, and have of course many friends and acquaintances in the town. When we have made our plans I will let you know. I will manage that, when it is my turn for duty, I will always be posted here; and then I can tell you what is arranged, and give you whatever is necessary to aid you to make your escape. My cousin, Jean Monier, will shut his eyes; but he will not do anything himself, and I think that he is right, for of course he will be the first to be suspected.

"As for us, it will be no matter. Everyone knows how you stood by us, and they will guess that some of us have had a hand in it; but they will never find out which of us was chiefly concerned. I expect that soon we shall all be taken off this prison duty, for which we shall not be sorry, and sent back to Spain with the first detachment that comes along; but after all, one is not so badly off in Spain, and certainly Madrid is a good deal more lively than Bayonne."

"I suppose," Terence said, nodding towards their guard, who was standing a few paces away gazing over the country, "he knows nothing about this."

"No, monsieur, we have kept it to just the men of our own regiment; but all feel the same about your being kept a prisoner, and there is no fear of his telling anyone that you spoke to one man more than another, when it is found out that you have escaped. Still, it might be as well that you should not speak to me again, until I tell you that it is a fine morning; for although all our own men can be trusted, if any of the regular prison warders was to notice anything he would not be slow in mentioning it, in hope of getting promotion."

Accordingly Terence made a point of only passing along that part of the wall once a day, and merely saying a word to the soldier, as he did to others, on the occasions when he was on duty.

Ten days later the man replied to his salutation by remarking that it was a "fair day." It happened that the man told off to guard them on this occasion was another of the 72nd; there was therefore nothing to be feared from him.

"I have arranged the matter, monsieur," the soldier said. "My sister's husband, Jules Varlin, will shelter you. He is a fisherman, and you can be safely hidden in the loft where he keeps his nets and gear. He is an honest fellow, and my sister has talked him over into lending his aid so far and, although he has not promised it yet, I think we shall get him to go down the river with you, so as to reply if you are challenged. You can put him ashore a mile or two along the coast.

"Now as to the escape, monsieur. Here is a sharp saw. With it you can cut round the lock of your door. There are two outside bolts, whose position I dare say you have noticed; by cutting a hole close to each of them, you can get your hand through and draw them. Here is a short-handled augur, to make a hole for the saw to go through.

"There are four sentries at night, in the courtyard. We shall manage to get all our men on duty, tomorrow evening. Our sergeant is a good fellow and, if he guesses anything, will hold his tongue; for I have heard him say, more than once, that it is monstrous that you should be kept a prisoner.

"Therefore you need not be afraid of them. They will take care to keep their eyes shut. I shall be on sentry duty here, and will get the disguises up, and a rope. When you have got down I shall let the rope drop, and you will carry it off and take it away with you; thus there will be no evidence where you descended.

"Here are two sharp files, with which you can cut through the bars of your window, and remove some of them; then it will not be known whether you escaped that way, or down the stairs; and the men on sentry in the courtyard at the bottom cannot be blamed because, for aught the governor will know, you may have gone out through this window into the other courtyard, and got over the wall on that side; so they would have no proof as to which set of men were negligent.

"No doubt we shall all be talked to, and perhaps kept in the guardroom a few days, but that won't hurt us; and soldiers are scarce enough, so they will hardly keep ten or twelve men long from duty. There are not enough in the town, now, to furnish all the guards properly; so you need not worry about us.

"I will give you instructions how to find my sister's house, tomorrow night. You must not escape until you hear the bell strike midnight. Our party will relieve guard at that hour. You see, we have four hours on duty and, as you may have gone either on the first watch, the second, or the third, they will not be able to pitch on us more than on the others; so that, in fact, the blame will be divided between forty of us. You will, of course, put on your disguises over your uniforms, and destroy your clothes, when you get to Jules' house."

"I thank you very warmly, my good fellow, for running all this risk for me. Here are two hundred francs to pay for the disguises."

"That will be more than enough," the soldier said. "Jules put it down at a hundred and fifty."

"Things may cost more than he expects. At any rate, please hand these to him. I can arrange matters with him when I see him.

"Then at about a quarter past twelve we will sally out. We will walk on now, lest any of the warders should happen to notice that we have been a long time on this part of the wall."

Ryan had understood but little of what was happening and, when Terence told him what had been arranged, he exclaimed:

"Well, after this, Terence, I will never say a word against a Frenchman. Here are these soldiers going to run a lot of risk, and a certainty of getting into a row for us, merely because we did the best we could against those wretched Spaniards; and without getting any reward whatever, for they must know that prisoners are not likely to have any money to spare about them."

"Quite so, Ryan; and what is more, if I had a hundred pounds in my pocket, I would not offer them a penny; for certainly they would take it as an insult if I did so. They would feel that it would be a sort of bribe and, though they are ready to help us as comrades, I am sure they would not do it for money. I sincerely hope they won't get into any serious row. As he said, authorities won't be able to tell which party was on guard at the time we went, and they could hardly put the whole of them under arrest--at least, not keep them under arrest. No doubt there will be a close search in the town for us, but there is little fear of our being discovered.

"Our dangers won't begin until we are fairly afloat. I know nothing about sailing. I have rowed a boat many a time, at Athlone; but as for sailing, I have never once tried it."

"Nor have I," Ryan said. "But I suppose there is no difficulty about it. You put up the sail, and you take hold of the rope at the corner, and off you go."

"It sounds all right, Dicky, and I dare say we shall manage to get along, somehow; but these things are not half as easy as they look. Now we had better have four or five hours' sleep this afternoon, for I expect it will take us the best part of the night to file through the bars. You must not cut quite through them, but just leave them so that we can finish them off in a short time, tomorrow night."

"But the warder might notice them?"

"He is not likely to look very sharply, Dicky; but at the same time, it is just as well not to put too great a strain on his loyalty. We will keep a piece of bread over from our supper, work it up into a sort of paste, fill up any cuts we make, and rub it over with dirt till it well matches the bars. Certainly they have planned the affair capitally, so as to throw doubt as to which way we descended, and so divide the blame between as many of the sentries as possible."

It took four hours' work, that night, to get through the bars. They were most careful not to let any of the filings fall outside for, had any of them dropped into the courtyard below, they might well catch the eye of a warder; and in that case an examination of all the windows of the rooms above would certainly be made, at once. Before the warder's visit the next morning, the holes had been filled up with bread worked into a putty and smeared over with dust; which so nearly matched the bars that it could not be observed, except by a careful examination.

The next day they abstained from saying more than a passing word to any of the French soldiers. They waited, after being locked up for the night, for two or three hours; and then began their work at the door. The saw was a very narrow one and, when they had made a hole with the augur, they found no difficulty in cutting the wood; therefore they thought it was well to leave that for the last thing, and so betook themselves to their files, and soon removed enough of the bars to enable a man to crawl through. Then they returned to the door, and had cut round the lock, and made holes through which they could pass their hands to draw back the bolts, a short time before the clock struck twelve.

Then they went to the window, and listened. They heard the bells strike midnight, and then a stir below, as the sentries were relieved. Waiting for a few minutes, until all had become quiet again, they drew back the bolts, took off their shoes, and went noiselessly down the stairs.

The night was very dark and, although they could hear the tread of the sentries in the courtyard, they could not make out their figures. They crossed the yard, keeping as far as possible from the sentries. They had no doubt that all would happen as arranged; but there was, of course, the possibility that at the last moment some change might have been made; and it was, in any case, as well that the men there should be able to declare, honestly, that they had seen no one.

They were glad when they reached the archway leading to the stairs that led to the top of the wall. Mounting, they kept along by the parapet, stooping so that their figures should not show against the sky for, dark as it was below, they might have been noticed had they not done so. Presently they saw the sentry.

"Diable, messieurs!" he said in a low tone, as they came up to him, "you gave me a start. I was expecting you, but I did not hear your footsteps nor see you and, had you been enemies, you might very well have seized and disarmed me before I could give the alarm.

"Well, here are your clothes."

They soon pulled the blue canvas leggings over their breeches, and over these the high boots, in which their feet felt lost. A rough blouse and a fisherman's oilskin cap completed the disguise. They put their boots into the capacious pockets in the blouses, and were then ready to descend. They had left their shakos in their cell when they started.

While they had been putting on their clothes, the sentry had fastened the rope and lowered it down.

"We are ready now, Jacques," Terence said. "Goodbye, my good friend. We shall never forget the kindness that you have shown us, and shall remember with gratitude, all our lives, how a party of French soldiers were ready to show themselves good comrades to men who had fought by their sides, even though the two nations were at war with each other. We shall always feel a kindness towards the French uniform, in future; and if you or any of your comrades of the 72nd should chance to fall into British hands, and you can send word to me or to Mr. Ryan, I can promise you that we will do all we can to have you released at once and sent back, or to aid you in any other way."

"We have done but our duty to brave comrades," the soldier said.

"Now, as to where to find my cousin. You will go down that street below, and take the third turning on the right. That will lead you down to the wharves. Keep along by the houses facing them until you come to the fourth turning. It is a narrow lane, and there is a cabaret at each corner of it. My cousin's house is the twelfth on the left-hand side. He will be standing at the door. You will say to him as you pass, It is a dark night,' and he will then let you in.

"Don't walk as if you were in a hurry: fishermen never do that. It is not likely that you will meet anyone, but if you do, and he sees two fishermen hurrying, it will strike him as singular; and when there came news of two prisoners having escaped, he might mention the matter, which might lead to a search in the right quarter."

"Will you go first, Ryan, or shall I?" Terence said.

"Just as you like."

"Well, then, you may as well go, as then I can talk with this good fellow till it is my turn."

Ryan shook the soldier's hand heartily, took hold of the rope, slung himself over the parapet, and began the descent. Terence and the soldier leaned over, and watched him until they could no longer make out the figure with certainty. As soon as the tension on the rope slackened, Terence grasped Jacques' hand, said a few more words of thanks, and then followed his companion. As soon as he reached the ground he shook the rope and, a minute later, it fell on the ground beside him.

He coiled it up, and then they started down the street. Following the instructions that they had received, in ten minutes they reached the end of the lane.

"We were to throw away the rope, were we not?" Ryan said.

"Yes, but now we are here, there can be no use in our doing so. If a length of rope were found lying in the road, people would wonder who had thrown it away; besides, it is a good stout piece of new rope, and may be of use to the fisherman."

Counting the doors carefully as they went along, they came to the twelfth where, before they reached it, the red glow from a pipe showed that a man was standing outside.

"It is a dark night, mate," Terence said in a low tone, as he came up to him.

"That is right," the man replied; "come in."

He stood aside as they entered, closed the door behind them, and then lifted a piece of old canvas thrown over a lighted lantern.

Chapter 6: Afloat.

Jules Varlin held the lantern above his head, and took a good look at his visitors.

"You will pass very well for young fishermen, messieurs," he said, "when you have dirtied your faces and hands a bit, and rubbed your hair the wrong way, all over your head. Well, come in here. My wife is waiting up to welcome you. It is her doing that you are here. I should not have agreed, but what can one do when a woman once sets her mind upon a thing?"

He opened a door. A woman rose from her seat. She was some years younger than her husband.

"Welcome, messieurs," she said. "We are pleased, indeed, to be able to return the kindness you showed to my brother."

The fisherman grunted.

"No, Jules," she said, "I won't have you say that you haven't gone willingly into this. You pretended not to, but I know very well that it was only because you like to be coaxed, and that you would have done it for Jacques' sake."

"Jacques is a good fellow," her husband replied, "and I say nothing against him; but I don't know that I should have consented, if it had not been for you and your bothering me."

"Don't you believe him, monsieur. Jules has a good heart, though he likes pretending that he is a bear.

"Now, monsieur, I have some coffee ready for you."

"I need not say, madam," Terence said, "how truly thankful we both are for your and your husband's kindness, shown to us strangers; and I sincerely hope that you will have no cause to regret it. You may be sure of one thing: that if we are recaptured, we shall never say how our escape was effected, nor where we were sheltered afterwards; and if, after the war is over, we can find an opportunity of showing how grateful we are for your kindness, we shall not miss the chance."

"We are but paying the service you rendered to Jacques, monsieur. He tells me that, if it had not been for the aid the British prisoners gave them, that probably those Spanish bandits would have captured the church during the night; and we know that they never show mercy to prisoners."

The coffee was placed on the table and, after drinking it, the fisherman led them to a low shed in the yard.

"We could have done better for you," he said apologetically, "but it is likely that they may begin a search for you, early in the morning. This yard can be seen from many houses round about, so that, were you to sleep upstairs, you might be noticed entering here in the morning; and it is better to run no risks. We have piled the nets on the top of other things. You will find two blankets for covering yourselves there. In the morning I will come in and shift things, so as to hide you up snugly."

"We shall do just as well on the nets as if we were in bed," Terence laughed. "We are pretty well accustomed to sleep on the hard ground."

"I think we are going to have some bad weather," the man remarked, as they settled themselves on the nets. "I hope it will be so, for then none of the boats will put out; and there will be no comments on my staying at home, instead of going out as usual.

"And now, good night, and good sleep to you!"

"He is an honest-looking fellow," Terence said, when he had gone out, "and I have no doubt what his wife says of him is true; but it is not surprising that he held back at first. It is not everyone that is prepared to run the risk of heavy punishment for the sake of his wife's relations.

"This is not by any means bad; these nets make a very comfortable bed."

The next morning, at daybreak, the fisherman came in with a can containing hot coffee, two great slices of bread, and tin cups.

"Now, messieurs, when you have drank that I will stow you away. We shifted most of the things yesterday, so as to make as comfortable a bed for you as may be."

The nets were pulled off; and a mass of sails, ropes, and other gear appeared underneath. One of the sails in the corner was pulled away, and showed a vacant space, some six feet long and four feet wide, extending down to the ground, which was covered by old nets.

"Now, messieurs, if you will get down there, I shall pile a couple of sacks over and throw the nets on the top, and there is no fear of your being disturbed. I will bring your meals in to you, and let you know what is doing in the town; but I shall not come in oftener than I can help. I shall leave the doors open, as usual."

They took their places in the hole, and the fisherman piled sails and nets over the opening. There was no occasion to leave any apertures for air, for the shed was roughly built, and there were plenty of openings between the planks of which it was constructed. They had, before he came in, divested themselves of their uniforms; and these the fisherman put into a kit bag and carried indoors; where his wife at once proceeded to cut them up, and thrust the pieces into the fire.

"It is a pity," she said regretfully, "but it would never do to leave them about. Think what a waistcoat I could have made for you, Jules, out of this scarlet cloth. With the gold buttons it would have been superb, and it would have been the envy of the quarter; but it would never do."

"I should think not, Marie. Burn the clothes up, and give me the buttons and gold lace. I will put them in a bag with some stones, and drop them into the river. The sooner we get rid of them, the better."

As soon as the things were put into a bag, he went out with with them. The wind was blowing strongly and, as he had predicted the night before, the clouds were flying fast, and there were many signs of dirty weather. He returned a couple of hours later.

"There is quite an excitement in the town, Marie," he said. "Everyone is talking about it. Two rascally English prisoners have escaped, and the soldiers say that they must be somewhere in the town, for that they could never have passed through the lines. Some gendarmes have been along the quays, inquiring if a boat has been missed during the night; but they all seem to be safe. Written notices have been stuck up warning everyone, on pain of the severest punishment, not to give shelter to two young men, in whatever guise they may present themselves. The gendarmes say that the military authorities are convinced that they must have received assistance from without."

For the next three days, indeed, an active search was kept up. Every house was visited by the gendarmes but, as there was no reason for suspecting one person more than another, there was no absolute search made of the houses; which indeed, in so large a town as Bayonne, would have been almost impossible to carry out effectually.

The fisherman reported each day what was going on.

"The soldiers are giving it up," he said, at the end of the third day. "I saw Jacques today for the first time. He tells me there was a tremendous row when your escape was discovered. The warder, and every soldier who had been on duty that night, were arrested and questioned. The warder was the one first suspected, on the ground that you must have had assistance from without. He said that if you had, he knew nothing about it; and that, as you knew all the soldiers of the prison guard, and as he had heard many of them say it was very hard, after fighting as you did on their behalf, that you should be kept prisoner, any of them might have furnished you with tools for cutting the door and filing the bars. This was so clear that he was released at once. The soldiers were kept for two days under arrest. This morning the governor himself came down to the prison, and the men under arrest were drawn up. He spoke to them very sharply, to begin with.

"'One or more of you is assuredly concerned in this matter. A breach of trust of this kind is punishable with death.'

"Then he stopped, and looked fiercely up and down the line, and went on in a different tone:

"'At the same time, I admit that some allowance is to be made for the crime, and I can understand that as soldiers you felt sympathy with soldiers who, although prisoners at the time, did not hesitate to cast in their lot with you, and to fight side by side with you. Still, a soldier should never allow private sentiments to interfere with his duty. I myself should have been glad, when you arrived here and I heard of what had happened, to have been able to place these British officers and soldiers in a ship, and to have sent them back to their own country; but that would have been a breach of my duty, and I was forced to detain them here as prisoners. Of course, if I could find out which among you have been concerned in this affair, it would be my duty to punish them--for there must have been more than one--severely. However, although I have done my best to discover this, I am not sorry, men, that I have been unable to do so; for although these men may have failed in their duties as soldiers, they have shown themselves true-hearted fellows to run that risk--not, I am sure, from any thought of reward, but to help those who had helped them.

"'You can all return to your duty, and I hope that you will, in future, remember that duty is the first thing with a soldier, and that he should allow no other feeling to interfere with it.'

"Jacques and his comrades are all satisfied that, although the general felt it was his duty to reprimand them, he was at heart by no means sorry that you had got off.

"The gendarmes are still making inquiries, but of course they have learned nothing. Nobody was about on the wharves at that time of night, and I don't think that they will trouble themselves much longer about it. They will come to believe that you must, somehow, have managed to get through the line of fortifications, and that you will be caught trying to make your way across the country.

"In another three or four days it will be quite safe for you to go down the river. For the first two days every boat that went down was stopped and examined, and some of the vessels were searched by a gunboat, and the hatches taken off; but I hear that no boats have been stopped today, so I fancy you will soon be able to go down without fear."

Although at night Terence and Ryan were able to emerge from their place of concealment, and walk up and down the little yard for two or three hours, they were heartily glad when, a week after their confinement, Jules told them that he thought they might start at daybreak, the next morning.

"Now, messieurs, if you will tell me what you want, I will buy the things for you."

They had already made out a list. It consisted of a nine-gallon breaker for water, a dozen bottles of cheap wine, thirty pounds of biscuits, and fifteen pounds of salt meat, which Jules's wife was to cook. They calculated that this would be sufficient to last them, easily, until they had passed along the Spanish coast to a point well beyond the towns garrisoned by the French, if not to Corunna itself.

"But how about the boat?" Terence asked, after all the other arrangements had been decided upon. "As I told you, we don't wish to take a boat belonging to anyone who would feel its loss; and therefore it must be a ship's boat, and not one of the fishermen's. If we had money to pay for it, it would be another matter; but we have scarcely enough now to maintain us on our way through Spain, and there are no means of sending money here when we rejoin our army."

"I understand that, monsieur; and I have been along the quay this morning taking a look at the boats. There are at least a dozen we could choose from; I mean ships' boats. Of course, many of the craft keep their boats hauled up at the davits or on deck, but most of them keep one in the water, so that they can row off to another ship or to the stairs. Some simply leave them in the water, because they are too lazy to hoist them up. That is the case, I think, with one boat that belongs to a vessel that came in, four days since, from the West Indies. It's a good-sized ship's dinghy, such as is used for running out warps, or putting a sailor ashore to bring off anything required. The other boats are better suited for a voyage, but they are for the most part too large and heavy to be rowed by two oars and, moreover, they have not a mast and sail on board, as this has. Therefore that is the one that I fixed my eye on.

"The ship is lying alongside, and there is not another craft outside her. The boat is fastened to her bowsprit, and I can take off my boots and get on board and drop into her, without difficulty; and push her along to the foot of some stairs which are but ten yards away. Of course, we will have the water and food and that bundle of old nets ready, at the top of the stairs, and we can be out into the stream five minutes after I have cut her loose. We must start just before daylight is breaking, so as to be off before the fishermen put out for, if any of these were about, they would at once notice that I have not got my own boat. At the same time I don't want to be far ahead of them, or to pass the gunboats at the mouth of the river in the dark, for that would look suspicious."

"And now, Jules, about yourself. Of course, I know well that no money could repay you for the kindness you have shown us, and your risking so much for strangers; and you know that we have not with us the means of making any return, whatever, for your services."

"I don't want any return, monsieur," the fisherman said. "I went into the matter a good deal against my will, because my wife had set her mind upon it; but since you came here I have got to have just as much interest in the matter as she has. I would not take a sou from you, now; but if, some day, when these wars are over, you will send a letter to Marie with some little present to her, just to show her that you have not forgotten us, it would be a great pleasure to us."

"That I will certainly do, Jules. It may be some time before there will be an opportunity of doing it, but you may be sure that we shall not forget you and your wife, or cease to be grateful for your kindnesses; and that, directly peace is made, or there is a chance in any other way of sending a letter to you, we will do so."

That evening Jacques paid a visit to his sister. He had abstained from doing so before, because he thought that the soldiers who were suspected of being concerned in the escape might all be watched; and that if any of them were seen to enter a house, a visit might be paid to it by the gendarmes. He did not come until it was quite dark, and made a long detour in the town before venturing to approach it. Before he entered the lane he took good care that no one was in sight.

When, after chatting for an hour, he rose to leave, Terence told him that when he wrote to his sister he should inclose a letter to him; as it would be impossible to write to him direct, for there would be no saying where he might be stationed. He begged him to convey the heartiest thanks of himself and Ryan to his comrades for the share they had taken in the matter.

On saying good night, Terence insisted on Marie accepting, as a parting gift, his watch and chain. These were handsome ones, and of French manufacture, Terence having bought them from a soldier who had taken them from the body of a French officer, killed during Soult's retreat from Portugal. They could, therefore, be shown by her to her friends without exciting any suspicion that they had been obtained from an English source. Marie accepted them very unwillingly, and only after Terence declaring that he should feel very grieved if she would not take the one present he was capable of making.

"Besides," he added, "no one can tell what fortune may bring about. Your husband might lose his boat, or have a long illness; and it is well to have something that you can part with, without discomfort, in such a time of need."

Jules, although desiring no pay for his services and risks, was very much gratified at the present.

"I for my part do not say no, monsieur," he said. "What you say is right. We are careful people, and I have laid by a little money; but as you say, one cannot tell what may happen. And if the weather were bad and there was a risk of never getting back home again, it would be a consolation to me to know that, in addition to the few hundred francs we have laid by since we were married, two years ago, there is something that would bring Marie, I should say, seven or eight hundred francs more, at least. That would enable her to set up a shop or laundry, and to earn her own living. I thank you from my heart, monsieur, for her and for myself."

Terence and Ryan slept as soundly as usual until aroused by Jules. Then they put on their sea boots again, loaded themselves with the nets and the bags with the provisions and wine, while Jules took the water barrel and after saying goodbye to Marie, started. There was not a soul on the wharf and, putting the stores down at the top of the steps, they watched Jules who, after taking off his boots, went across a plank to the ship, made his way noiselessly out on to the bow, swinging himself down into the boat, loosening the head rope before he did so. A push with the oar against the ship's bow sent the boat alongside the quay, and he then worked her along, with his hands against the wall, until he reached the steps.

The stores were at once transferred to the boat, and they pushed it out into the stream. The tide had but just turned to run out and, for half a mile, they allowed her to drift down the river. By this time the light was broadening out in the sky. Jules stepped the mast and hoisted the sail, and then seated himself in the stern and put an oar out in the hole cut for it to steer with. Terence watched the operation carefully. The wind was nearly due aft, and the boat ran rapidly through the water.

"We are just right as to time," Jules said, as he looked back where the river made a bend. "There are two others coming down half a mile behind us, so that we shall only seem to be rather earlier birds than the rest."

Near the mouth of the river two gunboats were anchored. They passed within a short distance of one of these, and a solitary sailor, keeping anchor watch on deck, remarked:

"You are going to have a fine day for your fishing, comrade."

"Yes, I think so, but maybe there will be more wind presently."

Some time before reaching the gunboat, Ryan had lain down and the nets were thrown loosely over him, as it would be better that there should not seem to be more than the two hands that were generally carried in the small fishing boats. Once out of the river they steered south, laying a course parallel to the shore and about a mile out. After an hour's sail Jules directed her head into a little bay, took out an empty basket that he had brought with him, and stepped ashore, after a cordial shake of the hand. He had already advised them to bear very gradually to the southwest, and had left a small compass on board for their guidance.

"They are things we don't often carry," he said, "in boats of this size; but it will be well for you to take it. If you were blown out of sight of land you would find it useful. Keep well out from the Spanish coast, at any rate until you are well past Bilbao; after that you can keep close in, if you like, for you will be taken for a fishing boat from one of the small villages.

"I shall walk straight back now to the town. No questions are asked at the gates and, if anyone did happen to take notice of me, they would suppose I had been round peddling fish at the farmhouses."

Coming along, he had given instructions to Terence as to sailing the boat. When running before the wind the sheet was to be loose, while it was to be tightened as much as might be necessary to make the sail stand just full, when the wind was on the beam or forward of it.

"You will understand," he said, "that when the wind is right ahead you cannot sail against it. You must then get the sail in as flat as you can, and sail as near as you can to the wind. Then when you have gone some distance you must bring her head round, till the sail goes over on the other side; and sail on that tack, and so make a zigzag course: but if the wind should come dead ahead, I think your best course would be to lower the sail and row against it. However, at present, with the wind from the east, you will be able to sail free on your proper course."

Then he pushed the boat off.

"You had better put an oar out and get her head round," he said, "before hoisting the sail again. Goodbye; bon voyage!"

Since leaving the river, Terence had been sailing under his instructions and, as soon as the boat was under way again he said to his companion:

"Here we are, free men again, Dicky."

"I call it splendid, Terence. She goes along well. I only hope she will keep on like this till we get to Corunna or, better still, to the mouth of the Douro."

"We must not count our chickens before they are hatched, Dicky. There are storms and French privateers to be reckoned with. We are not out of the wood yet, by a long way. However, we need not bother about them, at present. It is quite enough that we have got a stout boat and a favouring wind."

"And plenty to eat and drink, Terence; don't forget that."

"No, that is a very important item, especially as we dare not land to buy anything, for some days."

"What rate are we going through the water, do you think?"

"Jules said we were sailing about four knots an hour when we were going down the river, and about three when we had turned south and pulled the sail in. I suppose we are about halfway between the two now, so we can count it as three knots and a half."

"That would make," Ryan said, after making the calculation, "eighty-four miles in twenty-four hours."

"Bravo, Dicky! I doubted whether your mental powers were equal to so difficult a calculation. Well, Jules said that it was about four hundred miles to Corunna, and about a hundred and fifty to Santander, beyond which he thought we could land safely at any village."

"Oh, let us stick to the boat as long as we can!" Ryan exclaimed.

"Certainly. I have no more desire to be tramping among those mountains and taking our chance with the peasants than you have, and if the wind keeps as it is now we should be at Corunna in something like five days. But that would be almost too much to hope for. So that it does but keep in its present direction till we are past Santander, I shall be very well satisfied."

The mountains of Navarre and Biscay were within sight from the time they had left the river, and it did not need the compass to show them which way they should steer. There were many fishing boats from Nivelle, Urumia, and Saint Sebastian to be seen, dotted over the sea on their left. They kept farther out than the majority of these, and did not pass any of them nearer than half a mile.

After steering for a couple of hours, Terence relinquished the oar to his companion.

"You must get accustomed to it, as well as I," he said, "for we must take it in turns, at night."

By twelve o'clock they were abreast of a town; which was, they had no doubt, San Sebastian. They were now some four miles from the Spanish coast. They were travelling at about the same rate as that at which they had started, but the wind came off the high land, and sometimes in such strong puffs that they had to loosen the sheet. The fisherman had shown them how to shorten sail by tying down the reef points and shifting the tack and, in the afternoon, the squalls came so heavily that they thought it best to lower the sail and reef it. Towards nightfall the wind had risen so much that they made for the land, and when darkness came on threw out the little grapnel the boat carried, a hundred yards or so from the shore, at a point where no village was visible. Here they were sheltered from the wind and, spreading out the nets to form a bed, they laid themselves down in the bottom of the boat, pulling the sail partly over them.

"This is jolly enough," Ryan said. "It is certainly pleasanter to lie here and look at the stars than to be shut up in that hiding place of Jules's."

"It is a great nuisance having to stop, though," Terence replied. "It is a loss of some forty miles."

"I don't mind how long this lasts," Ryan said cheerfully. "I could go on for a month at this work, providing the provisions would hold out."

"I don't much like the look of the weather, Dicky. There were clouds on the top of some of the hills and, though we can manage the boat well enough in such weather as we have had today, it will be a different thing altogether if bad weather sets in. I should not mind if I could talk Spanish as well as I can Portuguese. Then we could land fearlessly, if the weather was too bad to hold on. But you see, the Spanish hate the Portuguese as much as they do the French; and would, as likely as not, hand us over at once at the nearest French post."

They slept fairly and, at daybreak, got up the grapnel and hoisted the sail again. Inshore they scarcely felt the wind but, as soon as they made out a couple of miles from the land, they felt that it was blowing hard.

"We won't go any farther out. Dick, lay the boat's head to the west again. I will hold the sheet while you steer, and then I can let the sail fly, if a stronger gust than usual strikes us. Sit well over this side."

"She is walking along now," Ryan said joyously. "I had no idea that sailing was as jolly as it is."

They sped along all day and, before noon, had passed Bilbao. As the afternoon wore on the wind increased in force, and the clouds began to pass rapidly overhead, from the southeast.

"We had better get her in to the shore," Terence said. "Even with this scrap of sail, we keep on taking the water in on that lower side. I expect Santander lies beyond that point that runs out ahead of us, and we will land somewhere this side of it."

But as soon as they turned the boat's head towards the shore, and hauled in the sheet as tightly as they could, they found that, try as they would, they could not get her to lie her course.

"We sha'n't make the point at all," Terence said, half an hour after they had changed the course. "Besides, we have been nearly over, two or three times. I dare say fellows who understood a boat well could manage it but, if we hold on like this, we shall end by drowning ourselves. I think the best plan will be to lower the sail and mast, and row straight to shore."

"I quite agree with you," Ryan said. "Sailing is pleasant enough in a fair wind, but I cannot say I care for it, as it is now."

With some difficulty, for the sea was getting up, they lowered the sail and mast and, getting out the oars, turned her head straight for the shore. Both were accustomed to rowing in still water, but they found that this was very different work. After struggling at the oars for a couple of hours, they both agreed that they were a good deal farther away from the land than when they began.

"It is of no use, Dick," Terence said. "If we cannot make against the wind while we are fresh, we certainly cannot do so when we are tired; and my arms feel as if they would come out of their sockets."

"So do mine," Ryan said, with a groan. "I am aching all over, and both my hands are raw with this rough handle. What are we to do, then, Terence?"

"There is nothing to do that I can see, but to get her head round and run before the wind. It is a nuisance, but perhaps the gale won't last long and, when it is over, we can get up sail and make for the northwestern point of Spain. We have got provisions enough to last for a week.

"That is more comfortable," he added, as they got the boat in the required direction. "Now, you take the steering oar, Dick, and see that you keep her as straight as you can before the wind; while I set to and bale. She is nearly half full of water."

It took half an hour's work, with the little bowl they found in the boat, before she was completely cleared of water. The relief given to her was very apparent, for she rose much more lightly on the waves.

"We will sit down at the bottom of the boat, and take it by turns to hold the steering oar."

They had brought with them a lantern in which a lighted candle was kept burning, in order to be able to light their pipes. This was stowed away in a locker in the stern, with their store of biscuit and, after eating some of these, dividing a bottle of wine, and lighting their pipes, they felt comparatively comfortable. They were, of course, drenched to the skin and, as the wind was cold, they pulled the sail partly over them.

"She does not ship any water now, Terence. If she goes on like this, it will be all right."

"I expect it will be all right, Dick, though it is sure to be very much rougher than this when we get farther out. Still, I fancy an open boat will live through almost anything, providing she is light in the water. I don't suppose she would have much chance if she had a dozen men on board, but with only us two I think there is every hope that she will get through it.

"It would be a different thing if the wind was from the west, and we had the great waves coming in from the Atlantic, as we had in that heavy gale when we came out from Ireland. As it is, nothing but a big wave breaking right over her stern could damage us very seriously. There is not the least fear of her capsizing, with us lying in the bottom."

They did not attempt to keep alternate watches that night, only changing occasionally at the steering oar, the one not occupied dozing off occasionally. The boat required but little steering for, as both were lying in the stern, the tendency was to run straight before the wind. As the waves, however, became higher, she needed keeping straight when she was in a hollow between two seas. It seemed sometimes that the waves following behind the boat must break on to her, and swamp her but, as time after time she rose over them, their anxiety on this score lessened, and they grew more and more confident that she would go safely through it.

Occasionally the baler was used, to keep her clear of the water which came in in the shape of spray. At times they chatted cheerfully, for both were blessed with good spirits and the faculty of looking on the best side of things. They smoked their pipes in turns, getting fire from each other, so as to avoid the necessity of resorting to the lantern, which might very well blow out, in spite of the care they had at first exercised by getting under the sail with it when they wanted a light.

They were heartily glad when morning broke. The scene was a wild one. They seemed to be in the centre of a circle of mist, which closed in at a distance of half a mile or so, all round them. At times the rain fell, sweeping along with stinging force but, wet as they were, this mattered little to them.

"I would give something for a big glass of hot punch," Ryan said, as he munched a piece of biscuit.

"Yes, it would not be bad," Terence agreed; "but I would rather have a big bowl of hot coffee."

"I have changed my opinion of a seafaring life," Ryan said, after a pause. "It seemed delightful the morning we started, but it has its drawbacks; and to be at sea in an open boat, during a strong gale in the Bay of Biscay, is distinctly an unpleasant position."

"I fancy it is our own fault, Dicky. If we had known how to manage the boat, I have no doubt that we should have been able to get to shore. When the wind first began to freshen, we ought not to have waited so long as we did, before we made for shelter."

"Well, we shall know better next time, Terence. I think that, now that it is light, we had better get some sleep, by turns. Do you lie down for four hours, and then I will take a turn."

"All right! But be sure you wake me up, and mind you don't go to sleep; for if you did we might get broadside on to these waves, and I have no doubt they would roll us over and over. So mind, if before the four hours are up you feel you cannot keep your eyes open, wake me at once. Half an hour will do wonders for me, and I shall be perfectly ready to take the oar again."

Chapter 7: A French Privateer.

Terence went off into a deep sleep as soon as he had pulled the sail over his head, but it seemed to him as if but a minute had elapsed when his companion began to stir him up with his foot.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I am awfully sorry to wake you," Ryan shouted, "but you have had two hours of it, and I really cannot keep my eyes open any longer. I have felt myself going off, two or three times."

"You don't mean to say that I have been asleep for two hours?"

"You have, and a few minutes over. I looked at my watch as you lay down."

"All right! Give me the oar. I say, it is blowing hard!"

"I should think it is. It seems to me it is getting up, rather than going down."

"Well, we are all right so far," Terence said cheerfully, for he was now wide awake again. "Besides, we are getting quite skilful mariners. You had better spend a few minutes at baling before you lie down, for the water is a good three inches over the boards."

All day the storm continued and, when darkness began to close in, it seemed to them that it was blowing harder than ever. Each had had two spells of sleep, and they agreed that they could now keep awake throughout the night. It was bad enough having no one to speak to all day, but at night they felt that companionship was absolutely needed. During the day they had lashed together the spars, sail, and the barrel of water--which was now nearly half empty--so that if the boat should be swamped, they could cling to this support.

It was a terrible night but, towards morning, both were of opinion that the gale was somewhat abating. About eight o'clock there were breaks in the clouds and, by noon, the sun was shining brightly. The wind was still blowing strong, but nothing to what it had been the evening before and, by nightfall, the sea was beginning to go down. The waves were as high as before, but were no longer broken and crested with heads of foam and, at ten o'clock, they felt that they could both safely lie down till morning.

The steering oar was lashed in its position, the sail spread over the whole of the stern of the boat, every drop of water was baled out and, lying down side by side, they were soon fast asleep. When they woke the sun was high, the wind had dropped to a gentle breeze, and the boat was rising and falling gently on the smooth rollers.

"Hurrah!" Ryan shouted, as he stood up and looked round. "It is all over. I vote, Terence, that we both strip and take a swim, then spread out our clothes to dry, after which we will breakfast comfortably and then get up sail."

"That is a very good programme, Dicky; we will carry it out, at once."

While they were eating their meal, Ryan asked:

"Where do you suppose we are, Terence?"

"Beyond the fact that we are right out in the Bay of Biscay, I have not the most remote idea. By the way the water went past us, I should say that we had been going at pretty nearly the same rate as we did when we were sailing; say, four miles an hour. We have been running for forty-eight hours, so that we must have got nearly two hundred miles from Santander. The question is: would it be best to make for England, now, or for Portugal? We have been going nearly northwest, so I should think that we are pretty nearly north of Finisterre, which may lie a hundred and twenty miles from us; and I suppose we are two or three times as much as that from England. The wind is pretty nearly due east again now, so we can point her head either way. We must be nearly in the ship course, and are likely to be picked up, long before we make land. Which do you vote for?"

"I vote for the nearest. We may get another storm, and one of them is quite enough. At any rate, Spain will be the shortest, by a great deal and, if we are picked up, it is just as likely to be by a French privateer as by an English vessel."

"I am quite of your opinion, and am anxious to be back again, as soon as I can. If we got to England and reported ourselves, we might be sent to the depot and not get out again, for months; so here goes for the south."

The sail was hoisted, and the boat sped merrily along. In a couple of hours their clothes were dry.

"I think we had better put ourselves on short rations," Terence said. "We may be farther off than we calculate upon and, at any rate, we had better hold on to the mouth of the Tagus, if we can; there are sure to be some British officials there, and we shall be able to get money, and rejoin our regiment without loss of time; while we might have all sort of trouble with the Spaniards, were we to land at Corunna or Vigo."

No sail appeared in sight during the day.

"I should think we cannot have come as far west as we calculated," Terence said, "or we ought to have seen vessels in the distance; however, we will keep due south. It will be better to strike the coast of Spain, and have to run along the shore round Cape Finisterre, than to risk missing land altogether."

That night they kept regular watches. The wind was very light now, and they were not going more than two knots an hour through the water. Ryan was steering when morning broke.

"Wake up, Terence!" he exclaimed suddenly, "here is a ship within a mile or so of us. As she is a lugger, I am afraid she is a French privateer."

Terence sprang to his feet. The light was still faint, but he felt sure that his companion was right, and that the vessel was a French privateer.

"We have put our foot in it now, and no mistake," Ryan said. "It is another French prison and, this time, without a friendly soldier to help us to get out."

"It looks like it, Dicky. In another hour it will be broad daylight, and they cannot help seeing us. Still, there is a hope for us. We must give out that we are Spanish fishermen, who have been blown off the coast. It is not likely they have anyone on board that speaks Spanish, and our Portuguese will sound all right in their ears; so very likely, after overhauling us, they will let us go on our way. At any rate, it is of no use trying to escape; we will hold on our course for another few minutes, and then head suddenly towards her, as if we had only just seen her. I will hail her in Portuguese, and they are sure to tell us to come on board; and then I will try to make them understand by signs, and by using a few French words, that we have been blown out to sea by the gale, and want to know the course for Santander. As the French have been there for some time, it would be natural enough for us to have picked up a little of their language."

In a few minutes they altered their course and sailed towards the lugger, which also soon turned towards them. When they approached within the vessel's length, Terence stood up, and shouted in Portuguese:

"What is the bearing of Santander?"

The reply was in French, "Come alongside!" given with a gesture of the arm explaining the words. They let the sail run down as they came alongside. Terence climbed up, by the channels, to the deck.

"Espagnol," he said to the captain, who was standing close to him as he jumped down on to the deck; "Espagnoles, Capitaine; Poisson, Santander; grand tempete," and he motioned with his arms to signify that they had been blown offshore at Santander. Then he pointed in several directions towards the south, and looked interrogatively.

"They are Spanish fishermen who have been blown off the coast," the captain said to another officer. "They have been lucky in living it out. Well, we are short of hands, having so many away in prizes; and the boat will be useful, in place of the one we had smashed up in the gale. Let a couple of men throw the nets and things overboard, and then run her up to the davits."

Then he said to Terence: "Prisoners! Go forward and make yourself useful;" and he pointed towards the forecastle.

Terence gave a yell of despair, threw his hat down on the deck and, in a volley of Portuguese, begged the captain to let them go. The latter, however, only waved his hand angrily; and two sailors, coming up, seized Terence by the arms and dragged him forward. Ryan was called upon deck, and also ordered forward. He too remonstrated, but was cut short by a threatening gesture from the captain.

For a time they preserved an appearance of deep dejection, Terence tugging his hair as if in utter despair, till Ryan whispered:

"For heaven's sake, Terence, don't go on like that, or I shall break out in a shout of laughter."

"It is monstrous, it is inhuman!" Terence exclaimed, in Portuguese. "Thus to seize harmless fishermen, who have so narrowly escaped drowning; the sea is less cruel than these men. They have taken our boat, too, our dear good boat. What will our mothers think, when we do not return? That we have been swallowed up by the sea. How they will watch for us, but in vain!"

Fortunately for the success of their story, the lugger hailed from a northern French port and, as not one on board understood either Spanish or Portuguese, they had no idea that the latter was the language in which the prisoners were speaking. After an hour of pretended despair, both rose from the deck on which they had been sitting and, on an order being given to trim the sails, went to the ropes and aided the privateersmen to haul at them and, before the end of the day, were doing duty as regular members of the crew.

"They are active young fellows," the captain said to his first mate, as he watched the supposed Spaniards making themselves useful. "It was lucky for them that they had a fair store of provisions and water in their boat. We are very short handed, and they will be useful. I would have let them go if it had not been for the boat but, as we have only one left that can swim, it was too lucky a find to give up."

The craft had been heading north when Ryan had first seen her, and she held that course all day. Terence gathered from the talk of the sailors that they were bound for Brest, to which port she belonged. The Frenchmen were congratulating themselves that their cruise was so nearly over, and that it had been so successful a one. From time to time a sailor was sent up into the cross trees, and scanned the horizon to the north and west. In the afternoon he reported that he could make out the upper sails of a large ship going south. The captain went up to look at her.

"I think she is an English ship of war," he said, when he descended to the deck, "but she is a long way off. With this light wind we could run away from her. She will not trouble herself about us. She would know well enough that she could not get within ten miles of us, before it got dark."

This turned out to be the case, for the lookout from time to time reported that the distant sail was keeping on her course, and the slight feeling of hope that had been felt by Terence and Ryan faded away. They were placed in the same watch, and were below when, as daylight broke, they heard sudden exclamations, tramping of feet overhead, and a moment later the watch was summoned on deck.

"I hope that they have had the same luck that we had, and have run into the arms of one of our cruisers," Terence whispered in Portuguese to Ryan, as they ran up on deck together.

As he reached the deck the boom of a cannon was heard, and at the same instant a ball passed through the mainsail. Half a mile away was a British sloop of war. She had evidently made out the lugger before the watch on board the latter had seen her. The captain was foaming with rage, and shouting orders which the crew hurried to execute. On the deck near the foremast lay the man who had been on the lookout, and who had been felled with a handspike by the captain when he ran out on deck, at the first alarm. Although at first flurried and alarmed, the crew speedily recovered themselves, and executed with promptitude the orders which were given.

There was a haze on the water, but a light wind was stirring, and the vessel was moving through the water at some three knots an hour. As soon as her course had been changed, so as to bring the wind forward of the beam, which was her best point of sailing, the men were sent to the guns; the first mate placing himself at a long eighteen pounder, which was mounted as a pivot gun aft, a similar weapon being in her bows. All this took but four or five minutes, and shot after shot from the sloop hummed overhead.

The firing now ceased, as the change of course of the lugger had placed the sloop dead astern of her; and the latter was unable, therefore, to fire even her bow chasers without yawing. It was now the turn of the lugger. The gun in the stern was carefully trained and, as it was fired, a patch of white splinters appeared in the sloop's bulwarks. A cheer broke from the French. The effect of the shot, which must have raked her from stem to stern, was at once evident. The sloop bore off the wind, until her whole broadside could be seen.

"Flat on your faces!" the captain shouted.

There was a roar of ten guns, and a storm of shot screamed overhead. Four of them passed through the sails. One ploughed up the deck, killing two sailors and injuring three others with the splinters. Two or three ropes of minor importance were cut, but no serious damage inflicted.

The crew, as they leapt to their feet, gave a cheer. They knew that, with this light wind, their lugger could run away from the heavier craft; and that the latter could only hope for success by crippling her.

"Steady with the helm!" the captain went on, as the pivot gun was again ready to deliver its fire. "Wait till her three masts show like one.

"Jacques, aim a little bit higher. See if you cannot knock away a spar."

The sloop was coming up again to the wind and, as she was nearly stem on, the gun cracked out again. A cheer broke from the lugger as her opponent's foretop mast fell over her side, with all its hamper. Round the sloop came, and delivered the other broadside. Two shots crashed through the bulwarks, one of them dismounting a gun which, in its fall, crushed a man who had thrown himself down beside it. Another shot struck the yard of the foresail, cutting it asunder; and the lugger at once ran up into the wind.

"Lower the foresail!" the captain shouted. "Quick, men! and lash a spare spar to the yard. They are busy cutting away their topmast, but we shall be off again before they are ready to move. They have lost nearly half a mile; we shall soon be out of range. Be sharp with that gun again!"

The sloop had indeed fallen greatly astern while delivering her broadsides; but her commander had evidently seen that, unless the wind sprang up, the lugger would get away from him unless he could cripple her; and that she might seriously damage him, and perhaps knock one of the masts out of him by her stern chaser. His only chance, therefore, of capturing her was to take a spar out of her. He did not attempt to come about again, after firing the second broadside; but kept up his fire as fast as his guns could be loaded.

The lugger, however, was stealing rapidly away from him and, in ten minutes, had increased her lead by another half mile, without having suffered any serious damage; and the sloop soon ceased fire, as she was now almost out of range. Seven or eight of the crew had been more or less injured by splinters but, with the exception of the three killed, none were badly hurt. The lugger was now put on her former course, the guns lashed into their places again, and the three men killed sewn up in hammocks and laid between two of the guns, in order to be handed to their friends on arrival in port.

"That is another slip between the cup and the lip," Terence remarked to his companion, as the sloop ceased firing. "I certainly thought, when we came on deck, that our troubles were over. I must say for our friend, the French captain, he showed himself a good sailor, and got out of the scrape uncommonly well."

"A good deal too well," Ryan grumbled; "it was very unpleasant while it lasted. It is all very well to be shot at by an enemy, but to be shot at by one's friends is more than one bargained for."

The coolness under fire displayed by the two Spaniards he had carried off pleased the captain, who patted them on the shoulder as he came along, his good temper being now completely restored by his escape.

"You are brave fellows," he said, "and will make good privateersmen. You cannot do better than stay with us. You will make as much money, in a month, as you would in a year's fishing."

Terence smiled vaguely, as if he understood that the captain was pleased with them, but did not otherwise catch his meaning. They arrived at Brest without further adventure. As they neared the port, the captain asked Terence if he and his companion would enter upon the books of the privateer and after much difficulty made, as he believed, Terence understand his question. The latter affected to consult Ryan, and then answered that they would be both willing to do so. The captain then put the names they gave him down on the ship's roll, and handed each of them a paper, certifying that Juan Montes and Sebastian Peral belonged to the crew of the Belle Jeanne, naming the rate of wages that they were to receive, and their share in the value of the prizes taken. He then gave them eighty francs each, as an advance on their pay from the date of their coming on board, and signified to them that they must buy clothes similar to those worn by the crew, instead of the heavy fishermen's garments they had on.

"They will soon learn our language," he said to the mate, "and I am sure they will make good sailors. I have put down their wages and share of prize money at half that of our own men, and I am sure they will be well worth it, when they get to speak the language and learn their duties."

As soon as they were alongside, the greater portion of the men went ashore and, in the evening, the boatswain landed with Terence and Ryan, and proceeded with them to a slop shop, where he bought them clothes similar to those worn by the crew. Beyond the fact that these were of nautical appearance, there was no distinctive dress. They then returned to the lugger and changed their clothes at once, the boatswain telling them to stow away their boots and other things, as these would be useful to them in bad weather.

The next day the privateer commenced to unload, for the most valuable portions of the cargoes of the captured ships had been taken on board when the vessels themselves, with the greater portion of the goods they carried, had been sent into port under the charge of prize crews. They remained on board for ten days, going freely into the town, sometimes with the sailors and sometimes alone. Terence pretended to make considerable progress in French, and was able, though with some difficulty, to make himself understood by the crew. The first mate had gone with them to the mairie, where the official stamp had been affixed to their ship papers.

They found that no questions were asked of persons entering or leaving the town, on the land side; and twice strolled out and went some distance into the country. They had agreed that it would be better to defer any attempt to escape until the day before the lugger sailed, as there would then be but little time for the captain to make inquiries after them, or to institute a search. They bought a pocket map of the north of France, and carefully studied the roads.

"It is plain enough what our best course is, Dick. We must go along this projecting point of Brittany through Dinan to Avranches, and then follow the coast up till we get to Coutances. You see it is nearly opposite Jersey, and that island does not look to be more than fifteen miles away so that, if we can get hold of a boat there, we should be able to run across in three hours or so, with favourable wind."

"That looks easy enough," Ryan agreed. "It seems to be about one hundred and twenty miles from here to Avranches, and another thirty or forty up to Coutances, so we should do it in a week, easily. What stories shall we make up, if we are questioned?"

"I don't suppose the peasants we may meet on the road are likely to question us at all, for most of the Bretons speak only their own language. We had better always sleep out in the open. If we do run across an official, we can show our papers and give out that we have been ill treated on board the lugger, and are going to Saint Malo, where we mean to ship on another privateer. I know that is a port from which lots of them sail. I don't think we shall have any difficulty in buying provisions at small villages. My French will pass muster very well in such places, and I can easily remark that we are on our way to Saint Malo to join a ship there and, if any village functionary questions us, these papers will be good enough for him.

"Or we can say that we got left ashore by accident, when our craft sailed from Brest, and are going to rejoin her at Saint Malo, where she was going to put in. I think, perhaps, that that would be a better story than that we had run away. I don't know that the authorities interest themselves in runaway seamen from privateers but, at any rate, it is a likely tale. Drunken seamen, no doubt, often do get left ashore."

"Yes, that would be a very good story, Terence, and I think that there would be no great fear, even if we were to go boldly into a town."

"I don't think there would; still, it is better to be on the safe side, and avoid all risks."

Accordingly, the afternoon before the Belle Jeanne was to sail they went ashore, bought enough bread and cold meat to last them for a couple of days; and two thick blankets, as it was now November and the nights were bitterly cold; and then left the town and followed the road for Dinan. On approaching the village of Landerneau they left the road, and lay down until it was quite dark. Then they made a detour through the fields, round the village, came down on the road again, walked all night--passing through Huelgoat--and then, as morning was breaking they left the road again and, after going a quarter of a mile through the fields, lay down in a dry ditch by the side of a thick hedge, ate a meal, and went to sleep.

They did not start again until it was getting dusk, when they returned to the road, which they followed all night. In the morning they went boldly into a little village, and Terence went into a shop and bought a couple of loaves. His French was quite good enough for so simple an operation.

"I suppose you are going to Saint Malo," the woman said.

"Yes. We have had a holiday to see some friends at Brest, and are going to rejoin."

This was the only question asked and, after walking another two miles, they lay up for the day as before. They had met several peasants on the road, and had exchanged salutations with them. They found by their map that they were now within twenty miles of Dinan, having made over thirty miles each night and, as both were somewhat footsore from their unaccustomed exercise, they travelled only some sixteen or seventeen miles the following night.

The next evening, at about ten o'clock, they walked boldly through Dinan. Most of the inhabitants were already asleep, and the few who were still in the streets paid no heed to two sailors; going, they had no doubt, to Saint Malo. Crossing the river Rance by the bridge, they took the road in the direction of the port but, after following it for a mile or two, struck off to the east and, before morning, arrived on the river running up from the bay of Mount Saint Michaels. They lay down until late in the afternoon, and then crossed the river at a ferry, and kept along by the coast until they reached the Sebine river.

"We are getting on first rate," Ryan said, as they lay down for a few hours' sleep. "We have only got Avranches to pass, now."

"I hope we sha'n't be questioned at all, Dick, for we have now no good story to tell them; for we are going away from Saint Malo, instead of to it. Of course, as long as they don't question us we are all right. We are simply two sailors on our way home for a time; but if we have to show our papers, with those Spanish names on them, we should be in a fix. Of course, we might have run away from our ship at Saint Malo, but that would not explain our coming up this way. However, I hope my French is good enough to answer any casual questions without exciting attention. We will cross by the ferry boat, as soon as it begins to ply and, as Avranches stands some little distance up the river, we can avoid it altogether by keeping along the coastline."

A score of peasants had assembled by the time the ferry boat man made his appearance from his cottage, and Terence and his companion, who had been lying down 200 yards away, joined them just as they were going down to the boat.

"You are from Saint Malo, I suppose?" an old peasant said to Terence.

The latter nodded.

"We have got a month's leave from our ship," he said. "She has been knocked about by an English cruiser, and will be in the shipwright's hands for five or six weeks, before she is ready for sea again."

"You are not from this part of the country," the peasant, who was speaking in the patois of Normandy, remarked.

"No, we come from the south; but one of our comrades comes from Cherbourg and, as he cannot get away, we are going to see his friends and tell them that he is well. It is a holiday for us, and we may as well go there as anywhere else."

The explanation was simple enough for the peasant, and Terence continued chatting with him until they landed.

"You do not need to go through Avranches," the latter said. "Take the road by the coast through Granville to Coutances."

"How far is it to Coutances?"

"About twenty miles. At least, so I have heard, for I have never been there."

After walking a few miles, they went down on to the seashore and lay down among some rocks until evening. At eight o'clock they started again and walked boldly through Granville, where their sailor's dress would, they felt sure, attract no attention. It was about nine o'clock when they entered the place. Their reason for doing so at this hour was that they wished to lay in a stock of provisions, as they did not intend to enter Coutances until late at night; when they hoped to be able to get hold of a boat, at once. They had just made their purchases when they met a fat little man, with a red sash--which showed him to be the Maire of the place, or some other public functionary.

"Where are you going, and what ship do you belong to?" he asked pompously.

"We are sailors on our way from Saint Malo to Cherbourg," Terence replied.

"You have papers, of course?"

"Of course, Monsieur le Maire."

"I must see them," the Maire said. "Come with me to my house, close by."

There were several persons near, and a man in civil uniform was with the Maire. Therefore Terence gave an apparently willing assent and, followed by the functionary, they went into a house close by. A lamp was burning on the table in the hall.

"Light these candles in my office," the Maire said. "The women have gone up to bed."

The man turned a key, went in and, bringing out two candles, lighted them at the lamp; and they then went into the room. The Maire seated himself in an armchair at the table. The minor functionary placed the two suspected persons on the side facing him, and took his place standing by their side.

As they were going in, Terence whispered:

"If there is trouble, I will take this fellow, and you manage the Maire."

"Now," that functionary said, "let me see your papers.

"Why," he exclaimed, looking at the names, "you are not Frenchmen!"

"No," Terence said quietly. "We do not pretend to be but, as you see, we are sailors who have done service on board a French privateer."

"But where is this privateer?"

"I don't know, Monsieur le Maire. We were not satisfied with our treatment, so we left her at Brest."

"This is very serious," the Maire said. "You are Spaniards. You have deserted your ship at Brest. You have travelled a hundred and fifty miles through France, and now what are you doing here?"

"We are, as you say, monsieur, travelling through France. We desire to see France. We have heard that it is the greatest country in the world. Frenchmen visit Spain in large numbers. Why should not Spaniards visit France?"

The tone of sarcasm in which Terence spoke was not lost upon the Maire, who rose from his seat, purple with anger.

"You will take these men into custody," he said to his assistant. "This is a very grave business."

"Now, Dick!" Terence exclaimed and, turning to the man who stood next to him, he grasped him suddenly by the throat.

At the same moment Ryan caught up a heavy inkstand and threw it across the table at the Maire, striking that functionary in the stomach, and doubling him completely up. Then he ran round the table and bound the man--who had not yet recovered his breath--tightly in his chair, and thrust his handkerchief into his mouth.

The man whom Terence was holding had scarcely struggled. Terence, as he gripped him, had said, "Keep quiet or I will choke you!" and the prisoner felt that his assailant could do so in a moment, if he chose.

His hands were fastened tightly behind him, with his own belt, by Ryan. A short ruler was thrust between his teeth, and fastened there by a handkerchief going round the back of his head.

"So far so good, Dick. Now look round for something with which we can bind them more firmly."

Several hanks of red tape lay upon the table. With a portion of one of these, the back of the chair in which the Maire sat was lashed to the handle of a heavy bureau. Then his feet were fastened to the two legs of the chair, so that he could neither kick nor upset himself. The other man was then fastened as securely. This done they blew out the candles, left the room, locked the door behind them--taking the key--and then sallied out into the street.

"That was a good shot of yours with the inkstand," Terence said.

"I had my eye on it, all the time he was speaking," Ryan replied. "I saw that, if I were to move to get round the table at him, the little man would have time to shout; but that if I could hit him in the wind, it would be all right."

"Well, there must be no more stopping, now. I don't know whether there is a Mrs. Maire; if not, there will certainly be no alarm until morning. If there is, it depends upon what sort of woman she is as to how long a start we shall get. If she is a sleepy woman she is probably dreaming by this time, and may not discover until morning that her lord and master is not by her side. If she is a bad-tempered woman, she will probably lie for an hour or two, thinking over what she shall say to him when he comes in. If she is a nervous woman, she will get up and go downstairs.

"I left the lamp burning in the hall on purpose. Seeing it there, she will naturally think that he has not come in, and will go upstairs again for an hour or two; then she will probably call up the servants, and may send them out to look for him; finally, she may go to the police office and wake up a constable. It is not probable there are any of them on night duty, in a quiet place like this. Altogether, I calculate that it will be at least four hours before they think of breaking open the door of the office, to see if he is there; so at the worst we have got four hours' start; at the best, ten hours.

"It is only half-past nine now. We shall be at the mouth of the Sienne in three hours, or less. It does not look above nine or ten miles on the map and, directly we get fairly out of the town, we will go as quickly as we can, for every minute is of importance.

"If we can get hold of a boat at once, we ought to be at Jersey soon after daybreak; although I am not very sure of that, for I believe there are all sorts of strong currents along this coast. I remember one of the officers saying so, as we came down the Channel on the voyage out. Of course, it will make a difference whether we can get a boat with a sail, or not. If we cannot find a boat, we shall have to hide up; but you may be sure that there will be a hot search for us in the morning, and we must get off tonight, if we can. Most likely there is a fishing village somewhere near the mouth of the river."

As soon as they were out of the town they broke into a trot; which they continued, with scarcely any intermission, until they approached a small village.

"I expect this stands on the bank of the river," Terence said. "There is no chance of anyone being up, so we can go through fearlessly."

A couple of hundred yards farther they reached the river. A large ferry boat was moored here. Keeping along the bank to the left, they were not long before they came upon several boats hauled up on the shore; while three or four others lay at their moorings, a short distance out.

"Thank goodness," Terence exclaimed. "We shall have no difficulty, now!"

They selected the boat lying nearest the water's edge. The moon was half full, but was now sinking towards the west. Its light, however, was of some assistance to them. There was a mast and sail in the boat, as well as a pair of oars.

At first they were unable to move her down to the water but, getting some oars out of the other boats, they laid them down as rollers and, with these, managed after great exertions to get her afloat.

Chapter 8: A Smart Engagement.

After pushing the boat out into the stream, Terence and his companion allowed it to drift quietly for some distance; and then, getting out the oars, rowed hard until they were beyond the mouth of the river. The tide was, they thought, by the level of the water where they had embarked, within an hour or two of flood. They therefore determined to shape their course to the north of the point where they believed Jersey to lie, so that when tide turned, it would sweep them down upon it. The wind was too light to be of any assistance, but the stars were bright, and the position of the north star served as a guide to the direction they should take.

It had taken them some considerable time to launch the boat, and they calculated that it was nearly midnight when they left the mouth of the river. There was no occasion to row hard for, until it became daylight and they could see the island of Jersey, they could not shape their course with any certainty; and could only hope that by keeping to the north of it they would not find, in the morning, that the tide had taken them too far to the south.

"We are very lucky in our weather," Terence said as, after labouring at the heavy oars for a couple of hours, they paused for a few minutes' rest. "If it had been a strong wind, it would never have done for us to have started. I believe in bad weather there are tremendous currents about the islands, and desperately rough water. A fog would have been even worse for us. As it is, it seems to me we cannot go very far wrong. I suppose the tide is about turning now; but if by daylight we find that we have been carried a long way past the island, we shall soon have the tide turning again, which will take us back to it.

"I am more afraid of falling in with a French privateer than I am of missing the island. There are sure to be some of them at Granville, to say nothing of Saint Malo. I don't suppose any of those at Granville will put out in search of us, merely to please the Maire; but if any were going to sea, they would be sure to keep a lookout for us."

"If they did see us, we should have no chance of getting away, Terence. This boat is not so big as the one we stole at Bayonne, but it rows much heavier."

"There is one thing--even a privateer could not sail very fast in this light wind and, if it freshens in the morning, we can get up the sail."

"Then I hope it will get up a bit," Ryan said, "for after another five or six hours' rowing, with these beastly oars, my hands will be raw; and I am sure my back and arms will be nearly broken."

"We must risk that, Dick. We calculated fifteen miles in a straight line across to Jersey, so that we must jog along at the rate of a couple of miles an hour to get far enough to the west. Now then, let us be moving again."

The night seemed interminable to them; and they felt relieved, indeed, when morning began to break. In another half hour it would be light enough for them to see for a considerable distance. Unshipping their oars, they stood up and looked round.

"That must be Jersey," Terence exclaimed, pointing to the north. "The current must have taken us past it, as I was afraid it would. What time is it, Dick?"

"Nearly eight."

"Then tide must be turning already. The island must be six miles away now. If we row hard we shall know, in half an hour, whether we are being carried north or south."

"But we must be going north if tide has turned, Terence?"

"I don't know--I remember that the mate of the Sea Horse said that, in the Channel, the course of the current did not change at high and low water; so there is no saying what way we are going, at present. Well, there is a little more wind, and I suppose we had better get up our sail. There is Jersey, and whether we get there a little sooner or a little later cannot make much difference. I am sure we are both too tired to row her much faster than we can sail."

Terence agreed, and they accordingly stepped the mast and hoisted the sail. At first the boat moved but slowly through the water, but the wind was freshening and, in half an hour, she was foaming along.

"Tide is against us, still," Terence said presently. "I don't think we are any nearer Jersey that when we first saw it."

"Look there!" Ryan exclaimed, a few minutes later, "there is a lugger coming out from the direction of Granville."

"So there is, Dick, and with the wind behind her, she won't be very long before she is here. I should say that she is about six or seven miles off, and an hour will bring her up to us."

"I will get out an oar, Terence. That will help us a bit. We can change about, occasionally."

Terence was steering with the other oar, while he held the sheet. The boat was travelling at a good rate, but the lugger was fast running down towards them.

"There is a schooner coming out from Jersey!" Terence exclaimed, joyously. "If she is a British privateer we may be saved yet. I had just made up my mind that we were in for another French prison."

Ryan looked over his shoulder.

"She is farther off than the lugger," he said.

"Yes, but the current that is keeping us back is helping her on towards us. It will be a close thing; but I agree with you, I am afraid that the lugger will be here first.

"Change seats with me. I will have a spell at the oar."

He was a good deal stronger than Ryan, and he felt comparatively fresh after his hour's rest, so there was a perceptible increase in the boat's speed after the change had been effected. When the lugger was within a mile of them, and the schooner about double that distance, the former changed her course a little, and bore up as if to meet the schooner.

"Hurrah!" Ryan shouted. "The Frenchman is making for the schooner and, if the Jersey boat don't turn and run, there will be a fight."

"The lugger looks to me the bigger boat," Terence said, as he stopped rowing for a moment. "However, we are likely to be able to slip off while they are at it."

Rapidly the two vessels approached each other and, when within a mile, a puff of smoke broke out from the lugger's bow; and was answered almost instantly by one from the schooner. Running fast through the water, the vessels were soon within a short distance of each other. Terence had ceased rowing, for there was no fear that the lugger, which was now abeam of them, would give another thought to the small boat.

The fight was going on in earnest, and the two vessels poured broadsides into each other as they passed; the lugger wearing round at once, and engaging the schooner broadside to broadside.

"The Frenchman has the heavier metal," Terence said. "I am afraid the schooner will get the worst of it. The lugger is crowded with men, too. What do you say, Dick? Shall we do our best to help the schooner?"

"I think we ought to," Ryan agreed, at once. "She has certainly saved us, and I think we ought to do what we can."

Accordingly he brought the boat nearer to the wind. The two vessels were now close-hauled, and were moving but slowly through the water. The boat passed two or three hundred yards astern of the lugger, sailed a little farther; and then, when able to lay her course for the schooner, went about and bore down towards her. Just as they did so, the halliards of the schooner's mainsail were shot asunder, and the sail ran down the mast. There was a shout of triumph from the lugger, and she at once closed in towards her crippled adversary.

"They are going to try and carry the schooner by boarding," Terence exclaimed. "Keep her as close as she will go, Dick," and, seizing his oar again, he began to row with all his might.

By the time they came up, the two vessels were side by side. The guns had ceased their fire, but there was a rattle of pistol shots, mingled with the clash of arms and the shouts of the combatants. Running up to the schooner's side, Terence and Ryan clambered on the channel and sprung on to the deck of the schooner.

A desperate fight was going on forward, where the two vessels touched each other. There was no one aft. Here some fifteen or twenty feet of water separated the ships, and even the helmsmen had left the wheel to join in the fight. About half of the lugger's crew had made their way on to the deck of the schooner, but the Jersey men were still fighting stoutly. The rest of the lugger's crew were gathered in the bow of their own vessel, waiting until there should be a clear enough space left for them to join their comrades.

"Things look bad," Terence exclaimed. "The French crew are a great deal stronger. Lend me a hand to turn two of these eight-pounders round. There are plenty of cartridges handy."

They drew the cannon back from their places, turned them round, loaded them with a charge of powder, and then rammed in two of the bags of bullets that were lying beside them. The schooner stood higher out of the water than the lugger, and they were able to train the two cannon so that they bore upon the mass of Frenchmen in the latter's bow.

"Take steady aim," Terence said. "We are only just in time; our fellows are being beaten back."

A moment later the two pieces were fired. Their discharge took terrible effect among the French, sweeping away more than half of those gathered in the lugger's bow.

"Load again!" Terence exclaimed. "They are too strong for the Jersey men, still."

For a moment the French boarders had paused; but now, with a shout of fury, they fell upon the crew of the schooner, driving them back foot by foot towards the stern. The cannon were now trained directly forward and, when the crowd of fighting men approached them, Terence shouted in French to the Jersey men to fall back on either side.

The captain, turning round and seeing the guns pointing forward, repeated the order in a stentorian shout. The Jersey men leapt to one side or the other, and the moment they were clear the two cannon poured their contents into the midst of the French; who had paused for a moment, surprised at the sudden cessation of resistance.

Two clear lanes were swept through the crowd; and then, with a shout, the captain of the schooner and his crew fell upon the Frenchmen. Ryan was about to rush forward, when Terence said:

"No, no, Ryan, load again; better make sure."

The heavy loss they had suffered, however, so discouraged the French that many at once turned and, running back, jumped on to the deck of the lugger; while the others, though still resisting, were driven after them.

As soon as the guns were reloaded they were trained, as before, to bear on the lugger's bow and, as the French were driven back, they were again fired. This completed the discomfiture of the enemy and, with loud shouts, the Jersey men followed them on to the deck of their own ship.

Terence and Ryan now ran forward, snatched up a couple of cutlasses, and joined their friends; and were soon fighting in the front line. But the French resistance was now almost over. Their captain had fallen and, in five minutes, the last of them threw down their arms and surrendered; while a great shout went up from the crew of the schooner. The French flag was hauled down and, as soon as the prisoners had been sent below, an ensign was brought from the schooner, fixed to the flag halliards above the tricolor, and the two hoisted together.

The captain had already turned to the two men who had come so opportunely to his assistance.

"I do not know who you are, or where you come from, men, but you have certainly saved us from capture. I did not know it was the Annette until it was too late to draw off, or I should not have engaged her; for she is the strongest lugger that sails out of Granville, and carries double our weight of metal, with twice as strong a crew; but whoever you are, I thank you most heartily. I am half owner of the schooner, and should have lost all I was worth, to say nothing of perhaps having to pass the next five years in a French prison."

"We are two British officers," Terence said. "We have escaped from a French prison, and were making our way to Jersey when we saw that lugger coming after us, and should certainly have been captured had you not come up; so we thought the least we could do was to lend you a hand."

"Well, gentlemen, you have certainly saved us. Jacques Bontemps, the captain of the Annette, was an old acquaintance of mine. He commanded a smaller craft before he got the Annette, and we have had two or three fights together.

"So it was you whom I saw in that little boat! Of course, we made out that the lugger was chasing you, though why they should be doing so we could not tell; but we thought no more about you after the fight once began, and were as astonished as the Frenchmen when you swept their bow. I just glanced round and saw what looked like two French fishermen, and thought that you must be two of the lugger's crew who, for some reason or other, had turned the guns against their own ship.

"It will be a triumph, indeed, for us when we enter Saint Helier. The Annette has been the terror of our privateers. Fortunately she was generally away cruising, and many a prize has she taken into Granville. I have had the luck to recapture two of them, myself; but when she is known to be at home we most of us keep in port, for she is a good deal more than a match for any craft that sails out from Saint Helier.

"She only went into Granville yesterday, and I thought that there was no fear of her being out again, for a week or so. When I saw her, I took her for a smaller lugger that sails from that port, and which is no more than a match for us. The fact is, we were looking at her chasing you, and wondering if we should be in time, instead of noticing her size. It was not until she fired that first broadside that we found we had caught a tartar. We should have run, if there had been a chance of getting away; but she is a wonderfully fast boat, and we knew that our only chance was to knock away one of her masts.

"And now, we will be making sail again. You must excuse me for a few minutes."

In half an hour the main halliards had been repaired, and the sail hoisted. When other damages were made good the captain, with half his crew, went on board the lugger; and the two vessels sailed together for Jersey. Terence and his companion had accompanied the captain.

"Now, gentlemen, you may as well come down with me into the cabin. It is likely enough that you will be able to find some clothes, in Bontemps' chest, that will fit you. He was a dandy, in his way. At any rate, his clothes will suit you better than those you have on."

They found, indeed, that the lugger's captain had so large a store of clothing that they had no difficulty, whatever, in rigging themselves out. While they were changing, the captain had left them. He returned, presently, with a beaming face.

"She is a more valuable prize than I hoped for," he said. "She is full almost to the hatches with the plunder she had taken in her last cruise. I cannot make out what led her to come out of Granville, unless it was in pursuit of you."

"I expect it was that," Terence said. "We were arrested by the Maire of Granville, and had to tie him and one of his officials up. He was a pompous little man; and no doubt, when he got free, went down to the port and persuaded the captain of the lugger to put out, at once, to endeavour to find us. I expect he told him that we were prisoners of importance, either English spies or French emigres.

"Well, Captain, I am glad that the capture has turned out well for you."

"You certainly ought to share it," the captain said; "for if it had not been for you, matters would have gone all the other way, and we should have undoubtedly been captured."

"Oh, we don't want to share it! We have helped you to avoid a French prison, but you have certainly saved us from the same thing, so we are fairly quits."

"Well, we shall have time to talk about that when we get into port. In the meantime we will search Jacques' lockers. Like enough there may be something worth having there. Of course, he may have taken it ashore, directly he landed; but it is hardly likely and, as he has evidently captured several British merchantmen while he has been out, he is sure to have some gold and valuables in the lockers."

The search, indeed, brought to light four bags of money, each marked with the name of an English ship. They contained, in all, over 800 pounds; with several gold watches, rings, and other valuables.

"Now, gentlemen," the captain said, "at least you will divide this money with me. The Annette and the cargo below hatches are certainly worth ten times as much, and I must insist upon your going shares with me. I shall feel very hurt if you will not do so."

"I thank you, Captain," Terence said, "and will not refuse your offer. We shall have to provide ourselves with new uniforms, and take a passage out to Portugal, which is where our regiments are, at present; so the money will be very useful."

"And I see you have not a watch, monsieur. You had better take one of these."

"Thanks! I parted with mine to a good woman, who helped me to escape from Bayonne; so I will accept that offer, also."

In two hours the schooner entered the port of Saint Helier; the lugger, under easy sail, following in her wake. They were greeted with enthusiastic cheers by the crowd that gathered on the quays, as soon as it was seen that the prize was the dreaded Annette--which had, for some months past, been a terror to the privateers and fishermen of the place--and that she should have been captured by the Cerf seemed marvellous, indeed.

A British officer was on the quay when they got alongside. He came on board at once.

"The governor has sent me to congratulate you, in his name, Captain Teniers," he said, "on having captured a vessel double your own size, which has for some time been the terror of these waters. He will be glad if you will give me some particulars of the action; and you will, when you can spare time afterwards, go up and give him a full report of it."

"I owe the capture entirely to these two gentlemen, who are officers in your army. They had escaped from a French prison, and were making for this port when I first saw them this morning, with the Annette in hot chase after them. It did not strike me that it was her, for it was only last night that the news came in that she had been seen, yesterday, sailing towards Granville; and I thought that she was the Lionne, which is a boat our own size. I came up before she had overhauled the boat and, directly the fight began, I could see the mistake I had made. But as she was a good deal faster than we were, it was of no use running. There was just a chance that I might cripple her, and get away."

He then related the incidents of the fight.

"Well, I congratulate you, gentlemen," the officer said, heartily. "You have indeed done a good turn to Captain Teniers. To whom have I the pleasure of speaking?"

"My name is O'Connor," replied Terence. "I have the honour to be on Sir Arthur Wellesley's staff; and have the rank of captain in our army, but am a colonel in the Portuguese service. This is Lieutenant Ryan, of His Majesty's Mayo Fusiliers."

The officer looked a little doubtful, while Terence was speaking. It was difficult to believe that the young fellow, of one or two and twenty, at the outside, could be a captain on Lord Wellington's staff--for Sir Arthur had been raised to the peerage, after the battle of Talavera--still less that he should be a colonel in the Portuguese service. However, he bowed gravely, and said:

"My name is Major Chalmers, of the 35th. I am adjutant to the governor. If it will not be inconvenient, I shall be glad if you will return with me, and report yourselves to him."

"We are quite ready," Terence said. "We have nothing to do in the way of packing up, for we have only the clothes we stand in; which were, indeed, the property of the captain of the lugger, who was killed in the action."

Telling Captain Teniers that they would be coming down again, when they had seen the governor, the two friends accompanied the officer. Very few words were said on the way, for the major entertained strong doubts whether Terence had not been hoaxing him, and whether the account he had given of himself was not altogether fictitious. On arriving at the governor's he left them for a few minutes in the anteroom; while he went in and gave the account he had received, from the captain, of the manner in which the lugger had been captured; and said that the two gentlemen who had played so important a part in the matter were, as they said, one of them an officer on the staff of Lord Wellington and a colonel in the Portuguese army, and the other a subaltern in the Mayo Fusiliers.

"Why do you say, as they said,' major? Have you any doubt about it?"

"My only reason for doubting is that they are both young fellows of about twenty, which would accord well enough with the claim of one of them to be a lieutenant; but that the other should be a captain on Lord Wellington's staff, and a colonel in the Portuguese service, is quite incredible."

"It would seem so, certainly, major. However, it is evident that they have both behaved extraordinarily well in this fight with the Annette, and I cannot imagine that, whatever story a young fellow might tell to civilians, he would venture to assume a military title to which he had no claim, on arrival at a military station. Will you please ask them to come in? At any rate, their story will be worth hearing."

"Good day, gentlemen," he went on, as Terence and Ryan entered. "I have to congratulate you, very heartily, upon the very efficient manner in which you assisted in the capture of the French privateer that has, for some time, been doing great damage among the islands. She has been much more than a match for any of our privateers here and, although she has been chased several times by the cruisers, she has always managed to get away.

"And now, may I ask how you happened to be approaching the island, in a small boat, at the time that the encounter took place?"

"Certainly, sir. We were both prisoners at Bayonne. I myself had been captured by the French, when endeavouring to cross the frontier into Portugal with my regiment; while Lieutenant Ryan was wounded at Talavera, and was in the hospital there when the Spaniards left the town, and the French marched in."

"What is your regiment, Colonel O'Connor?"

"It is called the Minho regiment, sir, and consists of two battalions. We have had the honour of being mentioned in general orders more than once; and were so on the day after the first attack of Victor upon Donkin's brigade, stationed on the hill forming the left of the British position at Talavera."

The governor looked at his adjutant who, rising, went to a table on which were a pile of official gazettes. Picking out one, he handed it to the governor, who glanced through it.

"Here is the general order of the day," he said, "and assuredly Lord Wellington speaks, in the very highest terms, of the service that Colonel O'Connor and the Minho regiment, under his command, rendered. Certainly very high praise, indeed.

"You will understand, sir, that we are obliged to be cautious here; and it seemed so strange that so young an officer should have attained the rank of colonel, that I was curious to know how it could have occurred."

"I am by no means surprised that it should seem strange, to you, that I should hold the rank I claim. I was, like my friend Lieutenant Ryan, in the Mayo Fusiliers; when I had the good fortune to be mentioned, in despatches, in connection with an affair in which the transport that took us out to Portugal was engaged with two French privateers. In consequence of the mention, General Fane appointed me one of his aides-de-camp; and I acted in that capacity during the campaign that ended at Corunna. I was left on the field, insensible, on the night after that battle.

"When I came to myself, the army was embarking; so I made my way through Galicia into Portugal and, on reaching Lisbon, was appointed by Sir John Craddock to his staff; and was sent by him on a mission to the northern frontier of Portugal.

"On the way I took the command of a body of freshly-raised Portuguese levies, who were without an officer or leader of any kind. With the aid of a small escort with me, I formed them into a reliable regiment, and had the good fortune to do some service with them. I was therefore confirmed in my command, and was given Portuguese rank. Sir Arthur Wellesley, on succeeding Sir John Craddock in the supreme command, still kept my name on the headquarter staff, thereby adding greatly to my authority; and continued me in the independent command of my regiment.

"After Talavera we were despatched to aid the Spaniards in holding the pass of Banos but, before we arrived there, Soult had crossed the pass and, being cut off by his force from rejoining the army, I determined to cross the mountains into Portugal. In so doing we came upon a French division, on its march to Plasencia, and the company of my regiment with which I was were cut off, and taken prisoners."

"Forgive me for having doubted you, Colonel O'Connor. I should, of course, have remembered your name. In his report of his operations, before and subsequent to the battle of Talavera, Lord Wellington mentions, more than once, that his left during his advance was covered by the partisan corps of Wilson and O'Connor; and mentions, too, that it was by messengers from Colonel O'Connor that he first learned how formidable a force was in his rear, and was therefore able to cross the Tagus and escape from his perilous position. Of course, it never entered my mind that the officer who had rendered such valuable service was so young a man.

"There is only one mystery left. How was it, when you and Mr. Ryan escaped from Bayonne, that you are found in a boat in the Bay of Saint Malo?"

"It does seem rather a roundabout way of rejoining," Terence said, with a smile. "We escaped in a boat and made along the north coast of Spain but, when off Santander, were blown out to sea in a gale, and were picked up by a French privateer. We were supposed to be two Spanish fishermen and, as the privateer was short of boats, they took ours and enrolled us among their crew. They were on their way to Brest, and we took an opportunity to desert, and made our way on foot until we reached the mouth of the river Sienne; and made off in a boat, last night. This morning we saw the privateer in chase of us, and should certainly have been recaptured had not the Cerf come up and engaged her. While the fight was going on we had gone on board the schooner, unperceived by either party, and took what seemed to us the best way of aiding our friends; who were getting somewhat the worst of it, the crew of the lugger being very much stronger than the crew of the schooner."

"Well, I hope that you will both, at once, take up your quarters with me as long as you stay here; and I shall then have an opportunity of hearing of your adventures more in detail."

"Thank you very much, sir. We shall be very happy to accept your kind invitation; but I hope we shall not trespass upon your hospitality long, for we are anxious to be off, as soon as possible, so as to rejoin without loss of time. I am particularly so for, although it will be two or three months before there is any movement of the troops, I am afraid of finding someone else appointed to the command of my regiment; and I have been so long with it, now, that I should be sorry indeed to be put to any other work."

"That I can quite understand. Well, there is no regular communication from here, but there is not a week passes without some craft or other sailing from here to Weymouth."

"We would rather, if possible, be put on board some ship on her way to Portugal," Terence said. "If we landed in England, we should have to report ourselves, and might be sent to a depot, and be months before we got out there again. I spoke to the captain of the Cerf about it, this morning; and he was good enough to promise that, as soon as he had repaired damages, he would run out into the Bay, and put us on board the first ship he overhauled bound for the Peninsula."

"That would be an excellent plan, from your point of view," the governor said. "Teniers is one of the best sailors on the island, and has several times carried despatches for me to Weymouth. You could not be in better hands."

Four days later the schooner was ready to sail again.

"This will be my last voyage in her," the captain said. "I have had an offer for her, and shall sell her as soon as I come back again, as I shall take the command of the Annette. I ought to do well in her, for her rig and build are so evidently French that I shall be able to creep up close to any French vessel making along the coast, or returning from abroad, without being suspected of being an enemy. Of course, I shall have to carry a much stronger crew than at present; and I hope to clip the wings of some of these French privateers, before long."

They had, on the day of their landing, ordered new uniforms, and had purchased a stock of underclothing. They were fortunate in being able to pick up swords and belts, and all were now ready for them and, on the fifth day after landing, they said goodbye to the governor, and sailed on board the Cerf.

When twenty-four hours out the vessel lay to, being now on the track of ships bound south. On the following day they overhauled six vessels and, as the last of these was bound with military stores for Lisbon, Terence and Ryan were transferred to her. With a hearty adieu to the skipper, they took their places in the boat and were rowed to the vessel; being greeted, on their departure, by a loud and hearty cheer from the crew of the privateer. There were no passengers on board the store ship, and they had an uneventful voyage, until she dropped anchor in the Tagus.

After paying the captain the small sum he charged for their passage, they landed. They first went to a hotel and put up. On sallying out, Ryan had no difficulty in learning that the Mayo Fusiliers were at Portalegre.

Terence took his way to headquarters. The first person he met, on entering, was his old acquaintance Captain Nelson, now wearing the equipments of a major. The latter looked at him inquiringly, and then exclaimed:

"Why, it is O'Connor! Why, I thought you were a prisoner! I am delighted to see you. Where have you sprung from?"

"I escaped from Bayonne and, after sundry adventures, landed an hour ago. In the first place, what has been done with my regiment?"

"It is with Hill's division, which is at Abrantes and Portalegre."

"Who is in command?"

"Your friend Herrara. No British officer has been appointed in your place. There was some talk of handing it over to Trant in the spring but, as nothing can be done before that, no one has yet been nominated."

"I am glad, indeed, to hear it. I have been fidgeting about it, ever since I went away."

"Well, I will take you in to the adjutant general, at once. I heard him speak, more than once, of the services you rendered by sending news that Soult and Ney were both in the valley, and so enabling Lord Wellington to get safely across the Tagus. He said it was an invaluable service. Of course Herrara reported your capture, and that you had sacrificed yourself, and one of the companies, to secure the safety of the rest. Now, come in."

"This is Colonel O'Connor, sir," Major Nelson said, as he entered the adjutant general's room. "I could not resist the pleasure of bringing him in to you. He has just escaped from Bayonne, and landed an hour ago."

"I am glad to see you, indeed," the adjutant general said, rising and shaking Terence warmly by the hand. "The last time we met was on the day when Victor attacked us, in the afternoon, after sending the Spaniards flying. You rendered us good service that evening, and still greater by acquainting the commander-in-chief of the large force that had gathered in his rear--a force at least three times as strong as we had reckoned on. A day later, and we should have been overwhelmed. As it was, we had just time to cross the Tagus before they were ready to fall upon us.

"I am sure Lord Wellington will be gratified, indeed, to hear that you are back again. I suppose you will like to return to your command of the Minho regiment?"

"I should prefer that to anything else," Terence said, "though, of course, I am ready to undertake any other duty that you might intrust to me."

"No, I think it would be for the good of the service that you should remain as you are. The difficulty of obtaining anything like accurate information, of the strength and position of the enemy, is one of the greatest we have to contend with; and indeed, were it not for Trant's command and yours, we should be almost in the dark.

"Please sit down for a minute. I will inform Lord Wellington of your return."

Chapter 9: Rejoining.

The adjutant general returned in two or three minutes.

"Will you please come this way, Colonel O'Connor," he said, as he re-entered the room; "the commander-in-chief wishes to speak to you."

"I am glad to see you back, Colonel O'Connor," Lord Wellington said cordially, but in his usual quick, short manner; "the last time I saw you was at Salamende. You did well at Talavera; and better still afterwards, when the information I received from you was the only trustworthy news obtained during the campaign, and was simply invaluable. Sir John Craddock did me no better service than by recognizing your merits, and speaking so strongly to me in your favour that I retained you in command of the corps that you had raised. I shall be glad to know that you are again at their head, when the campaign reopens; for I know that I can rely implicitly upon you for information. Of course, your name has been removed from the list of my staff, since you were taken prisoner; but it shall appear in orders tomorrow again. I shall be glad if you will dine with me, this evening."

"I wish I had a few more young officers like that," he said to the adjutant general, when Terence had bowed and retired. "He is full of energy, and ready to undertake any wild adventure, and yet he is as prudent and thoughtful as most men double his age. I like his face. He has a right to be proud of the position he has won, but there is not the least nonsense about him, and he evidently has no idea that he has done anything out of the ordinary course. At first sight he looks a mere good-tempered lad, but the lower part of his face is marked by such resolution and firmness that it goes far to explain why he has succeeded."

There were but four other officers dining with the commander-in-chief that evening. Lord Wellington asked Terence several questions as to the route the convoy of prisoners had followed, the treatment they had received, and the nature of the roads, and whether the Spanish guerillas were in force. Terence gave a brief account of the attack that had been made on the French convoy, and the share that he and his fellow prisoners had taken in the affair; at which Lord Wellington's usually impassive face lighted up with a smile.

"That was a somewhat irregular proceeding, Colonel O'Connor."

"I am afraid so, sir; but after their treatment by the Spaniards when in the hospital at Talavera, our men were so furious against them that I believe they would have fought them, even had I endeavoured to hold them back; which, indeed, being a prisoner, I do not know that I should have had any authority to do."

"And how did you escape from Bayonne?" the general asked.

"Through the good offices of some of the soldiers who had been our escort, sir. They were on duty as a prison guard and, being grateful for the help that we had given them in the affair with the guerillas, they aided me to escape."

"And how did you manage afterwards?"

Terence related very briefly the adventures that he and his companion had had, before at last reaching Jersey.

On leaving, the adjutant general requested him to call in, the morning before starting to rejoin his regiment, as he expressed his intention of doing. The talk was a long and friendly one, the adjutant general asking many questions as to the constitution of his corps.

"There is one thing I should like very much, sir," Terence said, after he had finished, "it would be a great assistance to me if I had an English officer, as adjutant."

"Do you mean one for each battalion, or one for the two?"

"I think that one for both battalions would answer the purpose, sir. It would certainly be of great assistance to me, and take a great many details off my hands."

"I certainly think that you do need assistance. Is there any one you would specially wish to be appointed?"

"I should be very glad to have Lieutenant Ryan, who has been with me on my late journey. We are old friends, as I was in the Mayo regiment with him. He speaks Portuguese very fairly. Of course, it would be useless for me to have an officer who did not do so. I should certainly prefer him to anyone else."

"That is easily managed," the officer replied. "I will put him in orders, today, as appointed adjutant to the Minho Portuguese regiment, with the acting rank of captain. I will send a note to Lord Beresford, stating the reason for the appointment for, as you and your officers owe your local rank to him, he may feel that he ought to have been specially informed of Ryan's appointment; although your corps is in no way under his orders, but acting with the British army."

"I am very much obliged to you, indeed, sir. It will be a great comfort to me to have an adjutant, and it will naturally be much more pleasant to have one upon whom I know I can depend absolutely. Indeed, I have been rather in an isolated position, so far. The majors of the two battalions naturally associate with their own officers, consequently Colonel Herrara has been my only intimate friend and, although he is a very good fellow, one longs sometimes for the companionship of a brother Englishman."

Terence had not told Dick Ryan of his intention to ask for him as his adjutant. When he joined him at the hotel, he saluted him with:

"Well, Captain Ryan, have you everything ready for the start?"

"I have, General," Dick replied with a grin, "or perhaps I ought to say Field Marshal."

"Not yet, Dicky, not yet; and indeed, possibly I am premature myself, in addressing you as Captain."

"Rather; I should say I have a good many steps to make, before I get my company."

"Well, Dick, I can tell you that, when the orders come out today, you will see your name among them as appointed adjutant to the Minho Portuguese regiment, with acting rank as captain."

"Hurrah!" Ryan shouted. "You don't say that you have managed it, old fellow? I am delighted. This is glorious. I am awfully obliged to you."

"I think, Dick, we will make up our minds not to start until this evening. You know we had arranged to hire a vehicle, and that I should get a horse when I joined; but I think now we may as well buy the horses at once, for of course you will be mounted, too. We might pay a little more for them, but we should save the expense of the carriage."

"That would be much better," Dick said. "Let us go and get them, at once. There must be plenty of horses for sale in a place like this and, as we are both flush of money, I should think that a couple of hours would do it."

"I hope it will. As I told them at headquarters that I was going to start today, I should not like any of them to run across me here this evening. No doubt the landlord of the hotel can tell us of some man who keeps the sort of animals we want. The saddlery we shall have no difficulty about."

Two hours later a couple of serviceable horses had been bought; with saddles, bridles, holsters, and valises. In the last named were packed necessaries for the journey, and each provided himself with a brace of double-barrelled pistols. The rest of their effects were packed in the trunks they had bought at Jersey, and were handed over to a Portuguese firm of carriers, to be sent up to the regiment.

At two o'clock they mounted and rode to Sobral. The next day they rode to Santarem, and on the following evening to Abrantes. They here learned that their corps was in camp, with two other Portuguese regiments, four miles higher up the river. As it was dark when they arrived at Abrantes, they agreed to sleep there and go on the next morning; as Terence wished to report himself to General Hill, to whose division the regiment was attached, until operations should commence in the spring.

They put up at an inn and, having eaten a meal, walked out into the town, which was full of British soldiers. They were not long before they found the cafe that was set apart for the use of officers and, on entering, Terence at once joined a party of three, belonging to a regiment with all of whose officers he was acquainted, as they had been encamped next to the Mayo Fusiliers during the long months preceding the advance up the valley of the Tagus. Ryan was, of course, equally known to them; and the three officers rose, with an exclamation of surprise, as the newcomers walked up to the table.

"Why, O'Connor! How in the world did you get here? How are you, Ryan? I thought that you were both prisoners."

"So we were," Terence said, "but as you see, we gave them the slip, and here we are."

They drew up chairs to the little table.

"You may consider yourself lucky in your regiment being on the river, O'Connor. You will be much better off than Ryan will be, at Portalegre."

"I am seconded," Ryan said, "and have been appointed O'Connor's adjutant, with the temporary rank of captain."

"I congratulate you. The chances are you will have a much better time of it than if you were with your own regiment. I don't mean now, but when the campaign begins in the spring. O'Connor always seems to be in the thick of it, while our division may remain here, while the fighting is going on somewhere else. Besides, he always manages to dine a good deal better than we do. His fellows, being Portuguese, are able to get supplies, when the peasants are all ready to take their oath that they have not so much as a loaf of bread or a fowl in their village.

"How will you manage to get on with them, Ryan, without speaking their language? Oh! I remember, you were grinding up Portuguese all the spring, so I suppose you can get on pretty well, now."

"Yes; O'Connor promised that he would ask for me, as soon as I could speak the language, so I stuck at it hard; and now, you see, I have got my reward."

"I can tell you that the troops, here, are a good deal better off than they are elsewhere. There is a fearful want of land carriage, but we get our supplies up by boats. That is why the Portuguese regiments are encamped on the river.

"Well, how did you get away from the French? It is curious that when I saw O'Grady last--which was a fortnight ago, when he came in to get a conveyance to take over sundry cases of whisky that had come up the river, for the use of his mess--he said:

"'I expect that O'Connor and Dick Ryan will turn up here, before the spring. I am sure they will, if they have got together.'"

"It is too long a story to tell, here," Ryan said. "It is full of hairbreadth escapes, dangers by sea and land, and ends up with a naval battle."

The officers laughed.

"Well, will you come to our quarters?" one of them said. "We have got some decent wine, and some really good cigars which came up from Lisbon last week, and there are lots of our fellows who will be glad to see you."

They accordingly adjourned to a large building where the officers of the regiment were quartered and, in the apartment that had been turned into a mess room, they found a dozen officers, all of whom were known both to Terence and Ryan. After many questions were asked and answered on both sides, Ryan was requested to tell the story of their adventures after being taken prisoners. He told it in an exaggerated style that elicited roars of laughter, making the most of what he called The Battle of the Shirt Sleeves with the guerillas; exaggerating the dangers of his escape, and the horrors of their imprisonment, for a week, among the sails and nets.

"O'Connor," he said, "has hardly got back his sense of smell yet. The stink of tar, mixed with fishy odours, will be vivid in my remembrance for the rest of my life."

When he had at last finished, one of them said:

"And now, how much of all this is true, Ryan?"

"Every fact is just as I have told it," he replied gravely. "You may think that I have exaggerated, for did an Irishman ever tell a story, without exaggeration? But I give you my honour that never did one keep nearer to the truth than I have done. I don't say that the fisherman's wife took quite such a strong fancy to me as I have stated, although she can hardly have been insensible to my personal advantages; but really, otherwise, I don't know that I have diverged far from the narrow path of truth. I tell you, those two days that we were running before that gale was a thing I never wish to go through again."

"And you really tied up the Maire of Granville, Ryan?"

"We did so," Dicky said, "and a miserable object the poor little fat man looked, as he sat in his chair trussed up like a fowl."

"And now, about the sea fight, Ryan?"

"Every word was as it happened. O'Connor and I turned gunners, and very decent shots we made, too; and a proof of it was that, if we would have taken it, I believe the captain of the schooner would have given us half the booty found in the lugger's hold; but we were modest and self denying, and contented ourselves with a third, each, of the cash found in the captain's cabin; which we could not have refused if we wanted to, the captain made such a point of it. It came to nearly three hundred pounds apiece; and mighty useful it was, for we had, of course, to get new uniforms and rigs out, and horses and saddlery at Lisbon. I don't know what I should have done without it, for my family's finances would not have stood my drawing upon them; and another mortgage would have ruined them, entirely."

"Well, certainly, that is a substantial proof of the truth of that incident in your story; but I think that, rather than have passed forty-eight hours in that storm, I would have stopped at Bayonne and taken my chance of exchange."

"Then I am afraid, Forester, that you are deficient in martial ardour," Terence said gravely. "Our desire to be back fighting the French was so great that no dangers would have appalled us."

There was a general laugh.

"Well, at any rate, you managed uncommonly well, Ryan, whether it was martial ardour that animated you or not; and O'Grady was not far wrong when he said that you and O'Connor would creep out through a mouse's hole, if there was no other way of doing it."

"Now, what has been doing since we have been away?" Terence asked.

"Well, to begin with, all Andalusia has been captured by Soult. Suchet has occupied Valencia. Lerida was captured by him, after a scandalously weak resistance; for there were over nine thousand troops there, and the place surrendered after only 1000 had fallen. Gerona, on the other hand, was only captured by Augereau after a resistance as gallant as that of Saragossa.

"That is the extraordinary thing about these Spaniards. Sometimes they show themselves cowardly beyond expression, at others they fight like heroes. Just at present, even the Juntas do not pretend that they have an army capable of driving the French out of the Pyrenees; which is a comfort, for we shall have to rely upon ourselves and not be humbugged by the Spaniards, the worthlessness of whose promises, Lord Wellington has ascertained, by bitter experience. The Portuguese government is as troublesome and as truthless as that of Spain, but Wellington is able to hold his own with them; and there is little doubt that the regular regiments will fight, and be really of valuable assistance to us; but these have been raised in spite of the constant opposition of the Junta at Lisbon.

"There is no doubt that the next campaign will be a hot one for, now that Spain has been as completely subdued as such vainglorious, excitable people can be subdued, the French marshals are free to join against us; and it is hard to see how, with but 30,000 men, we are going to defend Portugal against ten times that number of French. Still, I suppose we shall do it, somehow. The French have a large army on the other side of the Aqueda, and there is no doubt they will besiege Ciudad Rodrigo, as soon as winter is over. I doubt whether we shall be strong enough to march to its relief, and I fancy that in that direction the Coa will be about our limit. At any rate, it is likely to be a stirring campaign.

"The absurdity of the thing is, that we have an army in Sicily which might as well be at Jericho, for any use it is. If it joined us here, it would make all the difference in the world; though certainly till the campaign opens it would have to be quartered at Lisbon, for it is as much as the wretched transport can do to feed us. Now the truth is, Portugal is a miserably poor country at the best of times, and does not produce enough for the wants of the people. Of course, it has been terribly impoverished by the war. The fields in most places have been untilled and, in fact, the greater portion of the population, as well as our army, has to be fed from England.

"Altogether, Wellington must have enough worry to drive an ordinary man out of his mind. I never heard of such difficulties as those he has to meet. We come to help a people who won't help themselves, to fight for people who not only won't fight for themselves, but want to dictate how we shall fight. Instead of being fed by the country, we have to feed it; and the whole object of the Juntas, both in Spain and Portugal, seems to be to throw every difficulty in our way, and to thwart us at every turn. The first step towards success would be to hang every member, of every Junta, in every place we occupy."

A general chorus of "Hear, hear!" showed how deeply was the feeling excited by the conduct of the Portuguese and Spanish authorities.

After chatting until a late hour, Terence and his companion returned to their inn. The next morning, Terence reported himself to General Hill.

"I am glad to see you again, Colonel O'Connor," the general said. "The last time we met was when the surgeons were dressing my wounds, on the heights near Talavera. That was a hot business, for a time."

"Yes, sir; and I have to thank you, very much, for the very kind report you sent in as to the conduct of my regiment."

"They deserved it," the general said. "If they had not come up at the time they did, we should have had hard work to retake that hill.

"Your regiment has been behaving very well, since they have been here. They, like the other Portuguese regiments, have often been on short rations, and their pay is very much in arrear, but there has been no grumbling. I know Herrara will be extremely glad to have you back again in command. He has said as much, several times, when he has been in here. He is a good man, but not strong enough for his position; and I can see that he feels that, himself, and is conscious that he is not equal to the responsibility. I intended to recommend that a British officer should be placed in command of the regiment, before the campaign opens in the spring. Your two majors do their best, but they have scarcely sufficient weight; for their men know that they were but troopers when the regiment was first raised."

"I shall be glad to be back again, sir; and I am pleased to say that I have been given an adjutant--Lieutenant Ryan, of the Mayo Fusiliers. He has the acting rank of captain. He is an old friend of mine, and is a good officer. He has just effected an escape from Bayonne with me."

"Yes, that will be of great assistance to you," the general said. "With two battalions to command, you must want a right-hand man very much. I shall be glad if your regiment remains in my division, when the campaign reopens; but I suppose that, as before, you will be sent ahead. At present, it is only attached to my command for convenience of rationing and pay. I have inspected it twice, and it is by far the finest of the Portuguese regiments here. But I can see a certain deterioration, and I am sure that they want you back badly. Still, it is not your loss only that is telling on them. No soldiers like to go without their pay. Lord Wellington himself is always kept short of funds. The Portuguese Ministry declare that they have none. Of course that is all a lie but, true or false, it is certain that all the Portuguese regiments are greatly in arrears of pay, ill-provided with clothes, and indeed would be starved, were it not that they are fed by our commissariat."

After his interview with the general, Terence went back to the inn and, five minutes later, started with Ryan to join the regiment. The two battalions were engaged in drill when they rode up, but as the men recognized Terence there was a sudden movement, then a tremendous cheer and, breaking their ranks, they ran towards him, waving their shakos and shouting loudly; while Herrara, Bull, and Macwitty galloped up to shake him by the hand.

"This is not a very military proceeding," Terence laughed, "but I cannot help being gratified."

He held up his hands for silence.

"Form the men into a hollow square," he said to the majors.

In a very short time the order was carried out, and then Terence addressed them.

"My men," he said, "I am deeply gratified by your hearty reception, and I can assure you that I am quite as glad to be back in the regiment as the regiment can be to have me with it again. While I was a prisoner, one of the things that troubled me most was that, when I returned, I might find that someone else had been appointed your commander; and I was glad indeed when, upon landing at Lisbon, I heard that this had not been the case, and that I could resume my command of a body of men of whom I am proud; and at no time more proud than when you beat off the attacks of a whole brigade of French cavalry, and made good your escape to the mountains. I regret that some of your comrades failed to do this, but the manner in which they did their duty, and sacrificed themselves to cover your retreat, was worthy of all praise, and reflects the highest credit upon the regiment.

"I have been fortunate enough to make my escape from a French prison, in company with my friend here, Captain Ryan; who has, at my request, been appointed by the commander-in-chief to be your adjutant. I am sorry to hear that there have been difficulties in the way of rations, and that your pay is in arrears. However, I know well that you are not serving for the sake of pay, but to defend your country from invasion by the French; and that whether you get your pay day by day, or receive it in a lump sum later on, will make no difference to you; and indeed, in some respects, you will be better off for the delay for, getting it daily, it is spent as soon as obtained; whereas, if it comes in a lump sum, it will be useful to you when you return to your homes, after your work is done. I am confident that, in this regiment at least, which has borne itself so well from the day that it was raised, there will be neither grumbling nor discontent; but that you will suffer any hardship or privation that may come in your way as trifling incidents in the great work that you have undertaken: to defend, at the cost of your lives if need be, your country from the invader. The regiment is dismissed drill for the day."

Loud cheers at once broke from the men and, falling out, they proceeded to their tents.

"Well, Terence, there is no doubt about the enthusiasm of your fellows," Ryan remarked. "As you said, it was hardly military, but it was better. It was real affection, and I am sure the men would follow you anywhere."

Ryan shook hands with Herrara, Bull, and Macwitty; all of whom he knew well, from his frequent visits to Terence in the spring.

"I am very glad that you have come to us, Captain Ryan," Bull said. "A regiment don't seem like a regiment without an adjutant, and it will take a lot of work off the colonel's hands. I wish there could have been one for each battalion."

"How has the regiment been going on, Bull?"

"Nothing much to grumble about, sir; but I must say that it has been more slack than it was. We have all done our best, but we have missed you terribly; and the men don't seem to take quite as much pains with their drill as they used to do, when you were in command. However, that will be all right now that you have come back again. I have always found that when the battalion was not working well, the men have pulled themselves together at once when I said:

"'This won't do, lads. The colonel will be grievously disappointed, when he comes back again, if he finds that you have lost your smartness.'

"It was as much as we could do to hold them in hand, when they saw you surrounded by the French. They would have rushed back again, to a man, if we would have let them. I own I felt it hard, myself, to be marching away and leaving you behind."

In a few minutes, a couple of tents were erected by the side of that of Herrara and, while these were being got ready for occupation, Terence and Ryan, with the two majors, entered that of Herrara; and the latter produced two or three bottles of wine from his private store, and a box of cigars. So for some time they sat chatting, Terence giving an outline of the events that had happened since he had been away from the regiment. He and Ryan had ordered half a dozen small casks of wine, and two cases of whisky, to be sent up with their trunks by water; and now asked regarding the rations of the men.

"They get their bread regularly," Herrara said. "They have put up some large bakeries at Abrantes and, as the flour is brought up in boats, there is no difficulty that way. They get their meat pretty regularly, and their wine always. There is no ground of complaint, whatever, as to rations here; though, from what I hear, it is very different at the stations where everything has to be taken up by waggons or mules.

"The difficulty is with the uniforms. Not one has been served out, and it is really difficult to get the men to look smart, when many of them are dressed almost in rags. It is still worse in the matter of boots. A great many of them were badly cut, when we were in the mountains; and especially in the rough march we had over the hills, after you left us. The men themselves would greatly prefer sandals to boots, being more accustomed to them; and could certainly march farther in them than in stiff English boots. But of course, it would be of no use sending in any requisition for them."

"I don't see why they should not wear sandals," Terence said; "at any rate, until there is an issue of boots. I suppose the men can make them, themselves."

"In most cases, no doubt, they could. At any rate, those who could, would make them for the others. Of course they will all have to wear them of one colour; but as most of the cattle are black, there would be no difficulty about that. I have no doubt that we could get any number of hides, at a nominal price, from the commissariat. At any rate, I will see about it. I suppose they are made a good deal like Indian moccasins. I noticed that many of the Spanish troops wore them, but I did not examine them particularly."

"They are very easily made," Herrara said. "You put your foot on a piece of hide of the right size. It is drawn right up over the foot, and laced. Another thickness of hide is sewn at the bottom, to form the sole, and there it is. Of course, for work in the hills it might be well to use a double thickness of hide for the sole. The upper part is made of the thinnest portion of the hide and, if grease is rubbed well inside, so as to soften the leather as much as possible, it makes the most comfortable footgear possible."

"Well, we will try it, anyhow," Terence said. "It mayn't look so soldierly but, at any rate, it would look as well as boots with the toes out; and if any general inspects us, and objects to them, we can say that we shall be perfectly ready to give them up, as soon as boots are issued to us. But by using all black hides, I really do not think that it will look bad; and there would certainly be the advantage that, for a night attack, the tread would be much more noiseless than that of a heavy boot.

"I really like the idea, very much. The best plan will be to pick out two or three score of men who are shoemakers by trade, and pay them a trifle for the making of each pair. In that way we could get much greater uniformity than were each man to make his own.

"As to the clothes, I don't see that anything can be done about it, beyond getting a supply of needles and thread, and seeing that every hole is mended as well as possible. I daresay new uniforms will be served out, before the spring. It does not matter much in camp, and I suppose we are no worse than the other Portuguese regiments."

The next week was spent in steady drill and, by the end of that time, the exercises were all done as smartly as before. Terence had already tried the experiment of sandals. The commissariat at Abrantes were glad enough to supply hides, at a nominal price. He began by taking a dozen. These were first handed to a number of men relieved from other duties who, after scraping the under side, rubbed them with fat, and kneaded them until they were perfectly soft and pliable. The shoemakers then took them in hand and, after a few samples of various shapes were tried, one was fixed upon, in which the sandal was bound to the foot by straps of the same material, with a double thickness of sole. Terence tried these himself, and found them extremely comfortable for walking; and gave orders that one company should be entirely provided with them. As to appearance, they were vastly superior to the cracked and bulged boots the men were wearing.

After a week of sharp drill Terence was satisfied, and proposed to Ryan that they should now ride over to Portalegre, and pay a visit to their friends of the Fusiliers and, accordingly, the next day they went over. They were most heartily received.

"Sure, Terence, I knew well enough that you and Dicky Ryan would be back here, before long. And so you have taken him from us! Well, it is a relief to the regiment; and I only hope that now he is an adjutant he will learn manners, and behave with a little more discretion than he has ever shown before. How you could have saddled yourself with such a hare-brained lad is more than I can imagine."

"That is all very well, O'Grady," Ryan laughed, "but it is a question of the pot calling the kettle black; only in this case the pot is a good deal blacker than the kettle. There may be some excuse for a subaltern like me, but none for a war-scarred veteran like yourself."

"Dick will do very well, O'Grady," Terence said. "I can tell you he sits in his tent, and does his office work, as steadily as if he had been at it all his life; and if you had seen him drilling a battalion, you would be delighted. It is just jealousy that makes you run him down, O'Grady--you were too lazy to learn Portuguese, yourself."

"Is it lazy you say that I am, Terence? There is no more active officer in the regiment, and you know it. As for the heathen language, it is not fit for an honest tongue. They ought to have sent over a supply of grammars and dictionaries, and taught the whole nation to speak English.

"When did you get back?"

"A week ago; but we have been too busy drilling the regiment to come over, before.

"How are you getting on here, Colonel?"

"We are not getting on at all, O'Connor. It is worse than stationary we are. They ought to put on double the number of carts they allow us. Half the time we are on short rations; except wine which, thank Heaven, the commissariat can buy in the country. It is evil times that we have fallen upon, and how we shall do, when the snow begins to fall heavily, is more than I can tell you."

"At any rate, Colonel, from what I hear you are a good deal better off than the division at Guarda, for you are but a day's march from the river."

"The carts take two days over it," the colonel said, "and then bring next to nothing; for the poor bastes that draw them are half starved, and it is as much as they can do to crawl along. They might just as well keep the whole division at Abrantes, instead of sticking half of them out here, just as if the French were going to attack us now.

"There is the luncheon bugle. After we have done, you may tell us how you and Ryan got out of the hands of the French, for I suppose you were not exchanged."

Chapter 10: Almeida.

The winter was long and tedious but, whenever the weather permitted, Terence set his men at work; taking them twice a week for long marches, so as to keep their powers in that direction unabated. The sandals turned out a great success. The men had no greatcoats, but they supplied the want by cutting a slit in the centre of their black blankets and passing the head through it. This answered all the purposes, and hid the shabby condition of their uniforms.

General Hill occasionally rode over to inspect this and the other Portuguese regiments encamped near them.

"That is a very good plan of yours, Colonel O'Connor," he said, the first time the whole regiment turned out in their sandals. "It is a much more sensible footgear than the boots."

"I should not have adopted them, General, if the men had had any boots to put on; but those they had became absolutely unwearable. Some of the soles were completely off, the upper leathers were so cut and worn that they were literally of no use and, in many cases. they were falling to pieces. The men like the sandals much better, and certainly march with greater ease. Yesterday they did thirty miles, and came in comparatively fresh."

"I wish the whole army were shod so," the general said. "It would improve their marching powers, and we should not have so many men laid up, footsore. I should say that the boots supplied to the army are the very worst that soldiers were ever cursed with. They are heavy, they are nearly as hard as iron when the weather is dry, and are as rotten as blotting paper when it is wet. It is quite an accident if a man gets a pair to fit him properly. I believe it would be better if they were trained to march barefooted. Their feet would soon get hardened and, at any rate, it would be an improvement on the boots now served out to them.

"I wish the other Portuguese regiments were as well drilled and as well set up as your fellows. Of course, your men don't look smart, at present, and would not make a good show on a parade ground; but I hear that there are a large quantity of uniforms coming out, shortly; and I hope, long before the campaign opens, they will all be served out. The British regiments are almost as badly off as the native ones. However, I suppose matters will right themselves before the spring; but they are almost as badly off, now, as they were when they marched into Corunna. The absurdity of the whole thing is that all the newly-raised Portuguese levies, who will certainly not be called upon to cross the frontier until next year, have got uniforms; while the men who have to do the work are almost in rags."

Two or three of the officers of the Fusiliers rode over frequently, to stop for a night or so with Terence; and the latter found time pass much more pleasantly than he had done before Ryan had joined him. During the day both their hands were full; but the evenings were very pleasant, now that he had Dick as well as Herrara to talk to. The feeling of the responsibility on his shoulders steadied Ryan a good deal, and he was turning out a far more useful assistant than Terence had expected; but when work was over, his spirits were as high as ever, and the conversation in Terence's tent seldom languished.

Spring came, but there was no movement on the part of the troops. Ney, with 50,000 men, began the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo in earnest. The Agueda had now become fordable; and Crawford, with his light brigade, 2500 strong, was exposed to a sudden attack at any time. On the 1st of June Terence received orders to march with his regiment to Guarda, where Wellington was concentrating the greater portion of his army; leaving Hill, with 12,000 men, to guard the southern portion of the frontier.

Both the Spanish and Portuguese urged the general to relieve Ciudad Rodrigo; but Wellington refused, steadily, to hazard the whole fortune of the campaign on an enterprise which was unlikely to succeed. His total force was but 56,000 men, of whom 20,000 were untried Portuguese. Garrisons had to be placed at several points, and 8000 Portuguese were posted at Thomar, a day's march from Abrantes, as a reserve for Hill.

It was not only the 50,000 infantry and 8000 cavalry of Massena, who now commanded in front of Ciudad Rodrigo, that he had to reckon with. Regnier's division was at Coria; and could, in three easy marches, reach Guarda; or in four fall on Hill at Abrantes; and with but 26,000 men in line, it would have been a desperate enterprise, indeed, to attack 60,000 veteran French soldiers merely for the sake of carrying off the 5000 undisciplined Portuguese besieged at Ciudad.

The Minho regiment had only received their new uniforms a month before the order came, and made a good show as they marched into Guarda, where Wellington's headquarters were now established. When Terence reported himself to the adjutant general, the latter said:

"At present, Colonel O'Connor, you cannot be employed in your former work of scouting. The French are altogether too powerful for a couple of battalions to approach them and, with 8000 cavalry, they would make short work of you. Crawford must soon fall back behind the Coa. His position already is a very hazardous one. It has therefore been decided to place 1500 of your men along on this side of the Coa and, with half a battalion, you will march at once to Almeida to strengthen the garrison of that place which, as soon as Crawford retires, is certain to be besieged. It should be able to offer a long and stout resistance.

"You will, of course, be under the general orders of the commandant; but you will receive an authorization to take independent action, should you think fit: that is to say, if you find the place can be no longer defended, and the commandant is intending to surrender, you are at liberty to withdraw your command, if you find it possible to do so."

On the following morning the corps left Guarda and, leaving a battalion and a half on the Coa, under Herrara; Terence, with 500 men, after a long march, entered Almeida that night. The town, which was fortified, was occupied only by Portuguese troops. It was capable of repulsing a sudden attack, but was in no condition to withstand a regular siege. It was deficient in magazines and bomb proofs; and the powder, of which there was a large supply, was stored in an old castle in the middle of the town. On entering the place, Terence at once called upon Colonel Cox, who was in command.

"I am glad that you have come, Colonel O'Connor," the latter said. "I know that Lord Wellington expects me to make a long defence, and to keep Massena here for at least a month but, although I mean to do my best, I cannot conceal from myself that the defences are terribly defective. Then, too, more than half my force are newly-levied militia, in whom very little dependence can be placed. Your men will be invaluable, in case of assault; but it is not assault I fear, so much as having the place tumbling about our ears by their artillery, which can be so placed as to command it from several points. We are very short of artillery, and the guns are well nigh as old as the fortifications."

"We will do our best, Colonel, in any direction you may point out; and I think that we could defend a breach against any reasonable force brought against it. I may say that I have been ordered, if the worst comes to the worst, to endeavour to make my way out of the town before it surrenders."

For a fortnight the place was left unmolested. Crawford's division still kept beyond the Coa, and his cavalry had had several engagements with French reconnoitring parties. On the 2nd of July, however, the news came that, after a most gallant resistance, Ciudad Rodrigo had surrendered; and it was now certain that the storm would roll westward, in a very short time. Massena, however, delayed strangely; and it was not until daylight on the 24th that a sudden roll of musketry, followed almost immediately by a heavy artillery fire, told the garrison of Almeida that the light division was suddenly attacked by the enemy.

Crawford had received the strictest orders not to fight beyond the Coa; but he was an obstinate man, and had so long maintained his position across the river that he believed that, if attacked, he should be able to withdraw over the bridge before any very strong force could be brought up to attack him. In this he was mistaken. The country was wooded, and the French march was unsuspected until they were close upon Crawford's force. The light division had, however, been well trained; indeed, it was composed of veteran regiments, and had been practised to get under arms with the least possible delay. They were, therefore, already drawn up when the French fell upon them and, fighting hard and sternly, repelled all the efforts of the enemy's cavalry to cut them off from the bridge. Driving back the French light infantry, the Light Division crossed in safety, although with considerable loss; and repulsed, with great slaughter, every attempt of the French to cross the bridge.

Almeida was now left to its fate. Again Massena delayed, and it was not until the 18th of August that the siege was begun. On the 26th sixty-five heavy guns, that had been used in the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo, opened fire upon the town. The more Terence saw of the place, the more convinced was he that it could not long be held, after the French siege guns had been placed in position. Moreover, there was great lukewarmness on the part of several of the Portuguese officers, while the rank and file were dispirited by the fate of Ciudad Rodrigo, and by the fact that they had, as it seemed to them, been deserted by the British army.

"I don't like the look of things, at all," he had said to Bull and Ryan, the evening before the siege guns began their work. "In the first place the defences will crumble, in no time, under the French fire. In the second place, I don't think that the Portuguese, with the exception of our own men, have any fight in them. Da Costa, the lieutenant governor, openly declares that the place is indefensible, and that it is simply throwing away the lives of the men to resist. He is very intimate, I observe, with Bareiros, the chief of the artillery. Altogether, things look very bad. Of course, we shall stay here as long as the place resists; but I am afraid that won't be for very long.

"I was speaking to Colonel Cox this afternoon. He is a brave man, and with trustworthy troops would, I am sure, hold the town until the last; but, unsupported as he is, he is in the hands of these rascally Portuguese officers. I told him that, if he ordered me to do so, I would undertake with my men to arrest the whole of them; but he said that that would bring on a mutiny of all their troops; and this, bad as the situation already was, would only make matters much worse. I then suggested that, as the French are driving their trenches towards those two old redoubts outside the wall, I would, if he liked, place our force in them; and would undertake to hold them, pointing out that if they fell into the hands of the enemy they would soon mount their cannon there, and bring down the whole wall facing in that direction.

"He quite agreed with that view of the case, but said that it would be a very exposed position; still, as our fellows were certainly the only trustworthy troops he had, he should be very glad if I would undertake the defence at once, as the French were pushing their approaches very fast towards them. I said that I was sure we could hold them for some little time; and that, indeed, it seemed to me that the French intended to bombard the town rather than to breach the walls, knowing the composition of the garrison and, perhaps, having intelligence that their courage would be so shaken, by a heavy fire, that the place would surrender in a much shorter time than it would take to breach the walls. Accordingly, he has given me leave to march our men up there, at daybreak tomorrow; taking with us ten days' provisions.

"I said that if he had trouble with the other Portuguese regiments I would, on his hoisting a red flag on the church steeple, march in at once to seize and shoot the leaders of the mutiny, if he wished it. Of course, one of my reasons for wanting to take charge of the redoubts was that we should have more chance of withdrawing, from them, than we should of getting out of the town, itself, in the confusion and panic of an approaching surrender."

Bull and Ryan both agreed with Terence and, at daybreak the next morning, the half battalion marched out, relieved the Portuguese troops holding the two redoubts, and established themselves there. They had brought with them a number of intrenching tools, and were accompanied by an engineer officer. So, as soon as they reached the redoubts, several parties of men were set to work, to begin to sink pits for driving galleries in the direction of the approaches that the French were pushing forward; while others assisted a party of artillerymen to work the guns. Some of the best shots in the corps took their places on the rampart, and were directed to maintain a steady fire on the French working parties.

The roar of cannon, when the French batteries opened fire on the town, was prodigious; and it was not long before it was evident that there was no present design, on the part of the French, to effect a breach.

"I expect they have lots of friends in the town," Terence said to Dick Ryan, as they watched the result of the fire; "and they make sure that the garrison will very soon lose heart. Do you see how many shots are striking the old castle? That looks as if the French knew that it was the magazine. They are dropping shell there, too; and that alone is enough to cause a scare in the town, for if one of them dropped into the magazine, the consequences would be terrific. They are not pushing on the trenches against us with anything like the energy with which they have been working for the past week; and it is certainly curious that they should not keep up a heavier fire from their batteries upon us, for it is evident that they cannot make an assault, on this side of the town, at any rate, until they have captured our redoubts."

"I wish we were well out of it," Ryan exclaimed. "It is quite certain that the place must fall, sooner or later; and though we might beat the French back several times, it must come to the same, in the end. The thing I am most concerned about, at present, is how we are to get away."

"I quite agree with you, Dick; and you know, we have had several looks at the French lines, from the roof of the church. Their batteries are chiefly on this side of the town; but most of their troops are encamped on the other side, so as to be in readiness to meet any attempt of Wellington to succour the place; and also to show the garrison that there is no chance, whatever, of their being able to draw off. We agreed that the chances would be much better of getting out on this side than on the other."

"Yes; but we also agreed, Terence, that there would be a good deal more difficulty in getting safely back; for practically the whole of their army would be between us and Wellington."

"It will be a difficult business, Dicky, whichever way we go; and I suppose that, at last, we shall have to be guided by circumstances."

In a very short time, fires broke out at several points in the town. The guns on the walls made but a very feeble reply to the French batteries; and one or two bastions, where alone a brisk fire was at first maintained, drew upon themselves such a storm of missiles from the French guns that they were soon silenced.

"It is quite evident that the Portuguese gunners have not much fight in them," Bull said.

"I am afraid it is the disaffection among their officers that is paralysing them," Terence said. "But I quite admit that it may be good policy to keep the men under cover. They really could do no good against the French batteries; which have all the advantage of position, as well as numbers and weight of metal; and it would certainly be well to reserve the troops till the French drive their trenches close up. If I thought that the silence of the guns on the walls were due to that, I should be well content; but I am afraid it is nothing of the sort. If the French keep up their fire, as at present, for another forty-eight hours, the place will throw open its gates. The inhabitants must be suffering frightfully. Of course, if Colonel Cox had men he could thoroughly rely upon, he would be obliged to harden his heart and disregard the clamour of the townspeople for surrender; but as the garrison is pretty certain to make common cause with them, it seems to me that the place is lost, if the bombardment continues."

In a short time, seeing that the working parties in the enemy's trenches made no attempt to push them farther forward, Terence withdrew the men from their exposed position on the ramparts--leaving only a few there on the lookout--and told the rest to lie down on the inner slopes, so as to be in shelter from the French fire. Bull was in command of the force in the other redoubt, which was a quarter of a mile away. The redoubts were, however, connected by a deep ditch, so that communication could be kept up between them, or reinforcements sent from one to the other, unobserved by the enemy, except by those on one or two elevated spots.

All day the roar of the cannon continued. From a dozen points, smoke and flame rose from the city, and towards these the French batteries chiefly directed their fire, in order to hinder the efforts of the garrison to check the progress of the conflagration.

Just after dark, as Ryan and Terence were sitting down in an angle of the bastion to eat their supper, there was a tremendous roar; accompanied by so terrible a shock that both were thrown prostrate upon the ground with a force that, for the moment, half stunned them. A broad glare of light illuminated the sky. There was the rumble and roar of falling buildings and walls; and then came dull, crashing sounds as masses of brickwork, hurled high up into the air, fell over the town and the surrounding country. Then came a dead silence, which was speedily broken by the sound of loud screams and shouts from the town.

"It is just as we feared," Terence said as, bruised and bewildered, he struggled to his feet. "The magazine in the castle has exploded."

He ordered the bugler to sound the assembly and, as the men gathered, it was found that although many of them had been hurt severely, by the violence with which they had been thrown down, none had been killed either by the shock or the falling fragments. An officer was at once sent to the other redoubt, to inquire how they had fared; and to give orders to Bull to keep his men under arms, lest the French should take advantage of the catastrophe, and make a sudden attack.

"Ryan, do you take the command of the men, here, until I come back. I will go into the town and see Colonel Cox. I fear that the damage will be so great that the town will be really no longer defensible and, even if it were, the Portuguese troops will be so cowed that there will be no more fight left in them."

It was but five hundred yards to the wall. Terence was unchallenged as he ran up. The gate was open and, on entering, he saw that the disaster greatly exceeded his expectations. The castle had been shattered into fragments, the church levelled to the ground and, of the whole town, only six houses remained standing. Five hundred people had been killed.

The wildest confusion prevailed. The soldiers were running about without object or purpose, apparently scared out of their senses. Women were shrieking and wringing their hands, by the ruins of their houses. Men were frantically tugging at beams, and masses of brickwork, to endeavour to rescue their friends buried under the ruins. Presently he came upon Colonel Cox, who had just been joined by Captain Hewitt, the only British officer with him; who had instantly gone off to see the amount of damage done to the defences, and had brought back news that the walls had been levelled in several places, and the guns thrown into the ditch.

Da Costa, Bareiros, and several other Portuguese officers were loudly clamouring for instant surrender and, the French shells again beginning to fall into the town, added to the prevailing terror. In vain the commandant endeavoured to still the tumult, and to assure those around him that the defence might yet be continued, for a short time; and better terms be obtained than if they were, at once, to surrender.

"Can I do anything, Colonel?" Terence said. "My men are still available."

The officer shook his head.

"Massena will see, in the morning," he said, "that he has but to march in. If these men would fight, we could still, perhaps, defend the breaches for a day or two. But it would only be useless slaughter. However, as they won't fight, I must send a flag of truce out, and endeavour to make terms. At any rate, Colonel O'Connor, if you can manage to get off with your command, by all means do so. Of course, I shall endeavour to obtain terms for the garrison to march out; but I fear that Massena will hear of nothing but unconditional surrender."

"Thank you, Colonel. Then I shall at once return to my corps, and endeavour to make my way through."

On returning to the redoubt, Terence sent a message to Bull to come to him at once and, when he arrived, told him and Ryan the state of things in the town, and the certainty that it would surrender, at once.

"The Portuguese are so clamorous," he said, "that a flag of truce may be despatched to Massena, in half an hour's time. The Portuguese are right so far that, if the place must be surrendered, there is no reason for any longer exposing the troops and the townsfolk to the French bombardment. Therefore it is imperative that, if we are to make our way out, we must do so before the place surrenders.

"We agreed, yesterday, as to the best line to take. The French force here is by no means considerable, their main body being between this and the Coa. Massena, knowing the composition of the garrison here, did not deem it requisite to send a larger force than was necessary to protect the batteries; and the major portion of these are on the heights behind the city. Between the road leading to Escalon and that through Fort Conception there is no French camp, and it is by that line we must make our escape.

"We know that there are considerable forces, somewhere near Villa Puerca; but when we reach the river Turones we can follow its banks down, with very little fear. It is probable that they have a force at the bridge near San Felices; but I believe the river is fordable in many places, now. At any rate, they are not likely to be keeping a sharp watch anywhere, tonight. They must all know that that tremendous explosion will have rendered the place untenable and, except at the batteries which are still firing, there will be no great vigilance; especially on this side, for it would hardly be supposed that, even if the garrison did attempt to escape, they would take the road to the east, and so cut themselves off from their allies and enter a country wholly French.

"Of course, with us the case is different. We can march farther and faster than any French infantry. The woods afford abundant places of concealment, and we are perfectly capable of driving off any small bodies of cavalry that we may meet. Fortunately we have eight days' provision of biscuit. Of course, it was with a view to this that I proposed that we should bring out so large a supply with us.

"Now, I think we had better start at once."

"I quite agree with you, Colonel," Bull said. "I will return to the other redoubt, and form the men up at once. I shall be ready in a quarter of an hour."

"Very well, Bull. I will move out from here, in a quarter of an hour from the present time, and march across and join you as you come out. We must move round between your redoubt and the town. In that way we shall avoid the enemy's trenches altogether."

The men were at once ordered to fall in. Fortunately, none were so seriously disabled as to be unfit to take their places in the ranks. The necessity for absolute silence was impressed upon them, and they were told to march very carefully; as a fall over a stone, and the crash of a musket on the rocks, might at once call the attention of a French sentinel. As the troops filed out through the entrance to the redoubt, Terence congratulated himself upon their all having sandals, for the sound of their tread was faint, indeed, to what it would have been had they been marching in heavy boots.

At the other redoubt they were joined by Bull, with his party. There was a momentary halt while six men, picked for their intelligence, went on ahead, under the command of Ryan. They were to move twenty paces apart. If they came upon any solitary sentinel, one man was to be sent back instantly to stop the column; while two others crawled forward and surprised and silenced the sentry. Should their way be arrested by a strong picket, they were to reconnoitre the ground on either side; and then one was to be sent back, to guide the column so as to avoid the picket.

When he calculated that Ryan must be nearly a quarter of a mile in advance, Terence gave orders for the column to move forward. When a short distance had been traversed, one of the scouts came in, with the news that there was a cordon of sentries across their path. They were some fifty paces apart, and some must be silenced before the march could be continued.

Ten minutes later, another scout brought in news that four of the French sentries had been surprised and killed, without any alarm being given; and the column resumed its way, the necessity for silence being again impressed upon the men. As they went forward, they received news that two more of the sentries had been killed; and that there was, in consequence, a gap of 350 yards between them. A scout led the way through the opening thus formed. It was an anxious ten minutes, but the passage was effected without any alarm being given; the booming of the guns engaged in bombarding the town helping to cover the sound of their footsteps.

It had been settled that Ryan and the column were both to march straight for a star, low down on the horizon, so that there was no fear of either taking the wrong direction. In another half hour they were sure that they were well beyond the French lines; whose position, indeed, could be made out by the light of their bivouac fires.

For three hours they continued their march, at a rapid pace, without a check. Then they halted for half an hour, and then held on their way till daybreak, when they entered a large village. They had left the redoubts at about nine o'clock, and it was now five; so that they had marched at least twenty-five miles, and were within some ten miles of the Aqueda.

Sentries were posted at the edge of the wood, and the troops then lay down to sleep. Several times during the day parties of French cavalry were seen moving about; but they were going at a leisurely pace, and there was no appearance of their being engaged in any search. At nightfall the troops got under arms again, and made their way to the Aqueda.

A peasant, whom they fell in with soon after they started, had undertaken to show them a ford. It was breast deep, but the stream was not strong, and they crossed without difficulty, holding their arms and ammunition well above the water. They learned that there was, indeed, a French brigade at the bridge of San Felices. Marching north now, they came before daybreak upon the Douro. Here they again lay up during the day and, that evening, obtained two boats at a village near the mouth of the Tormes, and crossed into the Portuguese province of Tras os Nontes.

The 500 men joined in a hearty cheer, on finding themselves safe in their own country. After halting for a couple of days, Terence marched to Castel Rodrigo and then, learning that the main body of the regiment was at Pinhel, marched there and joined them; his arrival causing great rejoicing among his men, for it had been supposed that he and the half battalion had been captured, at the fall of Almeida. The Portuguese regular troops at that place had, at the surrender at daybreak after the explosion, all taken service with the French; while the militia regiments had been disbanded by Massena, and allowed to return to their homes.

From here Terence sent off his report to headquarters, and asked for orders. The adjutant general wrote back, congratulating him on having successfully brought off his command, and ordering the corps to take post at Linares. He found that another disaster, similar to that at Almeida, had taken place--the magazine at Albuquerque having been blown up by lightning, causing the loss of four hundred men.

The French army were still behind the Coa, occupied in restoring the fortifications of Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo, and it was not until the 17th of September that Massena crossed the Coa, and began the invasion of Portugal in earnest; his march being directed towards Coimbra, by taking which line he hoped to prevent Hill, in the south, from effecting a junction with Wellington.

The latter, however, had made every preparation for retreat and, as soon as he found that Massena was in earnest, he sent word to Hill to join him on the Alva, and fell back in that direction himself.

Terence received orders to co-operate with 10,000 of the Portuguese militia, under the command of Trant. Wilson and Miller were to harass Massena's right flank and rear. Had Wellington's orders been carried out, Massena would have found the country deserted by its inhabitants and entirely destitute of provisions; but as usual his orders had been thwarted by the Portuguese government, who sent secret instructions to the local authorities to take no steps to carry them out; and the result was that Massena, as he advanced, found ample stores for provisioning his army.

The speed with which Wellington fell back baffled his calculations and, by the time he approached Viseu, the whole British army was united, near Coimbra. His march had been delayed two days, by an attack made by Trant and Terence upon the advanced guard, as it was making its way through a defile. A hundred prisoners were taken, with some baggage; and a serious blow would have been struck at the French, had not the new Portuguese levies been seized with panic and fled in confusion. Trant was, consequently, obliged to draw off. The attack, however, had been so resolute and well-directed that Massena, not knowing the strength of the force opposing him, halted for two days until the whole army came up; and thus afforded time for the British to concentrate, and make their arrangements.

The ground chosen by Wellington to oppose Massena's advance was on the edge of the Sierra Busaco; which was separated, by a deep and narrow valley, from the series of hills across which the French were marching. There were four roads by which the French could advance. The one from Mortagao, which was narrow and little used, passed through Royalva. The other three led to the position occupied by the British force between the village of Busaco and Pena Cova. Trant's command was posted at Royalva. Terence with his regiment took post, with a Portuguese brigade of cavalry, on the heights above Santa Marcella, where the road leading south to Espinel forked; a branch leading from it across the Mondego, in the rear of the British position, to Coimbra. Here he could be aided, if necessary, by the guns at Pena Cova, on the opposite side of the river.

While the British were taking up their ground between Busaco and Pena Cova, Ney and Regnier arrived on the crest of the opposite hill. Had they attacked at once, as Ney wished, they might have succeeded; for the divisions of Spenser, Leith, and Hill had not yet arrived. But Massena was ten miles in the rear, and did not come up until next day, with Junot's corps; by which time the whole of the British army was ranged along the opposite heights.

Their force could be plainly made out from the French position, and so formidable were the heights that had to be scaled by an attacking force that Ney, impetuous and brave as he was, no longer advocated an attack. Massena, however, was bent upon fighting. He had every confidence in the valour of his troops, and was averse to retiring from Portugal, baffled, by the long and rugged road he had travelled; therefore dispositions were at once made for the attack. Ney and Regnier were to storm the British position, while Junot's corps was to be held in reserve.

At daybreak on the 29th the French descended the hill; Ney's troops, in three columns of attack, moving against a large convent towards the British left centre; while Regnier, in two columns, advanced against the centre. Regnier's men were the first engaged and, mounting the hill with great gallantry and resolution, pushed the skirmishers of Picton's division before them and, in spite of the grape fire of a battery of six guns, almost gained the summit of the hill--the leading battalions establishing themselves among the rocks there, while those behind wheeled to the right. Wellington, who was on the spot, swept the flank of this force with grape; and the 88th and a wing of the 45th charged down upon them furiously.

The French, exhausted by their efforts in climbing the hill, were unable to resist the onslaught; and the English and French, mixed up together, went down the hill; the French still resisting, but unable to check their opponents who, favoured by the steep descent, swept all before them.

In the meantime, the battalions that had gained the crest held their own against the rest of the third division and, had they been followed by the troops who had wheeled off towards their right, the British position would have been cut in two. General Leith, seeing the critical state of affairs had, as soon as he saw the third division pressed back, despatched a brigade to its assistance. It had to make a considerable detour round a ravine; but it now arrived and, attacking with fury, drove the French grenadiers from the rocks; and pursued them, with a continuous fire of musketry, until they were out of range. The rest of Leith's division soon arrived, and General Hill moved his division to the position before occupied by Leith. Thus, so formidable a force was concentrated at the point where Regnier made his effort that, having no reserves, he did not venture to renew the attack.

On their right the French had met with no better success. In front of the convent, but on lower ground, was a plateau; and on this Crawford posted the 43rd and 52nd Regiments of the line, in a slight dip, which concealed them from observation by the French. A quarter of a mile behind them, on the high ground close to the convent, was a regiment of German infantry. These were in full sight of the enemy. The other regiment of the light division was placed lower down the hill, and supported by the guns of a battery.

Two of Ney's columns advanced up the hill with great speed and gallantry; never pausing for a moment, although their ranks were swept by grape from the artillery, and a heavy musketry fire by the light troops. The latter were forced to fall back before the advance. The guns were withdrawn, and the French were within a few yards of the edge of the plateau, when Crawford launched the 43rd and 52nd Regiments against them.

Wholly unprepared for such an attack, the French were hurled down the hill. Only one of their columns attempted to retrieve the disaster, and advanced against the right of the light division. Here, however, they met Pack's brigade; while Crawford's artillery swept the wood through which they were ascending. Finally, they were forced to retire down the hill, and the action came to an end. Never did the French fight more bravely; but the position, held by determined troops, was practically impregnable. The French loss in killed and wounded was 4500, that of the allies only 1300; the difference being caused by the fact that the French ranks, throughout the action, were swept with grape by the British batteries; while the French artillery could do nothing to aid their infantry.

Chapter 11: The French Advance.

As there were no signs of any French force approaching the position held by the Portuguese, Terence moved his regiment a short distance forward, to a point which enabled them to obtain a view right down the valley in which the conflict was taking place. He then allowed them to fall out of their ranks; knowing that in less than a minute from the call being sounded they would be under arms again, and in readiness to move in any direction required. Then, with Herrara and his three English officers, he moved a short distance away and watched the scene.

As soon as Regnier's columns had crossed the bottom of the ravine, their guns along the crest opened fire on the British position facing them.

"They are too far off for grape," Terence said. "You remember, Ryan, at Corunna, how those French batteries pounded us from the crest, and how little real damage they did us. A round shot does not do much more harm than a bullet, unless it strikes a column in motion, or troops massed in solid formation.

"Those fellows are mounting the hill very fast."

"They are, indeed," Ryan agreed. "You can see how the line of smoke of our skirmishers on the hillside gets higher and higher."

"I wish our regiment was there, Colonel," Bull said. "We might do some good; while here we are of no more use than if we were a hundred miles away."

"No, no, Bull, that is not the case. If the French had not seen that this position was strongly held, they might have moved a division by this road and, if they had done so, they would have turned the main position altogether, and forced Wellington to fall back, at once. So you see, we are doing good here; though I do not say that I should not like to be over there."

"The French will soon be at the top of the hill," Herrara exclaimed. "See how they are pushing upwards."

"They certainly are gaining ground fast," Macwitty said. "They are within a hundred yards of the top. Our men don't seem to be able to make any stand against them at all.

"Colonel, the lower column is turning off more towards their left."

"They had better have kept together, Macwitty. It is evident that Picton's division is hard pressed, as it is and, if those two columns had united and thrown themselves upon him, they would have broken right through our line. As it is, the second party will have Leith's division to deal with. Do you see one of his brigades marching swiftly to meet them, and some guns sweeping the French flank? I wish we were nearer."

The scene had become too exciting for further conversation, and they watched almost breathlessly. The line of smoke on the top of the crest showed that the head of the column had made good its footing there; while the quick puffs of smoke, and the rattle of musketry, denoted that the other column was also within a short distance of the summit. But Leith's regiments were approaching the spot at the double. Presently there was the crash of a tremendous volley, and then the leading regiment disappeared over the brow of the hill, and into brushwood. The roar of musketry was heavy and continuous, and then Ryan gave a joyous shout, as it could be seen that the two long smoke wreaths were becoming mixed together, and that the movement was downwards and, ere long, the dark masses of troops could be seen descending the hill even more rapidly than they had climbed it. Leith's second brigade was now approaching the scene of the struggle, and was near at hand; Hill's division was seen in motion towards the same spot.

"That is all right now," Terence said; "but there is another big fight going on, further up the valley."

It was too far off to make out the movements of the troops but, even at that distance, the smoke rolling up from the hillside gave some idea of the course of the fight. Here, too, after mounting more than halfway up the slope, it could be seen that the tide of war was rolling down again; though more slowly, and with harder fighting than it had done in the struggle nearer to them. And when at last the firing gradually ceased, they knew that the French had been repulsed, all along the line.

"The men had better open their haversacks and eat a meal," Terence said. "We may get an order to move, at any moment."

No orders came, however, and the troops remained in the positions that they occupied until the following morning. Then a heavy skirmishing fire broke out and, for some time, it seemed as if the battle was to be renewed. No heavy masses of the French, however, came down from the hill on their side to support the light troops in the valley and, in the afternoon, the firing died away. Towards evening a staff officer rode up, at full speed, and handed a note to Terence.

"The French have turned our left by the Royalva Pass. Trant has failed to check them, and the whole army must fall back. These are your instructions."

The mishap had not been Trant's fault. He had been sent by the Portuguese general on a tremendous detour and, when he arrived at the position assigned to him, his troops were utterly exhausted by their long and fatiguing march. A large proportion had deserted or fallen out and, with but 1500 wearied and dispirited men, he could offer but little resistance to the French advance and, being attacked by their cavalry, had been driven away with loss. Terence opened the note.

"You will march at once. Keep along on this side of the Mondego, breaking up your command into small parties, who will visit every village within reach. All of their inhabitants who have not obeyed the proclamations, and retired, are to leave at once. Destroy all provisions that you can find. Set fire to the mills and, where this is not practicable, smash the machinery and, bearing south as you go, spread out over the country between the Zezere and the sea, and continue to carry on the duty assigned to you, compelling the peasants to drive their animals before them, along the roads to Lisbon."

"I understand, sir," Terence said, after reading the note, "and will carry out the orders to the best of my ability."

Five minutes later the regiment was under arms. Terence called the whole of the officers together, and explained the instructions that he had received. The two battalions were broken up into half companies which, as they marched along the Mondego, were to be left behind, one by one; each party, when left, turning south, and proceeding to carry out the orders received. In a few cases, only, were companies to keep intact as, although a hundred men would be ample for the duty at the large villages, two hundred would not be too much in a town like Leiria.

On reaching Foz d'Aronce, half a battalion moved to the east, to work down by the river Zezere. The rest turned to the right, to follow the course of the Mondego down to the sea. For convenience, and in order to keep the troops in hand, Bull, Macwitty, Ryan, and Herrara each took the command of half a battalion; with orders to supervise the work of the companies belonging to it, and to keep in touch with the nearest company of the next battalion, so that the two thousand men could advance, to a certain extent, abreast of each other.

Foz d'Aronce had already been evacuated by its inhabitants, but in all other villages the orders were carried out. By daybreak the last company in the two battalions reached the sea coast and, after two hours' rest, began its march south. The others had long been at work.

It was a painful duty. The frightened villagers had to be roused in the darkness, and told that the French were approaching, and that they must fly at once, taking their animals and what they could carry off in carts away with them. While the terrified people were harnessing horses to their carts, piling their few valuables into them, and packing their children on the top, the troops went from house to house, searching for and destroying provisions, setting fire to barns stored with corn, and burning or disabling any flour mills they met with.

Then, as soon as work was done, they forced the villagers to take the southern road. There was no difficulty in doing this for, although they had stolidly opposed all the measures ordered by Wellington, trusting that the French would not come; now that they had heard they were near, a wild panic seized them. Had an orderly retreat been made before, almost all their belongings might have been saved. Now but little could be taken, even by the most fortunate. The children, the sick, the aged had to be carried in carts and, in their haste and terror, they left behind many things that might well have been saved.

The peasantry in the villages suffered less than the townspeople, as their horses and carts afforded means of transport: but even here the scenes were most painful. In the towns, however, they were vastly more so. The means for carriage for such a large number of people being wanting, the greater number of the inhabitants were forced to make their way on foot, along roads so crowded with vehicles of every kind that the British divisions were frequently brought to a standstill, for hours, where the nature of the country prevented their quitting the road and making their way across the fields.

On the 29th, the greater portion of the British troops passed the Mondego. Hill retired upon Thomar, and the rest of the troops were concentrated at Milheada. The commissariat stores followed the coast road down to Peniche, and were embarked there. The light division and the cavalry remained, after the main body had been drawn across the Mondego, north of that river.

Soon after starting on his work, Terence learned that the British troops had passed through Pombal, Leiria, and Thomar. It was consequently unnecessary for him to endeavour to clear those towns.

The delays caused at every village rendered the work slow, as well as arduous. The French drove the light division through Coimbra and, following, pressed so hotly that a number of minor combats took place between their cavalry and the British rear guards. Before Leiria the rear guards had to fight strongly, to enable the guns to quit the town before the French entered it.

Terence presently received orders to collect his regiment again and, crossing the Zezere, to endeavour to join Trant and the other leaders of irregular bands, and to harass Massena's rear. He had already, knowing that great bodies of French cavalry had crossed the Mondego, called in the companies that were working Leiria and the coast; as they might otherwise have been cut up, in detail, by the French cavalry. With these he marched east, picking up the other companies as he went and, on the same evening, the regiment was collected on the Zezere.

Having followed the river up, he reached Foz d'Aronce and then, finding that several bodies of French troops had already passed through that village, he turned to the left and camped close to the Mondego; sending ten of his men over the river, in peasants' clothes, to ascertain the movements of the enemy. One of them returned with news that he had come upon a party of Trant's men, who told him that their main body were but two miles away, and that there were no French north of Coimbra.

The regiment had made a march of upwards of forty miles that day. Therefore, leaving them to rest, Terence forded the Mondego and rode, with Ryan, to Trant's village.

"I am glad, indeed, to see you, O'Connor," the partisan leader said, as Terence entered the cottage where he had established himself. "Is your regiment with you?"

"Yes, it is three miles away, on the other side of the river. We have marched something like eighty miles, in two days. We have been busy burning mills and destroying provisions, but the French cavalry are all over the country, so I was ordered to join you, and aid you to harass the French line of communication, and to do them what damage we could."

"There is not much to be done in the way of cutting their communications; at least, there is nothing to be done to the north and east of this place, for Massena brought all his baggage and everything else with him; and cut himself loose, altogether, from his base at Ciudad. If the people had but carried out Wellington's orders, Massena would have suffered a fearful disaster. We have learned, from stragglers we have taken, that the fourteen days' provisions with which they marched were altogether exhausted; and that they had been unable to obtain any here. They would have had to retreat, instantly; but I hear that, in Coimbra alone, there is enough food for their whole army, for at least two months."

"But could we not have destroyed it, as we retreated?"

"Of course, we ought to have done so," Trant said; "but from what I hear, the affair was very badly managed. Instead of the first division that went through burning all the magazines and stores, it was left to Crawford to do so; and he, as usual, stopped so long facing the enemy that, at last, he was regularly chased through Coimbra and, the roads being blocked with carts, his brigade would have been destroyed had the French infantry pushed strongly after him.

"Things are just as bad, in the way of provisions, on the other side of the river. We have done a great deal in the way of destroying mills and magazines. I am afraid Massena will find enough provisions to last his army all the winter."

"That is bad."

"Had it only been Coimbra, no very great harm would have been done; for the French troops got altogether out of hand when they entered, plundered the place and, as I hear, destroyed enough provisions to have lasted them a month."

"Of course, they hold the town?"

"Oh yes! It is full of their sick and wounded."

"What force have you?" Terence asked.

"I have 1500 men of my own. Miller and Wilson, with some of the Northern militias, will be here shortly; and I expect, in a few days, we shall have eight thousand men."

"The great thing would be to act before the French know that there is so strong a force in the neighbourhood," Terence said, "because as soon as they hear that, they are sure to send a strong force back to Coimbra."

"How do you mean, to act?" Trant asked in some surprise.

"I propose that we should capture Coimbra, at once. I have 2000 men and you have 1500. I don't suppose they have left above a couple of thousand in the town, perhaps even less and, if we take them by surprise, I should think we ought to be able to manage that number, without difficulty. I certainly consider my own men to be a match for an equal number of French."

"It is a grand idea," Trant said, "and I don't see why we should not carry it out. As you say, the sooner the better. They may know that I am here, but they will never dream of my making such attempt with a force which, I must own, is not always to be relied upon. They are always shifting and changing. After a long march, half of them will desert; then in a few days the ranks swell again. Consequently, the men have little discipline and no confidence in each other, and are little better than raw levies; but for rough street fighting I have no doubt they would be all right, especially when backed by good troops like yours.

"How would you proceed? As yours is the real fighting body, you should have the command."

"Not at all," Terence said warmly. "You are my senior officer, not only in rank but in age and experience. My orders were to assist you as far as I could and, while we are together, I am ready to carry out your orders in any way."

"Will your men be able to attack in the morning?"

"Certainly. They will have a good night's rest, and will be quite ready for work, say, at four o'clock in the morning. It is not more than two hours' march to Coimbra, so that we shall be there by daybreak. Have they any troops between us and the town?"

"They have a post at a village, a mile this side, O'Connor. Do you know how far their army is, on the other side of the river?"

"I know that they had a division close to Leiria, the day before yesterday; but whether they have any large body just across the Mondego, I cannot say."

"Then we will first surprise their post. I will undertake that. Will you march your force down the river, close to the town? I have a hundred cavalry and, as soon as I have captured the post, I will send them on at a gallop; with orders to ride straight through to the bridge, and prevent any mounted messengers passing across it. As soon as you hear them come along the road, do you at once enter the town. I will bring my men on at the double, and we shall not be many minutes after you.

"It would be as well for you to enter it by several streets, as that will cause greater confusion than if you were in a solid body. The principal point is the great convent of Santa Clara, which has been converted into a hospital. No doubt a portion of the garrison are there; the rest will be scattered about in the public buildings, and can be overpowered in detail.

"I think we are certain of success. I hope you will stop for a time and take supper with me and, in the meantime, I will send down orders for my men to be under arms, here, at half-past three."

Terence and Ryan remained for an hour, and then rode back to the regiment. The men were all sound asleep, but Herrara and the two majors were sitting round a campfire.

"What news, Colonel?" the former asked, as Terence rode up.

"Good news. We are going to take Coimbra, tomorrow morning. All Massena's sick and wounded, and his heavy baggage are there. They have no suspicion that any force is yet assembled in the neighbourhood and, I expect, we shall have easy work of it. They have a post a mile out of the town. Trant will surprise and capture that, at five in the morning. Just before daybreak we shall enter the town. We must march from here at half-past three."

"That is something like news, Colonel," Macwitty exclaimed. "It will cut the French off from this line of retreat, altogether, and they must either fall back by the line of the Tagus, or through Badajoz and Merida."

Terence laughed.

"You are counting your chickens before they are hatched, Macwitty. At the present moment, it seems more likely that Wellington will have to embark his troops than that Massena will have to retreat. He must have nearly a hundred thousand men, counting those who fought with him at Busaco and the two divisions that marched down through Foz d'Aronce; while Wellington, all told, cannot have above 40,000. Certainly some of the peasants told me they had heard that a great many men were employed in fortifying the heights of Torres Vedras, and Wellington may be able to make a stand there; but as we have never heard anything about them before, I am afraid that they cannot be anything very formidable.

"However, just at present we have nothing to do with that. If we can take Coimbra it will certainly hamper Massena and, if the worst comes to the worst, we can fall back across the Douro.

"Don't let the bugles sound in the morning. It is not likely, but it is possible that the French may send out cavalry patrols at night. If a bugle were heard they might ride back and report that a force was in the neighbourhood, and we should find the garrison prepared for us. Now we had better do no more talking. It is past eleven, and we have but four and a half hours to sleep."

At half-past three the troops were roused. They were surprised at the early call, for they had expected two or three days' rest, after the heavy work of the last eight days; but the company officers soon learned the news from their majors and, as it quickly spread through the ranks, the men were at once alert and ready. Fording the river, they marched at a rapid pace by the road to Coimbra and, soon after five o'clock, arrived within a few hundred yards of the town. Then they were halted and broken up into four columns, which were to enter the town at different points. The signal for moving was to be the sound of a body of cavalry, galloping along the road. Terence listened attentively for the rattle of musketry in the distance, but all was quiet; and he had little doubt that the French had been surprised, and captured, without a shot being fired.

Soon after half-past five he heard a dull sound which, before long, grew louder and, in five minutes, a body of horsemen swept past at a gallop. The troops at once got into motion, and entered the town. There was no longer any motive for concealment. The bugles sounded and, with loud shouts, the Portuguese ran forward. French officers ran out of private houses, and were at once seized and captured. Several bodies of troops were taken, in public buildings, before they were fairly awake. Some of the inhabitants--of whom many, unable to make their escape, had remained behind; or who had returned from the villages to which they had at first fled--came out and acted as guides to the various buildings where the French troops were quartered and, in little over a quarter of an hour, the whole town, with the exception of the convent of Santa Clara, was in their hands.

By this time Trant had come up, with his command. The troops rapidly formed up again and, issuing from several streets, advanced against the convent. The astonished enemy fired a few shots; then, on being formally summoned to surrender, laid down their arms. Thus, on the third day after Massena quitted the Mondego his hospitals, depots, and nearly 6000 prisoners, wounded and unwounded, among them a company of the Imperial Guard, fell into the hands of the Portuguese.

The next day Miller and Wilson came up; and their men, crossing the bridge and spreading over the country, gathered in 300 more prisoners; while Trant marched, with those he had captured, to Oporto.

On the 10th of October the whole of Wellington's army was safely posted on the tremendously strong position that he had, unknown to the army, carefully prepared and fortified for the protection of Lisbon. It consisted of three lines of batteries and intrenchments. The second was the most formidable; but the first was so strong, also, that Wellington determined to defend this, instead of falling back to the stronger line. At the foot of the line of mountains on which the army was posted, stretching from the Tagus to the sea, ran two streams; the Zandre, a deep river, which extended nearly halfway along the twenty-nine miles of lines, covered the left of the position; while a stream running into the Tagus protected the right. The centre, therefore, was almost the only part at which the line could be attacked with any chance of success; and this was defended by such tremendous fortifications as to be almost impregnable.

Massena, who had only heard vague rumours of the existence of these fortifications, four days before, was astounded at the unexpected obstacle which barred his way. The British troops, as soon as they arrived, were set to work to strengthen the intrenchments. Trees were felled, and every accessible point was covered by formidable abattis. The faces of the rocks were scarped, so that an enemy who won his way partly up the hill would find his farther progress arrested by a perpendicular wall of rock. Soon the eminences on the crest bristled with guns; and Massena, after carefully reconnoitring the whole position, came to the conclusion that it could not be attacked; and disposed his troops in permanent positions, facing the British centre and right, from Sobral to Villafranca on the Tagus; and sent his cavalry out over the country, to bring in provisions.

To lessen the district available for this operation, Wellington sent orders for the northern militia to advance and, crossing the Mondego, to drive in the foraging parties. Trant, Wilson and the other partisan corps were also employed in the work. A strong force took up its position between Castello Branco and Abrantes, while the militia and partisans occupied the whole country north of Leiria; and the French were thus completely surrounded. Nevertheless, the store of provisions left behind in the towns and villages was so large that the French cavalry were able to bring in sufficient supplies for the army.

During the week that followed, the Minho regiment was engaged in watching the defiles by which Massena might communicate with Ciudad Rodrigo, or through which reinforcements might reach him. Wilson and Trant were both engaged on similar service, the one farther to the north; while the other, who was on the south bank of the Tagus with a number of Portuguese militia and irregulars, endeavoured to prevent the French from crossing the river and carrying off the flocks, herds, and corn which, in spite of Wellington's entreaties and orders, the Portuguese government had permitted to remain, as if in handiness for the French foraging parties.

Owing to the exhausted state of both the British and Portuguese treasuries, it was impossible to supply the corps acting in rear of the French with money for the purchase of food. But Terence had received authority to take what provisions were absolutely necessary for the troops, and to give orders that would, at some time or other, be honoured by the military chest. A comparatively small proportion of his men were needed to guard the defiles, against such bodies of troops as would be likely to traverse them, in order to keep up Massena's communications. Leaving, therefore, a hundred men in each of the principal defiles; and ordering them to entrench themselves in places where they commanded the road, and could only be attacked with the greatest difficulty; while the road was barred by trees felled across it, so as to form an impassable abattis, behind which twenty men were stationed; Terence marched, with 1500 men, towards the frontier.

Five hundred of these were placed along the Coa, guarding the roads and, with the remainder, he forded the river and placed himself in the woods, in the plain between Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo. Here he captured several convoys of waggons, proceeding with provisions for the garrison of the former place. A portion of these he despatched, under guard, for the use of the troops on the Coa, and for those in the passes; thus rendering it unnecessary to harass the people, who had returned to their villages after Massena had advanced against Lisbon.

Growing bolder with success, he crossed the Aqueda and, marching round to the rear of Ciudad Rodrigo, cut off and destroyed convoys intended for that town, causing great alarm to the garrison. These were absolutely ignorant of the operations of Massena, for so active were the partisans, in the French rear, that no single messenger succeeded in getting through and, even when accompanied by strong escorts, the opposition encountered was so determined that the French were obliged to fall back, without having accomplished their purpose. Thus, then, the garrison at Ciudad Rodrigo were ignorant both of Massena's whereabouts, and of the nature of the force that had thrown itself in his rear. Several times, strong parties of troops were sent out. When these were composed of cavalry only, they were boldly met and driven in. When it was a mixed force of cavalry, infantry, and artillery, they searched in vain for the foe.

So seriously alarmed and annoyed was the governor that 3000 troops were withdrawn, from Salamanca, to strengthen the garrison. In December Massena, having exhausted the country round, fell back to a very strong position at Santarem; and Terence withdrew his whole force, save those guarding the defiles, to the neighbourhood of Abrantes; so that he could either assist the force stationed there, should Massena retire up the Tagus; and prevent his messengers passing through the country between the river and the range of mountains, south of the Alva, by Castello Branco or Velha; posting strong parties to guard the fords of the Zezere.

So thoroughly was the service of watching the frontier line carried out, that it was not until General Foy, himself, was sent off by Massena, that Napoleon was informed of the state of things. He was accompanied by a strong cavalry force and 4000 French infantry across the Zezere, and ravaged the country for a considerable distance.

Before such strength, Terence was obliged to fall back. Foy was accompanied by his cavalry, until he had passed through Castello Branco; and was then able to ride, without further opposition, to Ciudad Rodrigo.

Beresford was guarding the line of the Tagus, between the mouth of the Zezere and the point occupied on the opposite bank by Wellington, sending a portion of his force up the Zezere; and these harassed the French marauding parties, extending their devastations along the line of the Mondego.

Although the Minho regiment had suffered some loss, during these operations, their ranks were kept up to the full strength without difficulty. Great numbers of the Portuguese army deserted during the winter, owing to the hardships they endured, from want of food and the irregularity of their pay. Many of these made for the Minho regiment, which they had learned was well fed, and received their pay with some degree of regularity, the latter circumstance being due to the fact that Terence had the good luck to capture, with one of the convoys behind Ciudad Rodrigo, a considerable sum of money intended for the pay of the garrison. From this he had, without hesitation, paid his men the arrears due to them; and had still 30,000 dollars, with which he was able to continue to feed and pay them, after moving to the line of the Zezere.

He only enrolled sufficient recruits to fill the gaps made by war and disease; refusing to raise the number above 2000, as this was as many as could be readily handled; for he had found that the larger number had but increased the difficulties of rationing and paying them.

Chapter 12: Fuentes D'Onoro.

In the early spring Soult, who was besieging Cadiz, received orders from Napoleon to cooperate with Massena and, although ignorant of the latter's plans, and even of his position, prepared to do so at once. He crushed the Spanish force on the Gebora; captured Badajoz, owing to the treachery and cowardice of its commander; and was moving north, when the news reached him that Massena was falling back. The latter's position had, indeed, become untenable. His army was wasted by sickness; and famine threatened it, for the supplies obtainable from the country round had now been exhausted. Wellington was, as he knew from his agents in the Portuguese government, receiving reinforcements; and would shortly be in a position to assume the offensive.

The discipline in the French army under Massena had been greatly injured by its long inactivity. The only news he received as to Soult's movements was that he was near Badajoz; therefore, the first week in March he began his retreat, by sending off 10,000 sick and all his stores to Thomar. Then he began to fall back. Thick weather favoured him, and Ney assembled a large force near Leiria, as if to advance against the British position. Two other corps left Santarem, on the night of the fifth, and retired to Thomar. The rest of the army moved by other routes.

For four days Wellington, although discovering that a retreat was in progress, was unable to ascertain by which line Massena was really retiring. As soon as this point was cleared up, he ordered Beresford to concentrate near Abrantes; while he himself followed the line the main body of the French army seemed to be taking. It was soon found that they were concentrating at Pombal, with the apparent intention of crossing the Mondego at Coimbra; whereby they would have obtained a fresh and formidable position behind the Mondego, with the rich and untouched country between that river and the Douro, upon which they could have subsisted for a long time.

Therefore, calling back the troops that were already on the march to relieve Badajos, which had not yet surrendered, he advanced with all speed upon Pombal, his object being to force the French to take the line of retreat through Miranda for the frontier, and so to prevent him from crossing the Mondego.

Ney commanded the rear guard, and carried out the operation with the same mixture of vigour, valour, and prudence with which he, afterwards, performed the same duty to the French army on its retreat from Moscow. He fought at Pombal and at Redinha, and that so strenuously that, had it not been for Trant, Wilson, and other partisans who defended all the fords and bridges, Massena would have been able to have crossed the Mondego. Wellington however turned, one by one, the positions occupied by Ney; and Massena, believing that the force at Coimbra was far stronger than it really was, changed his plans and took up a position at Cazal Nova.

Here he left Ney and marched for Miranda but, although Ney covered the movement with admirable skill, disputing every ridge and post of vantage, the British pressed forward so hotly that Massena was obliged to destroy all his baggage and ammunition. Ney rashly remained on the east side of the river Cerra, in front of the village of Foz d'Aronce and, being attacked suddenly, was driven across the river with a loss of 500 men; many being drowned by missing the fords, and others crushed to death in the passage. However, Ney held the line of the river, blew up the bridge, and his division withdrew in good order.

Massena tarnished the reputation, gained by the manner in which he had drawn off his army from its dangerous position, by the ruthless spirit with which the operation was conducted; covering his retreat by burning every village through which he passed, and even ordering the town of Leiria to be destroyed, although altogether out of the line he was following.

After this fight the British pursuit slackened somewhat, for Wellington received the news of the surrender of Badajoz and, seeing that Portugal was thus open to invasion by Soult, on the south, despatched Cole's division to join that of Beresford; although this left him inferior in force to the army he was pursuing. The advance was retarded by the necessity of making bridges across the Cerra, which was now in flood, and the delay enabled Massena to fall back unmolested to Guarda; where he intended to halt, and then to move to Coria, whence he could have marched to the Tagus, effected a junction with Soult, and be in a position to advance again upon Lisbon, with a larger force than ever. He had, however, throughout been thwarted by the factious disobedience of his lieutenants Ney, Regnier, Brouet, Montbrun, and Junot; and this feeling now broke into open disobedience and, while Ney absolutely defied his authority, the others were so disobedient that fierce and angry personal altercations took place.

Massena removed Ney from his command. His own movements were, however, altogether disarranged by two British divisions, marching over the mountains by paths deemed altogether impassable for troops; which compelled him to abandon his intention of marching south, and to retire to Sabuga on the Coa. Here he was attacked. Regnier's corps, which covered the position, was beaten with heavy loss but, owing to the combinations--which would have cut Massena off from Ciudad Rodrigo--failing, from some of the columns going altogether astray in a thick fog, Massena gained that town with his army. He had lost in battle, from disease, or taken prisoners, 30,000 men since the day when, confident that he was going to drive Wellington to take refuge on board his ships, he had advanced from that town.

Even now he did not feel safe, though rejoined by a large number of convalescents; and, drawing rations for his troops from the stores of the citadel, he retired with the army to Salamanca. Having reorganized his force, procured fresh horses for his guns, and rested the troops for a few days; Massena advanced to cover Ciudad Rodrigo, and to raise the siege of Almeida--which Wellington had begun without loss of time--and, with upwards of 50,000 men, Massena attacked the British at Fuentes d'Onoro.

The fight was long and obstinate, and the French succeeded in driving back the British right; but failed in a series of desperate attempts to carry the village of Fuentes. Both sides claimed the battle as a victory, but the British with the greater ground; for Massena fell back across the Aqueda, having failed to relieve Almeida; whose garrison, by a well-planned night march, succeeded in passing through the besieging force, and effected their retreat with but small loss, the town falling into the possession of the British.

Terence had come up, after a series of long marches, on the day before the battle. His arrival was very opportune, for the Portuguese troops with Wellington were completely demoralized, and exhausted, by the failure of their government to supply them with food, pay, or clothes. So deplorable was their state that Wellington had been obliged to disband the militia regiments, and great numbers of desertions had taken place from the regular troops.

The regiment had been stationed on the British right. Here the fighting had been very severe. The French cavalry force was enormously superior to the British, who had but a thousand troopers in the field. These were driven back by the French, and Ramsay's battery of horse artillery was cut off. But Ramsay placed himself at the head of his battery and, at full gallop, dashed through the French infantry and cavalry, and succeeded in regaining his friends.

The two battalions of the Minho regiment, who were posted in a wood, defended themselves with the greatest resolution against an attack by vastly superior numbers; until the French, advancing on each side of the wood, had cut them off from the rest of the division. Then a bugle call summoned the men to assemble at the rear of the wood and, forming squares, the two battalions marched out.

Twelve French guns played upon them and, time after time, masses of cavalry swept down on them but, filling up the gaps in their ranks, they pressed on; charged two French regiments, at the double, that endeavoured to block their way; burst a path through them, and succeeded in rejoining the retiring division, which received them with a burst of hearty cheering. Two hundred had fallen, in the short time that had elapsed since they left the wood.

Terence had been in the centre of one of the squares but, just as they were breaking through the French ranks, he had ridden to the rear face; and called upon the men to turn and repulse a body of French cavalry, that was charging down upon them. At this moment a bullet struck his horse in the flank. Maddened with the sudden pain, the animal sprang forward, broke through the ranks of the Portuguese in front of it and, before Terence could recover its command, dashed at full speed among the French cavalry. Before he could strike a blow in defence, Terence was cut down. As he fell the cavalry passed over him but, fortunately, the impetus of his charge had carried him nearly through their ranks before he fell; and the horses of the rear rank leapt over his body, without touching him. It was the force of the blow that had felled him for, in the hurry of striking, the trooper's sword had partly turned, and it was with the flat rather than the edge that he was struck.

Although half stunned with the blow and the heavy fall, he did not altogether lose consciousness. He heard, as he lay, a crashing volley; which would, he felt sure, repulse the horsemen and, fearing that in their retreat they might ride over him, trampling him to death, he struggled to his feet. The French, however, though repulsed, did not retire far, but followed upon the retreating regiment until it joined the British; when a battery opened upon them, and their commander called upon them to fall back. This was done in good order, and at a steady trot.

On seeing Terence standing in their path, an officer rode up to him.

"I surrender," Terence said.

A trooper was called out, and ordered to conduct him to the rear; where many other prisoners, who had been taken during the French advance, were gathered. Here an English soldier bound up Terence's wound, from which the blood was streaming freely, a portion of the scalp having been shorn clean off.

"That was a narrow escape, sir," the man said.

"Yes; I don't know how it was that it did not sever my skull; but I suppose that it was a hasty blow, and the sword must have turned. It might have been worse, by a good deal. I am afraid things are going badly with us."

"Badly enough, here," the soldier said; "but I think we are holding our own, in the centre. There is a tremendous roar of fire going on, round that village there. I was captured half an hour ago, and it has been growing louder and louder, ever since."

For another two hours the battle continued and, as it still centred round the village, the spirits of the prisoners rose; for it was evident that, although the right had been driven back, the centre was at least holding its position, against all the efforts of the French. In the afternoon the fire slackened, and only a few shots were fired.

The next morning at daybreak the prisoners, 300 in number, were marched away under a strong escort. Both armies still occupied the same positions they had held the day before, and there seemed every probability of the battle being renewed. When, however, they had marched several miles, and no sound of heavy firing was heard, the prisoners concluded that either Wellington had retired; or that Massena, seeing his inability to drive the British from their position, intended himself to fall back upon Ciudad.

The convoy marched twenty miles, and then halted for the night. Two hours after they did so a great train of waggons containing wounded came up, and halted at the same place. The wounded were lifted out and laid on the ground, where the surgeons attended to the more serious cases.

"Pardon, monsieur," Terence said in French, to one of the doctors who was near him, "are there any of our countrymen among the wounded?"

"No, sir, they are all French," the doctor replied.

"That is a good sign," Terence said, to an English officer who was standing by him when he asked the question.

"Why so, Colonel?"

"Because, if Massena intended to attack again tomorrow, he would have sent the British wounded back, as well as his own men. The French, like ourselves, make no distinction between friends and foes; and that he has not sent them seems, to me, to show that he intends himself to fall back, and to leave the British wounded to the care of their own surgeons, rather than embarrass himself with them."

"Yes, I have no doubt that is the case," the officer said. "It seems, then, that we must have won the day, after all. That is some comfort, anyhow, and I shall sleep more soundly than I expected. If we had been beaten, there would have been nothing for it but for the army to fall back again to the lines of Torres Vedras; and Wellington would have had to fight very hard to regain them. If Massena does fall back, Almeida will have to surrender."

"I was inside last time it surrendered," Terence said, "but I managed to make my way out with my regiment, after the explosion."

"I wonder whether Massena means to leave us at Ciudad, or to send us on to Salamanca?"

"I should think that he would send us on," Terence replied; "he will not want to have 300 men eating up the stores at Ciudad, besides requiring a certain portion of the garrison to look after them."

Terence's ideas proved correct and, without stopping at Ciudad, the convoy of prisoners and wounded continued their march until they arrived at Salamanca. Terence could not help smiling, as he was marched through the street, and thought of the wild panic that he and Dicky Ryan had caused, when he was last in that town. The convent which the Mayo Fusiliers had occupied was now turned into a prison, and here the prisoners taken at Fuentes d'Onoro were marched, and joined those who had fallen into the hands of the French during Massena's retreat. Among these were several officers of his acquaintance and, as discipline was not very strict, they were able to make themselves fairly comfortable together.

The French, indeed, along the whole of the Portuguese frontier, had their hands full; and the force at Salamanca was so small that but few men could be spared for prison duties and, so long as their captives showed no signs of giving trouble, their guards were satisfied to leave them a good deal to their own devices; watching the gate carefully, but leaving much of the interior work of the prison to be done by Spanish warders for, violent as the natives were in their expressions of hatred for the French, they were always ready to serve under them, in any capacity in which money could be earned.

"There can be no difficulty, whatever, in making one's escape from here," Terence said, to a party of four or five officers who were lodged with him in a room, from whose window a view over the city was obtainable. "It is not the getting out of this convent that is difficult, but the making one's way across this country to rejoin. I have no doubt that one could bribe one of those Spaniards to bring in a rope and, even if that could not be obtained, we might manage to make one from our blankets; but the question is, what to do when we have got out? Massena lies between us and Ciudad and, from what I hear the French soldiers say, the whole line is guarded down to Badajoz, where Soult's army is lying. Victor is somewhere farther to the south, and their convoys and cavalry will be traversing the whole country. I speak Portuguese well, and know enough of Spanish to pass as a Spaniard, among Frenchmen, but to anyone who does not speak either language it would be next to impossible to get along."

"I quite see that," one of the officers said, "and for my part I would rather stay where I am, than run the risk of such an attempt. I don't know a word of Spanish, and should be recaptured before I had been out an hour. If I got away from the town I should be no better off, for I could not obtain a disguise. As to making one's way from here to Almeida, it would be altogether hopeless."

The others agreed, and one of them said:

"But don't let us be any hindrance to you, O'Connor. If you are disposed to try, by all means do so and, if we can help you in any way, we will."

"I shall certainly try," Terence said; "but I shall wait a little to see how things go. It may be by this time Wellington has fallen back again and, in that case, no doubt Massena will advance. We heard as we came along that Marmont, with six divisions, is approaching the frontier and, even if Wellington could maintain himself on the Aqueda, Soult is likely to crush Beresford, and may advance from Badajoz towards Lisbon, when the British will be obliged to retire at once.

"To make one's way across the open country between this and Ciudad would be easy enough; while it would be dangerous in the extreme to enter the passes, while the French troops are pressing through them on Wellington's rear. My Portuguese would, of course, be a hindrance rather than a benefit to me on this side of the frontier; for the Spaniards hate the Portuguese very much more heartily than they do the French. You know that, when they were supplying our army with grain, the Spanish muleteers would not bring any for the use of the Portuguese brigades; and it was only by taking it as if for the British divisions, and distributing it afterwards to the Portuguese, that the latter could be kept alive. As a British officer I should feel quite safe, if I fell into the hands of Spanish guerillas; but as a Portuguese officer my life would not be worth an hour's purchase."

Two days later came the news that a desperate battle had been fought by Beresford at Albuera, near Badajoz. He had been attacked by Soult but, after tremendous fighting, in which the French first obtained great advantages, they had been at last beaten off by the British troops; and it ended a drawn battle, the losses on both sides being extraordinarily heavy. It was not until some time afterwards that Terence learned the particulars of this desperate engagement. Beresford had 30,000 infantry, 2000 cavalry, and 38 guns; but the British infantry did not exceed 7000. Soult had 4000 veteran cavalry, 19,000 infantry, and 40 guns.

The battle began badly. Blake with his Spaniards were soon disposed of by the French and, in half an hour, the battle was all but lost; a brigade of the British infantry being involved in the confusion caused by the Spanish retreat, and two-thirds of its number being destroyed. The whole brunt of the battle now fell upon the small British force remaining. French columns pushed up the hill held by them. The cannon on both sides swept the ground with grape. The heavy French columns suffered terribly from the fire from the English lines; but they pressed forward, gained the crest of the rise and, confident of victory, were still advancing; when Cole and Houghton's brigades came up and restored the battle, and the British line, charging through a storm of grape and musketry, fell upon the French columns and drove them down the hill again, in confusion.

The Portuguese battalions had fought well, as had the German regiment; but it was upon the British that the whole brunt of the fight had fallen. In the four hours that the combat lasted, 7000 of the allies and over 8000 of the French had been killed or wounded. Of the 6000 British infantry, only 1800 remained standing when the battle was over, 4200 being killed or wounded; 600 Germans and Portuguese were placed hors de combat; while of the Spaniards, who formed the great mass of the army, 2000 were killed or wounded by the French artillery and musketry, or cut down while in disorder by the French cavalry.

Never was the indomitable valour of British infantry more markedly shown than at the battle of Albuera. The battle had been brought on, in no small degree, by their anxiety for action. The regiments had been disappointed that, while their comrades were sharing in Wellington's pursuit of Massena, they were far away from the scene of conflict; and when Beresford would have fallen back, as it would have been prudent to do, they became so insubordinate that he gave way to their desire to meet the French; and so fought a battle where defeat would have upset all Wellington's plans for the campaign, and victory would have brought no advantages with it. Like Inkerman, it was a soldiers' battle. Beresford's dispositions were faulty in the extreme and, tactically, the day was lost before the fighting began.

The Spanish portion of the army did no real fighting and, in their confusion, involved the loss of nearly the whole of a British brigade; and it was only by the unconquerable valour of the remainder of the British force that victory was gained, against enormous odds, and that against some of the best troops of France.

Terence was in the habit of often going down and chatting with the French guard at the gate. Their duties were tedious, and they were glad of a talk with this young British officer, who was the only prisoner in their keeping who spoke their language fluently; and from them he obtained what news they had of what was going on. A fortnight later, he gathered that the British force on the Aqueda had been greatly weakened, that there was no intention of laying siege to Ciudad, and it was believed that Wellington's main body had marched south to join Beresford.

This was, indeed, the only operation left open to the British general. Regnier's division of Marmont's army had joined Massena, and it would be impossible to besiege Ciudad while a force, greatly superior to his own, was within easy striking distance. On the other hand, Beresford was in no position to fight another battle and, as long as Badajoz remained in the hands of the French, they could at any time advance into Portugal; and its possession was therefore of paramount importance.

Marmont had succeeded Massena in command, the latter marshal having been recalled to France; and the great bulk of the French army was now concentrated round Salamanca, from which it could either march against the British force at Ciudad; or unite with Soult and, in overwhelming strength, either move against Cadiz or advance into Portugal. Wellington therefore left Spencer to guard the line of the Coa, and make demonstrations against Ciudad; while with the main body of his army he marched south.

The news decided Terence to attempt to make his escape in that direction. He did not know whether his own regiment would be with Spencer, or Wellington; but it was clear that more important events would be likely to take place near Badajoz than on the Coa. The French would be unlikely to choose the latter route for an advance into Portugal. The country had been stripped bare by the two armies that had marched across it. The roads were extremely bad, and it would be next to impossible for an army to carry with it sustenance for the march; still less for maintaining itself after it had traversed the passes. Moreover Spencer, falling back before them, would retire to the lines of Torres Vedras; and the invaders would find themselves, as Massena had done, baffled by that tremendous line of fortifications, where they might find also Wellington and his army, who would have shorter roads to follow, established before they arrived.

Some of the townspeople were allowed to pass in and out of the convent, to sell fruit and other articles to the British prisoners; and Terence thought it better to open negotiations with one of these, rather than one of the warders in French pay. He was not long in fixing upon one of them as an ally. She was a good-looking peasant girl, who came regularly with grapes and other fruit. From the first, Terence had made his purchases from her, and had stood chatting with her for some time.

"I want to get away from here, Nita," he said, on the day he received the news of Wellington's march to the south.

"I dare say, senor," she laughed. "I suppose all the other prisoners want the same."

"No doubt; but you see, they would not have much chance of getting away, because none of them understand Spanish. I talk it a little, as you see. So if I got out and had a disguise, I might very well make my way across the country."

"There are many brigands about," she said, "and it is not safe for a single man to travel anywhere. What do you want me to do?"

"I want a rope fifty feet long; not a very thick one, but strong enough to bear my weight. That is the first thing. Then I want a disguise; but that I could get, if a friend would be in readiness to give it to me, after I had slid down the rope into the street."

"How could I give you a rope, senor, with all these people about?"

"You could put it into the bottom of your basket, and cover it over with fruit. You could take your stand near the door, at the foot of the stairs leading up to my room. Then I could, in the hearing of the rest, say that it was my fete day; and that I was going to give the others a treat, so that I would buy all your grapes. After we had bargained for them, I could hand you the money and say:

"'Give me your basket. I will run upstairs, empty it, and bring it down to you.'

"As this would save my making five or six journeys upstairs, there would be nothing suspicious about that."

"I will think it over," the girl said, gravely. "I do not see that there would be much danger. I will give you an answer tomorrow."

The next day she said, when Terence went up to her, "I will do it, senor. I have a lover who is a muleteer. I spoke to him last night, and he will help you. Tomorrow I will give you the rope. In the afternoon you are to hang something out of your window; not far, but so that it can be just seen from the street. That red sash of yours will do very well. Do not let it go more than an inch or two beyond the window sill, so that it will not attract any attention.

"When the clock strikes ten, Garcia and I will be in the street below that window. This is a quiet neighbourhood, and no one is likely to be about. Garcia will have a suit of muleteer's clothes for you, and you can change at once. I will carry those you have on to our house, and destroy them. Garcia will take you to his lodging. He starts at daybreak with his mules, and you can travel with them."

"Thank you most heartily, Nita. Here are five gold pieces, for the purchase of the ropes and clothes."

"Oh, they will not cost anything like as much as that!" the girl said.

"If they don't, you must buy yourself a little keepsake, Nita, in remembrance of me; but I will send you something better worth having, by Garcia, when I reach our army, and am able to get money with which I can pay him for his labour and loss of time."

"I don't want money," the girl said, drawing herself up proudly. "I am helping you because I like you, and because you have come here to drive the French away."

"I should not think of offering you money, Nita. I know that it is out of pure kindness that you are doing it; but you could not refuse some little trinket to wear, on your wedding day."

"I may never get married," the girl said, with a pout.

"Oh, I know better than that, Nita! A girl with as pretty a face as yours would never remain single, and I should not be surprised if you were to tell me that the day is fixed already."

"It is not fixed, and is not likely to be, senor. I have told Garcia that I will never marry, as long as the French are here. He may go out with one of the partisan forces. He often talks about doing so, and might get shot any day by these brigands. When I am married, I am not going to stay at home by myself, while he is away among the mountains."

"Ah! Well, the war cannot last for ever. You may have Wellington here before the year is out. Give me your address, so that when we come, I may find you out."

"Callao San Salvador, Number 10. It is one of my uncles I am living with there. My home is in Burda, six miles away. It is a little village, and there are so many French bands ranging over the country that, a month ago, my father sent me in here to stay with my uncle; thinking that I should be safer in the city than in a little village. He brings fruit in for me to sell, twice a week."

"Very well. If we come here, I shall go to your uncle's and inquire for you and, if you have left him, I will go out to your village and find you."

All passed off as arranged, without the slightest hitch. Terence took the girl's basket and ran upstairs with it, emptied the fruit out on the table, thrust the rope under his bed, and ran down again and gave Nita the basket. At ten o'clock at night he slung himself from the window and after a hearty goodbye to his fellow prisoners--several of whom, now that it was too late, would gladly have shared in his adventure.

"I should be very glad if you were going with me, but at the same time I own that I do not think we should get through. I question, indeed, if the muleteer would take anyone who did not understand enough Spanish to pass, if he were questioned by French soldiers; and if he would do so, it would greatly increase the risk. At the same time, if one of you would like to take my place, I will relinquish it to you; and will, after you have gone off with the muleteer, go in another direction, and take my chance of getting hold of a disguise, somehow, and of making my way out."

None of the others would hear of this and, after extinguishing the light, so as to obviate the risk of anyone noticing him getting out of the window, Terence slipped down to the ground just as the clock struck ten.

"Good evening, senor!" a voice said, as his feet touched the ground. "Here is your disguise. Nita is watching a short distance away, and will give us notice if anyone approaches. You had best change, at once."

Terence took off his uniform and, with the assistance of the muleteer, donned the garments that he had brought for him. Then he rolled the others into a bundle, and the muleteer gave a low whistle, whereupon Nita came running up.

"Thanks be to the saints that no one has come along!" she said, as the rope, which Terence had forgotten, fell at their feet; his companions having, as agreed, untied the upper end.

"That will come in useful," Garcia said, coiling it up on his arm. "Now, senor, do not let us stand talking. Nita will take the uniform and burn it."

"I will hide it, if you like," the girl said. "There can be no reason for their searching our house."

"Thank you, Nita, but it would be better to destroy it, at once. It may be a long time before I come this way again; besides, the things have seen their best days, and I have another suit I can put on, when I join my regiment. Thanks very much for your kindness, which I shall always remember."

"Goodbye, senor! May the saints protect you!" and without giving him time to say more, she took the bundle from Garcia's hand and sped away down the street.

"Now, senor, follow me," he said, and turned to go in the other direction.

"You had best call me Juan, and begin at once," Terence said. "If by accident you were to say senor, in the hearing of anyone, there would be trouble at once."

"I shall be careful, never fear," the man said. "However, there would only be harm done if there happened to be a Frenchman--or one of their Spaniards, who are worse--present. As to my own comrades, it would not matter at all. We muleteers are all heart and soul against the French, and will do anything to injure them. We are all obliged to work for them; for all trade is at an end, and we must live. Many have joined the partisans, but those who have good mules cannot go away and give up their only means of earning a living; for although the French pay for carriage by mules or carts, if they come upon animals that are not being used, they take them without a single scruple.

"Besides, there are not many partisans in this part of Spain. The French have been too long in the valley here, and are too strong in the Castiles for their operations. It is different in Navarre, Aragon, and Catalonia; and in Valencia and Mercia. There the French have never had a firm footing, and most of the strong places are still in Spanish hands. In all the mountainous parts, in fact, there are guerillas; but here it is too dangerous. There are bands all over the country, but these are really but robbers, and no honest man would join them.

"This is the house."

He turned in at a small doorway and unlocked the door, closing it after them.

"Put your hand on my shoulder, Juan," he said. "I have a light upstairs."

He led the way in darkness up a stone staircase, then unlocked another door and entered a small room, where a candle was burning.

"This is my home, when I am here," he said. "Most of us sleep at the stables where our mules are put up; but I like having a place to myself, and my mate looks after the mules."

Nothing could have been simpler than the furniture of the room. It consisted of a low pallet, a small table, and a single chair. In a corner were a pair of saddlebags and two or three coloured blankets. A thick coat, lined with sheepskin, hung against the wall. In a corner was a brightly-coloured picture of a saint, with two sconces for candles by the side of it. The muleteer had crossed himself and bowed to it as he came in, and Terence doubted not that it was the picture of a saint who was supposed to take a special interest in muleteers.

From a small cupboard, the man brought out a flask of wine and two drinking cups.

"It is good," he said, as he placed them on the table. "I go down to Xeres sometimes, and always bring up a half octave of something special for my friends, here."

After pouring out the two cups, he handed the chair politely to Terence, and sat himself down on the edge of the pallet. Then, taking out a tobacco bag and a roll of paper, he made a cigarette and handed it to Terence, and then rolled one for himself.

Chapter 13: From Salamanca To Cadiz.

"Now, let us talk about our journey," the muleteer said, when he had taken two or three whiffs at his cigarette. "Nita tells me that you wish, if possible, to join your army near Badajoz. That suits me well, for I have orders from a merchant here to fetch him twelve mule loads of sherry from Xeres; and Badajoz is, therefore, on my way. The merchant has a permit, signed by Marmont, for me to pass unmolested by any French troops; saying that the wine is intended for his use, and that of his staff. If it were not for that, there would be small chance, indeed, of his ever getting it. There is so little trade, now, that it is scarce possible to buy a flask of the white wine of the south, here. Of course, the pass will be equally useful going down to fetch it for, without it, my mules would be certain to be impressed for service, by the French.

"So you see, nothing could have happened more fortunately for, anywhere between the Tagus and Badajoz, we can turn off from Estremadura into Portugal. It would not be safe to try near Badajoz, for Soult's army is scattered all over there and, though the pass would be doubtless respected by superior officers, if we fell in with foraging parties they would have no hesitation in shooting me, tearing up the pass, and carrying off my mules. For your sake as well as my own, therefore, I would turn off and cross the mountains--say, to Portalegre--and go down to Elvas. There you would be with your friends; and I could cross again, further south, and make my way down to Xeres."

"They say that two of Marmont's divisions started south, yesterday."

"That is unfortunate, for they will leave little behind them in the way of food and drink; and we shall find it better to travel by by-roads. I should not mind being impressed, if it were only for the march down to Badajoz; but once with an army, there is no saying how long one may be kept."

"If we find any difficulty in crossing into Portugal this side of Badajoz, I shall not mind going down to Cadiz. I should have no difficulty, there, in getting a ship to Lisbon."

"Well, we shall see," the muleteer said. "We will go the short way, if we can. I hate the Portuguese, and they are no fonder of us; but with you with me, of course, I should not be afraid of interference from them."

"But the Portuguese are fighting on our side, and aiding us to help you."

"Yes, because they think it is better that the war should be carried on here than in their own country. Besides, from what I hear, it is with no goodwill that they fight under your British general; but only because he tells them that, unless they furnish so many troops, he will have nothing more to do with them, but will sail away with his army to England."

"That may be true, Garcia; but you know that when we were here--for I was with the British army that marched through Salamanca--the Spanish authorities were no more willing to assist than were the Portuguese; and not a single soldier--with the exception of two or three thousand half-armed men under Romana--joined, from the day we crossed the frontier to that on which we embarked to Corunna."

"The authorities are all bad," Garcia said scornfully. "They only think of feathering their own nests, and of quarrelling among themselves. The people are patriots, but what can they do when the Juntas keep the arms the English have sent us in their magazines, and divide the money among themselves? Then our generals know nothing of their business, and have their own ambitions and rivalries. We are all ready to fight; and when the drum is beaten and we are called out, we go willingly enough. But what do we do when we go out? We are marched backwards and forwards without motive; the officers are no good; and when at last we do see the French we are always beaten, and the generals and the officers are the first to run away.

"We ought in the first place to rise, not against the French, but against the Juntas, and the councillors, and the hidalgos. Then, when we have done with them, we ought to choose officers from among ourselves, men that have done good service as leaders of partisans. Then we could meet the French. We are brave enough, when we are well led. See how the people fought at Saragossa, and since then at Gerona, and many other places. We are not afraid of being killed, but we have no confidence in our chiefs."

"I have no doubt that is so, Garcia; and that, if the regiments were trained by British officers, as some of the Portuguese now are, you would fight well. Unfortunately, as you say, your generals and officers are chosen, not for their merits, but from their influence with the Juntas, whose object is to have the army filled with men who will be subservient to their orders.

"Then there is another thing against you: that is, the jealousy of the various provinces. There is no common effort. When Valencia is invaded, for example, the Valencians fight; but they have no idea of going out from their homes to assist Castile or Catalonia and so, one after another, the provinces are conquered by the French."

"That is so," Garcia said thoughtfully. "If they were to rise here I would fight, and take my chance of being killed; but I should not care to risk my life in defence of Valencia, with which I have nothing whatever to do. I don't see how you are to get over that, so long as we are divided into provinces."

"Nor do I, Garcia. In times of peace these various governments may work well enough; but nothing could be worse than the system, when a country is invaded.

"What time do you start, tomorrow?"

"As soon as the gates are open. That will be at five o'clock. It is eleven now, so we had better get some sleep. In the morning I must see that your dress is all right. Nita has given me a bottle of walnut juice, to stain your face and hands.

"Do you lie down on the bed, senor. I will wrap myself up in this cloak. I am more accustomed to sleep on that than on the bed."

Terence removed his outer garments and, in a few minutes, was sound asleep. At four o'clock Garcia roused him. The morning was breaking and, with the assistance of the muleteer, he made his toilet and stained his face, neck, and hands, and darkened his hair. Then they each ate a piece of bread with a bunch of grapes, took a drink of red wine, and then sallied out; Garcia carrying his sheepskin cloak, and Terence the three coloured blankets. A quarter of a mile farther, they came to an inn frequented by muleteers.

"I have told my mate about you," Garcia said, "so you need not be afraid of him; nor indeed of any of us. There is not a muleteer who would not do what he could to aid the escape of a British officer."

Most of the mules were already saddled, and Garcia went up with Terence to a man who was buckling a strap.

"Sanchez," he said, "this is our new comrade, Juan, who I told you would accompany us this journey."

The man nodded.

"It will be all the better," he said. "Twelve mules are rather too much for two men to manage, when we get among the mountains."

Garcia and Terence at once set to work to assist, and in ten minutes the cavalcade started. Garcia rode the leading mule, three others being tied in single file behind it. Terence came next, and Sanchez brought up the rear. The animals were fine ones, and Garcia was evidently proud of them; showing their good points to Terence, and telling him their names. The mules were all very fond of their master, turning their heads at once when addressed by name; and flapping their long ears in enjoyment, as he rubbed their heads or patted their necks.

The town was already astir and, as they reached the gates, country carts were pouring in, laden with fruits and vegetables for the market. Garcia stopped for a moment, as an old man came along with a cart.

"How are you, father?"

"How are you, Garcia? Off again?"

"Yes; I am going to Xeres for wine, for the French general."

"I see that you have got a new comrade."

"Yes; the journey is a long one, and I thought that it was as well to have another mate."

"Yes, it is dangerous travelling," the old man said. "Well, goodbye, and good fortune to you!"

Garcia put his mules in motion again, and they passed through the gate and soon left Salamanca behind. There was little conversation on the way. The two Spaniards made and smoked cigarettes continually; and Terence endeavoured to imitate them, by addressing the endearing words they used to their animals, having learned the names of the four of which he was in charge. At first they did not respond to this strange voice but, as they became accustomed to it, each answered, when its name was called, by quickening its pace and by a sharp whisk of the tail, that showed it understood that it was addressed.

Terence knew that his escape would not be discovered until eight o'clock, when the doors were opened and the prisoners assembled in the yard for the roll call. Should any pursuit be organized, which was unlikely, it would be in the direction of Ciudad; as it might be supposed that an escaped prisoner would naturally make for the nearest spot where he could join his friends. One prisoner more or less would, however, make but little difference; and the authorities would probably content themselves with sending a message by a trooper, to all the towns and villages on that road, to arrest any suspicious persons travelling without proper papers.

On the line they were pursuing, the risk of interference was very small. The marshal's pass would be certainly respected by the officers of the corps under his command; and it was not until they fell in with parties of Soult's troops that any unpleasantness was to be apprehended; though even here the worst that could be looked for, if they met any large body of troops, would be that the mules might be taken, for a time, for service in the army.

After a long day's journey they halted, for the night, at a village. Here they found that the troops marching south had encamped close at hand for the night, and the resources of the place had been completely exhausted. This mattered but little, as they carried a week's store of bread, black sausage, cheese, onions, garlic, and capsicums. The landlord of the little inn furnished them with a cooking pot; and a sort of stew, which Terence found by no means unpalatable, was concocted. The mules were hobbled and turned out on to the plain to graze; for the whole of the forage of the village had been requisitioned, for the use of the cavalry and baggage animals of the French column.

On the following morning they struck off from the road they had been following and, travelling for sixteen hours, came down on it again at the foot of the pass of Bejar; and learned from some peasants that they had got ahead of the French column, which was encamped two or three miles down the road. Before daybreak they were on their way again, and reached Banos in the afternoon. There were but few inhabitants remaining here; for the requisitions for food and forage, made by the troops that had so frequently passed through the defiles, were such that the position of the inhabitants had become intolerable and, when they learned from Garcia that two divisions of French troops would most probably arrive that evening, and that Marmont's whole army would follow, most of the inhabitants who remained hastily packed their most valuable belongings in carts, and drove away into the hills.

The landlord of the largest inn, however, stood his ground. He was doing well; and the principal officers of troops passing through always took up their quarters with him, paid him fairly for their meals and saw that, whatever exactions were placed upon the town, he was exempted from them. Therefore the muleteers were able to obtain a comfortable meal and, after resting their animals for three hours, and giving them a good feed of corn, went on a few miles farther; and then, turning off, encamped among the hills. They were about to wrap themselves in their cloaks and blankets, and to lie down for the night, when a number of armed men suddenly appeared.

"Who are you, and whither are you going?" one, who appeared to be their leader, asked.

"We are bound for Xeres," Garcia replied, rising to his feet. "We are commissioned by Senor Moldeno, the well-known wine merchant of Salamanca, to procure for him--as much good Xeres wine as our mules will carry."

"It is a pity that we did not meet you on the way back, instead of on your journey there. We should appreciate the wine quite as thoroughly as his customers would do. But how do you propose to bring your wine back, when the whole country south swarms with Soult's cavalry?"

"Don Moldeno obtained a pass for us from Marmont; who, I suppose, is one of his customers."

"We could not think of allowing wine to pass for the use of a French marshal," the man said.

"It is not likely that he will drink it for some time," Garcia said, carelessly; "for he is marching in this direction himself. Two of his divisions have probably, by this time, reached Banos; and we heard at Salamanca that he himself, with the rest of them, will follow in a day or two."

"That is bad news," the man said. "There will be no travellers along here, while the army is on its march. Are your mules carrying nothing now?"

"Nothing at all. The mules would have been requisitioned two days ago, as were most of the others in Salamanca; but Marmont's pass saved us."

"Are you carrying the money to buy the wine with?"

"No, Don Moldeno knew better than that. I have only a letter from him to the house of Simon Peron, at Xeres. He told me that that would be sufficient, and they would furnish me with the wine, at once, on my handing the letter to them."

"Well, comrades," the man said, to the others gathered round, "it is evident that we shall get no booty tonight; and may as well be off to our own fires, where supper is waiting for us; and move away from here at daybreak. The French may have parties of horse all over the hills, tomorrow, searching for provisions, cattle, and sheep."

"That was a narrow escape," Garcia said, as the brigands moved off. "I wonder they did not take our mules; but I suppose they had as many as they want--three or four would be sufficient to carry their food, and anything they may have stolen--more than that would only be a hindrance to them in moving about, especially now they know that the French may be in the neighbourhood in a few hours, if they have not arrived already.

"Well, senor, what is the next thing to be done?"

Terence did not answer for some little time.

"It is not easy to say," he replied at length. "Seeing that Marmont and Soult are practically united, there can be no doubt that our troops will have to fall back again to Portugal. The whole country is covered with French cavalry and, in addition, we have to run risks from these brigands; who may not always prove so easy to deal with as the men who have just left us. What do you think yourself? You know the country, and can judge far better than I can as to our chance of getting through."

"I don't think it will be possible, senor, to carry out the plan of trying to cross into Portugal, in this direction. It seems to me, now that Soult is engaged, and there can be no large bodies of French near Seville, our best plan would be to make for that town; whence, so far as we know, the country is clear of the enemy down to Cadiz; and when we reach that port, you can take ship to Lisbon."

"But in that case I shall not be able to get the money to pay you, for I shall not be known; and although I could doubtless get a passage, I do not think that I could obtain any funds."

"Do not speak of it, senor. The British will be in Salamanca one of these days, and then you will be able to pay me; or, if I should not be there at the time, you can leave the money for me with Nita, or her father. It was for her sake that I undertook the business; and I have no doubt, whatever, that you will discharge the debt when you enter Salamanca."

"That I certainly will, and to make it more certain I will ask one of the officers of my old regiment to undertake to find her out, and to pay the money; in case I may be with my own men, in some other part of the country."

"That will be quite enough, senor. Do not trouble yourself further on the matter. We will start for Seville at daybreak."

Travelling rapidly, the little party kept along the range of the sierras; and then proceeded by the valley of the Tagus and crossed the river at Talavera; and then, keeping nearly due south, struck the Guadiana at Ciudad Real and, crossing La Mancha, gained the Sierra Morena; held west for some distance along the southern slopes; and then turned south and struck the Guadalquivir between Cordova and Seville, and arrived safely at the latter town. They had been obliged to make a great number of detours, to avoid bodies of the enemy; but the muleteer had no difficulty in obtaining information, from the peasants, as to the whereabouts of the French and, after reaching the plains, always travelled at night. They fell in twice with large parties of guerillas; but these were not brigands for, as the country was still unconquered, and the French only held the ground they occupied, the bands had not degenerated into brigandage; but were in communication with the local authorities, and acted in conformity with their instructions, in concert with the Spanish troops.

It was, however, nearly a month from the date of their leaving Salamanca before they arrived at Cadiz. Terence had, during the journey, greatly improved his knowledge of Spanish by his conversation with the muleteers and, as the language was so similar to the Portuguese, he soon acquired facility in speaking it. They put up at a small fonda, or inn, frequented by muleteers; and Terence at once made his way to the house where he heard that the British agent resided. The latter, on hearing his story, was surprised, indeed, that he should have made his way through Spain from a point so far away as Salamanca; and occupied, for the greater portion of the distance, by the French.

"A sloop-of-war is sailing tomorrow for the Tagus," he said, "and I will give you a letter to her captain; who will, of course, give you a passage."

Terence informed him of the great services the muleteer had rendered him, and asked him if he could advance him sufficient money to repay the man.

"I certainly have no funds at my disposal for such a purpose, Captain O'Connor,"--for Terence had said nothing about his Portuguese rank, finding that its announcement always caused a certain amount of doubt--"but I will strain a point, and grant you thirty pounds, on your bill upon your agent at Lisbon. I have no doubt that it will be met on presentation. But should, for example, your vessel be wrecked or captured, which I am by no means contemplating as likely, the amount must go down among subsidies to Spaniards who have rendered good service."

"Thank you, sir. That will be sufficient, not to reward the man for the risk he has run and the fidelity that he has shown, but it will at least pay him for the service of his mules. I do not suppose that he would earn more, and it will be a satisfaction, to me, to know that he is at least not out of pocket."

The agent at once handed him a bag of silver, together with a letter to the officer in command of the Daphne. He hired a boat and was rowed off to the ship; which was lying, with several other small British warships, in the port. When he ascended the side the officer on duty asked him somewhat roughly, in bad Spanish, what he wanted.

"I have a letter for Captain Fry," he replied in English, to the surprise of the lieutenant. "I am a British officer, who was taken prisoner at the battle of Fuentes d'Onoro."

"You must not blame me for having taken you for a Spaniard," the lieutenant said in surprise, as he handed the letter Terence held out to the midshipman, with a request to deliver it to the captain. "Your disguise is certainly excellent and, if you speak Spanish as well as you look the part, I can quite understand your getting safely through the country."

"Unfortunately, I do not. I speak it quite well enough for ordinary purposes, but not well enough to pass as a native. I travelled with a muleteer, who did all the talking that was necessary. I have been a month on the journey, which has greatly improved my Spanish. I knew little of it when I started, but I should not have got on so quickly had I not been thoroughly up in Portuguese; which, of course, helped me immensely."

The midshipman now came up and requested Terence to follow him to the captain's cabin. The captain smiled as he entered.

"It is well that Mr. Bromhead vouched for you, Captain O'Connor; for I certainly should have had difficulty in bringing myself to believe that you were a British officer. I shall, of course, be very glad to give you a passage; and to hear the story of your adventures, which ought to be very interesting."

"I have had very few adventures," Terence replied. "The muleteer knew the country perfectly; and had no difficulty in obtaining, from the peasants, news of the movements of the French. When I started I had no idea of making such a long journey; but had intended to join Lord Beresford in front of Badajos, if I could not manage to cross the frontier higher up; but Marmont's march south rendered that impossible, and I thought that the safer plan would be to keep well away from the frontier; as of course things are much more settled in the interior, and two or three muleteers with their animals would excite little attention, even if we passed through a town with a large French garrison; except that the mules might have been impressed and, as I had no means of recompensing my guide in that case, I was anxious to avoid all risk.

"When do you sail, sir?"

"At eight o'clock tomorrow. You cannot very well go in that attire," the captain said, smiling. "I shall be glad to advance any sum that you may require to procure clothes. You can, no doubt, pay me on your arrival at Lisbon."

Terence gladly accepted a loan of ten pounds and, with it, returned to shore. On reaching the little inn, he at once handed thirty pounds to Garcia. The man, however, absolutely refused to accept it.

"No, senor; since you have got money, I will take fifty dollars to pay for food and forage on my way back; although really you have cost me nothing, for I had to make the journey on business. But even did you owe me the money, I would not take it now. I may not be so lucky on my way back as we have been in coming, and might be seized by brigands; therefore I would, in any case, rather that you left the matter until you come to Salamanca."

"But that may not be for a long time. It is quite as likely that we may be obliged to quit Portugal, and embark for England, as that we shall ever get to Salamanca."

"Who knows, senor! Luck may turn. However, I would rather that it were so. I have had the pleasure of your having made the journey with me, and I shall have pleased Nita. If you come, well and good. If not, it cannot be helped, and I shall not grieve over it. If I had money with me I might lose it, and it might cost me my life."

Terence had again gone out, and purchased a suit of clothes befitting a Spanish gentleman. He took the muleteer with him. They had no longer any reason for concealing their identity and, should he find it necessary to announce himself to be a British officer, it might be useful to have corroboration of his story. He also laid in a fresh stock of linen, of which he was greatly in need and, next morning, after a hearty farewell to Garcia, he went down to the port in his new attire and, carrying a small valise containing his purchases, took a boat to the ship.

The evening before he had called in at the agent's, to thank him again, when the latter told him that he had some urgent despatches from the junta of Cadiz to that of Seville; and some despatches of his own to persons at Cordova, and others in Madrid, who were in communication with the British government; and he offered a sum, for their safe delivery, that would recompense the muleteer for the whole of his journey. This Garcia had gladly acceded to, on condition that he might stop for a day, to get the wine at Xeres.

The voyage to Lisbon lasted three days, and was a very pleasant one to Terence. On his arrival there he at once repaid the captain the loan he had received from him, having over thirty pounds still in hand. He next saw the agent, and requested him to pay the bill when presented and, after waiting three days to obtain a fresh uniform, started up the country and rejoined Wellington, who had been compelled to fall back again behind the Coa. He reported himself to the adjutant general.

"You have just arrived in time, Captain O'Connor," the latter said, "for your regiment is under orders to start, tomorrow, to join the force of the guerilla Moras who, with two thousand men, is in the mountains on our frontier near Miranda; and intends to threaten Zamora, and so compel Marmont to draw off some of his troops facing us here. Your regiment is at present on the Douro, fifteen miles away. How have you come here?"

"I travelled by a country conveyance, sir. I am at present without a horse, but no doubt I can pick one up, when I have obtained funds from the paymaster."

"I will give you an order on him for fifty pounds," the adjutant said. "Of course, there is a great deal more owing to you; but it will save trouble to give you an order for that sum, on account. I don't suppose you will want more. I will have inquiries made about a horse. If you return here in an hour, I daresay I shall hear of one for sale.

"Your regiment has not done much fighting since you left it, but they behaved well at Banos, where we had a very sharp fight. They came up just at the critical moment, and they materially assisted us in beating off the attack of the French; who were in greatly superior force, and nearly succeeded in capturing, or exterminating, the light division."

On his return, Terence found that one of the officers on the adjutant general's staff knew of a horse that had been captured, by a trooper, in a skirmish with French dragoons three days before. It was a serviceable animal and, as the soldier was glad to take ten pounds for it, Terence at once purchased it. The adjutant told him that, on mentioning his return, Lord Wellington had requested him to dine with him; and to come half an hour before the usual time, as he wished to question him with reference to the state of the country he had passed through, and of the strength and probable movements of the French troops in those districts.

"I am glad to see you back again, Colonel O'Connor," the general said, when he entered. "Of course, I heard how you had been captured, and have regretted your absence. Colonel Herrara is a good officer in many ways, and the regiment has maintained its state of efficiency; but he does not possess your energy and enterprise, nor the readiness to assume responsibilities and to act solely upon his own initiative--a most valuable quality," he said, with one of his rare smiles, "when combined with sound judgment, for an officer commanding a partisan corps like your own; but which, if general, would in a very short time put an end to all military combinations, and render the office of a commander-in-chief a sinecure.

"Now, sir, will you be good enough to point out, on this map, exactly the line you followed in travelling from Salamanca to Cadiz: and give me any information you gained concerning the roads, the disposition of the people, and the position and movements of the French troops."

Terence had anticipated that such information would be required of him; and had, every evening when they halted, jotted down every fact that he thought could be useful and, on the voyage to Lisbon, had written from them a full report, both of the matters which the general now inquired about, and of the amount of supplies which could probably be obtained in each locality, the number of houses and accommodation available for troops, the state and strength of the passes, and the information that Garcia had obtained for him of mountain tracks by which these passes could be turned, by infantry and cavalry in single file.

"I have brought my report, sir," he said, producing it. "I endeavoured to make the most of my opportunities, to gain all the information possible that might be useful to myself, or the commander of any column moving across the same country. I fear that it is far from being perfect but, as I wrote it from my notes, made at the end of each day, I think it will answer its purpose, as far as it goes."

Attached to each day's journey was a rough sketch map showing the crossroads, rivers, bridges, and other particulars. The general took the bulky report, sat down and read a page here and there, and glanced at the maps. He looked up approvingly.

"Very good, indeed, Colonel O'Connor. If all officers would take advantage of their opportunities, as you have done, the drudgery my staff have to do would be very much lightened, and they would not be constantly working in the dark."

He handed the report to the adjutant general.

"This may be of great utility when an advance begins," he said. "You had better have two or three copies of it made. It will be useful to the quartermaster's department, as well as to yourself; and of great assistance to the officers in command of any detached parties that may be despatched to gather in supplies, or to keep in check an enemy advancing on our flank. Some day, when I can find time, I will read the whole report myself.

"It will be well to have a dozen copies made of the first five or six pages, and the maps, for the perusal of any officer sent out with a detachment on scouting duty, as a model of the sort of report that an officer should send in of his work, when on such duty."

The party at dinner was a small one, consisting only of some five or six officers of the headquarter staff, and two generals of divisions. After dinner, Lord Wellington asked Terence how he escaped from Salamanca, and the latter briefly related the particulars of his evasion.

"This is the second time you have escaped from a French prison," Lord Wellington said, when he had finished. "The last time, if I remember rightly, you escaped from Bayonne in a boat."

"But you did not get to England in that boat, surely, Colonel O'Connor?" one of the generals laughed.

"No, sir; we were driven off shore by a gale, and picked up by a French privateer. We escaped from her as she was lying in port at Brest, made our way to the mouth of the river Sienne, about nine miles north of Granville; and then, stealing another boat, started for Jersey. We were chased by a French privateer but, before she came up to us, a Jersey privateer arrived and engaged her. While the fight was going on we got on board the Jersey boat, which finally captured the Frenchman, and took her into port."

"And from there, I suppose, you found your way to England, and enjoyed a short rest from your labours?"

"No, sir. The captain of the privateer, who thought that we had rendered him valuable assistance in the fight, sailed out with us on to the ship track, and put us on board a transport bound for Lisbon."

"Well, you are more heart and soul in it than I am," the general laughed. "I should not have been able to deny myself a short run in England."

"I was anxious to get back to my regiment, sir, as I was afraid that, if I did not return before the next campaign opened, some other officer might be appointed to its command."

"You need not trouble yourself on that score, in future, Colonel O'Connor," Lord Wellington said. "If you have the bad luck to be captured again, I shall know that your absence will be temporary and, if it became necessary to appoint anyone else to your command, it would only be until your return."

On leaving the commander-in-chief's quarters, the adjutant general asked Terence when he thought of rejoining his regiment.

"I am going to start at once, sir. I ordered my horse to be saddled and in readiness, at ten o'clock."

"You must not think of doing so," the adjutant said. "The road is very bad, and not at all fit to be traversed on a dark night like this. Besides, you would really gain nothing by it. If you leave at daybreak, you will overtake your regiment before it has marched many miles."

Chapter 14: Effecting A Diversion.

At twelve o'clock the next day Terence rode up to his regiment, just as it had halted for two hours' rest. As soon as he was recognized the men leapt to their feet, cheering vociferously, and gathered round him; while, a minute or two later, Herrara, Ryan and the two majors ran up to greet him.

"I have been expecting you for the last month," Ryan exclaimed, "though how you were to get through the French lines was more than I could imagine. Still, I made sure you would do it, somehow."

"You gave me credit for more sharpness than I possess, Dick. I felt sure it could not be done, and so I had to go right down to Cadiz, and back to Lisbon by ship. It was a very much easier affair than ours was, and I met with no adventures and no difficulties on the way.

"Well, Herrara, I heard at headquarters that the regiment is going on well, and they fought stoutly at Banos. Your loss was not heavy, I hope?"

"We had fifty-three killed, and a hundred more or less seriously wounded. More than half of them have rejoined. The vacancies have been filled up, and the two battalions are both at their full strength.

"Two of the captains, Fernandez and Panza, were killed. I have appointed two of the sergeants temporarily, pending your confirmation, on your return."

"It is well that it is no worse. They were both good men, and will be a loss to us. Whom have you appointed in their places?"

"Gomes and Mendoza, the two sergeant majors. They are both men of good family, and thoroughly know their duty. Of course I filled their places, for the time, with two of the colour sergeants."

"I suppose you have ridden from headquarters, Terence," Ryan put in, "and must be as hungry as a hunter. We were just going to sit down to a couple of chickens and a ham, so come along."

While they were taking their meal, Terence gave them an account of the manner in which he had escaped from Salamanca.

"So you were in our old quarters, Terence! Well, you certainly have a marvellous knack of getting out of scrapes. When we saw your horse carrying you into the middle of the French cavalry, I thought for a moment that the Minho regiment had lost its colonel; but it was not for long, and soon I was sure that, somehow or other, you would give them the slip again. Of course I have been thinking of you as a prisoner at Ciudad, and I was afraid that they would keep a sharper watch over you, there, than they did at Bayonne. Still, I felt sure that you would manage it somehow, even without the help we had.

"What are your orders?"

"I have none, save that we are to march to Miranda, where we shall find a guerilla force under Moras; and we are to operate with him, and do all we can to attract the attention of the French. That is all I know, for I have not had time to look at the written instructions I received from the adjutant general when I said goodbye to him, last night; but I don't think there are any precise orders.

"What were yours, Herrara?"

"They are that I was to consult with Moras; to operate carefully, and not to be drawn into any combat with superior or nearly equal French forces; which I took to mean equal to the strength of the regiment, for the guerillas are not to be depended upon, to the smallest extent, in anything like a pitched combat."

"There is no doubt about that," Terence agreed. "For cutting off small parties, harassing convoys, or anything of that sort, they are excellent; but for down-right hard fighting, the guerillas are not worth their salt. The great advantage of them is that they render it necessary for the French to send very strong guards with their baggage and convoys; and occasionally, when they are particularly bold and numerous, to despatch columns in pursuit of them. If it were not for these bands, they would be able to concentrate all their troops, and would soon capture Andalusia and Valencia, and then turn their attention to other work. As it is, they have to keep the roads clear, to leave strong garrisons everywhere, and to keep a sufficient force in each province to make head against the guerillas; for if they did not do so, all their friends would be speedily killed, and the peasantry be constantly incited to rise."

"Do you know anything of this Moras?"

"He is said to be a good leader," Herrara replied, "and to have gathered under him a number of other bands. He has the reputation of being less savage and cruel than the greater part of these partisan leaders; and though, no doubt, he kills prisoners--for in that he could hardly restrain his men--he does not permit the barbarous cruelties that are a disgrace to the Spanish people. In fact, I believe his orders are that no prisoners are to be taken."

"I will look at my instructions," Terence said, drawing out the paper he had received the night before.

"Yes," he said, when he had read them; "my instructions are a good deal like yours, but they leave my hands somewhat more free. I am to consult with Moras, to operate with him when I think it advisable, and in all respects to act entirely upon my own judgment and discretion; the main object being to compel the French to detach as many men as possible from this neighbourhood, in order to oppose me; and I am to take every advantage the nature of the country may afford to inflict heavy blows upon them."

"That is all right," Ryan said cheerfully. "I had quite made up my mind that we should always be dependent upon Moras; and be kept inactive, owing to his refusal to carry out anything Herrara might propose; but as you can act independently of him, we are sure to have plenty of fun."

"We will make it as hot for them as we can, Dick; and if we cannot do more, we can certainly oblige the French to keep something like a division idle, to hold us in check. With the two battalions, and Moras's irregulars, we ought to be able to harass them amazingly; and to hold any of these mountain passes against a considerable force."

After two hours' halt the march was renewed and, two days later, the regiment arrived at Miranda. The frontier ran close to this town, the Douro separating the two countries. They learned that Moras was lying four miles farther to the north, and across the frontier line; doubtless preferring to remain in Spain, in order to prevent a quarrel between his followers and the Portuguese.

The next morning Terence, accompanied by Ryan and four mounted orderlies, rode into the glen where he and his followers were lying. They had erected a great number of small arbours of boughs and bushes and, as Terence rode up to one of these, which was larger and better finished than the rest, Moras himself came to the entrance to meet them.

He did not at all correspond with Terence's ideas of a guerilla chief. He was a young man, of three or four and twenty; of slim figure and with a handsome, thoughtful face. He had been a student of divinity at Salamanca, but had killed a French officer in a duel, brought on by the insolence of the latter; and had been compelled to fly. A few men had gathered round him, and he had at once raised his standard as a guerilla chief.

At first his operations had been on a very small scale; but the success that had attended these enterprises, and the reports of his reckless bravery, had speedily swelled the number of his followers; and although as a rule he kept only a hundred with him, he could at any time, by sending round a summons, collect five times that number, in a few hours.

When Terence introduced himself as the colonel of the two battalions that had arrived, at Miranda, to operate in conjunction with him, Moras held out his hand frankly.

"I am very glad indeed to meet you, Colonel O'Connor," he said. "I received a despatch four days ago from your general, saying that the Minho regiment would shortly arrive at Miranda, to act in concert with me. I was glad indeed when I heard of this, for the name of the regiment is well known, on this side of the frontier as well as on the other, having been engaged in many gallant actions; and your name is equally well known, in connection with it; but I hardly expected to meet you, for the despatch said the Minho regiment under Lieutenant Colonel Herrara."

"Yes. I only rejoined it two days ago, having been taken prisoner at Fuentes d'Onoro, and having made my escape from Salamanca."

"Your aid will be invaluable, senor. My own men are brave enough, but they are irregulars in the full sense of the word;" and he smiled. "And although they can be relied upon for a sudden attack, or for the defence of a pass, they could not stand against a French force of a quarter of their strength, in the plain. We want a backbone, and no better one could be found than your regiment.

"I am the more glad that you are in command, because you know, unhappily, we and the Portuguese do not get on well together and, while my men would hesitate to obey a Portuguese commander, and would have no confidence in him, they would gladly accept your leadership."

"I hope that there will be no difficulties on the ground of race," Terence said. "We are fighting in a common cause, against a common enemy; and dissensions between ourselves are as absurd as they are dangerous.

"Let me introduce Captain Ryan, adjutant of the regiment."

Moras shook hands with Ryan; who had been looking on, with some surprise, at the colloquy between him and Terence. Moras then asked them into his arbour.

"I have little to offer you," he said, with a smile, "save black bread and wine. The latter, however, is good. I obtained a large supply of it from a convoy we captured, a few days since."

The wine was indeed excellent and, accustomed as they were to the coarse bread of the country, Terence and Ryan were able to eat it with satisfaction.

"Now, Colonel," Moras said, "beyond the fact that we are to act in concert, I know nothing of the plans. Please to remember that, while it is said that we are to discuss our plans of operations together, I place myself unreservedly under your orders. Of irregular warfare I have learned something; but of military science, and anything like extensive operations, I am as ignorant as a child; while you have shown your capacity for command. I may be of advantage to you, from my knowledge of the country; and indeed, there is not a village track that someone or other of my followers is not well acquainted with."

"That, of course, will be of great advantage to us," Terence replied courteously, "and I thank you much for what you have said; but I am sure, from what I have heard, you underrate your abilities. Beyond regimental drill, I knew very little of warfare until I, quite by an accident, came to assume the command of my regiment; and it was only because I drilled and disciplined it thoroughly that I had the good fortune to obtain some successes with it. Your acquaintance with the country will be fully a set off to any superior knowledge that I may have of military matters, and I have no doubt that we shall get on well together.

"The instructions that I have received are to the effect that we are to make incursions and attacks in various directions; concealing, as far as possible, our strength; and so to oblige the French to detach a considerable number of troops to hold us in check. This would relieve the pressure upon Lord Wellington's army, and would deter the enemy from making any offensive movement into Portugal; until our general has received the reinforcements expected shortly, and is in a position to take the offensive."

"It will be just the work to suit us," the guerilla chief said. "And as I received a subsidy from your political agent at Lisbon, a few days since, I am in a position to keep the whole force I have together; which is more than I can do generally for, even if successful in an attack on a convoy, the greater portion of the men scatter and return to their homes and, as long as their share of the booty lasts, they do not care to come out again."

Terence now produced a map with which he had been supplied, and a considerable time was spent in obtaining full particulars of the country through which the troops might have to march; ascertaining the best spots for resistance when retreating, or for attacking columns who might be despatched in pursuit of them; and in discussing the manner and direction in which their operations would most alarm and annoy the enemy.

It was finally agreed that Terence should break up his battalions into three parties. Two of these consisted each of half a battalion, 500 strong, and would be under the command of Bull and Macwitty. Each of them would be accompanied by 300 guerillas, who would act as scouts and, in case opportunity should offer, join in any fighting that might take place.

The other two half battalions formed the third body, under the command of Terence, himself; and would, with the main force of the guerillas, occupy the roads between Zamora, Salamanca, and Valladolid. In this way the French would be harassed at several points, and would find it so difficult to obtain information as to the real strength of the foe that was threatening them, that they would be obliged to send up a considerable force to oppose them; and would hesitate to undertake any serious advance into Portugal until the question was cleared up, and their lines of communication assured again.

It was agreed, in the first place, that the forces should unite in the mountains west of Braganza, between the river Esla on the east and Tera on the north; affording a strong position from which, in case of any very large force mustering against them, they could retire across the frontier into Portugal. Terence had been supplied with money, and an authority to give orders on the paymaster's department for such purchases as were absolutely necessary. Moras was also well supplied, having not only the money that had been sent him, but the proceeds of a successful attack upon a convoy proceeding to Salamanca; in which he had captured a commissariat chest, with a considerable sum of money, besides a large number of cattle and several waggon loads of flour. All these provisions, with some that Terence had authority to draw from the stores at Miranda, were to be taken to the spot they had chosen as their headquarters in the hills.

"You beat me altogether, Terence," Ryan said as, after all these matters had been arranged, they rode out from the guerilla's camp. "It is only about three months since I saw you. Then you could only just get along in Spanish. Now you are chattering away in it as if you had never spoken anything else, all your life."

"Well, you see, Dick, I knew just enough, when I was taken prisoner, to be able to, as you say, get along in it; and that made all the difference to me. If I had known nothing at all of it, I should not have been able to benefit by my trip with the muleteers in Spain. As it was, I was able to talk with them and, as we rode side by side all day; and sat together by a fire for hours, after we had halted when the day's journey was over, we did a tremendous lot of talking; and as you see, I came out, at the end of the month, able to get along really fluently. I, no doubt, make a good many mistakes, and mix a good many Portuguese words with my Spanish; but that does not matter in the least, so long as one is with friends; although it would matter a good deal if I were trying to pass as a Spaniard, among people who might betray me if they found out that I was English.

"I see that you have improved in Portuguese almost as much as I have in Spanish. It is really only the first drudgery that is difficult, in learning a language. When once one makes a start one gets on very fast; especially if one is not afraid of making mistakes. I never care a rap whether I make blunders or not, so that I can but make myself understood."

Three days later the two bodies were assembled in a valley, about equally distant from Miranda and Braganza. It had the advantage of being entered, from the east, only through a narrow gorge, which could be defended against a very superior force; while there were two mountain tracks leading from it, by which the force there could be withdrawn, should the entrance be forced. A day was spent by the leaders in making their final arrangements; while the men worked at the erection of a great wall of rocks, twelve feet high and as many thick, across the mouth of the gorge; collecting quantities of stones and rocks, on the heights on either side, to roll down upon any enemy who might endeavour to scale them; while another very strong party built a wall, six feet high, in a great semicircle round the upper mouth of the gorge, so that a column forcing its way through, thus far, would be met by so heavy a fire that they could only debouch into the valley with immense loss.

Two hundred men of the Minho regiment, drawn from Terence's party, were to occupy the valley; with three hundred of the guerillas, who would be able to do good service by occupying the heights, while the regular infantry held the newly-erected walls. One of Moras' most trusted lieutenants was to command them while, after some discussion, it was arranged that Herrara should be in general command of the garrison.

The brave fellow was reluctant to remain inactive; but he had been, for some time, seriously unwell, having been laid up for a time with a severe attack of dysentery; and was really unfit for any continued exertion, although he had made light of his illness, and refused to go on the sick list. Terence pointed out to him that the command was a very important one. Here all the plunder that they might obtain from the enemy would be carried; and if, by means of spies or traitors, the French obtained news of the situation of the post, he might be attacked in great force before the other detachments could arrive to his assistance.

As there were four thousand French troops at Zamora, it was agreed that no direct attack could be made upon the town. Bull with his force was to watch the garrison, attack any detachments that might be sent out--leaving them severely alone when they sallied out in force, and to content himself with outmarching their infantry, and beating off any cavalry attacks. He was, if necessary, to retreat in the direction of their stronghold.

Macwitty was to occupy the road between Zamora and Valladolid, while the main body held the roads between both the latter town, and Zamora, to Salamanca. Frequent communication was to be kept up between them, so that either column might speedily be reinforced, if necessary.

In the course of a week, the whole country was in a state of alarm. Bridges were broken down, roads blocked by deep cuttings across them, convoys attacked, small French posts at Tordesillas, Fuentelapena, and Valparaiso captured--the French soldiers being disarmed, and then taken under an escort to within ten miles of Salamanca. Toro was entered suddenly, and a garrison of three hundred men taken by surprise, and forced to lay down their arms. The powder, bullocks, and waggons with their stores were sent, by circuitous routes, to the bridge across the Douro at Miranda, and then up to their stronghold.

So vigilant a watch was kept on the roads that no single courier was able to make his way from Valladolid to Salamanca or Zamora and, beyond the fact that the whole country seemed swarming with enemies, the French commanders were in absolute ignorance of the strength of the force that had so suddenly invaded Leon.

One day a messenger rode in from Macwitty to Fuentelapena, where Terence had his headquarters; saying that a body of 4000 French infantry, with 1000 cavalry, were on the march from Valladolid towards Zamora. Strong positions had already been selected for the defence, and a bridge broken down at a point where the road crossed a tributary of the Douro.

Terence at once sent Ryan with 200 men to reinforce Macwitty, and despatched several mounted messengers to find Bull, and to tell him to join him on the road, four miles to the east of the point where Macwitty was defending the passage of the river. He himself marched directly on that point, crossing the river at Tordesillas. He arrived there early in the morning, and found that the French column had passed, late the evening before.

At this point the road ran between two hills, several times crossing a stream that wound along the valley. A large number of men were at once set to work, breaking down the bridges and throwing up a breastwork along the bank, where the river made a sharp bend, crossing the valley from the foot of the hills on one side to that of those on the other. While this work was being done cannon shots were heard, then a distant rattle of musketry.

Terence knew that by this time Ryan would have joined Macwitty; and Moras at once started, with his men and 400 of the Portuguese, to threaten the French rear, and make a dash upon their baggage. Terence's orders to the officers in command of these two companies were that they were to keep their men well together, and to cover the retreat of the guerillas from cavalry attacks. The firing continued for the next hour and a half, then it suddenly swelled in volume, and amid the rattle could be heard the sound of heavy volleys of musketry.

Terence had, half an hour before, ridden forward at full speed with four mounted orderlies. When he arrived at a spot where he could survey the scene of combat, he saw that it was more serious than he had anticipated. The guerillas were falling back rapidly, but as soon as they gained the high ground they halted and opened fire upon the cavalry who, scattered over the plain, were pursuing them. His own men were retreating steadily and in good order, facing round and pouring heavy volleys into the French cavalry, as they charged them.

The French attack on Macwitty had ceased, and Terence saw bodies of infantry moving towards the right where, on rising ground, a body of troops about a thousand strong were showing themselves menacingly. He had no doubt for a moment that this was Bull's command who, hearing the firing, and supposing that Terence was engaged there, had led his command straight to the scene of action.

He at once sent an orderly back, at full gallop, to order the men in the valley to come on at the top of their speed; and then rode along the hillside and joined Bull, who was now closely engaged with the advancing columns of French. So hot was the fire, from Bull's own men and the guerillas, that the two French battalions wavered and came to a halt; and then, breaking into skirmishing order, advanced up the hill.

"Don't wait too long, Bull," Terence said. "There is a steeper slope behind you. However, I don't think they will come up very far--not, at least, until they are reinforced. There is another body just starting, and I think we can hold on here until they join the skirmishing line. As soon as they do so, sound the order for the men to fall back."

"Where are your men, sir?"

"They are four miles away, at the spot where I told you to join me. However, the mistake is of no importance. I have sent off for them and, as soon as they arrive and show themselves, I fancy the French will retreat."

He tore out a leaf from his pocketbook, and wrote out an order to Macwitty:

"Leave Captain Ryan with his command to hold the river; and march at once, with the rest of your men, to the ford which we heard of, a mile down the river. Cross there, and ascend the hills on the French right; scattering your men so as to make as much show as possible, and menacing the French with attack. Tell Captain Ryan to redouble his fire, so as to prevent the French noticing the withdrawal of your force."

This he gave to one of his orderlies, and told him to swim the river and deliver it to Major Macwitty.

When Terence had done this, he was able to give his attention to what was passing. Across the valley his men had now ascended the hill, and joined the guerillas. The French cavalry, unable to charge up the heights, had fallen back. A column of French, some fifteen hundred strong, were marching in that direction.

As he had expected, the skirmishers in front of him were making but little way; evidently halting for the arrival of the reinforcement, which was still more than half a mile distant. The French gunners had been withdrawn from the bank of the river, and were taking up positions to cover the advance of their infantry; and their shot presently came singing overhead--doing no harm, however, to the Portuguese, who were lying down on the crest of the swell, and keeping up a steady fire on the French skirmishers.

Ten minutes later the column was within a short distance of the line of defenders. Terence gave the word, and his men retired up another and steeper slope behind; while the guerillas were ordered to remain to keep up a brisk fire, until the French were within thirty yards of the crest, and were then to run back at full speed, and join him above.

The Portuguese had scarcely taken up their position when a tremendous fire broke out below. A minute later the guerillas were seen rushing up the hill, and close behind them came the French line, cheering loudly. As they appeared the Portuguese opened fire, and with such steadiness and precision that the leading files of the French were almost annihilated. But the wave swept upwards and, encouraged by the shouts of their officers, they advanced against the second position.

For half an hour an obstinate fight was maintained, the strength of the position neutralizing the effect of the superior numbers of the French. The Spaniards fought well, imitating the steadiness of the Portuguese and, being for the most part good marksmen, their fire was very deadly; and several determined attacks of the French were beaten off with heavy loss.

Then, from the valley below, was heard the sound of a bugle. The call was repeated by the bugles of the assailants and, slowly and reluctantly, the French began to fall back.

Terence looked round. He had from time to time glanced across to the hills opposite, and had seen his men there retiring steadily, and in good order, before the assault of the French; and now he saw that his force from the valley was marching rapidly along the hilltop to their assistance; while away on the French right, Macwitty's command, spread out to appear of much greater strength than it really possessed, was moving down the slope, as if to the assault.

Below, in the valley, a battalion of French infantry with their cavalry and artillery were drawn up, and were evidently only waiting for the return of the two assaulting columns, to join in their retreat. The French commander doubtless supposed that he was caught in a trap. Unable to effect the passage of the river, and seeing the stubborn resistance his troops were meeting with on the hills, the arrival of two fresh bodies of the enemy on the scene induced him to believe that the foe were in great force; and that, ere long, he might be completely surrounded. He moved forward slowly, by the road he had come, and was presently joined by the two detached parties.

As soon as they moved on, Terence sent an orderly at a gallop across the valley, to order Macwitty and Moras to follow the French along on the hills on their side of the valley, and to harass them as much as possible; while he, with Bull's command, kept parallel with them on his side.

The French cavalry kept ahead of their column. The leading battalion was thrown out as skirmishers, on the lower slopes of the hills; while the artillery, in the rear, kept up a heavy fire upon the Portuguese and Spanish, as soon as they were made out on the hills above them. Terence kept his men on the crest, and signalled to Macwitty to do the same; but the guerillas swarmed down the hillside, and maintained a galling fire on the French column. Terence took his men along at the double and, heading the column, descended into the valley at the point they had fortified.

Here there was a sharp fight. The French cavalry fell back, after suffering heavily. Their infantry advanced gallantly and, after a fierce fight, drove the Portuguese from their wall and up the hillside. Here they maintained a heavy fire, until the column opened out and the French artillery came to the front; when Terence at once ordered the men to scatter, and climb the hill at full speed.

Without attempting to repair the broken bridges, the French infantry crossed the stream breast high, and the cavalry and artillery followed; and Terence, seeing that their retreat could not be seriously molested, and that if he attempted to do so, he should suffer very heavily from their artillery, sounded a halt; and the French continued their retreat to Valladolid, leaving behind them all their baggage, which they had been unable to get across the stream.

Terence's force came down from the hills and assembled in the valley. Congratulations were exchanged on the success that had attended their efforts. Then the roll was at once called, and it was found that a hundred and three men of the Minho regiment were missing. There was no roll among the guerillas; but Moras's estimate, after counting the number assembled, was, that upwards of two hundred were absent from the ranks, fully half of these having been overtaken and killed by the French cavalry.

Terence at once sent off two parties of his own men, to the points where the fight had been fiercest. They were to collect the wounded, including those of the French, and to carry them down into the valley; while parties of guerillas searched the hillsides, down to the scene of action, for their comrades who had fallen from the fire of the French artillery and musketry.

When the wounded were collected, it was found there were upwards of two hundred French infantry, fifty-nine guerillas, and twenty-four Portuguese. The smaller proportion of wounded of the latter being accounted for by the fact that so many had been shot through the head, while lying down to fire at the French as they climbed the hill. Two hundred and thirty French soldiers had been killed. Terence at once set his men to dig wide trenches, in which the soldiers of the three nationalities were laid side by side.

A considerable amount of reserve ammunition being captured in the waggons, the men's cartridge boxes were filled up again, and the rest was packed in a waggon. Some of the drivers had cut their traces, but others had neglected to do this, and there were sufficient waggons to carry all the wounded, both friends and enemies, together with a considerable amount of flour.

The French wounded were taken to the ford by which Macwitty had crossed; and then some of them who had been wounded in the leg and, although unable to walk, were fit to drive, were given the reins and told to take the waggons to Zamora, a distance of twelve miles. Fifty men were told off to march with them, until within sight of the town; as otherwise they would have assuredly been attacked, and the whole of the wounded massacred by the Spanish peasants.

The force then broke up again, each column taking as much flour and meat as the men could carry. The remaining waggons and stores were heaped together, and set on fire.

Long before this was done, they had been rejoined by Ryan and his command. He had remained guarding the river until the French had disappeared up the valley, and had then crossed at the ford but, though using all haste, he did not rejoin the force until the whole of the fighting was over.

"This has been a good day's work, Terence," he said when, that evening, the force had entered Tordesillas and quartered themselves there for the night. "You may be sure that the general at Valladolid will send messengers to Salamanca, giving a greatly exaggerated account of our force; and begging them to send down to Marmont, at once, for a large reinforcement. If the couriers make a detour, in the first place, we shall not be able to cut them off."

"No, Dick, and we wouldn't, if we could. I have no doubt that he will report the force with which his column was engaged as being nearly double what it really is. Besides, sharp as we have been, I expect some messengers will, by this time, have got through from Zamora. The commandant there will report that a large force is in the neighbourhood of that town; and that, without leaving the place entirely undefended, he has not strength enough to sally out against them. They cannot know that this force and ours have joined hands in the attack on the Valladolid column, nor that this represented anything like the whole of the force that have been harrying the country and cutting off detached posts. The fact, too, that this gathering was not a mere collection of guerillas, or of the revolted peasantry; but that there were regular troops among them, in considerable numbers, will have a great effect; and Marmont will feel himself obliged, when he gets the news, to send some fifteen or twenty thousand troops up here to clear the country.

"Now, the first thing to do is to draw up a report of the engagement, and to send it off to Wellington. I think that it will be a good thing, Dick, for you to carry it yourself. I don't think that there is any fear of your being interrupted on your way to Miranda, and as an officer you will be able to get fresh horses, and take the news quicker than an orderly could do; and it is of great importance that the chief should know, as soon as possible, what has taken place here. I shall speak very strongly of your services during the past week, and it is always a good thing for an officer selected to carry the news of a success; and lastly, you can give a much better account of our operations, since we crossed the frontier, than an orderly could do, and Wellington may want to send orders back for our future work."

"I am game," Ryan said, "and thank you for the offer. How long will you be?"

"Well, it is eight o'clock now, and if you start at midnight it will be soon enough; so if you have finished your supper, you had better lie down on that bed in the next room and get a sleep; for you were marching all last night, and will want some rest before starting on such a journey."

Chapter 15: Dick Ryan's Capture.

Terence wrote two despatches, one giving a full account of the engagement, the other a detail of the work that had been performed since they crossed the frontier. He wrote them in duplicate, so that he might send off another messenger, three hours later; in case, by any chance, Ryan failed to reach Miranda. He carefully abstained from giving any real account of the strength of the various columns, in each case putting the number at five times their actual strength so that, if the despatches should miscarry, not only would no information be conveyed to the French, but they would be led to believe that the invading force was vastly stronger than they had hitherto supposed. Ryan was, of course, to explain, when he delivered the despatches, that the figures must in all cases be divided by five, and the reason why false numbers had been inserted.

Terence let him sleep until one o'clock, and then roused him. Several French horses had been found, straying riderless along the valley; and the best of these was picked out for him. A few minutes later, Dick was on his way to Miranda. The road by which he was to travel would take him some six miles south of Zamora, and the distance to be ridden was between fifty and sixty miles. He knew that he could not do this at a gallop, and went along at a steady pace, sometimes trotting and sometimes cantering. It was now late in September and, at half-past five, it was still dark when Ryan approached the spot where the road he was following crossed the main road between Zamora and Salamanca.

He was riding at a canter, when suddenly, to his surprise and consternation, he rode into the midst of a body of cavalry, halted on the main road. The sound of his horse's feet had been heard and, before he could even draw his sword, he was seized and taken prisoner. A French officer rode down the line.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

"We have taken a prisoner, sir," the sergeant answered. "We heard him coming by this crossroad, and seized him as he rode in among us. He is a soldier--an officer, I should think, from what I can see of him."

"Who are you, sir?" the French officer said to Ryan.

The latter saw that concealment was useless. It would soon be light enough for his scarlet uniform to be seen. He therefore replied, in broken French:

"My name is Ryan. I hold the rank of captain. I was riding to Miranda when, unfortunately, I fell in with your troopers as they were halted. I did not hear and, of course, could not see them until I was among them."

"Riding with despatches, no doubt," the officer said. "Search him at once, men. He might destroy them."

"Here they are, sir," Ryan said, taking the despatches from inside his jacket. "You need not have me searched. I give you my word of honour, as a British officer, that I have no others on me."

"Put him in the middle of the troop, sergeant," the officer said. "Put a trooper in special charge of him, on each side. Unbuckle his reins, and buckle them on to those of the troopers. Do you ride behind him, and keep a sharp lookout upon him. It is an important capture."

Five minutes later, the squadron again started on their way south. Ryan, after silently cursing his bad luck at having arrived at the spot just as this body of cavalry were crossing, wondered what evil fortune had sent them there, at that precise moment. He was not long in arriving at a conclusion. The convoy of the French wounded had arrived at Zamora, late in the evening; and the commandant, thinking it likely that the enemy, who had hitherto blocked the roads, might have concentrated for the attack on the column, had decided upon sending off a squadron of cavalry to carry the important news he had learned, from the wounded, of the defeat of the column, five thousand strong, coming to his relief from Valladolid.

The party proceeded at a brisk trot, and, meeting with no resistance, arrived at Salamanca by ten o'clock in the morning. The officer in command at once rode with Ryan, the latter guarded by four troopers, to the residence of the general. Leaving Dick with his escort outside, he entered the house, and sent in his name, and the duty with which he was charged, to the general. He was at once shown into his room.

"I congratulate you on having got through, Captain D'Estrelles," the general said, as he entered. "It is ten days since we heard from Zamora. We have sent off six messengers, I don't know whether any of them have arrived."

"No, sir, none of them. The commandant sent off one or two, every day; and I suppose they, like those you sent, were all stopped."

"The whole country seems on fire," the general said. "We have had five or six parties come in here disarmed, who had been captured by the enemy; and it would seem that all our posts on the road to Zamora, and on that to Valladolid, have been captured. The men could only report that they were suddenly attacked by such overwhelming forces that resistance was impossible. They say that the whole country seems to swarm with guerillas, but there are certainly a considerable number of regular troops among them. What has happened at Zamora?"

"These despatches will inform you, sir; but I may tell you that we are virtually beleaguered. The country round swarms with the enemy. Two or three reconnaissances in force met with the most determined opposition."

"Are you in communication with Valladolid?"

"No, sir. Our communications were stopped at the same time as those to this town; but I am sorry to say that you will see, by the general's despatch, that a severe disaster has happened to the column coming from Valladolid to our relief."

The general took the despatch and rapidly perused its contents.

"A column five thousand strong, with cavalry and guns, repulsed! The enemy must be in force, indeed. From the estimates we have received from prisoners they released, I thought they must be fully ten thousand strong. I see that the wounded who were sent by Moras estimate those engaged with him at twelve thousand; and it is hardly probable that they could, at such short notice, have assembled in anything like their full strength."

"I have also to report, general, that we, this morning before daybreak, captured a British officer on his way to Miranda, with despatches. We were fortunately halted for the moment, so that he was unaware of our presence until he rode into the midst of us. These are his despatches. I have not opened them."

"It is an important capture, indeed," the general said; "that is, if the report contains details of the fighting. Its contents may enable us to form a clearer idea than we can, at present, of their numbers."

He broke the seal and read the account of the battle.

"It is signed T. O'Connor, colonel," he said. "The name is well-known to us as that of a very active partisan leader. Three of the columns appear to have been commanded by British officers. Here we have them: Major Bull, Major Macwitty, and Captain Ryan."

"It is Captain Ryan whom we have made prisoner, sir."

"Their dispositions appear to have been good, and ably worked out. The bridge across the river had been destroyed, and our crossing was opposed by one column. While we were attempting to force the passage, three more columns attacked us, one on each flank and rear; while a fourth, composed of a portion of the force defending the passage who, as soon as we were fairly engaged with the other columns, crossed the ford lower down, leaving a thousand men to face us on the river bank, advanced against our left. Finding themselves thus greatly outnumbered, the column fell back, leaving behind them some five hundred dead and wounded. Their passage was closed by the enemy, who had broken down some bridges and thrown a breastwork across the valley; but after sharp fighting they made their way through."

He then turned to the other despatch.

"This is still more useful," he said. "It is a general report of their proceedings since they crossed the frontier, and gives the number of each column. They total up to twenty-five thousand men; of which some ten thousand seem to be regular troops, the rest guerillas."

"Do you wish to see the prisoner, sir? He is waiting with the guard, outside."

"Yes, I might as well see him though, as a point of fact, he can give us no more information than that contained in these reports, which are very full and detailed."

"So, sir," he said when Ryan was brought in, "you are a British officer."

"I am, sir," Dick replied quietly. "At present on detached duty, serving on the staff of Colonel O'Connor."

"Who is with the guerilla chief, Moras," the general said.

"Yes, sir. The troops under Colonel O'Connor have been acting in concert with Moras, and other forces; much to the advantage of such of your soldiers as fell into our hands, not one of whom has suffered insult or injury; and all have been permitted to go free, after being deprived of their arms. Colonel O'Connor also sent away all the French wounded who fell into our hands after the battle, in waggons, escorted by a strong body of his troops to within a mile of Zamora; in order to protect them from massacre by the peasants."

"He behaved, sir, as a British officer would be expected to behave," the general said warmly. "Were the war always conducted on the same principle, it would be better for both armies and for the people of this country. I will place you on parole, if you choose."

"I thank you, General, but I would rather have my hands free, should I see any opportunity of escaping."

"That you are not likely to do," the general said, "for if you refuse to be bound by your parole, I must take measures against your having any of these opportunities that you speak of, until the country is cleared and you can be sent with a convoy to France. I am sorry that you refuse but, as I should do so myself, under similar circumstances, I cannot blame you."

Accordingly, Ryan was taken to a strong prison in the heart of the city; where, however, he was assigned comfortable quarters, a sentry being placed at his door and, as the window that looked into the courtyard was strongly barred, his chances of escape seemed slight, indeed; and he was almost inclined to regret that he had not accepted the general's offer, and given his parole not to attempt to escape.

Two days later one of Moras's men, who belonged to Salamanca, went into the town to see some friends, and brought back the news that a British officer had been captured by a party of French dragoons, coming from Zamora. He had been seen by many of the townspeople as he sat on his horse, with four troopers round him, at the door of the governor's house. He had been lodged in the city prison. A comparison of dates showed that there could be no doubt that the prisoner was Dick Ryan, and Terence was greatly vexed at his loss.

"So far as the despatches go," he said to Herrara--who had, on the day before, arrived from their stronghold, which was now safe from attack, "there can be no doubt that it is fortunate rather than otherwise that they have fallen into the hands of the French; for they will give them an altogether exaggerated impression of our strength, and I have no doubt that the orderly who left, two hours later, has got through in safety. Still, I am greatly annoyed that Ryan has been made prisoner. I miss his services and companionship very much and, if I can possibly get him out, I will do so. I will see Moras, and ask him to send the man who brought the news back again, to gather further particulars. I would take the matter in hand myself but, being in command here, I must consider the duty with which I am intrusted before a question of private friendship."

Moras presently came in to see Terence and, when the latter told him what he wanted, he undertook at once to obtain every detail possible as to the place of Ryan's confinement.

"A number of my men come from the town," he said, "and I will cause inquiries to be made among them, at once; and choose half a dozen, with connections who may be able to assist, and send them into Salamanca; with instructions to act in concert, to ascertain whether it is possible to do anything by bribery, to endeavour to communicate with the prisoner, and to devise some plan for his escape from the gaol.

"It was a strong place before the French came. It was the city prison; but they took it over, and have used it not only for prisoners of war, but for persons suspected of being in communication with your people, and even for officers of their own army who have been convicted of insubordination or disobedience of orders, or other offences. One of the men I will send, and to whom I shall intrust the general arrangement of the matter, is one of my lieutenants, Leon Gonzales. He has been a friend of mine since boyhood, and entered as a law student when I went into the college for divinity. He is daring and fearless. He has an excellent head, and a large acquaintance among the young men at the university and, indeed, in all classes of society. He belongs to one of our best families."

"Yes, of course I know him," Terence said. "He has several times come with you, when you have ridden over; and was in command of the detachment that was with me, when we captured the French garrison at Tordesillas. I was much pleased with him and, although too occupied to see much of him, I conceived a great liking for him. I should say that he is just the man to manage this business successfully, if it is possible to do so."

"At all events, I will despatch him with six other men, whom he may choose himself, this afternoon," Moras said. "I had intended him to remain in command of the party we leave here when we march, tonight; but I will hand that over to another."

That night the force, with the exception of 500 guerillas and as many of the Minho regiment, marched away from the station they occupied to take up a new position, between Valladolid and Valencia. Herrara was to remain behind, in command of the 500 Portuguese. These, in conjunction with the guerillas, were to occupy their old positions; stopping all lines of communication, showing themselves in villages and towns hitherto unvisited and, divided into parties of two or three hundred, march rapidly about the country, so that the fact that the main body had moved elsewhere should be unknown to the French authorities, who would therefore believe that the force that was to cut the road north of Valladolid was a newly-arrived one.

Thirty-six hours later Terence, with a battalion and a half of his regiment and 1500 of Moras's guerillas, took up their position in the mountains lying to the east of Valencia, between the rivers Esqueva and Arlanza. From this position they could, with equal facility, come down on the road between Valladolid and Valencia, or between the latter town and Burgos. Here for some weeks they maintained themselves, in the first place falling upon convoys from Valladolid south and, when these only moved forward under escorts too strong to be attacked, carrying on their operations on the road to Burgos. In these raids they obtained an abundance of provisions, a considerable number of arms and much ammunition and, in two or three instances, a large amount of treasure that was being taken forward for the payment of the troops.

The provisions and wine were amply sufficient for the support of the force. Half the money was set aside for future needs, being divided between the regimental chest of Moras and that of the Minho regiment. The other half was similarly divided as prize money among the men, a proportion being sent down to Herrara, for his command.

The operations of the band caused immense annoyance and difficulty to the French. It was no longer possible to travel by the main road from France between Burgos and Valladolid, and thence down to Salamanca or Zamora, without the convoys being accompanied by strong bodies of troops. Several incursions into the mountains were organized from Burgos, which was always a great military centre, aided by detachments from Valencia; but these met with no success whatever. On entering the passes they were assailed by a heavy fire from invisible foes. Great rocks were rolled down upon them; and when, after much loss, they succeeded in forcing their way up to the hills, no traces of their foe could be discovered.

As among Moras's guerillas were natives of both Burgos and Valencia, and these had put themselves in communication with their friends, the band was kept well informed of every movement of the French, and received early intelligence when a convoy, or an expedition into the hills, was on the point of setting out, and of the exact strength of the military force employed. They were, therefore, always prepared either to sally out for an attack on the convoy, or to oppose an expedition as soon as it entered the mountains. Their stores were hidden away among rocks, being divided into several portions so that, should the French by fortune or treachery discover one of these, the loss would not cripple them.

Their greatest enemy was cold. It was now the end of October, and several times snow had fallen, and it was necessary to keep up large fires. This was a double inconvenience. In the first place, the smoke by day and the flames by night might betray the position of their camp; and in the second place, their tracks in the snow, which would speedily cover the hills, would enable the enemy to follow them wherever they moved. It was therefore determined that they could no longer maintain their position there, but must return to the plains.

Frequent communication had been kept up with Herrara, who reported that Salamanca was now occupied by so large a force that he was no longer able to maintain his position; and that he had fallen back across the Douro, and had established himself in the stronghold, from which he made frequent excursions towards Zamora and Benavente.

To Dick Ryan, in his prison, the first fortnight had passed slowly. That Terence would, as soon as he learned of his capture, make every effort to free him he knew well; but he could not see how he could give him any material aid. The French force at Salamanca was far too strong to admit of a possibility of any attempt to rescue him by force, and the barred windows and the sentry seemed to close every chance of communication from without. On the tenth day of his imprisonment, he noticed that the sergeant who brought his food had been changed.

"What has become of Sergeant Pipon?" he asked the non-commissioned officer who filled his place.

"He was killed yesterday evening, in the streets," the man replied. "It was not an ordinary broil, for he had half-a-dozen dagger stabs. It is some time since those dogs of Spaniards have killed a French soldier in the town, and there is a great fuss over it. The municipality will have to pay 10,000 dollars, if they cannot produce his murderer. It is curious, too, for Pipon was not a man to get drunk. He did not speak a word of the language, and therefore could not have had a dispute with a Spaniard.

"We have been ordered to be more vigilant than before. I suppose the authorities think that perhaps there was some attempt to bribe him and, on his seizing the man who made it, some of the fellow's comrades rushed upon him, and killed him."

Ryan wondered whether the supposition was a correct one, and whether the men concerned had been set at work by Terence, in order to effect his release. Two days later, on cutting the loaf that formed his day's ration of bread, he found a small piece of paper in its centre. It had evidently been put there before the bread was baked for, although he examined it very closely, he could find no sign in the crust of an incision by which the note might have been inserted. It contained only the words:

"Keep your eyes open, and be in readiness. Friends are working for your release."

So Terence was at work. Evidently the baker had been gained over, but how it had been contrived that this special loaf should have been handed to him he could not imagine; unless one of the men in charge of the distribution of the prison rations had been bribed. That something of the sort must have taken place he was certain and, although he was still unable to imagine how he could be got out of the prison, he felt that, in some way or another, Terence would manage it. He thought over the means by which the latter had escaped from the convent, but the laxity that had there prevailed, in allowing people to come in to sell their goods to the prisoners, was not permitted in the prison where he was confined. The prisoners were, indeed, allowed to take exercise for an hour in the courtyard, but no civilian ever entered it, and twelve French soldiers watched every movement of those in the yard, and did not permit a single word to be exchanged.

Another week passed, and Ryan began to fear that his friends outside had abandoned the scheme as impossible, when one day he received another message:

"Do not undress tonight. On reaching the courtyard, take the first passage to the right. Follow it to the end. The bars of the window there have been nearly sawn through. Inclosed with this is a saw. Finish the work on the middle bars. You will find a cord hanging down outside. Friends will be awaiting you."

With the note was a very fine steel saw, coiled round and round, and a tiny phial of oil. Ryan gave a cry of delight as he read it; and then hid the saw and the oil bottle in his bed, made up the tiny note into a pellet, and swallowed it. As he ate his dinner, he pondered over how so much could have been managed. The courtyard of the prison was, he knew, some ten feet higher than the ground outside. Some one must, after nightfall, have climbed up to the passage window and sawn the bars almost asunder, with a saw as fine as the one he had received. The cuts could hardly have been perceptible, and had probably been filled in with dust or black lead, each night, after the work was done. The difficulty must have been great, for he had learned that sentries patrolled the street outside the prison, and the work could only have been carried on for two or three minutes at a time. How he was to get down to the courtyard he knew not, but probably a sentry had been found more amenable to a bribe than the old sergeant had been.

To his bitter disappointment the night passed without anything unusual taking place, and the scheme had evidently failed. He broke up his loaf eagerly the next morning; and found, as he expected, another message:

"Authorities suspicions. Sentries changed. Must wait till vigilance subsides. Keep yourself in readiness."

A fortnight passed; and then, in the middle of the night, he leapt suddenly from the bed on which he had thrown himself, without undressing, as he heard the key grating in the door. For a minute or two the sound continued, and his heart sank again.

"They have got a key, but it won't fit," he muttered.

Suddenly he heard the bolt shoot back, and the door quietly opened.

"Are you ready?" a voice asked in a whisper.

"Quite ready."

"Then follow me."

Ryan had caught up his boots as he leapt from the bed. The man outside had evidently taken the precaution to remove his, for his step was perfectly noiseless. Dick followed him downstairs and out into the courtyard. He could then see that the man was not, as he had expected, in uniform; but wore a long cloak and a sombrero, like those in general use among the peasantry. He turned in at the passage that had been indicated to Ryan, and stopped at the grated opening at the end.

Ryan at once took out the saw, poured some oil on it, and passed his nail down the bar until he found a fine nick. Clearing this out with the saw, he began to cut. The task was far easier than he had expected, for the bar had been already almost sawn through and, in five minutes, the cut was completed. A couple of feet higher up he found the other incision, and completed it as quietly as before. Then he removed the piece cut out, and handed it to the man, who laid it quietly down on the pavement of the passage.

In ten minutes the other bar was removed.

"I have the cord," the man said, and unwound some ten feet of stout rope from his waist.

Ryan put his head out through the hole, and looked down. In the darkness he could see nothing, but he heard the heavy tread of two sentries. As the sound of their footsteps faded away in the distance, he heard a sudden exclamation and a slight movement and, a few seconds later, a voice below asked in a whisper:

"Are you there?"

"Yes," Ryan replied joyfully.

Putting a noose which was at one end of the rope over the stump of one of the bars, he at once slid down. A moment later, the other man descended after him.

"This way, senor," the voice said and, taking his hand, led him across the street; and then, after a quarter of a mile's walk, stopped at the door of a large house. He opened this with a key, and led the way up the stairs to the second floor; opened another door, and said:

"Enter, senor, you are at home."

Ryan had noticed that the man who had released him had not followed them, but had turned away as soon as they left the prison.

"You are most welcome, senor," his guide said as, opening another door, he led the way into a handsome apartment, where a lamp was burning on the table.

"First let me introduce myself," he said. "My name is Alonzo Santobel, by profession an advocate. I am a friend of Don Leon Gonzales, one of Moras's officers, whom I believe you know. He will be here in a minute or two. He has followed us at a distance, to be sure that we were not watched. He enlisted me in this enterprise, and I have gladly given my assistance, which indeed was confined to bringing you here. All the rest he has managed himself, with the aid of six of his men who accompanied him here. He has been longer over it than he had expected, but we had difficulties that we did not anticipate."

He spoke in French, but added: "I understand sufficient Portuguese to follow anything that you say, senor."

"I am indeed grateful to you all," Ryan said warmly. "It is good of you, indeed, to run so great a risk for a stranger."

"Not exactly a stranger, senor, since you are a friend of my friend, Leon Gonzales."

At this moment the door of the room opened, and the officer named entered and warmly shook hands with Ryan, and congratulated him cordially on his release.

"Thanks to you, senor," Dick said gratefully.

"It has been a matter of duty, as well as pleasure," the other replied courteously; "for Moras committed the task of freeing you to my hands."

"I have just been telling Senor Ryan," the other said, "that you found it somewhat more difficult than you expected."

"Yes, indeed. In the first place, my face is known to so many here and, unhappily, so many Spaniards are friends of the French, that I dared not show myself in the streets, in the daytime. And before I tell my story, Alonzo, please open a bottle of wine, and produce a box of cigars. Our friend has not had a chance of a decent smoke since he has been shut up.

"Now, senor, I will tell you all about it," he went on, as soon as the glasses were filled and the cigars lighted. "In the first place, one of the men with me has a cousin who works for the baker who contracts for the supply of bread to the prison and, fortunately, it was one of his duties to go with the bread, to hand it over and see it weighed. That simplified affairs amazingly. In the next place, it was necessary to get hold of the soldier who usually handed the bread to the non-commissioned officers, who each took the rations for the prisoners under their special charge. I had been well provided with money and, when the soldier came out one evening, I got into conversation with him. He assented willingly enough to my offer to have a bottle of good wine together. Then I opened the subject.

"'I believe you distribute the bread rations to the prisoners?" I said.

"He nodded.

"'I want one special loaf which is rather better bread than the rest, though it looks the same, to reach a prisoner who is a friend of mine. It may be that I shall want two or three such loaves to reach him, and I will not mind paying a hundred francs for each loaf.'

"'A hundred francs is a good sum,' he said, 'especially as our pay is generally some months in arrear; and there can be no harm in a prisoner getting one loaf, more than another. But how am I to know which is the loaf?'

"'It will be the last the baker's man will deliver to you, my friend. He will give you a wink as he hands it to you, and you will only have to put it on the tray intended for the English prisoner, Ryan, when the sergeant comes down to the kitchen for it. But mind, don't make any mistake and put it on the wrong tray.'

"'I will be careful,' the soldier said, 'and I don't mind how many loaves you send in, at the same price.'

"'Very well,' I said. 'Here are the hundred francs for the first loaf, which will come not tomorrow morning, but the day after.'

"So that part of the business was arranged easily enough; but another attempt, which I had set on foot at the same time, had already failed. My men had discovered who was the sergeant under whose charge you were. He was an old soldier, and I had my doubts whether he could be bribed. One of the men who spoke a little French undertook it, but took the precaution of having three of the others near him, when he attempted it. It was two or three evenings before he could get speech with him in a quiet place, but he managed at last to do so.

"'Sergeant,' he said, 'do you want to earn as much money, in a day, as your pay would amount to in a year?'

"'It depends how it would have to be earned,' the sergeant said cautiously.

"'We want to get a friend of ours out of that prison,' the man said, 'and would pay a thousand francs for your assistance.'

"The sergeant at once grasped him by the throat.

"'You attempt to bribe me!' he exclaimed. 'Parbleu! we will hear what the governor says about it;' and he began to drag him along.

"There was nothing to be done, and the three other men, who had been standing hidden in a doorway, ran out and poniarded the Frenchman before he had time to give the alarm. It was unfortunate, but it was unavoidable.

"However, two days later the loaf got safely to you; at least we were assured that it had done so, by the soldier in the kitchen. In the meantime I learned from a man who had been a warder in the prison, before the French took possession of it, that the passage close to the bottom of your staircase terminated at the barred window in the street behind. Two of my men undertook to cut the bars. It was no easy matter, for there were sentries outside, and one came along the back every two or three minutes. The men had a light ladder and, directly he had passed, ran across the street, placed it in position, and fell to work. But the constant interferences by the passing of the sentinel annoyed them, and greatly hindered the work.

"You see, the sentry had to patrol the lane down one side of the prison, then along behind, and back; so they had only the time taken by him from the corner to the end of the lane, and back, to work. They were so annoyed at this that one night, when the sentry came to be relieved, he was found stabbed to the heart and, as this misfortune happened just after he went on duty, the men managed to file one of the bars that night. Curiously enough, the same accident happened two nights later; just as I had arranged, with a Spaniard who had enlisted in the French army, that he would aid you to escape. He was a sharp fellow, and had managed to get the key of your room from the peg where it hung, and to take an impression of it in wax, from which we had a key made.

"Everything was now ready. The other bar was sawn on, the night the accident happened to the second sentry. The next night the Spaniard was to be on guard on your staircase, and I sent you a loaf with a message to be in readiness. Unfortunately, the second accident aroused the suspicion of the authorities that these affairs had something to do with the escape of a prisoner. Accordingly, the sentries outside were doubled, two men patrolling together and, that evening, the guards were suddenly changed.

"It was evident that, for a time, nothing could be done. For nearly a fortnight this dodging about of the guard continued; then, as all was quiet, things went back to their old course. Four sentries were taken off, the others going about two together, each pair taking two sides of the prison. This morning my Spaniard who, as he was on duty at night, was able to come out into the town early, told the man who had arranged the affair with him that he would be on night duty; and would manage to take his place among the guards so that, when they arrived at your door, he should be the one to be left there. As the bread had been already sent in, I had no opportunity to warn you."

"I suppose the Spanish soldier you bribed has deserted?"

"Certainly. There was nothing else for him to do. He had that long cloak under his military greatcoat, and the sombrero flattened inside it so that, before opening your door, he had only to stand his musket in the corner, laying his greatcoat and shako by it, and he was in a position to go through the streets, anywhere, as a civilian. He has been well paid and, as he was already heartily tired of the French service, he jumped at the offer we made him."

After chatting for some time longer, and obtaining some more details of the proceedings of the rescue party, Ryan and Gonzales lay down for a few hours' sleep on the couches in the room; while their host turned into his bed, which he had vainly attempted to persuade one or other to accept.

Chapter 16: Back With The Army.

Ryan remained four days in the flat occupied by Don Alonzo Santobel. Leon Gonzales had left, before daybreak, to regain the house where he was staying, with one of his friends, before the discovery of the escape of a prisoner was made. The affair was certain to cause great excitement, and there was no doubt that everyone leaving the town would be strictly examined at the gates and, not improbably, every house would be searched, and an order issued that no one would be allowed to be out at night, after ten o'clock, without a military pass. Three soldiers had been in turn assassinated, and one had deserted, a prisoner had been released; and there were evidently several persons concerned in the matter, and it would not improbably be guessed, by the authorities, that the actors in the plot were agents of the British officer in command of the troops that had given them such trouble over the whole province between Burgos and Salamanca.

Don Alonzo gave his manservant, on whose fidelity he could rely, permission to go into the country for ten days to visit his relations; and Ryan was installed in his place, and dressed in a suit of his clothes; but was not to open the door to visitors, the Spaniard himself doing so, and mentioning to those who called that his servant had gone on his holiday. The French, indeed, instituted a strict search among the poorer quarters. But the men who had accompanied Don Leon were all dressed as villagers, who had come into the town from fear of being attacked by the guerillas and their allies and, as the people with whom they stayed all vouched for their story, and declared with truth that they were relatives, none of them were molested. For four days all persons passing out of the gates were examined but, at the end of that time, matters resumed their ordinary course; and Don Leon and his followers all quitted the town soon after the market closed, carrying with them empty baskets, as if they were countrymen who had disposed of the produce they had brought in.

Clothes of the same kind were procured for Ryan and, the day after his friends had left he, too, went through the gate, going out with several peasants who were returning home. One of Leon's followers had taken out his uniform in his basket; with a cloth thrown over it, on which were placed some articles of crockery which he had apparently bought for his use at home. Ryan had been carefully instructed as to the road he should follow and, four miles out from the city, he turned down a by-path. He kept on for a mile and a half, and then came to a farmhouse, standing alone. As he approached, Leon came out to meet him, and shook him warmly by the hand.

"I have been feeling very anxious about you," he said. "We got through yesterday unquestioned, but the officer at the gate today might have been a more particular sort of fellow, and might have taken it into his head to question any of those who came out. The others all went on at once, but we will keep quiet until nightfall. I left my horse here when I came in; which I could do safely, for the farm belongs to me, and the farmer has been our tenant for the last thirty years. There is a horse for you here, also.

"I have got the latest intelligence as to where the French are lying. They have a strong force at Tordesillas; but this won't matter to us, for I got a message from Moras, yesterday, saying that the hills are now all covered with snow, and that the whole force would march, today, for their old quarters in the valley near Miranda. So we sha'n't have to cross the river to the north, but will keep on this side and cross it at Miranda, or at some ford near. The column that was operating round Zamora fell back behind the Esla, a fortnight since; for four thousand of the French reinforcements from the south had reached Zamora, and strong parties of their cavalry were scouting over the whole of the country round."

Ryan had already heard how the road between Valladolid and Burgos had been interrupted, and several convoys cut off and captured. He was glad to find, however, that no serious fighting had taken place while he had been a prisoner.

After nightfall they started on their journey. They travelled sixty miles that night. The farmer's son, a young fellow of twenty, who knew the country thoroughly, accompanied them on horseback for the first twenty miles, to set them on their way. The road they followed ran almost parallel to the Tormes, all the bridges over that river being, as they learned, held by strong parties of French troops; posted there to prevent any bodies of the Spaniards crossing it, and placing themselves between Salamanca and Ciudad Rodrigo.

When morning broke they were within five miles of the Douro, and entered the wood where they intended to pass the day, as they were unaware whether any French troops were stationed along the river. Both were still dressed as countrymen, and Leon went in the afternoon to a little hamlet, half a mile from the wood. There he learned that 2000 French were encamped at a village, a mile from the bridge at Miranda. But one of the peasants, on Leon's telling him that he was a lieutenant of Moras, offered to guide them to a ford, of whose existence he did not think the French were aware.

It was seldom used, as it could only be forded in very dry seasons; but as the water now was, it would only be necessary to swim their horses a distance of a few yards. The two friends slept a great part of the day and, as the sun set, finished the provisions they had brought with them, and were ready to start when, two hours later, their guide arrived from the village. His information proved correct. He led them straight to the ford, which they found unguarded and, rewarding him handsomely for his trouble, swam across and, an hour later, entered Miranda and put up at a small inn.

They mounted early the next morning and, in the afternoon, after a three hours' ride across the mountains, came down into the valley; where their arrival excited much enthusiasm among the troops, the garrison having been joined by Macwitty's column.

"I cannot say that I was not expecting to see you, Captain Ryan," Macwitty said, as he shook hands heartily; "for I heard, from the colonel, that Don Leon had started with a party to try and get you out of prison, and that he was sure he would accomplish it, if it were at all possible. I am expecting him here in a day or two, with the rest of the regiment; for I had a message two days ago from him, saying that it was too cold to remain on the hills any longer, and that he should start on the day after the messenger left. Of course the messenger was mounted; but our men can march as far, in a day, as a man can ride, and are sure to lose no time. They would take the Leon road for some distance, then strike off and cross the upper Esla at Maylorga, follow the road down, avoiding Benavente, cross the Tera at Vega, take the track across the mountains, and come down into the valley from above. He said that he should only bring such stores as they would be able to carry on the march, and that he hoped to get here before the French were aware that he had left the mountains."

Late in the afternoon Leon's followers arrived. They had travelled at night, so as to avoid being questioned by the French cavalry, who were scattered all over the country. Ryan was glad to see the men who had risked so much for him, and very pleased to be able to exchange his peasant's clothes for his uniform. The next morning, he and Leon mounted and rode by the track by which Terence would arrive, and met him halfway between Vega and the camp. The greeting was a hearty one, indeed and, as Ryan shook hands with Moras, he said:

"I cannot tell you, senor, how much I am indebted to Don Leon for the splendid way in which he managed my rescue. Nothing could have been more admirably contrived, or better carried out. It certainly seemed to me, after I had been there a day or two, that a rescue was simply impossible; though I knew that Colonel O'Connor would do his best to get me out, as soon as he learned that I was captured."

"I gave you credit for better sense, Dick, than to ride right into the hands of the French," Terence said, as he and Ryan rode on together at the head of the column.

"I think you would have done it yourself, Terence. The night was dark, and I could not see ten yards ahead of me. If they had been on the march, of course, I should have heard them; but by bad luck they had halted just across the road I was following. It was very fortunate that you put all the numbers wrong in your despatches, and I can tell you it was a mighty comfort to me to know that you had done so; for I should have been half mad at the thought that they had got at your real strength, which would have entirely defeated the object of our expedition. As it was, I had the satisfaction of knowing that the capture of the despatches would do more good than harm.

"Did the man who followed me get through?"

"Yes, he kept his eyes open, Dicky," Terence said. "He returned ten days later, with a letter from the adjutant general, saying that the commander-in-chief was highly satisfied with my reports; and that the forward movement of the French had ceased and, at several points, their advanced troops had been called in. Spies had brought news that ten thousand men, under General Drouet, had marched for Salamanca; and that reports were current in the French camp that a very large force had crossed the frontier, at the northeastern corner of Portugal, with the evident design of recovering the north of Leon, and of cutting the main line of communication with France.

"He added that he trusted that I should be able to still further harass the enemy, and cause him to send more reinforcements. He said that, doubtless, I should be very shortly driven back into Portugal again; but that he left the matter entirely to my judgment, but pointed out that, if I could but maintain myself for another fortnight, the winter would be at hand; when the passes would be blocked with snow, and Marmont could no longer think of invading Portugal in force. As it is now more than a month since that letter was written, and certainly further reinforcements have arrived, I think the chief will be well satisfied with what we have done. I have sent off two letters since then, fully reporting on the work we have been at between Burgos and Valladolid; but whether they have reached him, I cannot tell."

"Macwitty has one despatch for you. He tells me it came nearly a fortnight ago; but that he had, at that time, been compelled to fall back behind the Esla; and that, as the country beyond swarmed with parties of the French cavalry, he thought that no messenger could get through, and that great harm might result were the despatches to fall into the hands of the enemy."

"Well, I daresay it will keep, Dick, and that no harm will have been done by my not receiving it sooner.

"Now, tell me all about your escape. Were you lodged in our old convent?"

"I had no such luck, Terence. I was in the city prison, in the centre of the town; and my window, instead of looking out into the street, was on the side of the courtyard. The window was strongly barred, no civilians were allowed to enter the prison, and I think that even you, who have a sort of genius for escapes, would have found it, as I did, simply impossible to get away."

"No, the lookout was certainly bad; and you had none of the advantages we had, at Bayonne, of being guarded by friendly soldiers. If I had, at Salamanca, not been able to make friends with a Spanish girl--

"Well, tell me all about it."

Ryan gave full details of the manner in which Don Gonzales had contrived his escape.

"That was well managed, indeed," Terence said. "Splendidly done. Leon is a trump. He ought to have been born an Irishman, and to have been in our regiment. I don't know that I can give him higher praise than that."

On their arrival in the valley, they found that another courier had returned, half an hour before. Both despatches expressed the commander-in-chief's extreme satisfaction with the manner in which Terence had carried out his instructions.

"The employment of your force in cutting the main road between Valladolid and Valencia, and between the latter place and Burgos; while at the same time you maintained a hold on the country south of the Douro, thus blocking the roads from Salamanca both to Zamora and Valladolid, was in the highest degree deserving of commendation. The garrisons of all the towns named were kept in a state of constant watchfulness, and so great was the alarm produced that another division followed that of Drouet. This has paralyzed Marmont. As snow has already begun to fall among the mountains, it is probable that he will soon go into winter quarters. Your work, therefore, may be considered as done and, as your position in the mountains must soon become untenable, it would be well if you, at once, withdraw all your forces into Portugal."

Moras also received a despatch signed by Lord Wellington himself, thanking him warmly for the services he had rendered.

"I may say, sir, that yours is the first case, since I have had the honour to command the British force in the Peninsula, that I have received really valuable assistance from a body of irregular troops; and that I am highly sensible of the zeal and ability which you have shown in cooperating with Colonel O'Connor, a service which has been of extreme value to my army. I must also express my high gratification, not only with the conduct of the men under your command when in action, but at the clemency shown to French prisoners; a clemency, unfortunately, very rare during the present war. I shall not fail to express, to the central Spanish authorities, my high appreciation of your services. I have given orders to the officer commanding the detachment of British troops at Miranda that, should you keep your force together near the frontier, he will, as far as possible, comply with any request you may make for supplies for their use."

Moras was highly gratified with this despatch.

"I shall," he said, "stay in this valley for the winter; but I shall not keep more than a hundred, or a hundred and fifty men with me. The peasants will disperse to their homes. Those remaining with me will be the inhabitants of the towns; who could not safely return, as they might be denounced by the Spanish spies, in French pay, as having been out with me. We have plenty of supplies stored up here to last us through the winter."

Terence at once sent off a report of his return, and an acknowledgment of the receipt of the despatches from headquarters and, the next day, in obedience to his orders, marched with his regiment across the frontier, and established himself in Miranda.

The answer came in five days. It was brief.

"On receipt of this Colonel O'Connor will march, with the regiment under his command, to Pinhel; and there report himself to General Crawford."

Terence had ridden over, the afternoon before, to the valley; where he found that but two hundred of the guerillas remained. Fifty of these were on the point of leaving, the rest would remain with Moras through the winter.

On arrival at Pinhel after three days' marching, he reported himself to General Crawford. The general himself was absent but, from the head of his staff, he received an order on the quartermaster's department. Tents for his men were at once given him, and a spot pointed out for their encampment. Six regiments were, he heard, in the immediate neighbourhood; and among them he found, to his great joy, were the Mayo Fusiliers. As soon as the tents were erected, rations drawn, and a party despatched to obtain straw for bedding from the quartermaster's department, Terence left Herrara and the two majors to see that the troops were made comfortable, and then rode over with Ryan to the camp of the Fusiliers.

They were received with the heartiest welcome by the colonel and officers; in whose ranks, however, there were several gaps, for the regiment had suffered heavily at Fuentes d'Onoro.

"So you have been taken prisoner again, Terence!" Captain O'Grady exclaimed; "sure, it must be on purpose you did it. Anyone may get taken prisoner once; but when it happens twice, it begins to look as if he was fonder of French rations than of French guns."

"I didn't think of it in that light, O'Grady; but now you put it so, I will try and not get caught for the third time."

"We heard of your return, of course, and that you had gone straight with your regiment to Miranda. We had a line from Dicky, the day before he started; and mighty unkind we have thought it that neither of you have sent us a word since then, and you with nothing to do at all, at all; while we have been marching and countermarching, now here and now there, now backwards and now forwards, ever since Fuentes d'Onoro, till one's legs were ready to drop off one."

"Give someone else a chance to put in a word, O'Grady," the colonel said. "Here we are, all dying to know how O'Connor slipped through the hands of the French again; and sorra a word can anyone get in, when your tongue is once loosened. If you are not quiet, I will take him away with me to my own quarters; and just ask two or three men, who know how to hold their tongue, to come up and listen to his story."

"I will be as silent as a mouse, colonel dear," O'Grady said, humbly; "though I would point out that O'Connor, being a colonel like yourself, and in no way under your orders, might take it into his head to prefer to stop with us here, instead of going with you.

"Now, Terence, we are all waiting for your story. Why don't you go on?"

"Because, as you see, I am hard at work eating, just at present. We have marched twenty miles this morning, with nothing but a crust of bread at starting; and the story will keep much better than luncheon."

Terence did not hurry himself over his meal but, when he had finished, he gave them particulars of his escape from Salamanca, his journey down to Cadiz, and then round by Lisbon.

"I thought there would be a woman in it, Terence," O'Grady exclaimed. "With a soft tongue, and a presentable sort of face, and impudence enough for a whole regiment, it was aisy for you to put the comhether on a poor Spanish girl, who had never had the good luck to meet an officer of the Mayo Fusiliers before. Sure, I have always said to meself that, if I was ever taken prisoner, it would not be long before some good-looking girl would take a fancy to me, and get me out of the French clutches. Sure, if a young fellow like yourself, without any special recommendations except a bigger share of impudence than usual, could manage it; it would be aisy, indeed, for a man like meself, with all the advantages of having lost an arm in battle, to get round them."

There was a shout of laughter round the table, for O'Grady had, as usual, spoken with an air of earnest simplicity, as if the propositions he was laying down were beyond question.

"You must have had a weary time at Miranda, since you came back, O'Connor," the colonel said, "with no one there but a wing of the 65th."

"I don't suppose they were to be pitied, colonel," Doctor O'Flaherty laughed. "You may be sure that they kept Miranda lively, in some way or other. Trust them for getting into mischief of some sort."

"There is no saying what we might have done if we had, as you suppose, been staying for the last two months at Miranda; but in point of fact that has not been the case. We have been across the frontier, and have been having a pretty lively time of it--at least I have, for Dick has spent a month of it inside a French prison."

"What!" the major exclaimed, "were you with that force that has been puzzling us all, and has been keeping the French in such hot water that, as we hear, Marmont was obliged to give up his idea of invading Portugal, and had to hurry off twenty thousand men, to save Salamanca and Valladolid from being captured? Nobody has been able to understand where the army sprung from, or how it was composed. The general idea was that a division from England must have landed, at either Oporto or Vigo, or that it must have been brought round from Sicily; for none of our letters or papers said a word about any large force having sailed from England. Not a soul seemed to know anything about it. I know a man on Crawford's staff, and he assured me that none of them were in the secret.

"A French officer, who was brought in a prisoner a few days since, put their numbers down at twenty-five thousand, at least; including, he said, a large guerilla force. He said that Zamora had been cut off for a long time, that the country had been ravaged, and posts captured almost at the gates of Salamanca; and that communications had been interrupted, and large convoys captured between Burgos and Valladolid; and that one column, five thousand strong, had been very severely mauled, and forced to fall back. This confirmed the statements that we had before heard, from the peasantry and the French deserters. Now there is a chance of penetrating the mystery, which has been a profound puzzle to us here, and indeed to the whole army.

"The officer taken seemed to consider that the regular soldiers were Portuguese; but of course that was nonsense. Beresford's troops were all with him down south and, as to any other Portuguese army, unless Wellington has got one together as secretly as he got up the lines of Torres Vedras, the thing is absurd. Besides, who had ever heard of Portuguese carrying on such operations as these, without having a lot of our men to stiffen them, and to set them a good example?"

Terence did not, at once, answer. Looking round the table he saw that, in place of the expressions of amusement with which the previous conversation had been listened to, there was now, on every face, a deep and serious interest. He glanced at Ryan, who was apparently absorbed in the occupation of watching the smoke curling up from his cigar. At last he said:

"I fear, major, that I cannot answer your question. I may say that I have had no specific orders to keep silence but, as it seems that the whole matter has been kept a profound secret, I do not think that, unless it comes out in some other way, I should be justified in saying anything about it.

"I think that you will agree with me, Ryan."

Dick nodded.

"Yes, I agree with you that it would be best to say nothing about it, till we hear that the facts are known. What has been done once, may be done again."

"Quite so, Dick. I am glad that you agree with me.

"However, there can be no objection to your giving an account of your gallant charge into the middle of the French cavalry, and the story of your imprisonment and escape.

"I am sure, colonel, that it will be a source of gratification to you, to know that one of your officers dashed, single handed, right into the midst of a French squadron."

Ryan laughed.

"I am afraid the interest in the matter will be diminished, colonel, when I mention that the charge was executed at night, and that I was ignorant of the vicinity of the French until I rode into the middle of them."

There was again a general laugh.

"I was on my way with despatches for Lord Wellington," he went on, "when this unfortunate business happened."

"That was unfortunate, indeed, Ryan," the colonel said. "They did not capture your despatches, I hope?"

"Indeed and they did, colonel. They had fast hold of me before I could as much as draw my sword. They, however, gained very little by them for, knowing that it was possible I might be captured, the despatches had been so worded that they would deceive, rather than inform, anyone into whose hands they might fall; though of course, I had instructions to explain the matter, when I delivered them safely."

Then he proceeded to give a full account of his rescue from the prison of Salamanca. This was listened to with great interest.

"It was splendidly managed," the colonel said, when he had brought his story to an end. "It was splendidly managed. Terence himself could not have done it better. Well, you are certainly wonderfully handy at getting into scrapes. Why, you have both been captured twice, and both times got away safely.

"When I gave you your commission, Terence, I thought that you and Ryan would keep things alive; but I certainly did not anticipate that you would be so successful, that way, as you have been."

"I have had very little to do with it, colonel," Ryan said.

"No, I know that at Athlone Terence was the ringleader of all the mischief that went on. Still, you were a good second, Ryan; that is, if that position does not really belong to O'Grady."

"Is it me, colonel?" O'Grady said, in extreme surprise, and looking round the table with an air of earnest protest, "when I was always lecturing the boys?"

"I think, O'Grady, your manner of lecturing was akin to the well-known cry:

"'Don't throw him into the pond, boys.'"

At this moment there was a sound of horses drawing up in front of the house.

"It is the general and his staff," one of the ensigns said, as he glanced through the window.

The table had been cleared, but there was a sudden and instant rush to carry away bottles and glasses to hiding places. Newspapers were scattered along the table and, when the door opened half a minute later and the general entered, followed by his staff, the officers of the Mayo Fusiliers presented an orderly and even studious appearance. They all rose and saluted, as the general entered.

"I hope I am not disturbing you, gentlemen," General Crawford said gravely, but with a sly look of amusement stealing across his rugged face; "I am glad to see you all so well employed. There is no doubt that the Irish regiments are greatly maligned. On two or three occasions, when I have happened to call upon their officers, I have uniformly found them studying the contents of the newspapers. Your cigars, too, must be of unusually good quality, for their odour seems mingled with a faint scent of--what shall I say? It certainly reminds me of whisky though, as I see, that must be but fancy on my part. However, gentlemen, I have not come in to inspect your mess room, but to speak to Colonel O'Connor," and he looked inquiringly round.

Terence at once stepped forward, and again saluted. The general, whom Terence had not before met, looked him up and down, and then held out his hand.

"I have heard of you many times, Colonel O'Connor. General Hill has talked to me frequently of you and, not long since, when I was at headquarters, Lord Wellington himself spoke to me for some time about you, and from his staff I learned other particulars. That you were young, I knew; but I was not prepared to find one who might well pass as a junior lieutenant, or even as an ensign. This was the regiment that you formerly belonged to; and as, on sending across to your corps, I learned that you were here, I thought it as well to come myself to tell you, before your comrades and friends, that I have received from headquarters this morning a request from the adjutant general to tell you personally, when you arrived, the extreme satisfaction that the commander-in-chief feels at the services that you have rendered.

"When I was at headquarters the other day, I was shown the reports that you have, during the last six weeks, sent in; and am therefore in a position to appreciate the work you have done. It is not too much to say that you have saved Portugal from invasion, have paralyzed the movements of the French, and have given to the commander-in-chief some months in which to make his preparations for taking the field in earnest, in the spring.

"Has Colonel O'Connor told you what he has been doing?" he said suddenly, turning to Colonel Corcoran.

"No, general. In answer to our questions he said that, as it seemed the matter had been kept a secret, he did not feel justified in saying anything on the subject, until he received a distinct intimation that there was no further occasion for remaining silent."

"You did well, sir," the general said, again turning to Terence, "and acted with the prudence and discretion that has, with much dash and bravery, distinguished your conduct. As, however, the armies have now gone into winter quarters; and as a general order will appear, today, speaking of your services, and I have been commissioned purposely to convey to you Lord Wellington's approval, there is no occasion for further mystery on the subject.

"The force whose doings have paralyzed the French, broken up their communications, and compelled Marmont to detach twenty thousand men to assist at least an equal force in Salamanca, Zamora, Valladolid, and Valencia, has consisted solely of the men of Colonel O'Connor's regiment; and about an equal number of guerillas, commanded by the partisan Moras. I need not tell you that a supreme amount of activity, energy, and prudence, united, must have been employed thus to disarrange the plans of a French general, commanding an army of one hundred thousand men, by a band of two battalions of Portuguese, and a couple of thousand undisciplined guerillas. It is a feat that I, myself, or any other general in the British army, might well be proud to have performed; and too much praise cannot be bestowed upon Colonel O'Connor, and the three British officers acting under his command; of all whose services, together with those of his Portuguese officers, he has most warmly spoken in his reports.

"And now, colonel, I see that there are on your mess table some dark rings that may, possibly, have been caused by glasses. These, doubtless, are not very far away, and I have no doubt that, when I have left, you will very heartily drink the health of your former comrade--I should say comrades, for I hear that Captain Ryan is among you.

"Which is he?"

Ryan stepped forward.

"I congratulate you also, sir," he said. "Colonel O'Connor has reported that you have rendered great services, since you were attached to him as adjutant; and have introduced many changes which have added to the efficiency and discipline of the regiment. My staff, as well as myself, will be very pleased to make the personal acquaintance of Colonel O'Connor and yourself, and I shall be glad if you will both dine with me today--

"And if you, Colonel Corcoran, will accompany them.

"Tomorrow I will inspect the Minho regiment, at eleven o'clock; and you will then introduce to me your lieutenant colonel and your two majors, who have all so well carried out your instructions."

So saying, he shook hands with the colonel, Terence, and Ryan and, with an acknowledgment of the salutes of the other officers, left the room with his staff.

"If a bullet does not cut short his career in some of his adventures," he said to Colonel Corcoran, who had accompanied him, "O'Connor has an extraordinary future before him. His face is a singular mixture of good temper, energy, and resolute determination. There are many gallant young officers in the army, but it is seldom that reckless bravery and enterprise are joined, as in his case, with prudence and a head to plan. He cannot be more than one-and-twenty, so there is no saying what he may be, when he reaches forty. Trant is an excellent leader, but he has never accomplished a tithe of what has been done by that lad."

The general having left the room, the officers crowded round Terence. But few words were said, for they were still so surprised, at what they had heard, as to be incapable of doing more than shake him warmly by the hand, and pat him on the shoulder. Ryan came in for a share in this demonstration.

The colonel returned at once, after having seen the general ride off.

"Faith, Terence," he said, "if justice were done, they would make me a general for putting you into the army. I have half a mind to write to Lord Wellington, and put in a claim for promotion on that ground.

"What are you doing, O'Grady?" he broke off, as that officer walked round and round Terence, scrutinizing him attentively, as if he had been some unknown animal.

"I am trying to make sure, colonel, that this is really Terence O'Connor, whom I have cuffed many a time when he was a bit of a spalpeen, with no respect for rank; as you yourself discovered, colonel, in the matter of that bird he fastened in the plume of your shako. He looks like him, and yet I have me doubts.

"Is it yerself, Terence O'Connor? Will you swear to it on the testiments?"

"I think I can do that, O'Grady," Terence laughed. "You see, I have done credit to your instructions."

"You have that. I always told you that I would make a man of you, and it is my instruction that has done it.

"How I wish, lad," he went on, with a sudden change of voice, "that your dear father had been here this day! Faith, he would have been a proud man. Ah! It was a cruel bullet that hit him, at Vimiera."

"Ay, you may well say that, O'Grady," the colonel agreed.

"Have you heard from him lately, Terence?"

"No, colonel. It's more than four months since I have had a letter from him. Of course, he always writes to me to headquarters but, as I only stopped there a few hours, on my way from Lisbon to join the regiment, I stupidly forgot to ask if there were any letters for me; and of course there has been no opportunity for them to be forwarded to me, since. However, they will know in a day or two that I have arrived here, and will be sure to send them on, at once."

"Now, let's hear all about it, O'Connor, for at present we have heard nothing but vague rumours about the doings of this northern army of yours, beyond what the general has just said."

"But first, colonel, if you will permit me to say so," O'Grady put in, "I would propose that General Crawford's suggestion, as to the first thing to be done, should be carried out; and that the whisky keg should be produced again.

"We have a good stock, Terence, enough to carry us nearly through the winter."

"Then it must be a good stock, indeed, O'Grady," Terence laughed. "You see, the general was too sharp for us."

"That he was but, as a Scotchman, he has naturally a good nose for whisky. He is a capital fellow. Hot tempered and obstinate as he undoubtedly is, he is as popular with his division as any general out here. They know that, if there is any fighting to be done, they are sure to have their share and more and, except when roused, he is cheery and pleasant. He takes a great interest in his men's welfare, and does all that he can to make them as comfortable as possible; though, as they generally form the advanced guard of the army, they necessarily suffer more than the rest of us."

By this time the tumblers were brought out, from the cupboards into which they had been so hastily placed on the general's arrival. Half a dozen black bottles were produced, and some jugs of water, and Terence's health was drunk with all the honours. Three cheers were added for Dicky Ryan, and then all sat down to listen to Terence's story.

Chapter 17: Ciudad Rodrigo.

"Before O'Connor begins," the colonel said, "you had better lay, on the table in front of you, the pocket maps I got from Lisbon for you last year, after O'Connor had lectured us on the advantages of knowing the country.

"I can tell you, Terence, they have been of no small use to us since we left Torres Vedras; and I think that even O'Grady could pass an examination, as to the roads and positions along the frontier, with credit to himself.

"I think, gentlemen, that you who have not got your maps with you would do well to fetch them. You will then be able to follow Colonel O'Connor's story, and get to know a good deal more about the country where, I hope, we shall be fighting next spring, than we should in any other way."

Several of the officers left the room, and soon returned with their maps.

"I feel almost like a schoolmaster," Terence laughed. "But indeed, as our work consisted almost entirely of rapid marching, which you would scarcely be able to follow without maps, it may really be useful, if we campaign across there, to know something of the roads, and the position of the towns and villages."

Then he proceeded to relate all that had taken place, first describing the incidents of the battle, and their work among the mountains.

"You understand," he said, "that my orders were not so much to do injury to the enemy, as to deceive him as to the amount of our force, and to lead them to believe it to be very much stronger than it really was. This could only be done by rapid marches and, as you will see, the main object was to cut all his lines of communication, and at the same time to show ourselves, in force, at points a considerable distance apart. To effect this we, on several occasions, marched upwards of sixty miles in a day; and upwards of forty, several days in succession; a feat that could hardly be accomplished except by men at once robust, and well accustomed to mountain work, and trained to long marches; as those of my regiment have been, since they were first raised."

Then taking out a copy of his report, he gave in much fuller detail than in the report, itself, an account of the movements of the various columns and flying parties, during the first ten days; and then, more briefly, their operations between Burgos and Valladolid, ending up by saying:

"You see, colonel, there was really nothing out of the way in all this. We had the advantage of having a great number of men who knew the country intimately; and the cutting of all their communications, the exaggerated reports brought to them by the peasants, and the maintenance of our posts round Salamanca and Zamora while we were operating near Burgos and Valladolid, impressed the commanders of these towns with such an idea of our strength, and such uneasiness as to their communications that, after the reverse to their column, none of them ever ventured to attack us in earnest."

"That is no doubt true," the colonel said, "but to have done all this when--with the reinforcements sent up, and the very strong garrison at four of the towns, to say nothing of the division of Burgos--they had forty thousand men disposable, is a task that wanted a head well screwed on. I can see how you did it; but that would be a very different thing to doing it, oneself.

"However, you have taught us a great deal of the geography of the country between the frontier and Burgos, and it ought to be useful. If I had received an order, this afternoon, to march with the regiment to Tordesillas, for example, I should have known no more where the place stood, or by what road I was to go to it, than if they had ordered me to march to Jericho. Now I should be able to go straight for it, by the shortest line. I should cross the roads at points at which we were not likely to be attacked, and throw out strong parties to protect our flanks till we had passed; and should feel that I was not stumbling along in the dark, and just trusting to luck."

"Now, colonel, we must be off to our own quarters," Terence said. "We have been too long away now and, if I had not known that Herrara and the majors were to be trusted to do their work--and in fact they did it well, without my assistance, all the time I was away prisoner--I could not have left them, as I did, half an hour after they had encamped."

The next morning Terence received a copy of the orders of the day of the division, at present, under General Crawford's command; together with the general orders of the whole army, from headquarters. In the latter, to which Terence first turned, was a paragraph:

"Lord Wellington expresses his great satisfaction at the exceptional services rendered by the Minho Portuguese regiment, under its commander Captain T. O'Connor, of the headquarter staff, bearing the rank of colonel in the Portuguese army. He has had great pleasure in recommending him to the commander-in-chief for promotion in the British army. He has also to report very favourably the conduct of Lieutenant Ryan, of the Mayo Fusiliers, and Ensigns Bull and Macwitty, all attached for service to the Minho regiment; and shall bring before General Lord Beresford that of Lieutenant Colonel Herrara, of the same regiment."

In the divisional orders of the day appeared the words:

"In noticing the arrival of the Minho Portuguese regiment, under the command of Colonel Terence O'Connor, to join the division temporarily under his command, General Crawford takes this opportunity of congratulating Colonel O'Connor on the most brilliant services that his regiment has performed, in a series of operations upon the Spanish side of the frontier."

Four days later, Terence received two letters from home. These were written after the receipt of that sent off by him on his arrival at Cadiz, narrating his escape. His father wrote:

"My dear Terence,

"Your letter, received this morning, has taken a heavy load off our minds. Of course, we saw the despatches giving particulars of the battle of Fuentes d'Onoro--which, by the way, seems to have been rather a confused sort of affair, and the enemy must have blundered into it just as we did; only as they were all there, and we only came up piecemeal, they should have thrashed us handsomely, if they had known their business. Well, luck is everything and, as you have had a good deal more than your share of it since you joined, one must not grumble if the jade has done you a bad turn this time.

"However, as you have got safely out of their hands, you have no reason for complaint. Still, you had best not try the thing too often. Next time you may not find a good-looking girl to help you out. By the way, you don't tell us whether she was good looking. Mention it in your next; Mary is very curious about it.

"We are getting on capitally here and, I can tell you, the old place looks quite imposing, and I was never so comfortable in my life. We have as much company as I care for, and scarce a day passes but some young fellow or other rides over, on the pretence of talking over the war news with me. But I am too old a soldier to be taken in, and know well enough that Mary is the real attraction.

"My leg has now so far recovered that I can sit a horse; but though I ride with your cousin, when the hounds meet anywhere near, I cannot venture to follow; for if I got a spill, it might bring on the old trouble again, and lay me up for a couple of years. I used to hope that I should get well enough to be able to apply to be put on full pay again. But I feel myself too comfortable, here, to think of it; and indeed, until I have handed Mary to someone else's keeping, it would of course be impossible, and I have quite made up my mind to be moored here for the rest of my life. But to return.

"Of course, as soon as I saw you were missing, I wrote to an old friend on the general staff at Dublin, and asked him to write to the Horse Guards. The answer came back that it was known that you had been taken prisoner, and that you were wounded, but not severely. You were commanding the rear face of the square into which your regiment had been thrown, when your horse, which was probably hit by a bullet, ran away with you into the ranks of the enemy's cavalry. After that we were, of course, more comfortable about you, and Mary maintained that you would very soon be turning up again, like a bad penny.

"I need not say that we are constantly talking about you. Now, take care of yourself, Terence. Bear in mind that, if you get yourself killed, there will be no more adventures for you--at least, none over which you will have any control. Your cousin has just expressed the opinion that she does not think you were born to be shot; she thinks that a rope is more likely than a bullet to cut short your career. She is writing to you herself; and as her tongue runs a good deal faster than mine, I have no doubt that her pen will do so, also. As you say, with your Portuguese pay and your own, you are doing well; but if you should get pinched at any time, be sure to draw on me, up to any reasonable amount.

"It seems to me that things are not going on very well, on the frontier; and I should not be surprised to hear that Wellington is in full retreat again, for Torres Vedras. Remember me to the colonel, O'Driscoll, and all the others. I see, by the Gazette, that Stokes, who was junior ensign when the regiment went into action at Vimiera, has just got his step. That shows the changes that have taken place, and how many good fellows have fallen out of the ranks. Again I say, take care of yourself.

"Your affectionate Father."

His cousin's letter was, as usual, long and chatty; telling him about his father, their pursuits and amusements, and their neighbours.

"You don't deserve so long a letter," she said, when she was approaching the conclusion, "for although I admit your letters are long, you never seem to tell one just the things one wants to know. For example, you tell us exactly the road you travelled down to Cadiz, with the names of the villages and so on, just as if you were writing an official report. Your father says it is very interesting, and has been working it all out on the map. It is very interesting to me to know that you have got safely to Cadiz but, as there were no adventures by the way, I don't care a snap about the names of the villages you passed through, or the exact road you traversed.

"Now, on the other hand, I should like to know all about this young woman who helped you to get out of prison. You don't say a word about what she is like, whether she is pretty or plain. You don't even mention her name, or say whether she fell in love with you, or you with her; though I admit that you do say that she was engaged to the muleteer Garcia. I think, if I had been in his place, I should have managed to let you fall into the hands of the French again. I should say a man was a great fool to help to rescue anyone his girl had taken all sorts of pains to get out of prison.

"At any rate, sir, I expect you to give me a fair and honest description of her the next time you write, for I consider your silence about her to be, in the highest degree, suspicious. However, I have the satisfaction of knowing that you are not likely to be in Salamanca again, for a very long time. Your father says he does not think anything will be done, until the present Ministry are kicked out here; and Wellington hangs the principal members of all the Juntas in Portugal, and all that he can get at, in Spain.

"He is the most bloodthirsty man that I have ever come across, according to his own account, but in reality he would not hurt a fly. He is always doing kind actions among the peasantry, and the 'Major' is quite the most popular man in this part of the country.

"I have not yet forgiven you for having gone straight back to Spain, instead of running home for a short time when you were so close to us, at Jersey. I told you when I wrote that I should never forgive you, and I am still of the same opinion. It was too bad.

"Your father has just called to ask if I am going on writing all night; and it is quite time to close, that it may go with his own letter, which a boy is waiting to carry on horseback to the post office, four miles away; so goodbye.

"Your very affectionate cousin, Mary."

The next two months passed quietly at Pinhel. Operations continued to be carried on at various points but, although several encounters of minor importance took place, the combatants were engaged rather in endeavouring to feel each other's positions, and to divine each other's intentions, than to bring about a serious battle. Marmont believed Wellington to be stronger than he was, while the latter rather underestimated the French strength. Thus there were, on both sides, movements of advance and retirement.

During the time that had elapsed since the battles of Fuentes d'Onoro and Albuera, Badajos had been again besieged by the British, but ineffectually; and in August Wellington, taking advantage of Marmont's absence in the south, advanced and established a blockade of Ciudad Rodrigo. This had led to some fighting. The activity of General Hill, and the serious menace to the communications effected by Terence's Portuguese and the guerillas, had prevented the French from gathering in sufficient strength, either to drive the blockading force across the frontier again, or from carrying out Napoleon's plans for the invasion of Portugal. Wellington, on his part, was still unable to move; owing to the absence of transport, and the manner in which the Portuguese government thwarted him at every point: leaving all his demands that the roads should be kept in good order, unattended to; starving their own troops to such an extent that they were altogether unfit for action; placing every obstacle to the calling out of new levies; and in every way hindering his plans.

He obtained but little assistance or encouragement at home. His military chest was empty. The muleteers, who kept up the supply of food for the army, were six months in arrears of pay. The British troops were also unpaid, badly supplied with clothes and shoes; while money and stores were still being sent in unlimited quantities to the Spanish Juntas, where they did no good whatever, and might as well have been thrown into the sea. But in spite of all these difficulties, the army was daily improving in efficiency. The men were now inured to hardships of all kinds. They had, in three pitched battles, proved themselves superior to the French; and they had an absolute confidence in their commander.

Much was due to the efforts of Lord Fitzroy Somerset, Wellington's military secretary who, by entering into communication with the commanders of brigades and regiments, most of whom were quite young men--for the greater part of the army was but of recent creation--was enabled not only to learn something of the state of discipline in each regiment, but greatly to encourage and stimulate the efforts of its officers; who felt that the doings of their regiment were observed at headquarters, that merit would be recognized without favouritism, and that any failure in the discipline or morale of those under their orders would be noted against them. Twice, during the two months, Terence had been sent for to headquarters, in order that he might give Lord Fitzroy minute information concerning the various roads and localities, point out natural obstacles where an obstinate defence might be made by an enemy, or which could be turned to advantage by an advancing army. The route maps that he had sent were frequently turned to, and fully explained.

The second visit took place in the last week in November and, on his arrival, the military secretary began the conversation by handing a Gazette to him.

"This arrived yesterday, Colonel O'Connor; and I congratulate you that, upon the very strong recommendation of Lord Wellington, you are gazetted to a majority. Now that your position is so well assured, there will be no longer occasion for you to remain nominally attached to the headquarter staff. Of course, it was before I came out that this was done; and I learned that the intention was that you would not act upon the staff, but it was to be merely an honorary position, without pay, in order to add to your authority and independence, when you happen to come in contact with Portuguese officers of a higher rank."

"That was so, sir. I was very grateful for the kindness that Lord Wellington showed, in thus enabling me to wear the uniform of his staff, which was of great assistance to me at the time; and indeed, I am deeply conscious of the kindness with which he has, on every occasion, treated me; and for his recommending me for promotion."

"I should have been personally glad," Lord Fitzroy went on, "to have had you permanently attached to our staff; as your knowledge of the country might, at times, be of great value, and of your zeal and energy you have given more than ample proofs. I spoke of the matter to the general, this morning. He agreed with me that you would be a great addition to the staff but, upon the other hand, such a step would very seriously diminish the efficiency of the regiment that you raised, and have since commanded. The regiment has lately rendered quite exceptional services and, under your command, we reckon it to be as valuable in the fighting line as if it were one of our own; which is more than can be said for any other Portuguese battalion, although some of them have, of late, fought remarkably well.

"I do not say that Colonel Herrara, aided by his three English officers--who, by the way, are all promoted in this Gazette, the two ensigns to the rank of lieutenants, and Mr. Ryan to that of captain--would not keep the regiment in a state of efficiency, so far as fighting is concerned; but without your leading, it could not be relied upon to act for detached service such as it has performed under you."

"Thank you, sir. Of course, it would be a great honour to me to be on the general's staff, but I should be very sorry to leave the regiment and, frankly, I do not think that it would get on well without me. Colonel Herrara is ready to bestow infinite pains on his work, but I do not think that he would do things on his own responsibility. Bull and Macwitty have both proved themselves zealous and active, and I can always rely upon them to carry out my orders to the letter; but I doubt if they would get on as well, with Herrara, as they do with me. I am very glad to hear that they and Mr. Ryan have got their steps. The latter makes an admirable adjutant, and if I had to choose one of the four for the command I should select him; but he has not been very long with the regiment, is not known personally, and would not, I think, have the same influence with the Portuguese officers and men. Moreover I am afraid that, having been in command so long, I should miss my independence, if I had only to carry out the orders of others."

"I can quite understand that," the military secretary said, with a smile. "I can quite realize the fascination of the life of a partisan leader; especially when he has, which Trant and the others have not, a body of men whom he has trained himself, and upon whom he can absolutely rely. You can still, of course, wear the uniform of a field officer on the general's staff, and so will have very little alteration to make, save by adding the proper insignia of your rank. I will write you a line, authorizing you to do so.

"Now, let us have a turn at your maps. I may tell you in confidence that, if an opportunity offers, we shall at once convert the blockade of Ciudad into a siege; and hope to carry it before the enemy can march, with sufficient force, to its relief.

"To do so he would naturally collect all his available forces from Salamanca, Zamora, and Valladolid, and would probably obtain reinforcements from Madrid and Estremadura; and I want to ascertain, as far as possible, the best means of checking the advance of some of these troops, by the blowing up of bridges, or the throwing forward of such a force as your regiment to seize any defile, or other point, that could be held for a day or two, and an enemy's column thus delayed. Even twenty-four hours might be of importance."

"I understand, sir. Of course, the passes between Madrid and Avila might be retained for some little time, especially if the defenders had a few guns; but they would be liable to be taken in the rear by a force at Avila, where there were, when I went down south, over five thousand men. As to the troops coming from the north, they would doubtless march on Salamanca. From that town they would cross the Huebra and Yeltes so near their sources that no difficulty would be caused by the blowing up of bridges, if any exist; but the pass over the Sierra de Gatta, on the south of Ciudad, might be defended by a small force, without difficulty."

The maps were now got out, and the matter gone into minutely. After an hour's conversation, Lord Fitzroy said:

"Thank you, Colonel O'Connor. Some of the information that you have given me will assuredly be very useful, if we besiege Ciudad. From what we hear, there are a good many changes being made in the French command. Napoleon seems about to engage in a campaign with Russia, and is likely to draw off a certain portion of the forces here and, while these changes are being made, it would seem to offer a good opportunity for us to strike a blow."

On the last day of December, Terence received the following order:

"Colonel O'Connor will draw six days' rations from the commissariat and, at daybreak tomorrow, march to the river Aqueda and, on the following day, will ford that river and will post himself along the line of the Yeltes, from its junction with the Huebra to the mountains; and will prevent any person or parties crossing from this side. It is of the highest importance that no intelligence of the movements of the army should be sent, either by the garrison of Ciudad or by the peasantry, to Salamanca. When his provisions are exhausted, he is authorized to hire carts and send in to the army round Ciudad but, if possible, he should obtain supplies from the country near him, and is authorized to purchase provisions, and to send in accounts and vouchers, for such purchases, to the paymaster's department."

"Hurrah, Ryan," he exclaimed on reading the order, "things are going to move, at last! This means, of course, that the army is going to besiege Ciudad at once; and that we are to prevent the French from getting any news of it, until it is too late for them to relieve it. For the last month, guns and ammunition have been arriving at Almeida; and I thought that this weary time of waiting was drawing to an end."

"I am glad, indeed, Terence. I must say that I was afraid that we should not be moving until the spring. Shall we go in and say goodbye to our fellows?"

"Yes, we may as well; but mind, don't say where we are going to, only that we are ordered away. I don't suppose that the regiments will know anything about it, till within an hour of the time they march. There can be no doubt that it is a serious business. Ciudad held out for weeks against Massena; and with Marmont within a few days' march, with an army at least as strong as ours, it will be a tough business, indeed, to take it before he can come up to its relief; and I can well understand that it is all important that he shall know nothing about the siege, till it is too late for him to arrive in time."

"We have come in to say goodbye, colonel," Terence said, as he and Ryan entered the mess room of the Mayo Fusiliers that evening.

"And where are you off to, O'Connor?"

"Well, sir, I don't mind mentioning it in here, but it must go no further. The chief, knowing what we are capable of, proposes that I shall make a rapid march to Madrid, seize the city, and bring King Joseph back a prisoner."

There was a roar of laughter.

"Terence, my boy," Captain O'Grady said, "that is hardly a mission worthy of a fighting man like yourself. I expect that you are hiding something from us, and that the real idea is that you should traverse Spain and France, enter Germany, and seize Boney, and carry him off with you to England."

"I dare not tell you whether you are right or not, O'Grady. Things of this sort must not even be whispered about. It is a wonderfully good guess that you have made and, when it is all over, you will be able to take credit for having divined what was up; but for mercy's sake don't talk about it. Keep as silent as the grave and, if anyone should ask you what has become of us, pretend that you know nothing about it."

"But you are going, O'Connor?" the colonel said, when the laughter had subsided.

"Yes, colonel. We march tomorrow morning. I daresay you will hear of us before many days are over; and may, perhaps, be able to make even a closer guess than O'Grady as to what we are doing. I am heartily glad that we are off. We are now at our full strength again. Most of the wounded have rejoined, and I could have filled up the vacancies a dozen times over. The Portuguese know that I always manage to get food for my men, somehow; which is more than can be said for the other Portuguese regiments, though those of Trant and Pack are better off than Beresford's regulars. Then, too, I think they like fighting, now that they feel that they are a match for the French, man for man. They get a fair share of it, at any rate. The three months that we have been idle have been useful, as the new recruits know their work as well as the others."

"Then you don't know how much longer we are going to stop in this bastely hole?" O'Grady asked.

"Well, I will tell you this much, O'Grady: I fancy that, before this day week, you will all have work to do; and that it is likely to be hot."

"That is a comfort, Terence. But, my dear boy, have a little pity on us and don't finish off the business by yourselves. Remember that we have come a long way, and that it will be mighty hard for us if you were to clear the French out of Spain, and leave nothing for us to do but to bury their dead and escort their army, as prisoners, to the port."

"I will bear it in mind, O'Grady; but don't you forget the past. You know how desperately you grumbled at Rolica, because the regiment was not in it; and how you got your wish at Vimiera, and lost an arm in consequence. So even if I do, as you say, push the French out of Spain, you will have the consolation of knowing that you will be able to go back to Ireland, without leaving any more pieces of you behind."

"There is something in that, Terence," O'Grady said gravely. "I think that when this is over I shall go on half pay, and there may as well be as much of me left, as possible, to enjoy it. It's an ungrateful country I am serving. In spite of all that I have done for it, and the loss of my arm into the bargain; here am I, still a captain, though maybe I am near the top of the list. Still, it is but a captain I am, and here are two gossoons, like yourself and Dick Ryan, the one of you marching about a field officer, and the other a captain. It is heart-breaking entirely, and me one of the most zealous officers in the service. But it is never any luck I have had, from the day I was born."

"It will come some day, never fear, O'Grady; and perhaps it may not be so far off as you fear.

"Well, colonel, we will just take a glass with you for luck, and then say good night; for I have a good many things to see after, and must be up very early, so as to get our tents packed and handed over, to draw our rations, eat our breakfast, and be off by seven."

It was close upon that hour when the regiment marched. It was known that there were no French troops west of the Huebra but, after fording the Aqueda, the force halted until nightfall; and then moved forward and reached the Huebra at midnight, lay down to sleep until daybreak, and then extended along the bank of the Yeltes, as far as its source among the mountains; thus cutting the roads from Ciudad to Salamanca and the North. The distance to be watched was some twenty miles but, as the river was in many places unfordable, it was necessary only to place patrols here; while strong parties were posted, not only on the main roads, but at all points where by-roads or peasants' tracks led down to the bank.

On that day a bridge was thrown across the Aqueda, six miles below Ciudad, for the passage of artillery but, owing to the difficulties of carriage, it was five days later before the artillery and ammunition could be brought over; and this was only done by the aid of 800 carts, which Wellington had caused to be quietly constructed during the preceding three months.

On the 8th, the light division and Pack's Portuguese contingent forded the Aqueda three miles above Ciudad and, making a long detour, took up their position behind a hill called the Great Teson. They remained quiet during the day and, the garrison believing that they had only arrived to enable the force that had long blockaded the town to render the investment more complete, no measures of defence were taken; but at night the light division fell suddenly on the redoubt of San Francisco, on the Great Teson.

The assault was completely successful. The garrison was a small one, and had not been reinforced. A few of them were killed, and the remainder taken; with a loss, to the assailants, of only twenty-four men and officers. A Portuguese regiment, commanded by Colonel Elder, then set to work; and these--in spite of a heavy fire, kept up all night by the French forts--completed a parallel, 600 yards in length, before day broke.

Chapter 18: The Sack Of A City.

For the next four days the troops worked night and day, the operations being carried on under a tremendous fire from the French batteries. The trenches being carried along the whole line of the Small Teson, on the night of the 13th the convent of Santa Cruz was captured and, on the 14th, the batteries opened fire against the town and, before morning, the 40th regiment carried the convent of San Francisco; and thus established itself within the suburb, which was inclosed by an entrenchment that the Spanish had thrown up there, during the last siege. The French artillery was very powerful and, at times, overpowered that of the besiegers. Some gallant sorties were also made but, by the 19th, two breaches were effected in the ramparts, and preparations were made for an assault.

That evening Terence received an order to march at once to the place, and to join Pack's Portuguese. The assault was to be made by the 3rd and light divisions, aided by Pack's command and Colonel O'Toole's Portuguese riflemen. The main British army lay along the Coa, in readiness to advance at once and give battle, should Marmont come up to the assistance of the besieged town.

On the 19th both the breaches were pronounced practicable and, during the day, the guns of the besiegers were directed against the artillery on the ramparts, while the storming parties prepared for their work. The third division was to attack the great breach. The light division was to make for the small breach and, upon entering the inclosure known as the fausse braye, a portion were to turn and enter the town by the Salamanca gate; while the others were to penetrate by the breach.

Colonel O'Toole, with his Portuguese, was to cross the river and to aid the right attack; while Pack's Portuguese were to make a false attack on the San Jago gate, on the other side of the town, and to convert this into a real assault if the defence should prove feeble.

The French scarcely appeared conscious that the critical moment was at hand, but they had raised breastworks along the tops of both breaches, and were perfectly prepared for the assault. When the signal was given, the attack was begun on the right. The 5th, 77th, and 94th Regiments rushed from the convent of Santa Cruz, leapt down into the fausse braye, and made their way to the foot of the great breach; which they reached at the same moment as the rest of the third division, who had run down from the Small Teson. A terrible fire was opened upon them but, undismayed by shell, grape, and musketry from the ramparts and houses, they drove the French behind their new work.

Here, however, the enemy stood so stoutly that no progress could be made. Unable to cross the obstacle, the troops nevertheless maintained their position, although suffering terrible losses from the French fire.

Equally furious was the attack on the small breach, by the light division. After a few minutes' fighting, they succeeded in bursting through the ranks of the defenders; and then, turning to the right, fought their way along the ramparts until they reached the top of the great breach. The French there wavered, on finding that their flank was turned; and the third division, seizing the opportunity, hurled themselves upon them, and this breach was also won.

O'Toole's attack was successful and, on the other side of the town, Pack's Portuguese, meeting with no resistance, had blown open the gate of San Jago, and had also entered the town. Here a terrible scene took place, and the British troops sullied their victory by the wildest and most horrible excesses. They had neither forgotten nor forgiven the treatment they had experienced at the hands of the Spanish, both before and after the battle of Talavera; when they were almost starved, while the Spaniards had abundant supplies, and yet left the British wounded unattended, to die of starvation in the hospitals, when they evacuated the city. From that time their animosity against the Spaniards had been vastly greater than their feeling against the French, who had always behaved as gallant enemies, and had treated their wounded and prisoners with the greatest kindness.

Now this long-pent-up feeling burst out, and murder, rapine, and violence of all sorts raged for some hours, wholly without check. Officers who endeavoured to protect the hapless inhabitants were shot down, all commands were unheeded, and abominable atrocities were perpetrated.

Some share of the blame rests with Wellington and his staff, who had taken no measures whatever for maintaining order in the town, when possession should be gained of it--a provision which should never be omitted, in the case of an assault. The Portuguese, whose animosity against the Spaniards was equally bitter, imitated the example of their British comrades. Fires broke out in several places, which added to the horror of the scene. The castle was still held by the French, the troops having retreated there as soon as the breach had been carried. There was not, therefore, even the excuse of the excitement of street fighting to be made for the conduct of the victors.

In vain, Terence and his officers endeavoured to keep their men together. By threes and fours these scattered down the side streets, to join the searchers for plunder; until at last, he remained alone with his British and Portuguese officers.

"This is horrible," he said to Ryan, as the shouts, shrieks, and screams told that the work of murder, as well as plunder, was being carried on. "It is evident that, single handed, nothing can be done. I propose that we divide into two parties, and take these two houses standing together under our protection. We will have two English officers with each, as there is no chance of the soldiers listening to a Portuguese officer. How many are there of us?"

There were the twelve captains, and twenty subalterns.

"Bull and Macwitty, do you take half of them; Colonel Herrara, Ryan, and I will take the other half. When you have once obtained admission, barricade the door and lower windows with furniture. When the rioters arrive, show yourselves at the windows, and say that you have orders to protect the houses from insult and, if any attack is made, you will carry out your orders at whatever cost. When they see four British officers at the windows, they will suppose that special instructions have been given us with respect to these two houses.

"If they attack we must each defend ourselves to the last, holding the stairs if they break in. If only our house is attacked, come with half your force to our assistance; and we will do the same to you. We can get along by those balconies, without coming down into the street."

The force was at once divided. Terence knocked at the door of one house, and his majors at that of the other. No answer was received but, as they continued to knock with such violence that it seemed as if they were about to break down the doors, these were presently opened. Terence entered. A Spanish gentleman, behind whom stood a number of trembling servants, advanced.

"What would you have, senor?" he asked. "I see that you are an officer. Surely you cannot menace with violence those who are your allies?"

"You are right, senor; but unfortunately our troops have shaken off all discipline, and are pillaging and, I am afraid, murdering. The men of my own regiment have joined the rest, and I with my officers, finding ourselves powerless, have resolved at least to protect your mansion, and the next, from our maddened troops. I can give you my word of honour that I and these gentlemen, who are all my officers, have come as friends, and are determined to defend until the last your mansion, which happened to be the first we came to. A similar party is taking charge of the next house and, if necessary, we can join forces."

"I thank you indeed, sir. I am the Count de Montego. I have my wife and daughters here and, in their name as well as my own, I thank you most cordially. I have some twenty men, sir. Alone we could do nothing, but they will aid you in every way, if you will but give orders."

"In the first place, count, we will move as many articles of heavy furniture as possible against the doors. I see that your lower windows are all barred. We had better place mattresses behind them, to prevent shot from penetrating. I hope, however, that it will not come to that; and that I shall be able to persuade any that may come along that these houses are under special protection."

The count at once ordered his servants to carry out the British officer's instructions, and the whole party were soon engaged in piling heavy furniture against the door. The count had gone up to allay the fears of his wife and daughters who, with the female servants, were gathered in terrible anxiety in the drawing room above. As soon as the preparations were completed, Terence, Ryan, and Herrara went upstairs and, after being introduced to the ladies, who were now to some extent reassured, Terence went out on to the balcony with Ryan; leaving Herrara in the drawing room, as he thought it was best that only British officers should show themselves.

Terrible as the scene had been before, it was even worse now. The soldiers had everywhere broken into the cellars, and numbers of them were already drunk. Many discharged their muskets recklessly, some quarrelled among themselves as to the spoil they had taken, and fierce fights occurred.

In two or three minutes Bull and Macwitty appeared on the balcony of the next house.

"I see it is too far to get across," Terence said. "If you cannot find a plank, set half a dozen men to prise up a couple from the floor."

Presently a number of soldiers came running along down the street.

"Here are two big houses," one shouted. "There ought to be plenty of plunder here."

"Halt!" Terence shouted. "These houses are under special protection and, as you see, I myself and three other British officers are placed here, to see that no one enters. I have a strong force under my orders, and anyone attempting to break down the doors will be shot instantly, and all who aid him will be subsequently tried and hung."

The men, on seeing the four British officers--three of them in the dress of field officers, and one, the speaker, in the uniform of the staff--at once drew back.

"Come on, mates," one said, as they stood indecisive; "we shall only lose time here, while others are getting as much plunder as they can carry. Let us go on."

But as the wine took effect, others who came along were less disposed to listen to orders. Gradually gathering, until they were in considerable numbers, several shots were fired at the officers; and one man, advancing up the steps, began to hammer at the door with the butt end of his musket. Terence leaned over the balcony and, drawing his pistol and taking a steady aim, fired, and the man fell with a sharp cry. A number of shots were fired from below, but the men were too unsteady to take aim, and Terence was uninjured.

Again he stood up.

"Men," he shouted, "you have shown yourselves to be brave soldiers today. Are you now going to disgrace yourselves, by mutiny against officers who are doing their duty, thereby running the risk of being tried and hung? I tell you again that these houses are both defended by a strong force, and that we shall protect them at all hazard. Go elsewhere, where booty is to be more easily obtained."

His words, however, were unheeded. Some more shots were fired, and then there was a general rush at the doors; while another party attacked that of the next house. The officers were all provided with pistols, and Terence hurried below with Ryan.

"Do not fire," he said to the others, "until they break down the door. It will take them some time and, at any moment, fresh troops may be marched in to restore order."

The door was a strong one and, backed as it was, it resisted for a considerable time. Those who first attacked it speedily broke the stocks of their guns, and had to make way for others. Presently the attack ceased suddenly.

"Run upstairs, Dicky, and see what they are doing, and how things are going on next door."

Ryan soon returned.

"They are bringing furniture and a lot of straw from houses opposite. They have broken down the next door, but they have not got in yet."

"Let the servants at once set to work, to draw pails of water from the well in the courtyard, and carry them upstairs.

"Ryan, you had better go into the next house and see if they are pressed. Tell them that they must hold out without my help for a short time. I am going to send six officers out by the back of the house, to collect some of our men together. Another will be in readiness to open the back door, as soon as they return.

"I shall keep them from firing the pile as long as I can. The count has two double-barrelled guns. I don't want to use them, if I can help it; but they shall not get in here. Do you stop, and help next door. There can be no fighting here yet for, if they do burn the door, it will be a long time before they can get in."

The native officers started at once. They were of opinion that they would soon be able to bring in a good many of their men; for the Portuguese are a sober race, and few would have got intoxicated. Most of the men would soon find that there was not much booty to be obtained, and that even what they got would probably be snatched from them by the English soldiers; and would consequently be glad to return to their duty again.

An officer took his place at the back door, in readiness to remove the bars; another went up with Terence to the first floor; and the remainder stopped in the hall, with six of the menservants.

Terence went upstairs and looked down into the street. There was a lot of furniture, with bundles of faggots and straw, piled there.

"Now," he said to the officer, "empty these pails at once; the servants will soon bring some more up. I will stand here with these guns, and fire at any one who interferes with you. Just come out into the balcony, empty your pails over, and go back at once. You need scarcely show yourself, and there is not much chance of your being hit by those drunken rascals."

Yells and shouts of rage were heard below, as the water was thrown over. As fast as the pails were emptied, the servants carried them off and refilled them. At last, two soldiers appeared from a house opposite, with blazing torches.

The guns had been loaded by the count with small shot, as Terence was anxious not to take life. As soon as the two men appeared, he raised the fowling piece to his shoulder and fired both barrels, in quick succession. With a yell of pain, the soldiers dropped their torches. One fell to the ground, the other clapped his hands to his face and ran down the street in an agony, as if half mad. Half a dozen muskets were discharged, but Terence had stepped back the moment he had fired, and handed the gun to the count, who was standing behind him, to recharge.

Two other soldiers picked up the torches, but dropped them as Terence again fired. Another man snatched up one of them, and flung it across the street. It fell upon some straw that had been thoroughly soaked by the water, and burned out there harmlessly.

It was not long before the servants began to arrive with the full buckets and, when these also had been emptied, Terence, glancing over, had little fear that the pile could now be lighted. The pails were sent down again, and he waited for the next move.

The fighting had ceased at the other door. The soldiers having drawn back from the barricade, to see the effect of the fire. Ryan ran across the plank and rejoined Terence.

"Things are quiet there, for the present," he said. "There has not been much harm done. When they had partly broken down the door, they began firing through it. Bull and Macwitty kept the others back from the line of fire, and not a pistol has been discharged yet. Bull cut down one fellow who tried to climb over the barricade, but otherwise no blood has been shed on either side."

Help was coming now. One of the Portuguese officers was admitted, with twenty-four men that he had picked up. The others came in rapidly and, within a quarter of an hour, three hundred men were assembled. All were sober, and looked thoroughly ashamed of themselves as they were formed up in the courtyard.

Terence went down to them. He said no word of blame.

"Now, men," he said, "you have to retrieve your characters. Half of you will post yourselves at the windows, from the ground floor to the top of the house. You are not to show yourselves, till you receive orders to do so. You are not to load your guns but, as you appear at the windows, point them down into the street. The officers will post you, five at each window.

"The rest of you are at once to clear away the furniture in the hall; and, when you receive the order, throw open the door and pour out, forming across the street as you do so. Captain Ryan will be in command of you. You are not to load, but to clear the street with your bayonets. If any of the soldiers are too drunk to get out of your way, knock them down with the butt end of your muskets; but if they rush at you, use your bayonets."

He went round the house, and saw that five men were in readiness at each window looking into the street. He ordered them to leave the doors open.

"A pistol will be fired from the first landing," he said; "that will be the signal, then show yourselves at once."

He waited until Ryan's party had cleared away the furniture. He then went out on to the balcony, and addressed the crowd of soldiers who were standing, uncertain what step to take next, many of them having already gone off in search of plunder elsewhere.

"Listen to me, men," he shouted. "Hitherto I have refrained from employing force against men who, after behaving as heroes, are now acting like madmen; but I shall do so no longer. I will give you two minutes to clear off, and anyone who remains at the end of that time will have to take his chance."

Derisive shouts and threats arose in reply. He turned round and nodded to the count, who was standing at the door of the room with a pistol in his hand. He raised it and fired and, in a moment, soldiers appeared at every window, menacing the crowd below with their rifles. At the same moment the door opened, and the Portuguese poured out, with Ryan at their head, trampling over the pile raised in front of it.

There was a moment of stupefied dismay amongst the soldiers. Hitherto none had believed that there were any in the houses, with the exception of a few officers; and the sudden appearance of a hundred men at the windows, and a number pouring out through the door, took them so completely by surprise that there was not even a thought of resistance.

Men who had faced the terrors of the deadly breaches turned and fled and, save a few leaning stupidly against the opposite wall, none remained by the time Ryan had formed up the two lines across the street. Each of these advanced a short distance, and were at once joined by the defenders of the other house, and by those at the windows.

"Do you take command of one line, Bull; and you of the other, Macwitty. I don't think that we shall be meddled with but, should any of them return and attack you, you will first try and persuade them to go away quietly. If they still attack, you will at once fire upon them.

"Herrara, will you send out all your officers, and bring the men in at the back doors, as before. We shall soon have the greater part of the regiment here, and with them we can hold the street, if necessary, against any force that is likely to attack it."

In half an hour, indeed, more than fifteen hundred men had been rallied and, while two lines, each a hundred strong, were formed across the street, some eighty yards apart, the rest were drawn up in a solid body in the centre; Terence's order being that, if attacked in force, half of them were to at once enter the houses on both sides of the street, and to man the windows. He felt sure, however, that the sight of so strong a force would be sufficient to prevent the rioters interfering with them; the soldiers being, for the most part, too drunk to act together, or with a common object.

This, indeed, proved to be the case. Parties at times came down the street but, on seeing the dark lines of troops drawn up, they retired immediately, on being hailed by the English officers, and slunk off under the belief that a large body of fresh troops had entered the town. An hour later a mounted officer, followed by some five or six others and some orderlies, rode up.

"What troops are these?" the officer asked.

"The Minho Portuguese Regiment, general," Bull answered, "commanded by Colonel O'Connor."

The general rode on, the line opened, and he and his staff passed through. Terence, who had posted himself in the balcony so as to have a view of the whole street, at once ran down. Two of the men with torches followed him.

On approaching, he at once recognized the officer as General Barnard, who commanded one of the brigades of the light division.

"So your regiment has remained firm, Colonel O'Connor?" the general said.

"I am sorry to say, sir, that it did not, at first, but scattered like the rest of the troops. My officers and myself, for some time, defended these two large houses from the attack of the soldiery. Matters became very serious, and I then sent out some of my officers, who soon collected three hundred men, which sufficed to disperse the rioters without our being obliged to fire a shot. The officers then again went out, and now between fifteen and sixteen hundred men are here.

"I am glad that you have come, sir, for I felt in a great difficulty. It was hard to stay here inactive, when I was aware that the town was being sacked, and atrocities of every kind perpetrated but, upon the other hand, I dared not undertake the responsibility of attempting to clear the streets. Such an attempt would probably end in desperate fighting. It might have resulted in heavy loss on both sides, and have caused such ill feeling between the British and Portuguese troops as to seriously interfere with the general dispositions for the campaign."

"No doubt you have taken the best course that could be pursued, Colonel O'Connor; but I must take on myself the responsibility of doing something. My appearance, at the head of your regiment, will have some effect upon the men of the light division; and those who are sober will, no doubt, rally round me, though hitherto my efforts have been altogether powerless. All the officers will, of course, join us at once. I fear that many have been killed in trying to protect the inhabitants but, now that we have at least got a nucleus of good troops, I have no doubt that we shall be successful.

"Have you any torches?"

"There is a supply of them in the house, sir."

"Get them all lighted, and divide them among the men. As soon as you have done this, form the regiment into column."

"Are they to load, sir?"

"Yes," the general said shortly; "but instruct your officers that no one is to fire without orders, and that the sound of firing at the head of the column is not to be considered as a signal for the rest to open fire; though it may be necessary to shoot some of these insubordinate scoundrels. By the way, I think it will be best that only the leading company should load. The rest have their bayonets, and can use them if attacked."

Some forty torches were handed over, by the count. These were lighted and distributed along the line, ten being carried by the leading company.

"You have bugles, colonel?"

"Yes, sir. There is one to each company."

"Let them all come to the front and play the Assembly, as they march on.

"Now, will you ride at their head by my side, sir? Dismount one of my orderlies, and take his horse."

By the time all the preparations were completed, they had been joined by nearly two hundred more men. Just before they started, Terence said:

"Would it not be well, general, if I were to tell off a dozen parties of twenty men, each under the command of a steady non-commissioned officer, to enter the houses on each side of the road as we go along, and to clear out any soldiers they may find there?"

"Certainly. But I think that when they see the regiment marching along, and hear the bugles, they will clear out fast enough of their own accord."

With bugles blowing, the regiment started. Twenty men, with an officer, had been left behind at each of the houses they had defended; in case parties of marauders should arrive, and endeavour to obtain an entrance.

As they marched by, men appeared at the windows. Most of these were soldiers who, with an exclamation of alarm when they saw the general, followed by two battalions in perfect order, hastily ran down and made their escape by the backs of the houses; or came quietly out and, forming in some sort of order, accompanied the regiment. Several shots were heard behind, as the search parties cleared out those who had remained in the houses and, presently, the force entered the main square of the town and halted in its centre, the bugles still blowing the Assembly. Numbers of officers at once ran up, and many of the more sober soldiers.

"Form them up as they arrive," the general said to the officers.

In a few minutes, some five hundred men had gathered.

"Do you break your regiment up into four columns, Colonel O'Connor. A fourth of these men shall go with each, with a strong party of officers. The soldiers will be the less inclined to resist, if they see their own comrades and officers with your troops, than if the latter were alone. I will take the command of one column myself, do you take that of another.

"Colonel Strong, will you join one of the majors of Colonel O'Connor's regiment; and will you, Major Hughes, join the other?

"All soldiers who do not, at once, obey your summons to fall in will be taken prisoners; and those who use violence you will shoot, without hesitation. All drunken men are to be picked up and sent back here. Place a strong guard over them, and see that they do not make off again."

Five minutes later, the four columns started in different directions. A few soldiers who, inflamed by drink, fired at those who summoned them to surrender, were instantly shot and, in half an hour, the terrible din that had filled the air had quietened down.

Morning was breaking now. In the great square, officers were busy drawing up the men who had been brought in, in order of their regiments. The inhabitants issued from their houses, collected the bodies of those who had been killed in the streets, and carried them into their homes; and sounds of wailing and lamentation rose from every house.

Lord Wellington now rode in, with his staff. The regiments that had disgraced themselves were at once marched out of the town, and their places taken by those of other divisions. But nothing could repair the damage that had been done; and the doings of that night excited, throughout Spain, a feeling of hostility to the British that has scarcely subsided to this day; and was heightened by the equally bad conduct of the troops at the storming of Badajoz.

Long before the arrival of Lord Wellington, the whole of the Minho regiment had rejoined. Terence ordered that the late comers should not be permitted to fall in with their companies, but should remain as a separate body. He marched the regiment to a quiet spot in the suburbs, and ordered them to form in a hollow square, with the men who had last joined in the centre. These he addressed sternly.

"For the first time," he said, "since this regiment was formed, I am ashamed of my men. I had thought that I could rely upon you under all circumstances. I find that this is not so, and that the greed for plunder has, at once, broken down the bonds of discipline. Those who, the moment they were called upon, returned to their colours, I can forgive, seeing that the British regiments set them so bad an example; but you men, who to the last remained insubordinate, I cannot forgive. You have disgraced not only yourselves, but your regiment, and I shall request Lord Wellington to attach you to some other force. I only want to command men I can rely upon."

A loud chorus of lament and entreaty rose from the men.

"It is as painful to me as it is to you," Terence went on, raising his hands for silence. "How proud I should have been if, this morning, I could have met the general and said that the regiment he had been good enough to praise so highly, several times, had proved trustworthy; instead of having to report that every man deserted his officers, and that many continued the evil work of pillage, and worse, to the end."

Many of the men wept loudly, others dropped upon their knees and implored Terence to forgive them. He had already instructed his two majors what was to be done, and they and the twelve captains now stepped forward.

"Colonel," Bull said, in a loud voice that could be heard all over the square, "we, the officers of the Minho regiment, thoroughly agree with you in all that you have said, and feel deeply the disgrace the conduct of these men has brought upon it; but we trust that you will have mercy on them, and we are ready to promise, in their name, that never again will they so offend, and that their future conduct will show how deeply they repent of their error."

There was a general cry from the men of:

"Indeed we do. Punish us as you like, colonel, but don't send us away from the regiment!"

Terence stood as if hesitating, for some time; then he said:

"I cannot resist the prayer of your officers, men; and I am willing to believe that you deeply regret the disgrace you have brought upon us all. Of one thing I am determined upon; not one man in the regiment shall be any the better for his share in this night's work, and that this accursed plunder shall not be retained. A blanket will be spread out here in front of me, and the regiment will pass along before me by twos. Each man, as he files by, will empty out the contents of his pockets, and swear solemnly that he has retained no object of spoil, whatever. After that is over, I shall have an inspection of kits and, if any article of value is found concealed, I will hand over its owner to the provost marshal, to be shot forthwith."

The operation took upwards of two hours. At Herrara's suggestion a table was brought out, a crucifix placed upon it, and each man as he came up, after emptying out his pockets, swore solemnly, laying his hand upon the table, that he had given up all the spoil he had collected.

Terence could not help smiling at the scene the regiment presented, before the men began to file past. No small proportion of the men stripped off their coats, and unwound from their bodies rolls of silk, costly veils, and other stuffs of which they had taken possession. All these were laid down by the side of the blanket, on which a pile of gold and silver coins, a great number of rings, brooches, and bracelets, had accumulated by the time the whole had passed by.

"The money cannot be restored," Terence said to Herrara, "therefore set four non-commissioned officers to count it out. Have the jewels all placed in a bag. Let all the stuffs and garments be made into bundles. I shall be obliged if you will take a sufficient number of men to carry them, and go down yourself, with a guard of twenty men, to the syndic, or whatever they call their head man, and hand them over to him. Say that the Minho regiment returns the spoil it had captured, and deeply regrets its conduct.

"Will you say that I beg him to divide the money among the sufferers most in need of it, and to dispose the jewels and other things where they can be seen, and to issue a notice to the inhabitants that all can come and inspect them, and those who can bring proof that any of the articles belong to them can take them away."

The regiment was by this time formed up again, and Terence, addressing them, told them of the orders that he had given; saying that, as the regiment had made all the compensation in their power, and had rid itself of the spoils of a people whom they had professedly come to aid, it could now look the Spaniards in the face again. Just as he had concluded, a staff officer rode up.

"Lord Wellington wishes to speak to you, colonel," he said. "We have been looking about for you everywhere, but your regiment seemed to have vanished."

"Then I must leave the work of inspecting the kits to you, Herrara. You will see that every article is unfolded and closely examined, and place every man in whose kit anything is discovered under arrest, at once. I trust that you will not find anything but, if you do, place a strong guard over the prisoners, with loaded muskets, and orders to shoot any one of them who tries to escape."

Walking by the side of the staff officer--for he had returned the horse lent him by General Barnard--he accompanied him to a house in the great square, where Lord Wellington had taken up his quarters.

Chapter 19: Gratitude.

"Your regiment has been distinguishing itself again, Colonel O'Connor, I have heard from three sources. First, General Barnard reported to me that he, and the other officers, were wholly unable to restrain the troops from their villainous work last night; until he found you and your regiment drawn up in perfect order, and was able, with it, to put an end to the disorder everywhere reigning. In the second place, the Count de Montego and the Marquis de Valoroso, two of the wealthiest nobles in the province, have called upon me to return thanks for the inestimable service, as they expressed it, rendered by Colonel O'Connor and his officers, in defending their houses, and protecting the lives and honour of their families, from the assaults of the soldiers. They said that the defenders consisted entirely of officers. How was that?"

"I am sorry to say that my men were, at first, infected by the general spirit of disorder. Left alone by ourselves, I thought that we could not do anything better than save, from spoliation, two fine mansions that happened to be at the spot where we had been left. We had to stand a sharp siege for two or three hours; but we abstained, as far as possible, from using our arms, and I think that only two or three of the soldiers were wounded. However, we should have had to use our pistols in earnest, in a short time, had I not sent out several of my officers by the back entrance of the house; and these were not long in finding, and persuading to return to their duties, a couple of hundred men.

"As soon as we sallied out the affair was at an end, and the soldiers fled. The officers were sent out again and when, an hour later, General Barnard came up, we had some seventeen hundred in readiness for action; and his arrival relieved me of the heavy responsibility of deciding what course had better be adopted."

"Yes, he told me so, and I think that you acted very wisely in holding your men back till he arrived; for nothing could have been more unfortunate than a conflict in the streets between British and Portuguese troops. There is no doubt that, had it not been for your regiment, the disgraceful scenes of last night would have been very much worse than they were. I should be glad if you will convey my thanks to them."

"Thank you, sir; but I shall be obliged if you will allow me to say that you regret to hear that a regiment, in which you placed confidence, should have at first behaved so badly; but that they had retrieved their conduct by their subsequent behaviour, and had acted as you would have expected of them. I have been speaking very severely to them, this morning; and I am afraid that the effect of my words would be altogether lost, were I to report your commendation of their conduct, without any expression of blame."

Lord Wellington smiled.

"Do it as you like, Colonel O'Connor. However, your regiment will be placed in orders, today, as an exception to the severe censure passed upon the troops who entered the town last night. And do you really think that they will behave better, another time?"

"I am sure they will, sir. I threatened to have the three hundred, who had not joined when General Barnard arrived, transferred to another regiment; and it was only upon their solemn promise, and by the whole of the officers guaranteeing their conduct in the future, that I forgave them. Moreover, every article taken in money, jewels, or dress has been given up; and I have sent them to the syndic, the money for distribution among the sufferers, the jewellery and other things to be reclaimed by those from whom they were taken. Their kits were being examined thoroughly, when I came away; but I think that I can say, with certainty, that no single stolen article will be found in them."

"You have done very well, sir, very well, and your influence with your men is surprising.

"Your regiment will be quartered in the convent of San Jose. Other divisions will move in this afternoon, and take the place of the 1st and 3rd brigades. Your regiment, therefore, may consider it a high honour that they will be retained here.

"I daresay that it will not be long before I find work for you to do again. Lord Somerset will give you an order, at once, to take possession of the convent."

Terence returned to the regiment in high spirits. The work of inspection was still going on. At its conclusion, Colonel Herrara reported that no single article of plunder had been found.

"I am gratified that it is so, Herrara," he said; "now let the regiment form up in hollow square, again.

"Men," he went on, "I have a message for you from Lord Wellington;" and he repeated that which he had suggested. "Thus you see, men, that the conduct of those who at once obeyed orders, and returned to their ranks, has caused the misconduct of the others to be forgiven; and Lord Wellington has still confidence that the regiment will behave well, in future. The fact that all plunder has been given up to be restored to its owners had, of course, some effect in inducing him to believe this. I hope that every man will take the lesson to heart, that the misdeeds of a few may bring disgrace on a whole regiment; and that you will, in future, do nothing to forfeit the name that the Minho regiment has gained, for good conduct as well as for bravery."

A loud cheer broke from the regiment, who then marched to the convent of San Jose, and took up its quarters there. Two hours later, the two Spanish nobles called upon Terence. The Count de Montego introduced his companion.

"We have only just heard where you were quartered," he went on. "We have both been trying in vain, all the morning, to find you; not a soldier of your regiment was to be seen in the streets and, although we questioned many officers, none could say where you were.

"You went off so suddenly, last night, that I had no opportunity of expressing our gratitude to you and your officers."

"You said enough, and more than enough, last night, count," Terence replied; "and we are all glad, indeed, that we were able to protect both your houses. Lord Wellington informed me that you had called upon him, and spoken highly of the service we had been able to render you. Pray say no more about it. I can quite understand what you feel, and I can assure you that no thanks are due to me, for having done my duty as a British officer and a gentleman on so lamentable and, I admit, disgraceful an occasion."

"My wife and daughters, and those of the Marquis of Valoroso, are all most anxious to see you, and thank you and your officers. They were too frightened and agitated, last night, to say aught and, indeed, as they say, they scarcely noticed your features. Can you bring your officers round now?"

"I am sorry to say I cannot do that, senor. They have to see after the arrangements and comfort of the men, the getting of the rations, the cooking, and so on. Tomorrow they will, I am sure, be glad to pay you a visit."

"But you can come, can you not, colonel?"

"Yes, I am at liberty now, count, and shall be happy to pay my respects to the senoras."

"The more I hear," the marquis said, as they walked along together, "of the events of last night, the more deeply I feel the service that you have rendered us. I am unable to understand how it is that your soldiers should behave with such outrageous violence to allies."

"It is very disgraceful, and greatly to be regretted, senor; but I am bound to say that, as I have now gone through four campaigns, and remember the conduct of the Spanish authorities to our troops during our march to Talavera, our stay there, and on our retreat, I am by no means surprised that among the soldiers, who are unable to draw a distinction between the people and the authorities, there should be a deep and lasting hatred. There is no such hatred for the French.

"Our men fought the battle of Talavera when weak with hunger; while the Spaniards, who engaged to supply them with provisions, were feasting. Our men were neglected and starved in the hospitals, and would have died to a man had not, happily for them, the French arrived, and treated them with the greatest humanity and kindness. Soldiers do not forget this sort of thing. They know that, for the last three years, the promises of the Spanish authorities have never once been kept, and that they have had to suffer greatly from the want of transport and stores promised. We can, of course, discriminate between the people at large and their authorities; but the soldiers can make no such distinction and, deeply as I deplore what has happened here, I must own that the soldiers have at least some excuse for their conduct."

The two Spaniards were silent.

"I cannot gainsay your statement," the Count de Montego said. "Indeed, no words can be too strong for the conduct of both the central, and all the provincial juntas."

"Then, senor, how is it that the people do not rise and sweep them away, and choose honest and resolute men in their place?"

"That is a difficult question to answer, colonel. It may be said, why do not all people, when ill governed, destroy their tyrants?"

"Possibly because, as a rule, the tyrants have armies at their backs; but here such armies as there are, although nominally under the orders of the juntas, are practically led by their own generals, and would obey them rather than the juntas.

"However, that is a matter for the Spanish people alone. Although we have suffered cruelly by the effects of your system, please remember that I am not in the smallest degree defending the conduct of our troops; but only trying to show that they had, at least, some excuse for regarding the Spaniards as foes rather than as allies; and that they had, as they considered, a long list of wrongs to avenge."

"There is truth in all you say, colonel. Unfortunately, men like ourselves, who are the natural leaders of the people, hold aloof from these petty provincial struggles; and leave all the public offices to be filled with greedy adventurers, and have been accustomed to consider work of any kind beneath us. The country is paying dearly for it, now. I trust, when the war is over, seeing how the country has suffered by our abstention from politics, and from the affairs of our provinces, we shall put ourselves forward to aid in the regeneration of Spain."

By this time they had arrived at the door of the count's house. The street had been to some extent cleared; but shattered doors, broken windows, portions of costly furniture, and household articles of all sorts still showed how terrible had been the destruction of the previous night. Large numbers of the poorer class were at work clearing the roads, as the city authorities had been ordered, by Lord Wellington, to restore order in all the thoroughfares.

The count led the way up to the drawing room. The countess and her three daughters rose.

"I introduced our brave defender to you last night," the count said, "but in the half-darkened room, and in the confusion and alarm that prevailed, you could have had but so slight a view of him that I doubt whether you would know him again."

"I should not, indeed," the countess said. "We have been speaking of him ever since, but could not agree as to his appearance.

"Oh, senor, no word can tell you how grateful we feel to you for your defence of us, last night. What horrors we should have suffered, had it not been for your interposition!"

"I am delighted to have been of service to you, senora. It was my duty, and it was a very pleasurable one, I can assure you; and I pray you to say no more about it."

"How is it that you speak Spanish so well, senor?" the countess asked, after her daughters had shyly expressed their gratitude to Terence.

"I owe it chiefly to a muleteer of Salamanca. I was a prisoner there last year, and he accompanied me for a month, after I had made my escape from the prison. Also, I owe much to the guerilla chief Moras, with whom I acted for six weeks, last autumn. I had learned a little of your language before and, speaking Portuguese fluently, I naturally picked it up without any great difficulty."

"Your name is not unknown to us, colonel," the count said. "Living so close to the frontier as we do, we naturally know much of what passes in Portugal; and heard you spoken of as a famous leader of a strong Portuguese regiment, that seems to have been in the thick of all the fighting. But we heard that you had been taken prisoner by the French, at the battle of Fuentes d'Onoro."

"Yes, I had the misfortune to be captured by them, and was sent to Salamanca; but I escaped by the aid of a girl who sold fruit in the prison. A muleteer took me with him on a journey to Cadiz, and thence I came round to Lisbon by ship."

"You seem very young to have seen so much service, if you will excuse my saying so, colonel."

Terence smiled.

"I have had great luck, senor; extraordinary luck."

"Ah, colonel! We know how well you have deserved that luck, as you call it; and you would never have been in command of such a regiment if you had not done something very much out of the way to attract the attention of your commanders."

"I was not appointed to the regiment. I raised it myself; that is to say, I came upon a number of Portuguese who had been called out for service, but who had neither leader nor arms. Being anxious to fight for their country, they asked me to be their leader, and I accepted the offer. I found them docile and obedient and, with the aid of two British troopers with me, a Spanish officer, and twelve of his troopers, I established something like order and discipline and, as we were fortunate in our first affair with the enemy, they had faith in me, and I was able to raise them to a point of discipline which is, I think, now quite equal to that of our own regiments. Seeing that I had made myself useful with my corps, I was confirmed in my command, and obtained the rank of colonel in the Portuguese service; and am now a major in our own."

"I hope, senor, that later on you will tell us the story of some of your adventures. Be assured that the house and all in it are yours, and that it is not for mere curiosity that we would hear your story; but that, as we shall ever retain a grateful memory of what you have done for us, everything relating to you is of deep interest to us."

After chatting for another quarter of an hour, Terence went with the Count de Montego to the house next door. Here he received an equally warm welcome from the wife and son and daughter of the marquis.

At both houses, he was warmly urged to take up his quarters there during his stay at Ciudad; but explained that his place was with his regiment. He promised that he would call frequently, when his duties permitted him to do so.

The next day the two Spanish noblemen came to him and, after parade was over, carried off the greater portion of the officers to be also introduced to their families. From that time, three or four of the officers were always invited to dinner at each house. Terence and Ryan frequently spent their evenings there, and their hosts introduced them to many of the leading people in the town.

The Spanish general, Carlos d'Espagna, was appointed governor of Ciudad. Papers having been discovered, showing that many of the inhabitants had acted as French emissaries, these he executed without mercy. So rigorous, however, were his measures that it was felt that more than sufficient blood had been shed and, accordingly, several British deserters found in the town were pardoned. Many others of these men had fallen, fighting desperately in the breach; believing that there was no hope of mercy being extended to them, if taken prisoners.

In the siege the allies lost 1200 men and 90 officers; among whom were Generals Crawford and MacKinnon, both killed, and General Vandeleur, badly wounded. Lord Wellington was created Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo by the Spaniards, and Earl of Wellington by the English. The French loss was 300 killed and wounded, 1500 prisoners, an immense store of ammunition, and 150 guns.

Thanks to the vigilance with which the Minho regiment had guarded the line of the fords of the Yeltes, no news of the siege was received by Marmont in time for him to interfere with it. The bridge over the Aqueda had been thrown across on the 1st of January, and the siege began on the 8th but, even on the 12th, nothing was known at Salamanca of the advance of the British army; and it was not until the 15th, three days after the town had fallen, that news that the siege had begun reached Marmont at Valladolid. He had ordered his army to concentrate on Salamanca, but it was not until the 25th that 35,000 men were collected there and, on the following day, the news arrived of the fall of Ciudad.

In the meantime large numbers of labourers were being employed in repairing and strengthening the fortifications of that town, while Wellington laboured in making preparations for the siege of Badajoz. These, however, progressed but slowly, owing to the refusal of the Portuguese government to supply transport for the guns; or to furnish any facilities, whatever, for the supply of food for the army. Wellington maintained his headquarters on the Coa until the first week in March, and then moved south with the greater part of the army; Ciudad being left entirely in the hands of the Spaniards, the general supplying the governor with provisions and stores, and explaining to him the object and intention of the new works.

A very strong force was left to guard the frontier of Portugal from an invasion by Marmont; 50,000 men, of whom 20,000 were Portuguese, being scattered along the line and guarding all the passes--the Minho regiment being ordered to take post, again, at Pinhel.

Terence left Ciudad with reluctance. He had all along been treated as a dear friend, in the houses of the two Spanish noblemen, and spent most of his evenings at one or other of them. He had been obliged to tell, in full detail, all his adventures since he joined the army. The rescue of his cousin from the convent at Oporto had particularly excited the interest of the ladies, who asked innumerable questions about her.

Ryan frequently accompanied him, but his very slight knowledge of Spanish prevented him from feeling the same pleasure at the familiar intercourse. Bull and Macwitty were absolutely ignorant of the language and, although Herrara now and then accepted invitations to dinner, Terence and Ryan were the only two officers of the regiment who felt at home among the Spaniards.

Before the regiment marched off, each of the Portuguese officers was presented with a handsome gold watch bearing an inscription expressing the gratitude of the two Spanish noblemen, and their families. Bull, Macwitty, and Herrara received, in addition, heavy gold chains. Ryan received a splendid horse, with saddle, holsters, and a brace of finely-finished pistols; and a similar present was made to Terence.

On the day when he went to say goodbye, he found the ladies of both families assembled at the Count de Montego's. His host said:

"You must consider the horses and equipment as a special present from myself and the marquis, Colonel O'Connor; but the ladies of our two families wish to give you a little memorial of their gratitude."

"They are memorials only," his wife said, "and are feeble testimonies, indeed, of what we feel. These are the joint presents of the marquise and her daughter, and of myself and my girls," and she gave him a small case containing a superb diamond ring, of great value; and then a large case containing a magnificent parure of diamonds and emeralds.

"This, senor, is for your future wife. She will value it, I am sure, not so much for what it may be worth; but as a testimony of the gratitude, of six Spanish ladies, for the inestimable services that you rendered them. Perhaps they will have a special value in her eyes, inasmuch as the stones all formed a small part of the jewels of the two families that you saved from plunder. We have, of course, had them reset; and there was no difficulty in getting this done, for at present ours are, I believe, the only jewels in Ciudad."

"My dear countess," Terence said, much moved, "I do not like taking so valuable a present."

"What is it, in comparison to what you have done for us, senor? And please do not suppose that we have seriously diminished our store. Nowhere, I believe, have ladies such jewels as they have in Spain; and few families can boast of finer ones than those of the marquise and myself. And I can assure you that we shall value our jewels all the more, when we think that some of their companions will be worn by the wife of the gentleman who has preserved more than our lives."

"That is a royal gift, indeed," Herrara said, when Terence showed him the jewels. "I should be afraid to say what they are worth. Many of the old Spanish families possess marvellous jewels, relics of the day when the Spaniards owned the wealth of the Indies and the spoils of half Europe; and I should imagine that these must have been among the finest stones in the possession of both families. If I were you, colonel, I should take the very first opportunity that occurs of sending them to England."

"You may be sure that I shall do so, Herrara. They are not the sort of things to be carried about in a cavalry wallet, and I have no other place to stow them. As soon as we arrive at Pinhel, I will get a strong box made to hold the two cases, and hand them over to the paymaster there, to be sent down to Lisbon by the next convoy. He sent home all the money that I did not want to keep by me, when we were at Pinhel last."

Two other Portuguese regiments, and a brigade of British infantry, were stationed at Pinhel in readiness, at any moment, to march to Almeida or Guarda, should Marmont make a forward movement; which was probable enough, for it was evident, by the concentration of his troops at Salamanca and Valladolid, that he had no intention of marching south; but intended to leave it to Soult, with the armies of Estremadura, Castile, and Andalusia, to relieve Badajoz.

From time to time, news came from that town. The siege had begun on the 17th of March, the attack being made on a fortified hill called the Picurina; but at first the progress was slow. Incessant rain fell, the ground became a swamp, and all operations had, several times, to be suspended; while Phillipon, the brave officer who commanded the garrison, made numerous sorties from the town, with more or less success.

On the night of the 25th, an assault was made on the strong fort on the Picurina; which was captured after desperate fighting, and the loss of 19 officers and 300 men, killed and wounded. On the following day the trenches were opened for the attack upon the town itself. The assailants laboured night and day and, on the 6th, a breach had been effected in the work called the Trinidad; and this was to be attacked by the 4th and light divisions. The castle was at the same time to be assailed by Picton's division, while General Power's Portuguese were to make a feint on the other side of the Guadiana, and San Roque was to be stormed by the forces employed in the trenches.

The enterprise was well-nigh desperate. The breaches had not been sufficiently cleared, and it was known that the enemy had thrown up strong intrenchments behind them. Most of the guns were still in position to sweep the breaches, and another week, at least, should have been occupied in preparing the way for an assault. But Wellington was forced here, as at Ciudad, to fight against time. Soult was close at hand, and the British had not sufficient force to give him battle, and at the same time to continue the siege of the town; and it was therefore necessary either to carry the place at once, at whatever cost of life, or to abandon the fruits of all the efforts that had been made.

Had Wellington's instructions been carried out, there would have been no occasion, whatever, for the assault to have been delivered until the breaches were greatly extended, the intrenchments destroyed, and the guns silenced. The Portuguese ministry, however, had thwarted him at every turn; and the siege could not be commenced until a fortnight after the date fixed by Wellington. This fortnight's delay cost the lives of 4000 British soldiers.

Four of the assaults on the breaches failed. On the crest of these Phillipon had erected a massive stockade, thickly bristling with sabre blades. On the upper part of the breach, planks, similarly studded, had been laid; while on either side a vast number of shells, barrels of powder, faggots soaked in oil, and other missiles and combustibles were piled, in readiness for hurling down on the assailants; while the soldiers behind the defences had been supplied with four muskets each.

Never did British soldiers fight with such dogged bravery as was here evinced. Again and again they dashed up the breach, the centre of a volcano of fire; shells burst among them, cannon poured volleys of grape through their ranks, the French plied them with musketry, fireballs lit up the scene as if by day, mines exploded under their feet; yet again and again, they reached the terrible breastwork. But all efforts to climb it were fruitless. Numbers of those in front were pressed to death against the sabres, by the eager efforts of those behind to get up and, for hours, the assault continued. At last, seeing the impossibility of success, and scorning to retreat, the men gathered at the foot of the breach, and there endured, sternly and silently, the murderous fire that was maintained by the enemy.

Picton, however, had gained possession of the castle. Walker, with his command, had captured the bastion of San Vincenti; and part of his command fought their way along the battlement towards the breaches, while another marched through the town. Finding that the town had been entered at several points, the defenders of the breach gave way, and the soldiers poured into the town.

Here even more hideous scenes of murder and rapine were perpetrated than at Ciudad Rodrigo, and went on for two days and nights, absolutely unchecked. It has never been satisfactorily explained why, after the events in the former town, no precautions were taken, by the general commanding, to prevent the recurrence of scenes that brought disgrace on the British army, and for which he cannot be held blameless. Five thousand men and officers were killed or wounded in the siege; of these, three thousand five hundred fell in the assault.

The next three months passed without any action of importance. The discipline of the army had, as might have been expected, deteriorated greatly as a consequence of the unbridled license permitted to the soldiers after the capture of the two fortresses, and the absence of any punishment, whatever, for the excesses there committed. Lord Wellington complained bitterly, in his letters home, of the insubordination of the troops; of the outrages committed upon the peasantry, especially by detached parties; and of the general disobedience of orders. But he who had permitted the license and excesses to be carried on, unchecked and unpunished, cannot but be considered largely responsible for the natural consequences of such laxity.

In May, heavy rains prevented any movement on either side; except that the town of Almaraz, a most important position at the bridge across the Tagus, permitting Soult and Marmont to join hands, was captured by surprise by General Hill; the works, which had been considered almost impregnable, being carried by assault in the course of an hour. This was one of the most brilliant exploits of the war.

Wellington had moved north, and was again on the Aqueda and, on the 13th of June, rain having ceased, he crossed the river and, on the 16th, arrived within six miles of Salamanca, and drove a French division across the Tormes. On the 17th the river was crossed, both above and below the town, and the forts defending it were at once invested. Marmont had, that day, retired with two divisions of infantry and some cavalry; and was followed immediately by a strong British division.

The Minho regiment had been one of the first to take post on the Aqueda, after Wellington's arrival on the Coa; and moved forward in advance of the army, which was composed of 24,000 British troops, with a Spanish division and several Portuguese regiments.

As soon as Marmont had retired, Salamanca went wild with joy; although the circle of forts still prevented the British from entering. The chief of these was San Vincenti, which stood on a perpendicular cliff, overhanging the Tormes. It was flanked by two other strong forts; from which, however, it was divided by a ravine. The battering train brought with the army was altogether inadequate--only four eighteen-pounders and three twenty-four-pound howitzers were available--and the forts were far stronger than Wellington had been led to expect.

A few guns had been sent forward by General Hill and, on the 18th, seven pieces opened fire on San Vincenti. The next day some more howitzers arrived, and a breach was made in the wall of the convent; but the ammunition was exhausted, and the fire ceased until more could be brought up.

That day, however, Marmont, with a force of 20,000 men, was seen advancing to the relief of the forts. The British army at once withdrew from the neighbourhood of the convent, and took up its position, in order of battle, on the heights of San Christoval.

On the 21st, three divisions of infantry and a brigade of cavalry joined Marmont, raising his force to 40,000 men. The French, the next night, sent a portion of their force across the Tormes and, when daylight broke, the German cavalry, which had been placed to guard the ford, was seen retiring before 12,000 French infantry, with twenty guns. Graham was also sent across the Tormes with his division, which was of about the same strength as the French force and, as the light division was also following, the French retired, recrossed the ford, and rejoined the main body of their army.

The next night the batteries again opened fire on San Vincenti and, on the 27th, the fort and convent were in a blaze. One of the other forts was breached, and both surrendered, just as the storming parties were advancing to the assault; and Marmont retreated the same night across the Douro, by the roads to Tordesillas and Toro.

As soon as it was possible to enter Salamanca, Terence rode down into the town, accompanied by Ryan. The forts had not yet surrendered, but their hands were so full that they had no time to devote to annoying small parties of British officers passing into the town. Terence had noted down the address that Nita had given him, and at once rode there; after having, with some difficulty, discovered the lane in which the house was situated. An old man came to the door. Terence dismounted.

"What can I do for you, senor?"

"I wanted to ask you if your niece, Nita, is still staying with you?"

The man looked greatly surprised at the question.

"She has done no harm, I hope?" he asked.

"Not at all, but I wish to speak to her. Is she married yet to Garcia, the muleteer?"

The old man looked still more surprised.

"No, senor. Garcia is away, he is no longer a muleteer."

"Well, you have not answered me if your niece is here."

"She is here, senor, but she is not in the house at this moment. She returned here from her father's, last autumn. The country was so disturbed that it was not right that young women should remain in the villages."

"Will you tell her that a British officer will call to see her, in half an hour, and beg her to remain in until I come?"

"I will tell her, senor."

Terence went at once to a silversmith's, and bought the handsomest set of silver jewelry, such as the peasants wore, that he had in his shop; including bracelets, necklaces, large filigree hairpin and earrings, and various other ornaments.

Chapter 20: Salamanca.

"She is a lucky girl, Terence," Ryan said, as they quitted the shop. "She will be the envy of all the peasant girls in the neighbourhood, when she goes to church in all that finery, to be married to her muleteer."

"It has only cost about twenty pounds, and I value my freedom at a very much higher price than that, Dick. If I had not escaped, I should not have been in that affair with Moras that got me my promotion and, at the present time, should be in some prison in France."

"You would not have got your majority, I grant, Terence; but wherever they shut you up, it is morally certain that you would have been out of it, long before this. I don't think anything less than being chained hand and foot, and kept in an underground dungeon, would suffice to hold you."

"I hope that I shall never have to try that experiment, Dicky," Terence laughed; "and now, I think you had better go into this hotel, and order lunch for us both. It is just as well not to attract attention, by two of us riding to that lane. We have not done with Marmont, yet, and it may be that the French will be masters of Salamanca again, before long, and it is just as well not to get the old man or the girl talked about. I will leave my horse here, too. See that both of them get a good feed; they have not had overmuch since we crossed the Aqueda."

As there were a good many British officers in the town, no special attention was given to Terence as he walked along through the street, which was gay with flags. When he reached the house in the lane, the old man was standing at the door.

"Nita is in now, senor. She has not told me why you wanted to see her. She said it was better that she should not do so, but she thought she knew who it was."

The girl clapped her hands, as he entered the room to which the old man pointed.

"Then it is you, Senor Colonello. I wondered, when we heard the English were coming, if you would be with them. Of course, I heard from Garcia that you had gone safely on board a ship at Cadiz. Then I wondered whether, if you did come here, you would remember me."

"Then that was very bad of you, Nita. You ought to have been quite sure that I should remember you. If I had not done so, I should have been an ungrateful rascal, and should have deserved to die in the next French prison I got into."

"How well you speak Spanish now, senor!"

"Yes; that was principally due to Garcia, but partly from having been in Spain for six weeks, last autumn. I was with Moras, and we gave the French a regular scare."

"Then it was you, senor! We heard that an English officer was in command of the troops who cut all the roads, and took numbers of French prisoners, and defeated 5000 of their troops and, as they said, nearly captured Valladolid and Burgos."

"That was an exaggeration, Nita. Still, we managed to do them a good deal of damage, and kept the French in this part of the country pretty busy.

"And now, Nita, I have come to fulfil my promise," and he handed her the box in which the jeweller had packed up his purchases.

"These are for your wedding, Nita, and if it comes off while we are in this part of the country, I shall come and dance at it."

The girl uttered cries of delight, as she opened parcel after parcel.

"Oh, senor, it is too much, too much altogether!" she cried, as she laid them all out on the table before her.

"Not a bit of it," Terence said. "But for you, I should be in prison now. If they had been ten times as many, and ten times as costly, I should still have felt your debtor, all my life.

"And where is Garcia now?"

"He has gone to join Morillo," she said. "He always said that, as soon as the English came to our help, he should go out; so, six weeks ago, he sold all his mules and bought a gun, and went off."

"I am sorry not to have seen him," Terence said. "And now, Nita, when he returns you are to give him this little box. It contains a present to help you both to start housekeeping, in good style. You see that I have put your name and his both on it. No one can say what may happen in war. Remember that this is your joint property; and if, by ill fortune, he should not come back again, then it becomes yours."

"Oh, senor, you are altogether too good! Oh, I am a lucky girl! I am sure that no maid ever went to church before with such splendid ornaments. How envious all the girls will be of me!"

"And I expect the men will be equally envious of Garcia, Nita. Now, if you will take my advice, you will not show these things to anyone at present; but will hide them in the box, in some very safe place, until you are quite sure that the French will never come back again. If your neighbours saw them, some ill-natured person might tell the French that you had received them from an English officer, and then it might be supposed that you had been acting as a spy for us; so it is better that you should tell no one, not even your uncle--that is, if you have not already mentioned it to him."

"I have never told him," the girl said. "He is a good man and very kind; but he is very timid, and afraid of getting into trouble. If he asks me who you are and what you wanted, I shall tell him that you are an English officer who was in prison, in the convent; that you always bought your fruit of me, and said, if you ever came to Salamanca again, you would find me out."

"That will do very well. Now I will say goodbye, Nita. If we remain here after the French have retreated, I will come and see you again; for there will be so many English officers here that I would not be noticed. But there may be a battle any day; or Marmont may fall back, and we should follow him; so that I may not get an opportunity again."

"I hope you will come, I do hope you will come! I will bury all these things, this evening, in the ground in the kitchen, after my uncle has gone to bed."

"Well, goodbye, Nita. I must be off now, as I have a friend with me. When you see Garcia, you can tell him that you have given me a kiss. I am sure he won't mind."

"I should not care if he did," the girl said saucily, as she held up her face. "Goodbye, senor. I shall always think of you, and pray the Virgin to watch over you."

After Marmont fell back across the Douro there was a pause in the operations and, as the British army was quartered in and around Salamanca, the city soon swarmed with British soldiers; and presented a scene exactly similar to that which it had worn when occupied by Moore's army, nearly four years before.

"What fun it was, Terence," Ryan said, "when we frightened the place out of its very senses, by the report that the French were entering the town!"

"That is all very well, Dick; but I think that you and I were just as much frightened as the Spaniards were, when we saw how the thing had succeeded, and that all our troops were called out. There is no saying what they would have done to us, had they found out who started the report. The very least thing that would have happened would have been to be tried by court martial, and dismissed from the service; and I am by no means sure that worse than that would not have befallen us."

"Yes, it would have been an awful business, if we had been found out. Still, it was a game, wasn't it? What an awful funk they were in! It was the funniest thing I ever saw. Things have changed since then, Terence, and I am afraid we have quite done with jokes of that sort."

"I should hope so, Dick. I think that I can answer for myself, but I am by no means sure as to you."

"I like that," Ryan said indignantly. "You were always the leader in mischief. I believe you would be, now, if you had the chance."

"I don't know," Terence replied, a little more seriously than he had before spoken. "I have been through a wonderful number of adventures, since then; and I don't pretend that I have not enjoyed them in something of the same spirit in which we enjoyed the fun we used to have together; but you see, I have had an immense deal of responsibility. I have two thousand men under me and, though Bull and Macwitty are good men, so far as the carrying out of an order goes, they are still too much troopers, seldom make a suggestion, and never really discuss any plan I suggest; so that the responsibility of the lives of all these men really rests entirely upon my shoulders. It has been only when I have been separated from them, as when I was a prisoner, that I have been able to enjoy an adventure in the same sort of way that we used to do, together."

"I little thought then, Terence, that in three years and a half, for that is about what it is, I should be a captain and you a major--for I don't count your Portuguese rank one, way or the other."

"Of course, you have had two more years' regimental work than I have had. It would have been much better for me if I had had a longer spell of it, too. Of course, I have been extraordinarily fortunate, and it has been very jolly; but I am sure it would have been better for me to have had more experience as a subaltern, before all this began."

"Well, I cannot say I see it, Terence. At any rate, you have had a lot more regimental work than most officers; for you had to form your regiment, teach them discipline, and everything else; and I don't think that you would have done it so well, if you had been ground down into the regular regimental pattern, and had come to think that powder and pipe clay were actual indispensables in turning out soldiers."

The quiet time at Salamanca lasted a little over a fortnight for, in the beginning of July, Lord Wellington heard that, in obedience to King Joseph's reiterated orders, Marmont, having received reinforcements, was preparing to recross the Douro; that Soult was on the point of advancing into Portugal; and that the king himself, with a large army, was on the way to join Marmont.

The latter, indeed, was not to have moved till the king joined him but, believing that his own army was ample for the purpose; and eager to gain a victory, unhampered by the king's presence, he suddenly crossed at Tordesillas, and it was only by his masterly movements, and a sharp fight at Castile, that Wellington succeeded in concentrating his army on the Aqueda. The British general drew up his army in order of battle, on the heights of Vallesa; but the position was a strong one, Marmont knew the country perfectly and, instead of advancing to the attack, he started at daybreak on the 20th, marched rapidly up the river, and crossed it before any opposition could be offered, and then marched for the Tormes. By this movement he had turned Wellington's right flank, was as near Salamanca as were the British, and had it in his power, unless checked, to place himself on the road between Salamanca and Ciudad, and so to cut their line of retreat.

Seeing his position thus turned, Wellington made a corresponding movement, and the two armies marched along lines of hills parallel with each other, the guns on both sides occasionally firing. All day long they were but a short distance apart and, at any moment, the battle might have been brought on. But Wellington had no opportunity for fighting, except at a disadvantage; and Marmont, having gained the object for which he had manoeuvred, was well content to maintain his advantage. At nightfall the British were on the heights of Cabeca and Aldea Rubia, and so secured their former position at San Christoval.

Marmont, however, had reached a point that gave him the command of the ford at Huerta; and had it in his power to cross the Tormes when he pleased, and either to recross at Salamanca, or to cut the road to Ciudad. He had proved, too, that his army could outmarch the British for, although they had already made a march of some distance, when the race began, he had gained ground throughout the day, in spite of the efforts of the British to keep abreast of him. Moreover, Marmont now had his junction with the king's army, approaching from Madrid, securely established; and could either wait for his arrival, or give battle if he saw a favourable opportunity.

Wellington's position was grave. He had not only to consider his adversary's force, but the whole course of the war, which a disaster would imperil. He had the safety of the whole Peninsula to consider, and a defeat would not only entail the loss of the advantage he had gained in Spain, but would probably decide the fate of Portugal, also. He determined, however, to cover Salamanca till the last moment, in hopes that Marmont might make some error that would afford him an opportunity of dealing a heavy blow.

The next morning the allies occupied their old position at San Christoval, while the French took possession of Alba; whence the Spaniards had been withdrawn, without notice, to Wellington. The evening before, the British general had sent a despatch to the Spanish commander, saying that he feared that he should be unable to hold his position. The messenger was captured by the French cavalry; and Marmont, believing that Wellington was about to retreat, and fearing that he might escape him, determined to fight rather than wait for the arrival of the king.

The French crossed the Tormes by the fords of Huerta and Alba, the British by other fords above Salamanca. This movement was performed while a terrible storm raged. Many men and horses of the 5th Dragoon Guards were killed by the lightning; while hundreds of the picketed horses broke their ropes, and galloped wildly about.

The position of the British army in the morning was very similar to that occupied by a portion of it, when besieging the forts of Salamanca; extending from the ford of Santa Marta to the heights near the village of Arapiles. This line covered Salamanca; but it was open to Marmont to march round Wellington's right, and so cut his communications with Ciudad. During the night, Wellington heard that the French would be joined, in the course of two days, by twenty guns and 2000 cavalry; and resolved to retire before these came up, unless Marmont afforded him some opportunity of fighting to advantage.

The latter, however, was too confident of victory to wait for the arrival of this reinforcement, still less for that of the king and, at daybreak, he took possession of a village close to the British, thereby showing that he was resolved to force on a battle.

Near this were two detached hills, called the Arapiles or Hermanitos. They were steep and rugged. As the French were seen approaching, a Portuguese regiment was sent to seize them; and these gained the one nearest to them, while the French took possession of the second. The 7th division assailed the height first, and gained and captured half of it.

Had Wellington now wished to retire, it would have been at once difficult and dangerous to attempt the movement. His line was a long one, and it would have been impossible to withdraw, without running the risk of being attacked while in movement, and driven back upon the Tormes. Ignorant of Marmont's precise intentions--for the main body of the French army was almost hidden in the woods--Wellington could only wait until their plans were developed. He therefore contented himself with placing the 4th division on a slope behind the village of Arapiles, which was held by the light companies of the Guards. The 5th and 6th divisions were massed behind the hill, where a deep depression hid them from the sight of the enemy.

For some time things remained quiet, except that the French and British batteries, on the top of the two Hermanitos, kept up a duel with each other. During the pause, the French cavalry had again crossed the Tormes, by one of the fords used in the night by the British; and had taken post at Aldea Tejarda, thus placing themselves between the British army and the road to Ciudad. This movement, however, had been covered by the woods.

About twelve o'clock, fearing that Wellington would assail the Hermanito held by him, Marmont brought up two divisions to that point; and stood ready to oppose an attack which Wellington, indeed, had been preparing--but had abandoned the idea, fearing that such a movement would draw the whole army into a battle, on a disadvantageous line. The French marshal, however, fearing that Wellington would retreat by the Ciudad road, before he could place a sufficient force on that line to oppose the movement, sent General Maucune with two divisions, covered by fifty guns and supported by cavalry, to move along the southern ridge of the basin and menace that road; holding in hand six divisions, in readiness to fall upon the village of Arapiles, should the British interfere with Maucune's movement.

The British line had now pivoted round, until its position extended from the Hermanito to near Aldea Tejarda.

In order to occupy the attention of the British, and prevent them from moving, the French force attacked the village of Arapiles, and a fierce struggle took place. Had Marmont waited until Clausel's division, still behind, came up and occupied the ridge, so as to connect the French main army with Maucune's division, their position would have been unassailable; but the fear that Wellington might escape had overcome his prudence and, as Maucune advanced, a great gap was left between his division and that of Marmont.

As soon as Wellington perceived the mistake, he saw that his opportunity had come. Orders were despatched in all directions and, suddenly, the two divisions, hidden from the sight of the French behind the Hermanito, dashed down into the valley; where two other divisions joined them. The 4th and 5th were in front, with Bradford's Portuguese; and the 6th and 7th formed the second line; while the Spanish troops marched between them and the 3rd division, forming the extreme right at Aldea Tejarda. The light divisions of Pack's Portuguese and the heavy cavalry remained in reserve, on high ground behind them. In spite of a storm of bullets from Maucune's guns, the leading divisions marched steadily forward and, while the third division dashed across the valley and, climbing the ridge, barred his progress, the main line advanced to attack his flank.

Marmont, seeing the terrible danger in which Maucune was involved, sent officer after officer to hasten up the troops from the forest and, with his centre, prepared to attack the English Hermanito, and to drive them from that portion of the village they still held; but as he was hurrying to join Maucune a shell exploded near him, hurling him to the ground with a broken arm, and two deep wounds in his side. This misfortune was fatal to the French chances. Confusion ensued, and the movements of the troops were paralyzed.

It was about five o'clock when the 3rd division, under Pakenham, fell upon Maucune's leading division; and two batteries of artillery suddenly opened fire, on their flank, from the opposite height. Having no expectation of such a stroke; and believing that the British were, ere this, in full retreat along the Ciudad road, the French were hurrying forward, lengthening out into a long, straggling line.

The onslaught of Pakenham's division was irresistible, supported as it was by guns and cavalry. Nevertheless, the French bore themselves gallantly, forming line as they marched forward, while their guns poured showers of grape into the approaching infantry. Nothing, however, could stop them. Pressing forward, they broke the half-formed lines into fragments, and drove them back in confusion upon the columns behind. The French cavalry endeavoured to check the British advance, by a charge on their flank; but were repulsed by the infantry, and the British light horsemen charged, and drove them off the field.

Pushing forward, Pakenham came upon the second half of the division they had defeated, formed up on the wooded heights; one face being opposed to him, and the other to the 5th division, Bradford's Portuguese, and a mass of cavalry moving across the basin. The French had been already driven out of Arapiles, and were engaged in action with the 4th division; but the battle was to some extent retrieved, for Clausel's division had arrived from the forest and reinforced Maucune; and spread across the basin, joining hands with the divisions massed near the French Hermanito.

Marmont had been carried off the field. Bonnet, who had succeeded him, was disabled; and the chief command devolved on Clausel, a general of talent, possessing great coolness and presence of mind. His dispositions were excellent, but his troops were broken up into lines, columns, and squares. A strong wind raised the sandy soil in clouds of dust, the sinking sun shone full in the faces of his troops and, at once, concealed the movements of their enemies from them, and prevented them from acting with any unity.

Suddenly, two heavy bodies of light and heavy cavalry broke from the cloud of dust and fell upon them. Twelve hundred Frenchmen were trampled down and, as the cavalry rode on, the third division ran forward, at the double, through the gap that they had formed. Line after line of the French infantry was broken and scattered, and five of their guns captured by one of the squadrons. Two thousand prisoners were taken, and the three divisions that Maucune had commanded were a mass of fugitives.

In the meantime, a terrible battle was raging in the centre. Here Clausel had gathered three fresh divisions and, behind these, the fugitives from the left rallied. He placed three others, supported by the whole of the cavalry, to cover the retreat; while yet another remained behind the French Hermanito. Pack's Portuguese were advancing against it, and arrived nearly at the summit, when the French reserves leapt from the rocks and opened a tremendous fire on their front and left flank; and the Portuguese were driven down the hill, with much loss. Almost at the same moment, one of the regiments of the 4th division were suddenly charged by 1200 French soldiers, hidden behind a declivity, and driven back with heavy loss.

For a moment, it seemed that the fate of the battle might yet be changed; but Wellington had the strongest reserve, the sixth division was brought up and, though the French fought obstinately, Clausel was obliged to abandon the Hermanito; and the army began to fall back, the movement being covered by their guns and the gallant charges of their cavalry.

The whole of the British reserves were now brought into action, and hotly pressed them; but, for the most part maintaining their order, the French fell back into the woods and, favoured by the darkness, and nobly covered by Maucune, who had been strongly reinforced, they drew off with comparatively little loss, thanks to the Spaniards' abandonment of the fort guarding the ford at Alba.

Believing that the French must make for the ford of Huerta, Wellington had greatly strengthened his force on that side and, after a long march to the ford, was bitterly disappointed, on arriving there at midnight, to find that there was no sign of the enemy; although it was not until morning that he learned that they had passed unmolested over the ford of Alba. Had it not been for the Spanish disobedience and folly, Marmont's whole army would have had no resource but to surrender.

Marmont's strength when the fight began was 42,000 infantry and cavalry, and 74 guns. Wellington had 46,000 infantry and cavalry, and 60 pieces; but this included a considerable Spanish force and one of their batteries, and 10,000 Portuguese who, however, could not be reckoned as good troops. The pursuit of the French was taken up hotly next morning, and they were chased for forty miles that day but, the next morning, they eluded their pursuers, marched to Valladolid, drew off the garrison there, and left it to be occupied by the British the following day.

The Minho regiment had been, two days before the battle, attached to the 6th division. For a time, being in the second line, they looked on, impatient spectators of the fight; but, at the crisis of the battle, they were brought up to check Clausel's impetuous counter attack, and nowhere was the struggle fiercer. Hulse's brigade, to which they were attached, bore more than its share of the fighting; and the 11th and the 61st, together, had but 160 men and officers left when the battle was over. The Portuguese fought valiantly, and the fact that their countrymen had been defeated, in their attempt to capture the French Hermanito, inspired them with a fierce determination to show that Portuguese troops could fight as well as their allies. They pushed forward well abreast of the other regiments of the brigade, and suffered equally.

In vain the French attempted to check their advance. Showers of grape swept their ranks; volleys of musketry, at a distance of but a few yards, withered up their front lines and, for a time, a hand-to-hand fight with bayonets raged. In the terrible roar of artillery and musketry, words of command were unheard; but the men mechanically filled up the gaps in their ranks, and the one thought of all was to press forward until, at length, the French yielded and fell sullenly back, disputing every yard of the ground, and a fresh division took up the pursuit.

The order to halt was given. The men looked round, confused and dazed, as if waking from a dream. Grimed with powder, soaked with perspiration, breathless and haggard, many seemed scarcely able to keep their feet; and every limb trembled at the sudden cessation of the terrible strain. Then, as they looked round their ranks and to the ground they had passed over, now so thickly dotted with the dark uniforms, hoarse sobs broke from them; and men who had gone unflinchingly through the terrible struggle burst into tears. The regiment had gone into action over 2000 strong. Scarce 1200 remained unwounded. Of the officers, Bull had fallen, desperately wounded; Macwitty had been shot through the head.

A shell had struck Terence's horse and, bursting, had carried off the rider's leg above the knee. The men near him uttered a simultaneous cry as he fell and, regardless of the fight, oblivious to the storm of shot and shell, had knelt beside him. Terence was perfectly sensible.

"Do one of you give me my flask out of my holster," he said, "and another cut off the leg of my trousers, as high as you can above the wound. That is right. Now for the bandages."

As every soldier in the regiment carried one in his hat, half a dozen of these were at once produced.

"Is it bleeding much?" he asked.

"Not much, colonel."

"That is fortunate. Now find a smooth round stone. Lay it on the inside of the leg, just below where you have cut the trousers.

"Now put a bandage round and round, as tightly as you can do it. That is right.

"Now take the ramrod of one of my pistols, put it through the bandage, and then twist it. You need not be afraid of hurting me; my leg is quite numbed, at present. That is right.

"Put another bandage on, so as to hold the ramrod in its place. Now fetch a flannel shirt from my valise, fold it up so as to make a pad that will go over the wound, and bandage it there firmly.

"Give me another drink, for I feel faint."

When all was done, he said:

"Put my valise under my head, and throw my cloak over me. Thank you, I shall do very well now. Go forward and join the regiment.

"I am done for, this time," he thought to himself, when the men left him. "Still, I may pull through. There are many who have had a leg shot off and recovered, and there is no reason why I should not do so. There has not been any great loss of blood. I suppose that something has been smashed up, so that it cannot bleed.

"Ah, here comes the doctor!"

The doctor was one of several medical students who had enlisted in the regiment, fighting and drilling with the rest but, when occasion offered, acting as surgeons.

"I have just heard the news, Colonel. The regiment is heartbroken but, in their fury, they went at the French facing them and scattered them like sheep. Canovas, who told me, said that you were not bleeding much, and that he and the others had bandaged you up according to your instructions.

"Let me see. It could not have been better," he said.

He felt Terence's pulse.

"Wonderfully good, considering what a smash you have had. Your vitality must be marvellous and, unless your wound breaks out bleeding badly, I have every hope that you will get over it. Robas and Salinas will be here in a minute, with a stretcher for you; and we will get you to some quiet spot, out of the line of fire."

Almost immediately, four men came up with the stretcher and, by the surgeon's orders, carried Terence to a quiet spot, sheltered by a spur of the hill from the fire.

"There is nothing more you can do for me now, doctor?"

"Nothing. It would be madness to take the bandages off, at present."

"Then please go back to the others. There must be numbers there who want your aid far more than I do.

"You can stay with me, Leon; but first go back to where my horse is lying, and bring here the saddle and the two blankets strapped behind it. I don't feel any pain to speak of, but it seems to me bitterly cold."

The man presently returned with the saddle and blankets. Two others accompanied him. Both had been hit too seriously to continue with the regiment. Their wounds had been already bandaged.

"We thought that we should like to be near you, colonel, if you do not mind."

"Not at all. First, do each of you take a sip at my flask.

"Leon, I wish you would find a few sticks, and try to make a fire. It would be cheerful, although it might not give much warmth."

It was dark now. It was five o'clock when the 3rd division threw itself across Maucune's line of march, and the battle had begun. It was dark long before it ended but, during the three hours it had lasted, the French had lost a marshal, seven generals, and 12,500 men and officers, killed, wounded, or prisoners; while on the British side a field marshal, four generals, and nearly 6000 officers and soldiers were killed or wounded. Indeed, the battle itself was concentrated into an hour's hard fighting; and a French officer, describing it, said that 40,000 men were defeated in forty minutes.

Presently the din of battle died out and, as soon as it did so, Herrara and Ryan both hurried to the side of Terence.

"My dear Terence," Ryan said, dropping on his knees beside him, "this is terrible. When I heard the news I was almost beside myself. As to the men, terrible as their loss is, they talk of no one but you."

"I think I shall pull through all right, Ryan. At any rate, the doctor says he thinks I shall, and I think so myself. I am heartily glad that you and Herrara have gone through it all right. What are our losses?"

"I don't know, yet. We have not had time to count, but not far from half our number. Macwitty is killed, Bull desperately wounded. Fully half the company officers are killed."

"That is terrible indeed, Ryan. Poor fellows! Poor fellows!

"Well, I should say, Herrara, that if you get no orders to join in the pursuit, you had best get all the wounded collected and brought here, and let the regiment light fires and bivouac. There is no chance of getting medical assistance, outside the regiment, tonight. Of course, all the British surgeons will have their hands full with their own men. Still, I only suggest this, for of course you are now in command."

The wounded had all fallen within a comparatively short distance, and many were able to walk in. The rest were carried, each in a blanket, with four men at the corners. Under Ryan's directions, the unwounded scattered over the hillside and soon brought back a large supply of bushes and faggots. A number of fires were lighted, and the four surviving medical students, and one older surgeon, at once began the work of attending the wounded; taking the more serious cases first, leaving the less important ones to be bandaged by their comrades. Many wounded men from other regiments, attracted by the light of the fires, came up; and these, too, received what aid the Portuguese could give them.

The next morning Terence was carried down, at daybreak, on a stretcher to Salamanca; where the town was in a state of the wildest excitement over the victory. As they entered the gates, an officer asked the bearers:

"Who is it?"

"Colonel O'Connor, of the Minho regiment."

The officer knew Terence personally.

"I am sorry, indeed, to see you here, O'Connor. Not very serious, I hope?"

"A leg cut clean off above the knee, with the fragment of a shell, Percival; but I fancy that I am going to get over it."

"Carry him to the convent of Saint Bernard," the officer said, to the Portuguese captain who was in command of the party, which consisted of 400 men carrying 100 wounded. "All officers are to be taken there, the others to the San Martin convent.

"I will look in and see you as soon as I can, O'Connor; and hope to find you going on well."

But few wounded officers had as yet been brought in and, as soon as Terence was carried into a ward, two of the staff surgeons examined his wound.

"You are doing wonderfully well, colonel," the senior officer said. "You must have received good surgical attention, immediately on being wounded. Judging by your pulse, you can have lost but little blood."

"It hardly bled at all, Doctor, and I had it bandaged up by two of my own men. I have seen a good many serious wounds, in the course of the last four years; and know pretty well what ought to be done."

"It has been uncommonly well done, anyhow. I think we had better not disturb the bandages, for a few days. If no bleeding sets in by that time, clots of blood will have formed, and you will be comparatively safe.

"Your pulse is very quiet. Your men must have carried you down very carefully."

"If I had been a basket of eggs, they could not have taken more care of me. I was scarcely conscious of any movement."

"Well, you have youth and good health and good spirits in your favour. If all our patients took things as cheerfully as you do, there would not be so many of them slip through our hands."

Bull, who had been brought in immediately after Terence, was next attended to. He was unconscious. He had been struck by a round shot in the shoulder, which had not only smashed the bone, but almost carried away the upper part of the arm.

"An ugly wound," the surgeon said to his colleague. "At any rate, we may as well take off the arm while he is unconscious. It will save him a second shock, and we can better bandage the wound when it is removed."

A low moan was the only sign that the wounded man had any consciousness that the operation was being performed.

"Will he get over it, Doctor?" Terence asked, when the surgeon had finished.

"There is just a chance, but it is a faint one. Has he been a sober man?"

"Very; I can answer for the last four years, at any rate. All the Portuguese officers were abstemious men; and I think that Bull felt that it would not do for him, commanding a battalion, to be less sober than they were."

"That increases his chance. Men who drink have everything against them when they get a severe wound; but he has lost a great deal of blood, and the shock has, of course, been a terrible one."

An orderly was told to administer a few spoonfuls of brandy and water, and the surgeon then moved on to the next bed.

Chapter 21: Home Again.

The next morning, one of the surgeons brought a basketful of fruit to Terence.

"There is a young woman outside, colonel," he said, with a slight smile, "who was crying so bitterly that I was really obliged to bring this fruit up to you. She said you would know who she was, and was heartbroken that she could not be allowed to come up to nurse you. She said that she had heard, from one of your men, of your wound. I told her that it was quite impossible that any civilian should enter the hospital, but said that I would take her fruit up and, if she would come every day at five o'clock in the afternoon, when we went off duty for an hour, I would tell her how you were going on."

"She used to sell fruit to the prisoners here," Terence said, "and it was entirely by her aid that I effected my escape, last year; and she got a muleteer, to whom she is engaged, to take me down from here to Cadiz. I bought her a present when we entered the town and, the other day, told her I hoped to dance at her wedding before long. However, that engagement will not come off. My dancing days are over."

The surgeon felt his pulse.

"There is very little fever," he said. "So far you are going on marvellously; but you must not be disappointed if you get a sharp turn, presently. You can hardly expect to get through a wound like this without having a touch, and perhaps a severe one, of fever."

"Is there any harm in my eating fruit?"

"I would not eat any, but you can drink some of the juice, mixed with water. I hope we shall have everything comfortable by tonight; of course, we are all in the rough, at present. Although many of the doctors of the town have been helping us, I don't think there is one medical officer in the army who has taken off his coat since the wounded began to come in, yesterday morning."

That night Terence's wound became very painful. Inflammation, accompanied of course with fever, set in and, for a fortnight, he was very ill. At the end of that time matters began to mend, and the wound soon assumed a healthy appearance. An operation had been performed, and the projecting bone cut off.

There were dire sufferings in Salamanca. Six thousand wounded had to be cared for, the French prisoners and their guards fed; and the army had no organization to meet so great a strain. Numbers of lives that might have been saved, by care and proper attention, were lost; and the spirit of discontent and insubordination, which had its origin in the excesses committed in the sack of the fortresses, rapidly increased.

The news from the front, after a time, seemed more satisfactory. Clausel had been hotly pursued. Had the king with his army joined him, as he might have done, he would have been in a position to again attack the enemy with greatly superior numbers; but Joseph hesitated, and delayed until it was no longer possible. The British army crossed the mountains, and the king was obliged to retire from Madrid and evacuate the capital; which was entered by Wellington on the 25th of August.

Early in September, the chief surgeon said to Terence:

"There is a convoy of sick going down, at the end of the week. I think that it would be best for you to go with them. In the first place, the air of this town is not favourable for recoveries. In some of the hospitals a large number of men have been carried off by the fever, which so often breaks out when the conditions are bad. In the next place, I am privately informed, by the governor, that he has received orders from the general to send all who are capable of bearing the journey across the frontier, as soon as possible. Another battle may be fought, at any moment. The reinforcements that have come from England are nothing like sufficient to replace the gaps in the army.

"The French generals are collecting their forces, and it is certain that Wellington will not be able to withstand their combination and, if he should be compelled to retreat, it is all important that he should not be hampered by the necessity of carrying off huge convoys of wounded. The difficulties of transport are already enormous; and it is, therefore, for many reasons desirable that all who are sufficiently convalescent to march, and all for whom transport can be provided, should start without delay."

"I should be very glad, Doctor. I have not seemed to gain strength, for the last week or ten days; but I believe that, if I were in the open air, I should gain ground rapidly."

Nita had been allowed to come up several times to see Terence, since his convalescence began; and the last time she had called had told him that Garcia had returned, being altogether dissatisfied with the feeble proceedings of the guerilla chief. She came up that afternoon, soon after the doctor left, and he told her the news that he had received. The next day she told Terence that Garcia had arranged with her father for his waggon and two bullocks, and that he himself would drive it to Lisbon, if necessary.

"They are fine bullocks, sir," she said, "and there is no fear of their breaking down. Last night I was talking to one of your sergeants, who comes to me every day for news of you. He says that he and about forty of your men are going down with the convoy. All are able to walk. It is so difficult to get carts that only officers who cannot walk are to be taken, this time."

"It is very good of Garcia and your father, Nita, but I should manage just as well as the others."

"That may be, senor, but it is better to have a friend with you who knows the country. There may be difficulty in getting provisions, and they say that there is a good deal of plundering along the roads; for troops that have lately come up have behaved so badly that the peasants declare they will have revenge, and treat them as enemies if they have the opportunity. Altogether, it is as well to have a friend with you."

Terence told the surgeon next morning what had been arranged, and said:

"So we shall have room for one more, Doctor. Is Major Bull well enough to go with me? He could travel in my waggon, which is sure to be large enough for two to lie in, comfortably."

"Certainly he can. He is making a slow recovery, and I should be glad to send him away, only I have no room for him. If he goes with you, I can send another officer down, also, in the place you would have had."

Accordingly, on the Saturday morning the convoy started. Bull and Terence met for the first time, since the day of the battle; as the former had been removed to another room, after the operation. He was extremely weak, still, and had to be carried down and placed in the waggon by the side of Terence. Garcia had been greatly affected at the latter's appearance.

"I should scarce have known you again, senor."

"I am pulled down a bit, Garcia, but by the time we get to our journey's end, you will see that I shall be a very different man. How comfortable you have made the waggon!"

"I have done what I could, senor. At the bottom are six sacks of corn, for it may be that forage will run short. Then I have filled it with hay, and there are enough rugs to lie on, and to cover you well over at night; and down among the sacks is a good-sized box with some good wine, two hams of Nita's father's curing, and a stock of sausages, and other things for the journey."

Nita came to say goodbye, and wept unrestrainedly at the parting. She and Garcia had opened the little box, and found in it fifty sovereigns; and had agreed to be married, as soon as Garcia returned from his journey. As the train of thirty waggons--of which ten contained provisions for use on the road--issued from the gates, they were joined by the convalescents, four hundred in number. All able to do so carried their arms, the muskets of the remainder being placed on the provision waggons.

"Have you heard from the regiment, Bull?" Terence asked, after they had talked over their time in hospital, and their comrades who had fallen.

"No, sir. There is no one I should expect to write to me."

"I had a letter from Ryan, yesterday," Terence said. "He tells me that they have had no fighting since we left. They form only one battalion now, and he says the state of things in Madrid is dreadful. The people are dying of hunger, and the British officers have subscribed and started soup kitchens; and that he, with the other Portuguese regiments, were to march the next day, with three British divisions and the cavalry, to join General Clinton, who was falling back before Clausel."

"'We all miss you horribly, Terence. Herrara does his best, but he has not the influence over the men that you had. If we have to fall back into Portugal again, which seems to me quite possible, for little more than 20,000 men are fit to carry arms, I fancy that there won't be a great many left round the colours by the spring.

"'Upon my word, I can hardly blame them, Terence. More than half of those who originally joined have fallen and, no doubt, the poor fellows think that they have done more than their share towards defending their country.'"

By very short marches, the convoy made its way to the frontier. The British convalescents remained at Guarda, the Portuguese marched for Pinhel, and the carts with the wounded officers continued their journey to Lisbon. The distance travelled had been over two hundred and fifty miles and, including halts, they had taken five weeks to perform it. Terence gained strength greatly during the journey, and Bull had so far recovered that he was able to get out and walk, sometimes, by the side of the waggon.

Garcia had been indefatigable in his efforts for their comfort. Every day he formed an arbour over their waggon, with freshly-cut boughs brought in by the soldiers of the regiment; and this kept off the rays of the sun, and the flies. At the villages at which they stopped, most of the wounded were accommodated in the houses; but Terence and Bull preferred to sleep in the waggon, the hay being always freshly shaken out for them, in the evening. The supplies they carried were most useful in eking out the rations, and Garcia proved himself an excellent cook. Altogether, the journey had been a pleasant one.

On arriving at Lisbon, they were taken to the principal hospital. Here the few who would be fit for service again were admitted, while the rest were ordered to be taken down, at once, to a hospital transport lying in the river. At the landing place they said goodbye to Garcia, who refused firmly any remuneration for his services, or for the hire of the waggon; and then Terence was lifted into a boat and, with several other wounded, was taken on board the transport.

The surgeon came at once to examine him.

"Do you wish to be taken below, colonel?" he asked Terence.

"Certainly not," Terence said. "I can sit up here, and can enjoy myself as much as ever I could; and the air from the sea will do more for me than any tonics you can give me, Doctor."

He was placed in a comfortable deck chair, and Bull had another beside him. There were many officers already on board, and Terence presently perceived, in one who was stumping about on a wooden leg, a figure he recognized. He was passing on without recognition, when Terence exclaimed:

"Why, O'Grady, is it yourself?"

"Terence O'Connor, by the powers!" O'Grady shouted. "Sure, I didn't know you at first. It is meself, true enough, or what there is left of me. It is glad I am to see you, though in a poor plight. The news came to me that you had lost a leg. There was, at first, no one in the hospital knew where you were, and I was not able to move about, meself, to make inquiries; and when I found out, before I came away, they said you were very bad, and that even if I could get to you--which I could not, for I had not been fitted with a new leg, then--I should not be able to see you.

"It is just like my luck. I was hit by one of the first shots fired, and lost all the fun of the fight."

"Where were you hit, O'Grady?"

"Right in the shin. Faith, I went down so sudden that I thought I had trod in a hole; and I was making a scramble to get up again, when young Dawson said:

"'Lie still, O'Grady, they have shot the foot off ye.'

"And so they had, and divil a bit could I find where it had gone to. As I was about the first man hit, they carried me off the field at once, and put me in a waggon and, as soon as it was full, I was taken down to Salamanca. I only stopped there three weeks, and I have been here now more than two months, and my leg is all right again. But I am a lop-sided creature, though it is lucky that it is my left arm and leg that have gone. I was always a good hopper, when I was a boy; so that, if this wooden thing breaks, I think I should be able to get about pretty well."

"This is Major Bull, O'Grady. Don't you know him?"

"Faith, I did not know him; but now you tell me who it is, I recognize him. How are you, major?"

"I am getting on, Captain O'Grady."

"Major," O'Grady corrected. "I got my step at Salamanca; both our majors were killed. So I shall get a dacent pension: a major's pension, and so much for a leg and arm. That is not so bad, you know."

"Well, I have no reason to grumble," Bull said. "If I had been with my old regiment and got this hurt, a shilling a day would have been the outside. Now I shall get lieutenant's pension, and so much for my arm and shoulder."

"I have no doubt you will get another step, Bull. After the way the regiment suffered, and with poor Macwitty killed, and you and I both badly wounded, they are sure to give you your step," and indeed when, on their arrival, they saw the Gazette, they found that both had been promoted.

"I suppose it is all for the best," O'Grady said. "At any rate, I shall be able to drink dacent whisky for the rest of me life, and not have to be fretting meself with Spanish spirit; though I don't say there was no virtue in it, when you couldn't get anything better."

Three days later, the vessel sailed for England. At Plymouth Terence, O'Grady, and several other of the Irish officers left her; Bull promising Terence that, when he was quite restored to health, he would come and pay him a visit.

Terence and his companion sailed the next day for Dublin. O'Grady had no relations whom he was particularly anxious to see and therefore, at Terence's earnest invitation, he took a place with him in a coach--to leave in three days, as both had to buy civilian clothes, and to report themselves at headquarters.

"What are you going to do about a leg, Terence?"

"I can do nothing, at present. My stump is a great deal too tender, still, for me to bear anything of that sort. But I will buy a pair of crutches."

This was, indeed, the first thing done on landing, Terence finding it inconvenient in the extreme to have to be carried whenever he wanted to move, even a few yards. He had written home two or three times from the hospital, telling them how he was getting on; for he knew that when his name appeared among the list of dangerously wounded, his father and cousin would be in a state of great anxiety until they received news of him; and as soon as they had taken their places in the coach he dropped them a line, saying when they might expect him.

They had met with contrary winds on their voyage home, but the three weeks at sea had done great things for Terence and, except for the pinned-up trousers leg, he looked almost himself again.

"Be jabers, Terence," O'Grady said, as the coach drove into Athlone, "one might think that it was only yesterday that we went away. There are the old shops, and the same people standing at their doors to see the coach come in; and I think I could swear even to that cock, standing at the gate leading into the stables. What games we had here. Who would have thought that, when we came back, you would be my senior officer!"

When fifteen miles beyond Athlone there was a hail, and the coach suddenly stopped. O'Grady looked out of the window.

"It's your father, Terence, and the prettiest girl I have seen since we left the ould country."

He opened the door and got out.

"Hooroo, major! Here we are, safe and sound. We didn't expect to meet you for another eight miles."

Major O'Connor was hurrying to the door, but the girl was there before him.

"Welcome home, Terence! Welcome home!" she exclaimed, smiling through her tears, as she leaned into the coach and held out both her hands to him, and then drew aside to make room for his father.

"Welcome home, Terence!" the latter said, as he wrung his hand. "I did not think it would have been like this, but it might have been worse."

"A great deal worse, father. Now, will you and the guard help me out? This is the most difficult business I have to do."

It was with some difficulty he was got out of the coach. As soon as he had steadied himself on his crutches, Mary came up again, threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him.

"We are cousins, you know, Terence," she said, "and as your arms are occupied, I have to take the initiative."

She was half laughing and half crying.

The guard hurried to get the portmanteaus out of the boot. As soon as he had placed them in the road he shouted to the coachman, and climbed up on to his post as the vehicle drove on; the passengers on the roof giving hearty cheers for the two disabled officers. By this time, the major was heartily shaking hands with O'Grady.

"I saw in the Gazette that you were hit again, O'Grady."

"Yes. I left one little memento of meself in Portugal, and it was only right that I should lave another in Spain. It has been worrying me a good deal, because I should have liked to have brought them home to be buried in the same grave with me, so as to have everything handy together. How they are ever to be collected when the time comes bothers me entirely, when I can't even point out where they are to be found."

"You have not lost your good spirits anyhow, O'Grady."

"I never shall, I hope, O'Connor; and even if I had been inclined to, Terence would have brought them back again."

As they stood chatting, a manservant had placed the portmanteaus on the box of a pretty open carriage, drawn by two horses.

"This is our state carriage, Terence, though we don't use it very often for, when I go about by myself, I ride. Mary has a pony carriage, and drives herself about.

"You remember Pat Cassidy, don't you?"

"Of course I do, now I look at him," Terence said. "It's your old soldier servant," and he shook hands with the man. "He did not come home with you, did he, father?"

"No, he was badly wounded at Talavera, and invalided home. They thought that he would not be fit for service again, and so discharged him; and he found his way here, and glad enough I was to have him."

Aided by his father and O'Grady, Terence took his place in the carriage. His father seated himself by his side, while Mary and O'Grady had the opposite seat.

"There is one advantage in losing legs," O'Grady said. "We can stow away much more comfortably in a carriage. Is this the nearest point to your place?"

"Yes. It is four miles nearer than Ballyhovey, so we thought that we might as well meet you here, and more comfortably than meeting you in the town. It was Mary's suggestion. I think she would not have liked to have kissed Terence in the public street."

"Nonsense, uncle!" Mary said indignantly. "Of course I should have kissed him, anywhere. Are we not cousins? And didn't he save me from being shut up in a nunnery, all my life?"

"All right, Mary, it is quite right that you should kiss him; still, I should say that it was pleasanter to do so when you had not a couple of score of loafers looking on, who would not know that he was your cousin, and had saved you from a convent."

"You are looking well, father," Terence said, to turn the conversation.

"Never was better in my life, lad, except that I am obliged to be careful with my leg; but after all, it may be that, though it seemed hard to me at the time, it is as well that I left the regiment when I did. Quite half the officers have been killed, since then. Vimiera accounted for some of them. Major Harrison went there, and gave me my step. Talavera made several more vacancies, and Salamanca cost us ten officers, including poor O'Driscoll. I am lucky to have come off as well as I did. It did not seem a very cheerful lookout, at first; but since this young woman arrived, and took possession of me, I am as happy and contented as a man can be."

"I deny altogether having taken possession of you, uncle. I let you have your way very much, and only interfere for your own good."

"You will have another patient to look after now, dear, and to fuss over."

"I will do my best," she said softly, leaning forward and putting her hand on that of Terence. "I know that it will be terribly dull for you, at first--after being constantly on the move for the last five years, and always full of excitement and adventure--to have to keep quiet and do nothing."

"I shall get on very well," he said. "Just as first, of course, I shall not be able to get about very much, but I shall soon learn to use my crutches; and I hope, before very long, to get a leg of some sort; and I don't see why I should not be able to ride again, after a bit. If I cannot do it any other way, I must take to a side saddle. I can have a leg made specially for riding, with a crook at the knee."

Mary laughed, while the tears came in her eyes.

"Why, bless me, Mary," he went on, "the loss of a leg is nothing, when you are accustomed to it. I shall be able, as I have said, to ride, drive, shoot, fish, and all sorts of things. The only thing that I shall be cut off from, as far as I can see, is dancing; but as I have never had a chance of dancing, since the last ball the regiment gave at Athlone, the loss will not be a very grievous one.

"Look at O'Grady. There he is, much worse off than I am, as he has no one to make any particular fuss about him. He is getting on capitally and, indeed, stumped about the deck so much, coming home, that the captain begged him to have a pad of leather put on to the bottom of his leg, to save the decks. O'Grady is a philosopher, and I shall try to follow his example."

"Why should one bother oneself, Miss O'Connor, when bothering won't help? When the war is over, I shall buy Tim Doolan, my soldier servant, out. He is a vile, drunken villain; but I understand him, and he understands me, and he blubbered so, when he carried me off the field, that I had to promise him that, if a French bullet did not carry him off, I would send for him when the war was over.

"'You know you can't do without me, yer honour,' the scoundrel said.

"'I can do better without you than with you, Tim,' says I. 'Ye are always getting me into trouble, with your drunken ways. Ye would have been flogged a dozen times, if I hadn't screened you. Take up your musket and join your regiment. You rascal, you are smelling of drink now, and divil a drop, except water, is there in me flask.'

"'I did it for your own good,' says he. 'Ye know that spirits always heats your blood, and water would be the best for you, when the fighting began; so I just sacrificed meself.

"'"For," says I to meself, "if ye get fighting a little wild, Tim, it don't matter a bit; but the captain will have to keep cool, so it is best that you should drink up the spirits, and fill the flask up with water to quench his thirst."'

"'Be off, ye black villain,' I said, 'or I will strike you.'

"'You will never be able to do without me, Captain,' says he, picking up his musket; and with that he trudged away and, for aught I know, he never came out of the battle alive."

The others laughed.

"They were always quarrelling, Mary," Terence said. "But I agree with Tim that his master will find it very hard to do without him, especially about one o'clock in the morning."

"I am ashamed of you, Terence," O'Grady said, earnestly; "taking away me character, when I have come down here as your guest."

"It is too bad, O'Grady," Major O'Connor said, "but you know Terence was always conspicuous for his want of respect towards his elders."

"He was that same, O'Connor. I did me best for the boy, but there are some on whom education and example are clean thrown away."

"You are looking pale, cousin Terence," Mary said.

"Am I? My leg is hurting me a bit. Ireland is a great country, but its by-roads are not the best in the world, and this jolting shakes me up a bit."

"How stupid I was not to think of it!" she said and, rising in her seat, told Cassidy to drive at a walk.

They were now only half a mile from the house.

"You will hardly know the old place again, Terence," his father said.

"And a very good thing too, father, for a more tumble-down old shanty I never was in."

"It was the abode of our race, Terence."

"Well, then, it says mighty little for our race, father."

"Ah! But it did not fall into the state you saw it in till my father died, a year after I got my commission."

"I won't blame them, then; but, at any rate, I am glad I am coming home to a house and not to a ruin.

"Ah, that is more like a home!" he said, as a turn of the road brought them in sight of the building. "You have done wonders, Mary. That is a house fit for any Irish gentleman to live in."

"It has been altered so that it can be added to, Terence; but, at any rate, it is comfortable. As it was before, it made one feel rheumatic to look at it."

On arriving at the house, Terence refused all assistance.

"I am going to be independent, as far as I can," he said and, slipping down from the seat into the bottom of the chaise, he was able to put his foot on to the ground and, by the aid of his crutches, to get out and enter the house unaided.

"That is the old parlour, I think," he said, glancing into one of the rooms.

"Yes. It is your father's snuggery, now. There is scarcely any alteration there, and he can mess about as he likes with his guns and fishing tackle and swords.

"This is the dining room, now."

And she led the way along a wide passage to the new part of the house, where a bright fire was blazing in a handsome and well-furnished room. An invalid's chair had been placed by the fire, and opposite it was a large, cosy armchair.

"That is for your use, Major O'Grady," she said. "Now, Terence, you are to lay yourself up in that chair. I will bring a small table to your side, and put your dinner there."

"I will lie down until the dinner is ready, Mary. But I am perfectly capable of sitting at the table. I did so the last week before leaving the ship."

"You shall do that tomorrow. You may say what you like, but I can see that you are very tired and, for today, you will take it easy. I am going to be your nurse, and I can assure you that you will have to obey orders. You have been in independent command quite long enough."

"It is of no use, Terence; you must do as you are told," his father said. "The only way to get on with this young woman is to let her have her own way. I have given up opposing her, long ago; and you will have to do the same."

Terence did not find it unpleasant to be nursed and looked after, and even to obey peremptory orders.

A month later, Mary came into the room quietly, one afternoon, when he was sitting and looking into the fire; as his father and O'Grady had driven over to Killnally. Absorbed in his own thoughts, he did not hear her enter.

Thinking that he was asleep, she paused at the door. A moment later she heard a deep sigh. She came forward at once.

"What are you sighing about, Terence? Your leg is not hurting you, is it?"

"No, dear, it has pretty well given up hurting me."

"What were you sighing about, then?"

He was silent for a minute, and then said:

"Well you see, one cannot help sighing a little at the thought that one is laid up, a useless man, when one is scarce twenty-one."

"You have done your work, Terence. You have made a name for yourself, when others are just leaving college and thinking of choosing a profession. You have done more, in five years, than most men achieve in all their lifetime.

"This is the first time I have heard you grumble. I know it is hard, but what has specially upset you, today?"

"I suppose I am a little out of sorts," he said. "I was thinking, perhaps, how different it might have been, if it hadn't been for that unlucky shell."

"You mean that you might have gone on to Burgos, and fallen in the assault there; or shared in that dreadful retreat to the frontier again."

"No. I was not thinking of Spain, nor even of the army. I was thinking of here."

"But you said, over and over again, Terence, that you will be able to ride, and drive, and get about like other people, in time."

"Yes, dear. In many respects it will be the same, but not in one respect."

Then he broke off.

"I am an ungrateful brute. I have everything to make me happy--a comfortable home, a good father, and a dear little sister to nurse me."

"What did I tell you, sir," she said, after a pause, "when I said goodbye to you at Coimbra? That I would rather be your cousin. You were quite hurt, and I said that you were a silly boy, and would understand better, some day."

"I have understood, since," he said, "and was glad that you were not my sister; but now, you see, things have altogether changed, and I must be content with sistership."

The girl looked in the fire, and then said, in a low voice:

"Why, Terence?"

"You know why," he said. "I have had no one to think of but you, for the last four years. Your letters were the great pleasures of my life. I thought over and over again of those last words of yours, and I had some hope that, when I came back, I might say to you:

"'Dear Mary, I am grateful, indeed, that you are my cousin, and not my sister. A sister is a very dear relation, but there is one dearer still.'

"Don't be afraid, dear; I am not going to say so now. Of course, that is over, and I hope that I shall come, in time, to be content to think of you as a sister."

"You are very foolish, Terence," she said, almost with a laugh, "as foolish as you were at Coimbra. Do you think that I should have said what I did, then, if I had not meant it? Did you not save me, at the risk of your life, from what would have been worse than death? Have you not been my hero, ever since? Have you not been the centre of our thoughts here, the great topic of our conversation? Have not your father and I been as proud as peacocks, when we read of your rapid promotion, and the notices of your gallant conduct? And do you think that it would make any difference to me, if you had come back with both your legs and arms shot off?

"No, dear. I am just as dissatisfied with the relationship you propose as I was three years ago, and it must be either cousin or--" and she stopped.

She was standing up beside him, now.

"Or wife," he said, taking up her hand. "Is it possible you mean wife?"

Her face was a sufficient answer, and he drew her down to him.

"You silly boy!" she said, five minutes afterwards. "Of course, I thought of it all along. I never made any secret of it to your father. I told him that our escape was like a fairy tale, and that it must have the same ending: 'and they married, and lived happy ever after.' He would never have let me have my way with the house, had I not confided in him. He said that I could spend my money as I pleased, on myself, but that not one penny should be laid out on his house; and I was obliged to tell him.

"I am afraid I blushed furiously, as I did so, but I had to say:

"'Don't you see, Uncle?'--of course, I always called him uncle, from the first, though he is only a cousin--'I have quite made up my mind that it will be my house, some day; and the money may just as well be laid out on it now, to make it comfortable; instead of waiting till that time comes.'"

"What did my father say?"

"Oh, he said all sorts of nonsense, just the sort of thing that you Irishmen always do say! That he had hoped, perhaps, it might be so, from the moment he got your letter; and that the moment he saw me he felt sure that it would be so, for it must be, if you had any eyes in your head."

When Major O'Connor came home he was greatly pleased, but he took the news as a matter of course.

"Faith," he said, "I would have disinherited the boy, if he had been such a fool as not to appreciate you, Mary."

O'Grady was loud in his congratulations.

"It is just like your luck, Terence," he said. "Luck is everything. Here am I, a battered hero, who has lost an arm and a foot in the service of me country, and divil a girl has thrown herself upon me neck. Here are you, a mere gossoon, fifteen years my junior in the service, mentioned a score of times in despatches, promoted over my head; and now you have won one of the prettiest creatures in Ireland and, what is a good deal more to the point, though you may not think of it at present, with a handsome fortune of her own. In faith, there is no understanding the ways of Providence."

A week afterwards the whole party went up to Dublin, as Terence and O'Grady had to go before a medical board. A fortnight later a notice appeared, in the Gazette, that Lieutenant Colonel Terence O'Connor had retired from the service, on half pay, with the rank of colonel.

The marriage did not take place for another six months, by which time Terence had thrown away his crutches and had taken to an artificial leg--so well constructed that, were it not for a certain stiffness in his walk, his loss would not have been suspected by a casual observer. For three months previous to the event, a number of men had been employed in building a small but pretty house, some quarter of a mile from the mansion, intended for the occupation of Majors O'Connor and O'Grady.

"It will be better, in every way, Terence," his father insisted, when his son and Mary remonstrated against their thus proposing to leave them. "O'Grady and I have been comrades for twenty years, and we shall feel more at home, in bachelor quarters, than here. I can run in three or four times a day, if I like, and I expect I shall be as much here as over there; whereas if I lived here, I should often be feeling myself in the way, though I know that you would never say so. It is better for young people to be together and, maybe some day, the house will be none too large for you."

The house was finished by the time the wedding took place, and the two officers moved into it. The wedding was attended by all the tenants, and half the country round; and it was agreed that the bride's jewels were the most magnificent that had ever been seen in that part of Ireland, though some objected that diamonds, alone, would have been more suitable for the occasion than the emeralds.

Terence, on his return, had heard from his father that his Uncle, Tim M'Manus, had called very soon after the major had returned to his old home. He had been very friendly, and had been evidently mollified by Terence's name appearing in general orders; but his opinion that he would end his career by a rope had been in no way shaken. He had, however, continued to pay occasional visits; and the rapid rise of the scapegrace, and his frequent mention in despatches, were evidently a source of much gratification to him; and it was not long after his return that his uncle again came over.

"We will let bygones be bygones, Terence," he said, as he shook hands with him. "You have turned out a credit to your mother's name, and I am proud of you; and I hold my head high when I say Colonel Terence O'Connor, who was always playing mischief with the French, is my great nephew, and the good M'Manus blood shines out clearly in him."

There was no one who played a more conspicuous part at the wedding than Uncle Tim. At his own request, he proposed the health of the bride and bridegroom.

"I take no small credit to myself," he said, "that Colonel Terence O'Connor is the hero of this occasion. Never was there a boy whose destiny was so marked as his, and it is many a time I predicted that it was not either by flood, or fire, or quietly in his bed that he would die. If, when the regiment was ordered abroad, I had offered him a home, I firmly believe that my prediction would be verified before now; but I closed my doors to him, and the consequence was that he expended his devilment upon the French; and it is a deal better for him that it is only a leg that he has lost, which is a much less serious matter than having his neck unduly stretched. Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, I can say with pride that I have had no small share in this matter, and it is glad I am that, when I go, I can leave my money behind me, feeling that it won't all go to the dogs before I have been twelve months in my grave."

Another old friend was present at the wedding. Bull had made a slow recovery, and had been some time before he regained his strength. When he was gazetted out of the service, he secured a step in rank, and retired as a major. In after years he made frequent visits to Terence; to whom, as he always declared, he owed it that, instead of being turned adrift on a nominal pension, he was now able to live in comfort and ease.

When, four months later, Tim M'Manus was thrown out of his trap when driving home late at night, and broke his neck, it was found that he had left the whole of his property to Terence and, as the rents of his estate amounted to 600 pounds a year, no inconsiderable proportion of which had, for many years past, been accumulating, the legacy placed Terence in a leading position among the gentry of Mayo.

For very many years the house was one of the most popular in the county. It had been found necessary to make additions to it, and it had now attained the dignity of a mansion. The three officers followed, with the most intense interest, the bulletins and despatches from the war and, on the day when the allies entered Paris, the services of Tim Doolan, who had been invalided home a year after the return of his master, and had been discharged as unfit for further service, were called into requisition, for the first time since his return, to assist his master back to the house.

O'Grady, however, explained most earnestly to Mary O'Connor, the next day, that it was not the whisky at all, at all, but his wooden leg that had got out of order, and would not carry him straight.

Dick Ryan went through the war unscathed and, after Waterloo, retired from the service with the rank of lieutenant colonel; married, and settled at Athlone; and the closest intimacy, and very frequent intercourse, were maintained between him and his comrades of the Mayo Fusiliers.

Terence, in time, quite ceased to feel the loss of his leg; and was able to join in all field sports, becoming in time master of the hounds, and one of the most popular sportsmen in the county. His wife always declared that his wound was the most fortunate thing that ever happened to him for, had it not been for that, he would most likely have fallen in some of the later battles in the Peninsula.

"It is a good thing to have luck," she said, "and Terence had plenty of it. But it does not do to tempt fortune too far. The pitcher that goes too often to the well gets broken, in the end."

Table of Contents

THROUGH RUSSIAN SNOWS

PREFACE

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

SERGEANT JULIAN WYATT RECEIVES THE CROSS OF THE LEGION OF HONOUR.

THROUGH RUSSIAN SNOWS

A STORY OF

NAPOLEON'S RETREAT FROM MOSCOW

BY

G.A. HENTY

Author of "Beric the Briton," "One of the 28th," "Condemned as a Nihilist,"

"For Name and Fame," "In the Heart of the Rockies," etc.

WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY W.H. OVEREND

AND THREE MAPS

NEW YORK

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

1902

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

THE CAXTON PRESS

NEW YORK.

PREFACE

There are few campaigns that, either in point of the immense scale upon which it was undertaken, the completeness of its failure, or the enormous loss of life entailed, appeal to the imagination in so great a degree as that of Napoleon against Russia. Fortunately, we have in the narratives of Sir Robert Wilson, British commissioner with the Russian army, and of Count Segur, who was upon Napoleon's staff, minute descriptions of the events as seen by eye-witnesses, and besides these the campaign has been treated fully by various military writers. I have as usual avoided going into details of horrors and of acts of cruelty and ferocity on both sides, surpassing anything in modern warfare, and have given a mere outline of the operations, with a full account of the stern fight at Smolensk and the terrible struggle at Borodino. I would warn those of my readers who may turn to any of the military works for a further history of the campaign, that the spelling of Russian places and names varies so greatly in the accounts of different writers, that sometimes it is difficult to believe that the same person or town is meant, and even in the narratives by Sir Robert Wilson, and by Lord Cathcart, our ambassador at St. Petersburg, who was in constant communication with him, scarcely a name will be found similarly spelt. I mention this, as otherwise much confusion might be caused by those who may compare my story with some of these recognized authorities, or follow the incidents of the campaign upon maps of Russia.

Yours sincerely,

G.A. HENTY.

THROUGH RUSSIAN SNOWS

CHAPTER I

TWO BROTHERS

When Colonel Wyatt died, all Weymouth agreed that it was a most unfortunate thing for his sons Julian and Frank. The loss of a father is always a misfortune to lads, but it was more than usually so in this case. They had lost their mother years before, and Colonel Wyatt's sister had since kept house for him. As a housekeeper she was an efficient substitute, as a mother to the boys she was a complete failure. How she ever came to be Colonel Wyatt's sister was a puzzle to all their acquaintances. The Colonel was quick and alert, sharp and decisive in speech, strong in his opinions, peremptory in his manner, kindly at heart, but irascible in temper. Mrs. Troutbeck was gentle and almost timid in manner; report said that she had had a hard time of it in her married life, and that Troutbeck had frightened out of her any vestige of spirit that she had ever possessed. Mrs. Troutbeck never argued, and was always in perfect agreement with any opinion expressed, a habit that was constantly exciting the wrath and indignation of her brother.

The idea of controlling the boys never once entered her mind. So long as the Colonel was alive there was no occasion for such control, and in this respect she did not attempt after his death to fill his place. It seemed, indeed, that she simply transferred her allegiance from the Colonel to them. Whatever they did was right in her eyes, and they were allowed to do practically whatever they pleased. There was a difference in age of three years and a half between the brothers; Julian at the time of his father's death being sixteen, while Frank was still a few months short of thirteen. Casual acquaintances often remarked that there was a great likeness between them; and, indeed, both were pleasant-looking lads with somewhat fair complexions, their brown hair having a tendency to stand up in a tuft on the forehead, while both had grey eyes, and square foreheads. Mrs. Troutbeck was always ready to assent to the remark as to their likeness, but would gently qualify it by saying that it did not strike her so much as it did other people.

"Their dispositions are quite different," she said, "and knowing them as I do, I see the same differences in their faces."

Any close observer would, indeed, have recognized it at once. Both faces were pleasant, but while Julian's wore an expression of easy good temper, and a willingness to please and to be pleased, there was a lack of power and will in the lower part of the face; there was neither firmness in the mouth nor determination in the chin. Upon the other hand, except when smiling or talking, Frank's lips were closely pressed together, and his square chin and jaw clearly indicated firmness of will and tenacity of purpose. Julian was his aunt's favourite, and was one of the most popular boys at his school. He liked being popular, and as long as it did not put him to any great personal trouble was always ready to fall in with any proposal, to take part in every prank, to lend or give money if he had it in his pocket, to sympathize with any one in trouble.

"He has the most generous disposition of any boy I ever saw!" his aunt would frequently declare. "He's always ready to oblige. No matter what he is doing, he will throw it aside in a moment if I want anything done, or ask him to go on an errand into the town. Frank is very nice, he is very kind and all that sort of thing, but he goes his own way more, and I don't find him quite so willing to oblige as Julian; but then, of course, he is much younger, and one can't expect a boy of twelve to be as thoughtful to an old woman as a young fellow of nearly seventeen."

As time went on the difference in their characters became still more marked. Julian had left school a year after his father's death, and had since been doing nothing in particular. He had talked vaguely of going into the army, and his father's long services would have given him a claim for a commission had he decided upon writing to ask for one, but Julian could never bring himself to decide upon anything. Had there been an old friend of his father's at hand ready to settle the matter for him he would have made no opposition whatever, but his aunt was altogether opposed to the idea, and so far from urging him to move in the matter she was always ready to say, whenever it happened to be mentioned, "There is no hurry, my dear Julian. We hear terrible stories of the hardships that the soldiers suffer in Spain; and although, if you decide upon going, of course I can't say no, still there can be no hurry about it."

This was quite Julian's own opinion. He was very comfortable where he was. He was his own master, and could do as he liked. He was amply supplied with pocket-money by his aunt; he was fond of sailing, fishing, and shooting; and as he was a general favourite among the boatmen and fishermen he was able to indulge in his fondness for the sea to as large an extent as he pleased, though it was but seldom that he had a chance of a day's shooting. Julian had other tastes of a less healthy character; he was fond of billiards and of society, he had a fine voice and a taste for music, and the society he chose was not that most calculated to do him good. He spent less and less of his time at home, and rarely returned of an evening until the other members of the household were in bed. Whatever his aunt thought of the matter she never remonstrated with him, and was always ready to make the excuse to herself, "I can't expect a fine young fellow like that to be tied to an old woman's apron-strings. Young men will be young men, and it is only natural that he should find it dull at home."

When Julian arrived at the age of nineteen it was tacitly understood that the idea of his going into the army had been altogether dropped, and that when a commission was asked for, it would be for Frank. Although Julian was still her favourite, Mrs. Troutbeck was more favourably disposed towards Frank than of old. She knew from her friends that he was quite as popular among his schoolmates as his brother had been, although in a different way. He was a hard and steady worker, but he played as hard as he worked, and was a leader in every game. He, however, could say "no" with a decision that was at once recognized as being final, and was never to be persuaded into joining in any forbidden amusement or to take share in any mischievous adventure. When his own work was done he was always willing to give a quarter of an hour to assist any younger lad who found his lessons too hard for him, and though he was the last boy to whom any one would think of applying for a loan of money, he would give to the extent of his power in any case where a subscription was raised for a really meritorious purpose.

Thus when the school contributed a handsome sum towards a fund that was being raised for the relief of the families of the fishermen who had been lost, when four of their boats were wrecked in a storm, no one except the boys who got up the collection knew that nearly half the amount for which the school gained credit came from the pocket of Frank Wyatt.

The brothers, though differing so widely in disposition, were very fond of each other. In his younger years Frank had looked up to his big brother as a sort of hero, and Julian's good-nature and easy-going temper led him to be always kind to his young brother, and to give him what he valued most—assistance at his lessons and a patient attention to all his difficulties. As the years went on, Frank came to perceive clearly enough the weak points in his brother's character, and with his usual outspokenness sometimes remonstrated with him strongly.

"It is horrible to see a fellow like you wasting your life as you do, Julian. If you don't care for the army, why don't you do something else? I should not care what it was, so that it but gave you something to occupy yourself, and if it took you out of here, all the better. You know that you are not doing yourself any good."

"I am not doing myself any harm, you young beggar," Julian replied good temperedly.

"I don't know, Julian," the boy said sturdily; "you are not looking half as well as you used to do. I am sure late hours don't suit you, and there is no good to be got out of billiards. I know the sort of fellows you meet there are not the kind to do you any good, or that father would have liked to see you associate with if he had been alive. Just ask yourself honestly if you think he would. If you can say 'yes,' I will shut up and say no more about it; but can you say 'yes'?"

Julian was silent. "I don't know that I can," he said after a pause. "There is no harm in any of them that I know of, but I suppose that in the way you put it, they are not the set father would have fancied, with his strict notions. I have thought of giving it up a good many times, but it is an awkward thing, when you are mixed up with a lot of fellows, to drop them without any reason."

"You have only got to say that you find late hours don't agree with you, and that you have made up your mind to cut it altogether."

"That is all very well for you, Frank, and I will do you justice to say that if you determined to do a thing, you would do it without minding what any one said."

"Without minding what any one I did not care for, said," Frank interrupted. "Certainly; why should I heed a bit what people I do not care for say, so long as I feel that I am doing what is right."

"I wish I were as strong-willed as you are, Frank," Julian said rather ruefully, "then I should not have to put up with being bullied by a young brother."

"You are too good tempered, Julian," Frank said, almost angrily. "Here are you, six feet high and as strong as a horse, and with plenty of brain for anything, just wasting your life. Look at the position father held here, and ask yourself how many of his old friends do you know. Why, rather than go on as you are doing, I would enlist and go out to the Peninsula and fight the French. That would put an end to all this sort of thing, and you could come back again and start afresh. You will have money enough for anything you like. You come into half father's £16,000 when you come of age, and I have no doubt that you will have Aunt's money."

"Why should I?" Julian asked in a more aggrieved tone than he had hitherto used.

"Because you are her favourite, Julian, and quite right that you should be. You have always been awfully good to her, and that is one reason why I hate you to be out of an evening; for although she never says a word against you, and certainly would not hear any one else do so, I tell you it gives me the blues to see her face as she sits there listening for your footsteps."

"It is a beastly shame, and I will give it up, Frank; honour bright, I will."

"That is right, old fellow; I knew you would if you could only once peep in through the window of an evening and see her face."

"As for her money," Julian went on, "if she does not divide it equally between us, I shall, you may be sure."

"I sha'n't want it," Frank said decidedly. "You know I mean to go into the army, and with the interest of my own money I shall have as much as I shall possibly want, and if I had more it would only bother me, and do me harm in my profession. With you it is just the other way. You are the head of the family, and as Father's son ought to take a good place. You could buy an estate and settle down on it, and what with its management, and with horses and hunting and shooting, you would be just in your element."

"Well, we will see about it when the time comes. I am sure I hope the old lady will be with us for a long time yet. She is as kind-hearted a soul as ever lived, though it would have been better for me, no doubt, if she held the reins a little tighter. Well, anyhow, Frank, I will cut the billiards altogether."

They exchanged a silent grip of the hand on the promise, and Julian, looking more serious than usual, put on his hat and went out. There was a curious reversal of the usual relations between the brothers. Julian, although he always laughed at his young brother's assumption of the part of mentor, really leant upon his stronger will, and as often as not, even if unconsciously, yielded to his influence, while Frank's admiration for his brother was heightened by the unfailing good temper with which the latter received his remonstrances and advice. "He is an awfully good fellow," he said to himself when Julian left the room. "Anyone else would have got into a rage at my interference; but he has only one fault; he can't say no, and that is at the root of everything. I can't understand myself why a fellow finds it more difficult to say no than to say yes. If it is right to do a thing one does it, if it is not right one leaves it alone, and the worst one has to stand, if you don't do what other fellows want, is a certain amount of chaff, and that hurts no one."

Frank, indeed, was just as good tempered as Julian, although in an entirely different way. He had never been known to be in a passion, but put remonstrance and chaff aside quietly, and went his own way without being in the slightest degree affected by them.

Julian kept his promise, and was seen no more in the billiard saloon. Fortunately for him the young fellows with whom he was in the habit of playing were all townsmen, clerks, the sons of the richer tradesmen, or of men who owned fishing-boats or trading vessels, and others of that class—not, indeed, as Frank had said, the sort of men whom Colonel Wyatt would have cared for his son to have associated with—but harmless young fellows who frequented the billiard-rooms as a source of amusement and not of profit, and who therefore had no motive for urging Julian to play. To Mrs. Troutbeck's delight he now spent four or five evenings at home, only going out for an hour to smoke a pipe and to have a chat with the fishermen. Once or twice a week he would be absent all night, going out, as he told his aunt, for a night's fishing, and generally returning in the morning with half a dozen mackerel or other fish as his share of the night's work.

Sometimes he would ask Frank to accompany him, and the latter, when he had no particular work on hand, would do so, and thoroughly enjoyed the sport.

Smuggling was at the time carried on extensively, and nowhere more actively than between Weymouth and Exmouth on the one hand, and Swanage on the other. Consequently, in spite of the vigilance of the revenue men, cargoes were frequently run. The long projection of Chesil Beach and Portland afforded a great advantage to the smugglers; and Lieutenant Downes, who commanded the revenue cutter Boxer, had been heard to declare that he would gladly subscribe a year's pay if a channel could be cut through the beach. Even when he obtained information that a cargo was likely to be run to the west, unless the winds and tides were alike propitious, it took so long a time to get round Portland Bill that he was certain to arrive too late to interfere with the landing, while, at times, an adverse wind and the terrors of the "race" with its tremendous current and angry waves would keep the Boxer lying for days to the west of the Island, returning to Weymouth only to hear that during her absence a lugger had landed her cargo somewhere to the east.

"Job himself would have lost his temper if he had been a revenue officer at Weymouth," Lieutenant Downes would exclaim angrily. "Why, sir, I would rather lie for three months off the mouth of an African river looking for slavers, than be stationed at Weymouth in search of smuggling craft, for a month; it is enough to wear a man to a thread-paper. Half the coast population seem to me to be in alliance with these rascals, and I am so accustomed to false information now, that as a rule when one of my men gets a hint that a cargo is going to be run near Swanage I start at once for the west, knowing well enough that wherever the affair is to come off it certainly will not be within ten miles of the point named. Even in Weymouth itself the sympathy of the population lies rather with the smugglers than the revenue men."

The long war with France had rendered brandy, French wines, lace, and silks fabulously dear, and the heavy duties charged reduced to a minimum the legitimate traffic that might otherwise have been carried on; therefore, even well-to-do people favoured the men who brought these luxuries to their doors, at a mere fraction of the price that they would otherwise have had to pay for them. Then, too, there was an element of romance in the career of a smuggler who risked his life every day, and whose adventures, escapes, and fights with the revenue men were told round every fireside. The revenue officer was not far wrong when he said that the greater portion of the population round the coast, including all classes, were friendly to, if not in actual alliance with, the smugglers. Julian was well aware that many of the fishermen with whom he went out often lent a hand to the smugglers in landing their goods and taking them inland, or in hiding them in caves in the cliffs known only to the smugglers and themselves. He had heard many stories from them of adventures in which they had been engaged, and the manner in which, by showing signal lights from the sea, they had induced the revenue men to hurry to the spot at which they had seen a flash, and so to leave the coast clear for the landing of the goods.

"It must be great fun," he said one day. "I must say I should like to take part in running a cargo, for once."

"Well, Master Julian, there would not be much difficulty about that, if so be you really mean it. We can put you up to it easy enough, but you know, sir, it isn't all fun. Sometimes the revenue men come down upon us in spite of all the pains we take to throw them off the scent. Captain Downes is getting that artful that one is never sure whether he has been got safely away or not. A fortnight ago he pretty nigh came down on a lugger that was landing a cargo in Lulworth Cove. We thought that it had all been managed well. Word had gone round that the cargo was to be run there, and the morning before, a woman went on to the cliffs and got in talk with one of the revenue men. She let out, as how her husband had been beating her, and she had made up her mind to pay him out. There was going, she said, to be a cargo run that night at a point half way between Weymouth and Lyme Regis.

"I know she did the part well, as she acted it on three or four of us afterwards, and the way she pretended to be in a passion and as spiteful as a cat, would have taken any fellow in. In course the revenue chap asked her what her name was and where she lived, and I expect they did not find her when they looked for her afterwards in the place she told him. He wanted her to go with him to the officer of the station, but she said that she would never do that, for if it got to be known that she had peached about it, it would be as much as her life was worth. Well, a boy who was watching saw the revenue chap go off, as soon as she was out of sight, straight to the coast-guard station, and ten minutes later the officer in charge there set off for Weymouth.

"The boy followed and he saw him go on board the Boxer. Directly afterwards Captain Downes came ashore with him and had a long talk with the chief of the coast-guard there; then he went on board again, and we all chuckled when we saw the Boxer get up her anchor, set all sail, make out to Portland, and go round the end of the rock. Two hours later a look-out on the hills saw her bearing out to sea to the southwest, meaning, in course, to run into the bay after it was dark. On shore the officer at Weymouth got a horse and rode along the cliffs to the eastward. He stopped at each coast-guard station, right on past Lulworth, and soon afterwards three parts of the men at each of them turned out and marched away west.

"We thought that we had fooled them nicely, and that evening half a dozen of our boats sailed into Lulworth harbour and anchored there quiet. One of them rowed ashore and landed two hands to look round. They brought back news as there were only two or three revenue men left at the station, and it would be easy enough to seize them and tie them up till it was all over. In course, everything worked for a bit just as we thought it would. The lugger we were expecting showed her light in the offing and was signalled that the coast was clear. It was a dark night, and the two revenue men on duty in the cove were seized and tied up by some of the shore band without a blow being struck. Two or three chaps were placed at the door of the station, so that if the two men left there turned out they would be gagged at once. Everything was ready, and a big lot of carts came down to the water's edge. The lugger anchored outside the cove; we got up our kedges and rowed out to her, and a dozen shoreboats did the same. As soon as we got alongside they began to bundle the kegs in, when not three hundred yards away came a hail, 'What craft is that?'

"It struck us all into a heap, and you could have heard a pin drop. Then came the hail again, 'If you don't answer I will sink you,' whereupon the skipper of the lugger shouted out, 'the Jennie of Portsmouth.' 'Lend a hand, lads, with the sails,' he whispered to us; 'slip the cable, Tom.' We ran up the sails in a jiffy, you may be sure, and all the sharper that, as they were half-way up, four guns flashed out. One hulled the lugger, the others flew overhead. Close as they were they could not have seen us, for we could scarce see them and we were under the shadow of the cliffs, but I suppose they fired at the voices. 'Sink the tubs, lads,' the skipper said as the lugger glided away from us. There was a nice little air blowing off shore, and she shot away into the darkness in no time. We all rowed into the mouth of the cove for shelter, and were only just in time, for a shower of grape splashed the water up a few yards behind us.

"We talked it over for a minute or two, and settled that the Boxer would be off after the lugger and would not pay any more attention to us. Some of them were in favour of taking the kegs that we had got ashore, but the most of us were agin that, and the captain himself had told us to sink them, so we rowed out of the cove again and tied sinkers to the kegs and lowered them down three or four hundred yards west of the mouth of the cove. We went on board our boats and the other chaps went on shore, and you may guess we were not long in getting up our sails and creeping out of the cove. It was half an hour after the first shots were fired before we heard the Boxer at it again. I reckon that in the darkness they could not make out whether the lugger had kept along east or west under the cliffs, and I expect they went the wrong way at first, and only found her at last with their night-glasses when she was running out to sea.

"Well, next morning we heard that the shore men had not landed five minutes when there was a rush of forty or fifty revenue men into the village. There ain't no doubt they had only gone west to throw us off our guard, and, as soon as it was dark, turned and went eastward. They could not have known that the job was to come off at Lulworth, but were on the look-out all along, and I reckon that it was the same with the Boxer. She must have beaten back as soon as it was dark enough for her not to be seen from the hills, and had been crawling along on the look-out close to the shore, when she may have caught sight of the lugger's signal. Indeed, we heard afterwards that it called back the coast-guard men, for they had passed Lulworth and were watching at a spot between that and St. Alban's Head, where a cargo had been run a month or two before, when they caught sight of the signal off Lulworth. Well, you may guess they did not get much for their pains. The carts had all made off as soon as they heard the Boxer's guns, and knew that the game was up, for the night anyhow, and they found every light out in Lulworth, and everyone, as it seemed, fast asleep. I believe, from what I have heard, that there was a great row afterwards between Captain Downes and the revenue officer ashore. The chap ashore would have it that it was all the captain's fault for being in such a hurry, and that if he had waited an hour they would have got all the carts with the cargo, even if he had not caught the lugger.

"Well, that was true enough; but I don't see that Downes was to blame, for until he came along he could not be sure where the lugger was, and indeed she was so close in under the cliff that it is like enough he would have missed her altogether and have gone on another two or three miles, if it had not been that they caught the noise of the boats alongside her taking in the kegs. The lugger got away all right; she is a fast craft, and though the Boxer can walk along in a strong wind, in a light breeze the lugger had the legs of her altogether. That shows you, Mr. Julian, that Captain Downes has cut his eye-teeth, and that it is mighty hard to fool him. He was never nearer making a good capture than he was that night. The lugger ran her cargo two nights afterwards at the very spot where the woman had told the revenue man that she was going to do it. There was a little bit of a fight, but the coast-guard were not strong enough to do any good, and had to make off, and before they could bring up anything like a strong force, every bale and keg had been carried inland, and before morning there was scarce a farmhouse within ten miles that had not got some of it stowed away in their snug hiding-places. Downes will be more vicious than ever after that job, and you see, master, you are like to run a goodish risk of getting your head broke and of being hauled off to jail. Still, if you would like to join some night in a run we can put you in the way."

"Yes, I should like it very much," Julian said. "There can't be much risk, for there has not been anything like a regular fight anywhere along this part of the coast for the last two years, and from what I have heard, there must have been twenty cargoes run in that time."

"All that, sir, all that; nigher thirty, I should say. There is three luggers at it reg'lar."

"Are they French or English?"

"Two of them is French and one English, but the crews are all mixed. They carry strong crews all of them, and a longish gun in their sterns, so that in case they are chased they may have a chance of knocking away a spar out of anything after them. They would not fight if a cutter came up alongside them—that might make a hanging matter of it, while if none of the revenue chaps are killed it is only a case of long imprisonment, though the English part of the crew generally have the offer of entering on a king's ship instead, and most of them take it. Life on board a man-of-war may not be a pleasant one, but after all it is better than being boxed up in a prison for years. Anyhow, that is the light in which I should look at it myself."

"I should think so," Julian agreed. "However, you see there is no great risk in landing the kegs, for it is very seldom you get so nearly caught as you did at Lulworth. Let me know when the next affair is coming off, Bill, and if it is anywhere within a moderate distance of Weymouth I will go with you if you will take me. Anyhow, whether I go or not, you may be quite sure that I shall keep the matter to myself."

"The most active chap about here," Bill said after he had hauled his nets, and the boat was making her way back to Weymouth, "is that Faulkner. He is a bitter bad one, he is. Most of the magistrates about here don't trouble their heads about smuggling, and if they find a keg of first class brandy quite accidental any morning on their doorstep, they don't ask where it comes from, but just put it down into their cellars. Sometimes information gets sworn before them, and they has to let the revenue people know, but somehow or other, I can't say how it is," and the fisherman gave a portentous wink, "our fellows generally get some sort of an idea that things ain't right, and the landing don't come off as expected; queer, ain't it? But that fellow Faulkner, he ain't like that. He worries hisself about the smugglers just about as much as Captain Downes does. He is just as hard on smugglers as he is on poachers, and he is wonderful down on them, he is. Do you know him, sir?"

"I know him by sight. He is a big, pompous man; his place is about two miles up the valley, and there are some large woods round it."

"That is so, sir; and they say as they are chock-full of pheasants. He has a lot of keepers, and four years ago there was a desperate fight there. Two keepers and three poachers got shot, and two others were caught; they were tried at the 'sizes for murder and hanged. He is a regular bully, he is, but he ain't no coward. If he was he would never stir out after sunset, but instead of that he is out night after night on the cliffs, when there is any talk of a cargo being run. He is known to carry pistols about with him, and so though his life has been threatened many times, nothing has ever come of it. One thing is, he has got a big black horse, about the best horse there is in this part of the country, and he always rides mighty fast down into the town or up on to the cliffs, where he gets among the revenue men, and in course he is safe enough. He was down with that lot at Lulworth that night, and they say he cussed and swore loud enough to be heard all over the village, when they found that they had got there too late. He is a bitter bad weed, is Faulkner."

"I know he is very unpopular even in the town," Julian said. "He is the hardest magistrate on the bench, and if it were not for the others not a man brought before him would ever get off. I have heard that he is very much disliked by the other magistrates, and that some time ago, when he wanted to join the club, they would not have him at any price. I can't make out why a fellow should go out of his way to make himself disliked. I can understand his being down on poachers; no one likes to be robbed, but the smuggling cannot make any difference to him one way or the other."

"No; that is what we says. It don't concern him, 'cept that magistrates are bound in a sort of way to see that the law is not broken. But why shouldn't he do like the others and go on his way quiet, unless he gets an information laid before him, or a warning from the revenue people as he is wanted. You mark my words, Master Julian, some night that chap will get a bullet or a charge of shot in his body."

After this Julian went on more than one occasion with Bill and other fishermen to look on at the landing of contraband cargoes. If the distance was within a walk they would start from Weymouth straight inland, and come down by the road along which the carts were to fetch the goods up, for it was only occasionally that the fishermen would take their boats. At Lulworth, of course, there had been no risk in their doing so, as boats, when fishing to the east, would often make their way into the cove and drop anchor there for a few hours. But when the run was to be made at lonely spots, the sight of fishing boats making in to anchor would have excited the suspicions of the coast-guard on the cliffs. The number of fishermen who took part in the smugglers' proceedings was but small. All of these had either brothers or other relations on board the luggers, or were connected with some of the smugglers' confederates on shore. They received a handsome sum for their night's work, which was at times very hard, as the kegs had often to be carried up steep and dangerous paths to the top of the cliffs, and then a considerable distance across the downs to the nearest points the carts could come to.

It was the excitement of the adventure, however, rather than the pay, and the satisfaction derived from outwitting the revenue men, that was the main attraction to the fishermen. Julian took no share in the work. He went dressed in the rough clothes he wore on the fishing excursions at night, and heartily enjoyed the animated bustle of the scene, as scores of men carrying kegs or bales on their backs, made their way up some narrow ravine, silently laid down their loads beside the carts and pack-horses, and then started back again for another trip. He occasionally lent a hand to lash the kegs on either side of the horses, or to lift a bale into the cart. No one ever asked any question; it was assumed that he was there with one of the carts, and he recognized the wisdom of Bill's advice the first time he went out.

"It is best not to speak till you are spoken to, Master Julian; there is more chaps there besides yourself, as are thought to be sound asleep in their beds at Weymouth, and it is just as well to keep yourself to yourself. There is never no knowing when things may go wrong, and then it is as likely as not that some one may peach, and the fewer names as comes out the better. Now you mind, sir, if there is an alarm, and the revenue chaps come down on us, you just make a bolt at once. It ain't no business of yours, one way or the other. You ain't there to make money or to get hold of cheap brandy; you just go to look on and amuse yourself, and all you have got to do is to make off as hard as you can go directly there is an alarm. Everyone else does the same as gets a chance, I can tell you. The country people never fight; though the smugglers, if they are cornered, and can't get back to the lugger without it, will use their weapons if they see a chance; but you have got nothing to do with that. Don't you wait a minute for me and my mates, for we shall bolt too. If we were on the shore when they came on us we should embark with the crew and get on board the lugger. In course, if just a few of the revenue men were fools enough to come on us, they would be tumbled over in double quick time, and tied up till the goods were all taken inland, and be left till some of their mates found them in the morning.

"That is how it is, you know, that we get most of our cargoes run. One of the chaps on the cliff may make us out, but you see it takes a long time to send along the line and get enough of them together to interfere with us. Unless they have got a pretty good strong force together, they ain't such fools as to risk their lives by meddling with a hundred men or more, with a lot of valuable goods to land, and the knowledge that if they are caught it is a long term in jail. The men know well enough that if there is anything on, there will be a watch kept over them, and that if they were to fire a pistol as a signal, there would be news of it sent to the smugglers in no time. Sometimes, too, the coast-guards nearest the point where the landing is to be, are pounced on suddenly and tied up. I reckon, too, that a good many of them keep an eye shut as long as they can, and then go off pretty leisurely to pass the word along that they have heard oars or have seen signals, especially if they have got a hot-headed boatswain in charge of their station, a sort of chap who would want to go down to meddle with a hundred men, with only five or six at his back. A man with a wife and some children, perhaps, don't relish the thought of going into a bad scrimmage like that if he can keep out of it; why should he? He gets a bit of money if they make a good seizure, but he knows well enough that he ain't going to make a seizure unless he has got a pretty strong party; and you take my word for it, four times out of five when we make a clear run, it is because the coast-guard keep an eye closed as long as they dare. They know well enough that it ain't such an uncommon thing for a man to be found at the bottom of the cliff, without anything to show how he got there, and the coroner's jury finds as it was a dark night and he tumbled over, and they brings in a verdict according. But it ain't every man as cares about taking the risk of accidents of that kind, and, somehow or other, they happens to just the chaps as is wonderful sharp and active. They have all been sailors, you know, and are ready enough for a fight when they are strong enough to have a chance, but that is a very different thing from walking backwards and forwards on a dark night close to the edge of a cliff, three or four hundred feet high, without a comrade within a quarter of a mile, and the idea that an accident of this kind might occur any time."

CHAPTER II

BEFORE THE JUSTICES

One morning when Frank was dressing, the servant came up and told him that a fisherman, who said his name was Bill Bostock, wanted to speak to him. As he had often been out with Julian in the man's boat, he put on his jacket and ran to the door.

"Good morning, Bill!" he said; "what is it?"

"I will talk with you outside, sir, if you don't mind."

A good deal surprised Frank put on his cap and went out with him.

"There has been a bad business, Master Frank, a mighty bad job."

"What sort of a job, Bill?"

"A smuggling affair, Master Frank. There was a fight. I hears one of the revenue men was killed. I don't know as that is so, but some of them have been knocked about, and have got some pistol wounds, no doubt. But that ain't the worst part of the business. Mr. Julian is among those as has been caught."

"Julian!" Frank exclaimed in astonishment. "Why, what in the world had Julian got to do with it?"

"Well, sir," the sailor said apologetically, "you see it was like this. Mr. Julian is a young gentleman as loves a bit of a spree, and he has been out many a night with some of us to see a cargo run."

Frank uttered an exclamation of surprise and consternation.

"I thought perhaps as you knowed it, sir."

"I never dreamt of such a thing, Bill. How could Julian have been so mad as to mix himself up in such a business? I suppose this is your doing; you must have led him into this mischief."

"No, sir," the sailor said in an aggrieved voice. "How was I to lead a young gentleman like your brother into a thing as he didn't choose to do? I don't say as I didn't mention to him, promiscuous like, that I lent a hand some times in running a cargo; but how was I to know as he would up and say, 'I will go with you some night, Bill.' Well, I argues with him, and I points out to him as he might get into a scrape; but, says he, 'I am not going to take no share in it, but just want to look on and see the fun,' as he calls it. I points out to him as it was not always fun, but he puts that aside, and, says he, it would not be fun unless there was a little excitement about it. He promised me faithful that he would always cut and run as soon as he heard there was any talk of the revenue men a-coming, and what was I to do? I don't say, sir, as how if it had been you I would have taken you with me, 'cause you are young, you see, and I should have felt as I was 'sponsible for you. But Mr. Julian is a man now, and when he says, 'I mean to go with you anyhow, Bill,' it was not for me to say, you sha'n't go. Mr. Julian, he is a sort of gent that gets over one somehow, and there ain't no saying 'no' to him."

"Well, it is of no use talking about that now," Frank said impatiently. "First tell me all about it, and then we will see what had best be done."

"Well, Master Frank, it was eight miles to the west. The chaps concerned in it thought they had managed to throw dust into the eyes of Captain Downes, and to get the Boxer away to Swanage, and how he got wind of the affair, and where it was to be, is more nor I can tell. Everything was going on smooth enough, and half the cargo was in the carts, when all of a sudden there was a shout 'Surrender, you scoundrels!' and that fellow Faulkner dashed up with a pistol in his hand, and behind him came a score of revenue men. I dodged under a cart and bolted. I heard some pistol shots fired, for just at that time a lot of the smugglers had come up to the carts with kegs. As if the firing on shore had been a signal, I heard directly after some guns down by the water, and knew that Downes and the Boxer had come on the lugger. I made straight back, but I could not sleep all night for wondering whether Mr. Julian had got off too, and I was up afore it was light, and went round to one or two of the other chaps as was there. One had not come back; the other had only been in half an hour. He had hid up, close to where we was surprised.

"After it was over the revenue chaps lit a lot of lanterns and then made a big fire, and by its light my mate could see pretty well what was going on. They had got about twenty prisoners. Most of the country people and carts had, luckily enough for them, gone off with their loads a few minutes afore the revenue men came up. A dozen pack-horses and three or four carts had been took, and, in course, all the loads the men were carrying up. Among those who was took was Mr. Julian. He was standing close to me when they came up, and I expect he was collared immediate. Faulkner, he sat down on a tub by the side of the fire and takes out a book, and the prisoners was brought up one by one and questions asked them. Mr. Julian was one of the last. Faulkner got up from his seat and rowed him tremendous. What he said my mate could not catch, but he could hear his voice, and he was going on at him cruel; then I suppose Mr. Julian lost his temper, and my mate says he could see that he was giving it him back hot. I expect it was something wonderful hard and nasty he said, for Faulkner jumped at him and hit him in the face. Then your brother threw himself on him. My mate says he would have thrown him backwards into the fire, if some of the revenue men had not seized him and dragged him off.

"After that there was a row between Faulkner and Captain Downes, who had come up just before with half a dozen sailors. I expect Downes was telling him that he ought to be ashamed of himself. Anyhow they got to high words, as was easy to be heard. Half an hour later most of them started with the prisoners, leaving half a dozen of the officers to look after the things they had taken. When they had gone, my mate went down close to the water, and was able to make out the cutter and the lugger anchored close together—so she has been caught. There was nothing else to wait for, so he tramped off home and had only been in a few minutes before I came to him."

"This is awful," Frank said, in dismay. "The only thing I see that can be done is for me to go and have a talk with Captain Downes. He was a friend of my father's; and I think he is a kind-hearted man, though, of course, he has to be sharp in carrying out his duty of trying to put down smuggling. Well, I will run in for breakfast now, or my aunt will wonder what has become of me; then I will go straight on board the Boxer.

"She is not in yet," Bill said. "She would not start until daylight; and I don't suppose she will be round for another two hours. You see she is not clear of Portland Bill yet."

"That is unfortunate. However, I hope I shall see him before the magistrates sit. What time do they meet?"

"They generally sit at eleven o'clock; but it ain't their day, and they will have to be summoned special. I should not wonder if they don't meet till two o'clock; because they could not be sure what time the Boxer will get round, and, as he will have taken some prisoners in the lugger, they would not begin until he arrived."

"Very well; I will go round to the court-house after breakfast, and inquire what time the sitting will be. Anyhow, I hope to be able to see the lieutenant before they meet. I don't know that any good can come of it; for, as he had nothing to do with Julian's capture, he certainly would not be able to save him from appearing, especially after that row with Faulkner."

"He's a bad un that, Master Frank, and I wish your brother had chucked him into that fire. A bit of burning might have done him good; and, if ever a chap deserved it, he did."

Frank went back into the house.

"My dear Frank," Mrs. Troutbeck exclaimed, "where have you been? I have never known you keep breakfast waiting before. Why, what is the matter, dear? Nothing about Julian, I hope; hasn't he come home yet?"

"No, Aunt; and I am sorry to say that he has got into an awkward scrape. It seems that he went out, for the fun of the thing, to see a cargo run. The revenue people came up, and he was one of those who were caught. Of course he had nothing to do with the smuggling part of the business, nor with a bit of a fight there was. Still, as he was there, I am afraid there is no doubt that he will have to appear before the magistrates with the others."

Mrs. Troutbeck sat in speechless consternation.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" she exclaimed at last. "How could he have been so silly? It is dreadful, my dear, and it will be such a disgrace. What shall we do?"

"There is nothing to do, Aunt, that I can see. As to the disgrace, that is nothing very dreadful. No end of people are mixed up in smuggling; and I have heard that many of the gentry wink at it, and are glad enough to buy a keg of brandy cheap without asking any questions where it comes from. So the mere fact that Julian went to have a look at a cargo being run is not anything very serious. I suppose it was against the law even to be present, but there was nothing disgraceful about it. It is lucky my holidays began last week, and if there is anything to be done I can do it."

"Could not Mr. Downes get him off? He used often to be here in your father's time, though I have not seen much of him since; but I am sure he would do anything he could."

"I have been thinking of that, Aunt. The Boxer was there last night and captured the smuggler, but her crew had nothing to do with the fight on shore; and, therefore, I don't think there is any chance of his being able to interfere in the matter. Still, I will see him as soon as the cutter comes in."

On going down to the court-house, Frank found that the magistrates would meet at two o'clock. Then, as the Boxer had only just appeared round Portland, he went and saw the chief officer of the coast-guard to endeavour to obtain permission to have an interview with Julian.

"I am sorry I can do nothing in the matter, lad," he replied. "It is out of my hands, owing to a magistrate being present at the capture. It was, indeed, his business more than ours; for it was he who obtained information of the affair, and called upon us to aid him in the capture of men engaged in unlawful practices. Therefore, you see, the prisoners are in the hands of the civil authorities. I hear he has given strict orders that no one is, on any pretence, to speak to the prisoners."

"I hear that he struck my brother."

"I don't know how you heard it, lad, but it is true. However, I do not feel at liberty to say anything about it. I am very sorry for your brother, who is a fine young fellow. However, I hope that as he was unarmed, and was not, I suppose, actually concerned in the smuggling business, the matter will be passed over lightly, even if he is not discharged at once. At any rate, we shall in no way press the case against him."

Frank, indeed, afterwards learned that the officer dropped a hint to the men to make as little as possible of Julian's capture, and of the vigorous resistance he had made when first seized.

The Boxer dropped anchor off the town at twelve o'clock, and the lieutenant landed at once. The officer of the coast-guard went down to meet him on the quay, and for half an hour they walked up and down the parade together, in earnest conversation. Frank remained on the opposite side of the road until they stopped, and the commander of the Boxer beckoned to him.

"Well, lad," he said, as Frank came up, "this is a nasty scrape that your brother has got into; but I don't think they can do anything to him. Mr. Moorsby has been telling me that you have been to him; but neither he nor I can do anything in the matter—it is in the civil hands. If it had been anyone else but Faulkner who had been in charge, I have no doubt it could have been managed. Of course, your brother ought not to have been there, but as he was only looking on, and taking no active part in the affair, he might have been released without any difficulty. However, I don't think you need worry yourself. Certainly, we shall not press the case against him. It is unfortunate that he used his tongue as sharply as he did to Mr. Faulkner, though I don't say but that he had great provocation, or that what he said was not perfectly true; still, it would have been much better left unsaid. However, I question if before the hearing is over Faulkner will not have cause to regret that he did not let your brother go home as soon as they got back here."

He nodded, and Frank understood that there was no more to say, and, thanking the officer, turned and walked off home. The fisherman met him on the way.

"You keep up your heart, Mr. Frank. Me and some of the others have been having a talk with the coast-guards, and they will be all right. Of course, there is not one of them that does not know Mr. Julian, so they won't say more than they can help against him; and every one of them is glad to hear that he gave it to that Faulkner hot. He ain't no more a favourite with them than he is with other people, and it was not by their own will that they ran in and pulled your brother off him. If they hadn't, he would not have been sitting on the bench to-day, nor for many a week, I reckon; for he would have been pretty badly burned if he had fallen across that fire. So you may be sure that they will make it easy for Mr. Julian, and I expect you will have him back home this evening. They would never have took him at all if they had known who he was; but, of course, being dark, and he in his fishing togs, they did not see it was him."

Frank returned home in much better spirits than he had left. His aunt was standing at the window, and hurried to the door to let him in.

"Well, Frank, have you got him out? I hoped you would have brought him home with you."

"There was no chance of that, Aunt. Of course, when anyone is taken and locked up, he cannot be discharged until the case has been gone into. But I have seen Mr. Moorsby, the coast-guard officer on shore, and Captain Downes, and they both say that the case will not be pressed against him, and that, as he was not taking any part in the affair, and merely looking on, they don't think anything will be done to him. The coast-guardsmen who will have to give evidence all know him, and will not say anything against him if they can help it. So I should not be at all surprised, Aunt, if we have him back here this afternoon."

"Oh, I do wish," Mrs. Troutbeck said tearfully, "that it could have been managed so that he would not have been obliged to be placed in the dock with smugglers and all sorts of people."

"It would, no doubt, have been better if it could have been avoided, Aunt, but there is no helping it; and if he is discharged it won't go for much against him—certainly not here, where nobody regards smuggling as a crime."

At half-past one Frank went down to the court-house. It was already crowded, but Captain Downes, who came up at the same moment, took him in, and obtained a place for him at the solicitors' table. The seizure had created quite a sensation in Weymouth, not only because two or three Weymouth men were among the prisoners, but because, owing to the fight that had taken place, the matter was very much more serious than a mere capture of contraband goods. There was a general buzz of conversation until three magistrates came in and took their places, and there was a little murmur of satisfaction as Colonel Chambers, the chairman, took his seat; for, had he not been present, Mr. Faulkner, who was next in seniority, would have taken the chair. A minute later, twelve prisoners were brought in. Five Frenchmen and two Englishmen were a portion of the crew of the smuggler; two were farmers' men, the drivers of the carts; one was a local fisherman; the eleventh was one of the party that had gone from Weymouth; Julian Wyatt made up the number.

Two or three of the party had their heads bandaged up; one had his arm in a sling; several others had marks of hard knocks, and Julian a pair of black eyes. When the little murmur that followed the entry of the prisoners had subsided, and the crier had called out "Silence in court," the inquiry began.

Mr. Moorsby was the first witness. He deposed that having received information that a landing of contraband goods was likely to take place, he, accompanied by Mr. Faulkner, who represented the civil authorities, went to the spot. They perceived that a landing of goods was taking place; but, as it had been arranged that his party should not show themselves until the revenue cutter came up and seized the lugger, they remained in hiding until they heard from a man placed down by the shore that the cutter was coming in. Then they rushed out and seized the parties engaged in the proceedings. Some of them resisted violently, and a serious fray took place. Three of his men were wounded with pistol shots, one of them very seriously. One of the smugglers had been killed, and three were so seriously injured that they could not at present be placed in the dock.

"Are any of the prisoners represented in court?" the chairman asked.

A solicitor sitting next to Frank rose. "I represent Mr. Julian Wyatt," he said. Frank looked up at him in surprise. The idea of obtaining legal assistance for Julian had not occurred to him, and he wondered how his brother had been able to communicate with a solicitor. "I would suggest, your honour," the latter went on, "that the evidence should be taken separately in the different charges, as there is a considerable difference in the position of prisoners."

Another solicitor rose. "I appear for John Turnbull and William Sims," he said, "and I would support the appeal of Mr. Probert. My clients, who are farming men, took no part whatever in the fray, which is the serious portion of the affair. While I am ready to admit that they were engaged in the illegal operation of aiding in the landing of contraband goods, I shall be able to prove that they are innocent of the more serious charge of resisting by force their capture by the revenue officers, and with using deadly weapons against the representatives of the law, and that their case stands in an altogether different category to that of the main body of the prisoners."

"You do not intend, I hope," Mr. Faulkner said, "to express a wish that we should have what would practically be twelve investigations instead of one, or that the witnesses should all be obliged to go that number of times into the box."

"By no means, your honour; I am only intimating my intention of cross-examining each witness as to the share my clients took in the affair, and pointing out beforehand that their case stands on an entirely different footing to that of the men who took part in the more serious charge of resisting the officers."

One after another of the coast-guard men gave their evidence, each identifying one or more of the prisoners in whose capture they had taken a personal part. None of the first five had anything to say regarding Julian. Then James Wingfield entered the box. After stating that he was the coxswain of the Weymouth coast-guard boat he proceeded:

"When Mr. Moorsby gave the order I ran forward. I saw a biggish man standing with his hands in the pockets of his pea-jacket. He seemed to be looking on, and was not at work; but, thinking that he might be a leader, me and Harry Wilkens ran at him and seized him. It was not until afterwards we knew that he was Mr. Julian Wyatt. After we had caught him I handed him over to Wilkens, and that is all I know about him."

He then proceeded to testify against several of the other prisoners in whose capture he had taken part. When he had finished his evidence, Julian's solicitor rose.

"You say that the prisoner you first took, Mr. Wyatt, was taking no active part in the affair?"

"No, sir, he was just standing there looking on."

"And did he resist the capture?"

"Not to say resist, sir. When we first clapped hands on him he gave a start, for we had come upon him sudden, without noise. He just tried to shake us off, not knowing, I reckon, who we were; but as soon as I said, 'In the King's name, you are my prisoner,' he was just as quiet as a lamb."

The solicitor sat down. Then the chairman asked the witness if any arms were found on the prisoner.

"No, sir."

"Not even a stick?"

"I won't say as he may not have had a bit of a stick, your honour, though I did not notice it, his hands being in his pockets; anyhow, he did not try to use it."

Wilkens was the next witness, and his evidence, as far as Julian was concerned, was precisely similar to that of the coxswain. Against the seven men of the lugger the evidence was conclusive. All had resisted desperately, and this had enabled several of their party to make their escape in the darkness. The Weymouth fisherman had been caught coming up from the beach with a keg on his shoulder, and had thrown it down and attempted to run away, but had made no resistance when he had been taken; the two farm men had been captured at their horses' heads, and had at once surrendered. When the evidence had been gone through, Mr. Probert addressed the court on behalf of Julian. He urged that there was no evidence whatever to show that he was concerned either in the smuggling operations or in the resistance to the revenue officers.

"I do not pretend," he said, "that he was there by accident; but I maintain that he was there simply in the capacity of a looker-on. He stands, in fact, precisely in the same position that any member of the general public might do, who had been present as a spectator at any sort of riot. It is unquestionably a very unwise action on the part of any individual to attend a meeting of any sort at which it is possible that riotous proceedings may take place, but I maintain that, however imprudent and foolish, there is nothing criminal in his doing so, and I am sure that there is no case on record in which a man has been punished for his presence at a riot in which he did not participate. My client acted foolishly, but I ask the court to say that his foolishness was not criminal. He had accidentally learned that there was to be a landing of contraband goods, and, with the thoughtlessness of youth, he went to see what he considered the fun. Even if there had been a shadow of criminality in his being present, I should ask you to say that the unpleasant experience that he has undergone—his detention for twelve hours in a police cell, and his appearance here—is ample punishment for his boyish escapade, which might have been committed by any high-spirited young fellow of nineteen."

After the other solicitor had addressed the court on behalf of the two farmers' men, the magistrates consulted together. The spectators, watching them attentively, saw that for a time they seemed unanimous, then it was equally evident that there was a difference of opinion on some point or other, and they presently rose and left the court.

"It is Faulkner against the other two," Mr. Probert whispered to Frank. "Of course they were unanimous about the smugglers, but I expect they differed as to the others. It is lucky that the Colonel is in the chair. Harrington is a mild little fellow, and Faulkner would be able to twist him round his finger if there were only the two of them, but there is no fear of that with the Colonel there to keep him straight."

In ten minutes they returned, and by the flushed, angry face of Mr. Faulkner, Frank judged at once that he had been overruled. The chairman briefly announced the decision of the court, and committed the seven smugglers for trial on the whole of the charges. The Weymouth fisherman was also committed, but only on the charge of being engaged in the unlawful act of defrauding His Majesty's revenue, and was allowed out on bail. The two farm labourers were fined fifty pounds apiece, which their solicitor at once paid.

"The majority of the bench are in favour of your immediate discharge, Mr. Wyatt, being of opinion that the evidence has failed altogether to prove any of the charges against you, and, being of opinion that you have already paid dearly enough for your reckless folly in attending an unlawful operation of this kind, they trust that it will be a lesson to you for life. The other and more serious charge against you will now be taken."

Frank, who was in the act of rising from his seat in delight at Julian's acquittal, sank down again in dismay at the concluding words. He had no idea of any further charge.

"What is it?" he whispered to Mr. Probert.

"Faulkner has charged him with an attempt to murder him. Have you not heard of it? Don't be frightened. I have seen the witnesses, and have no doubt that this case will break down like the other."

After all the prisoners but Julian had been removed from the dock, Mr. Faulkner left the bench and took his seat in the body of the court. The charge was then read over by the clerk, and Mr. Faulkner's name was called; as he stepped into the witness-box, a low hiss ran through the fishermen who formed a large proportion of the spectators.

"Silence!" the chairman said angrily. "If I hear any repetition of this indecent demonstration, I will have the court cleared at once."

Mr. Faulkner then proceeded to give his evidence. "He had," he said, "spoken severely to the prisoner in his quality as a magistrate, upon his taking part in smuggling transactions. At this the prisoner became violently abusive and uttered such murderous threats that he thought he would have struck him, and in self-defence he (the witness) gave him a blow, whereupon the prisoner had sprung upon him like a tiger, had lifted him in his arms, and had carried him bodily towards the fire, and would assuredly have thrown him into it had he not been prevented from doing so by some of the coast-guardsmen."

Mr. Probert rose quietly. "You are a magistrate, Mr. Faulkner, I believe?" Mr. Faulkner gave no reply to the question, and after a little pause the solicitor went on: "Do you consider that, as a magistrate, Mr. Faulkner, it comes within your province to abuse a prisoner unconvicted of any crime?"

"I deny that I abused him," Mr. Faulkner said hotly.

"There is no occasion for heat, sir," Mr. Probert said quietly. "You are in the position of a witness at present and not of a magistrate, and must reply like any other witness. Well, you deny having abused him. Do you consider that calling a gentleman of good standing in this town, the son of a distinguished officer, a loafing young scoundrel, not abuse; or by telling him that six months in one of His Majesty's jails would do him a world of good?"

"I deny that I used those words."

"Well, sir, that is a question of pure credibility. It is possible that I may be in a position to prove to the satisfaction of the bench that you did use them, and many others of an equally offensive character. Mr. Wyatt naturally resented such language, which you had no more right to address to him than you would have to address to me. If a magistrate forgets his position, and abuses a prisoner in the language of a fish-fag, he must expect to be answered in the same way by anyone of spirit. You say that, thereupon, he became abusive and used murderous threats? Now we should like to hear a little more about this. First of all, let us hear the abuse, will you? Tell the court, if you please, Mr. Faulkner, what were the abusive expressions," he added.

"He said, sir, that I was a disgrace to the bench."

There was a general laugh in the court, which was instantly repressed. Mr. Faulkner's eyes ran furiously over the crowded benches.

"I must ask you to look at me, Mr. Faulkner," the solicitor said mildly. "Well, he said that you were a disgrace to the bench. That is scarcely, perhaps, as much a matter of abuse as one of private opinion. What did he say next?"

"He said I was a curse to the whole neighbourhood."

"Again a mere matter of opinion."

"And after that that I was a sneaking, meddlesome, interfering old fox."

There was again a buzz of laughter, mingled with exclamations of "So you are," "He wasn't far wrong;" upon which Colonel Chalmers directed the constable to turn all the offending parties out of court. Some fishermen nearest to the door were hustled out.

"Well, I am afraid that I must admit," Mr. Probert said, "that to call you a meddlesome old fox was abusive, although nothing like so abusive as to call a man a loafing young scoundrel. Now as to the threats."

"He said that I would be brought home one of these days with a bullet in my body."

"That is purely a matter of prophecy, Mr. Faulkner, and not a threat, unless he intended you to understand that it was he who would fire the bullet. Do you mean to tell the court that you had any reason to suppose that this young gentleman, whose reputation is untarnished, and who has never had a charge brought against him except the ridiculous one that has just been dismissed, intended to imply by those words that he himself had any idea of taking your life?"

"It might bear that construction."

"It might bear any construction in the mind of a man determined to see everything in the worst possible light. It is a matter of public notoriety, Mr. Faulkner, that you have received several threatening letters, and that the active part you have taken against poachers and smugglers has caused some feeling against you. Do you not think it likely that when Mr. Wyatt used the words you have repeated he referred to this circumstance?"

"A magistrate who does his duty must necessarily be unpopular with the criminal classes."

"Possibly, Mr. Faulkner, though I have known many magistrates who did their duty and who were by no means unpopular; but you have not answered my question. Do you not think that in saying what he did Mr. Wyatt simply alluded to the fact of your well-known unpopularity, and to the threatening letters that you have received?"

"Possibly he did," Mr. Faulkner admitted reluctantly, "although that was not my impression at the time."

"Well, then, unless there were further threats, as you call them, I think we have disposed of the alleged abuse and the alleged murderous threats. Now we come to the other charge. You thought that he was about to strike you, and in self-defence gave him a blow. What made you think that he was going to strike you?"

"He made a step towards me with a threatening gesture."

"Oh, I dare say that he was angry, but a gentleman who has been called a loafing young scoundrel is somewhat apt to lose his temper. You might even do so yourself, Mr. Faulkner, if so addressed. Well, then, he made a step towards you; thereupon you struck him in the face, and judging from his appearance you struck him pretty hard, and then you say he caught you up and carried you along. It says a good deal for his strength that he was able to do so. Now you say he carried you towards the fire, and would have thrown you upon it had not some of the coast-guardsmen interfered in time. Now, how do you know that that was his intention?"

"I firmly believe that it was so."

"It is not a question of belief. You might believe that he was going to throw you up to the moon. You struggled, I suppose—you would scarcely submit to be carried like a baby—I imagine that is about the long and short of it. But even if he had intended to throw you on the fire, which certainly seems to be merely a matter of your imagination, you can hardly pretend that had he carried out this intention that it would have been murder. Surely with a score of your friends standing by, you would have been hauled out immediately, none the worse except for a few singes and a burn or two. This was not a burning fiery furnace, Mr. Faulkner, but merely a bit of a bonfire from a few sticks that had been set on fire in order to throw a little light on the proceedings."

"I might have been very seriously burnt."

"Well, even supposing that you had been, that is not a question of murder. I presume that you framed this indictment you have charged the prisoner, not with an intention of committing grievous damage upon you, but with murder, and if you now admit that, under the circumstances, death could hardly have resulted by any possibility from this imaginary intention of throwing you on the fire being carried out, it is clear that the charge of murder must drop through. I have no further questions to ask you, though I may have some remarks to make after having heard your witnesses."

CHAPTER III

IN A FRESH SCRAPE

The first witness called by Mr. Faulkner was Captain Downes.

"Will you tell us what you know about this affair?" the chairman said.

"After having captured the smuggler, I took six men and went up to see if I could be of any assistance to Mr. Moorsby, and also to hear whether he had been as successful with his capture as I had. I found that everything was over, and that a fire had been lighted. I was talking to Mr. Moorsby when my attention was excited by loud words between Mr. Faulkner and Mr. Wyatt, with whom I am acquainted. Mr. Faulkner struck him in the face, and there was a scuffle, the prisoner lifting the magistrate, although a much heavier man, completely off his feet. In the course of the scuffle they approached the fire, and being afraid that they might fall into it, I ran up with Mr. Moorsby and some of the men, and pulled them away."

"Did it seem to you, Captain Downes, that the prisoner was carrying Mr. Faulkner straight to the fire?"

"He was certainly going straight in that direction, but whether intentionally or not I am unable to say."

"Do you think that if you and your men had not interfered they would have fallen into the fire?"

"I think they would certainly have done so."

"Do you think that the prisoner intended to throw Mr. Faulkner into the fire?"

"That I cannot say."

"Have you any questions to ask the witness, Mr. Faulkner?" the chairman asked.

"You do not think it likely, I suppose, that the prisoner could have intended himself to tumble into the fire?"

"I should think it very unlikely."

Mr. Faulkner sat down, and Mr. Probert rose.

"You think it very unlikely, Captain Downes, that Mr. Wyatt would deliberately have walked into the fire, and I quite share your opinion; but it has not yet been proved that he was deliberately going towards the fire at all. You say he lifted Mr. Faulkner in his arms. Now it seems to me that, having done so, he would not be able to see at all which way he was going, as Mr. Wyatt's eyes would both be on a level with Mr. Faulkner's chest; moreover, it must be evident that, judging from his present appearance, he could scarcely have seen anything at all, after receiving such a blow. Does it not strike you as being still more likely that, partially blinded as he was, and being unwilling to strike the magistrate in return, however much the latter had forfeited all claim to respect, he closed with him, and in the heat of passion lifted him up and carried him along at random?"

"I think that very likely," the lieutenant replied.

"Had you yourself been struck as the prisoner was struck, Captain Downes, what course do you think it would have been proper for you to pursue?"

"I don't know what would have been proper, but I know what I should have done. Magistrate or no magistrate, I should have knocked my assailant down, or at any rate I should have tried to."

"As a naval man, Captain Downes, you have had some experience of the conduct gentlemen generally observe to their prisoners. I presume that it is not their custom to strike them, even if they did make a somewhat free use of their tongues?"

"Certainly not," Captain Downes said emphatically.

"Would you go so far as to say that you would consider it to be a disgraceful and cowardly act?"

"I should so consider it."

There was again a murmur of applause in court, which was instantly arrested when Mr. Probert held up his hand deprecatingly. "Thank you, Captain Downes," he went on. "Now we come to the question of the quarrel that gave rise to this affair. Mr. Faulkner has not thought fit to ask you any questions about it. Were you standing close enough to hear what passed?"

"I was standing close by, and both Mr. Faulkner and the prisoner spoke loudly enough to be heard at such a distance."

"The magistrate first began the conversation?"

"He did."

"He used very strong language, did he not?"

"Very strong."

"Did you think that he was justified in using such strong language?"

"Certainly not; I thought that it was most improper."

"And do you think that a gentleman accosted so improperly is to be greatly blamed if he uses strong language in return?"

"It would no doubt have been better if he had held his tongue at the time, and have called him to account afterwards."

"Still the provocation was very strong, Captain Downes, and you could not altogether blame him."

"I did not blame him at all," the witness said curtly.

"And what did you think when Mr. Faulkner suddenly struck his prisoner in the face?"

"Am I to answer that question?" the witness asked the bench.

"I do not think that it is an improper question," the chairman replied.

"Very well, sir. Then, if I must say it, I thought it was one of the most blackguardly and cowardly things I ever saw done."

"Thank you, Captain Downes. I do not think it necessary to ask you any further questions."

"Have you any more witnesses to call, Mr. Faulkner?" the chairman asked coldly.

Mr. Faulkner's face was white with rage. "I have a dozen other witnesses," he said hoarsely, "but I have no doubt they will all follow the lead their officer has set them. I shall therefore call no more."

"I do not think, your worships," Mr. Probert said, rising, "that it is necessary for me to address you. I would only submit to you that there is not a shadow of evidence to support the charge of an attempt to murder. As to the abusive language, I cannot say that my client's words were a retort courteous, but they were only a retort natural, and were simply the consequence of the extraordinary conduct of Mr. Faulkner, acting at the time in his capacity of magistrate. As to the charge of threatening language, it is altogether absurd. My client simply asserted what is true by common report—that Mr. Faulkner had been threatened, and that it was possible that those threats might some day or other be carried into effect. I have only, therefore, to leave the case in the hands of your worships."

The two magistrates put their heads together for a short time. Then the chairman said: "The bench is of opinion that the charge of attempted murder is altogether without foundation, and that of abusive language and the use of threats should never have been brought, seeing that they were the result of what we cannot but consider the very ill-judged and improper conduct of the plaintiff. You are therefore discharged, Mr. Wyatt; but my colleague and myself cannot but again express a hope that this and the preceding charge may prove a lesson to you to avoid taking part, even as a spectator, in such breeches of the law as those which led to this very regrettable occurrence."

As the magistrate concluded, a roar of applause rose in the court. In vain the constables shouted for silence. The chairman at once ordered the room to be cleared, and at the same time motioned to Julian not to leave the court, as he was preparing to do. When the court was cleared, he called Julian up to him.

"I think, Mr. Wyatt," he said, "it would be as well for you to remain here for a time, and then go out by the back way. It would be very unfortunate if any demonstration took place. Enough harm has been done already; do not let us make it any worse."

"Certainly not, sir. I am heartily sorry for what has occurred," and beckoning to Frank, who was still seated at the solicitors' table, he retired with him to a waiting-room.

"Thank goodness, Julian, you have got out of that scrape."

"Thank goodness, indeed, Frank. I behaved like an awful fool, but I never dreamt that anything like this would come of it. I have been to see cargoes run several times. It was very good fun. I never helped in any way, and had always made up my mind that I would make myself scarce if the revenue people should turn up, but it all happened so suddenly that I was a prisoner before I knew what was going on. As to the other affair, no doubt it would have been better for me to have said nothing, but of course I knew that he had no right to say what he did, and I had not the least idea that he would hit me; when he did, I went at him in a fury, and I don't mind acknowledging that I did intend to chuck him in the fire—not with any idea of killing him, you know, though I did think he would be burnt a bit."

"It was lucky you sent for Probert, Julian; I had never thought of it."

"No more did I, Frank. I was perfectly astonished when he got up and said that he appeared for me, but I supposed that Aunt or you had sent for him."

"I am sure Aunt didn't, or she would have told me."

"I should not be surprised, Frank, if it were Captain Downes. In the first place, he was a friend of Father's, and in the next place, because he is heartily sick of Faulkner's constant interference and the way he goes on. I expect that if Mr. Moorsby had got up he would have said just the same things."

"I will leave you here for a few minutes, Julian. I must run round and tell Aunt; she is in a fearful stew about you."

Frank ran out at the main entrance. A number of fishermen were hanging about outside. Bill came up to him:

"Isn't Mr. Julian coming out, Master Frank?"

"Not at present. The magistrates don't want any fuss in the streets, no more does my brother, and he will stay there till every one has cleared off, so the best thing you can do, Bill, is to persuade the others to go off home. Julian knows well enough that you are all pleased that he has got off, but you see if there were a fuss got up about it in the streets it would do him harm and not good."

"All right, sir, I will get them off. They just wanted to give him a cheer."

"Well, they did that in Court, Bill, and you know that he appreciates their good intentions. Well, I must be off."

Mrs. Troutbeck was still on the watch. However, she did not come to the door. Frank opened it, and ran into the parlour. His Aunt had dropped into a chair, with her handkerchief to her eyes.

"So he has not come back with you, Frank. It is dreadful. What are they going to do with him?"

"They are not going to do anything, Aunt. He has been acquitted. Only he did not come home with me because there are a lot of sailors waiting outside to cheer him, and the magistrates did not want a row over him, nor did Julian either. I have just run home to tell you that it is all right, and now I am going back for him. I expect by the time I get there they will all have gone, and we may be home in a quarter of an hour, so I think, Aunt, the best thing you can do is to get tea ready, for I don't expect he has had much to eat there, or any appetite to eat it."

It was good advice, for Mrs. Troutbeck was on the point of going into hysterics from joy and relief. However, the thought of the necessity for getting a good meal to welcome Julian on his arrival turned her thoughts into another channel, and, wiping her eyes hastily, she rose and gave directions, while Frank started again for the court-house. The fishermen had left, but there were still a number of boys about the place. The private entrance was, however, free from observers, and the brothers started at once, keeping to the back streets until they neared the house.

"My dear Julian," Mrs. Troutbeck exclaimed as she threw her arms round his neck, "what a relief it is to have you back again. It has been terrible for you."

"It hasn't been very pleasant, Aunt," he replied cheerfully, "but it is all right now, and certainly I ought not to grumble. I have had better luck than I deserved. I was a fool to go there, but I did not think that there was any real chance of the revenue people coming down upon us. It was thought they had been thrown off the scent altogether."

"What a dreadful face you have got, Julian!"

"Oh, that is nothing, Aunt; it will go off in a few days, and until it has I must either stay indoors or keep out of the town altogether."

"I am afraid tea won't be ready for a few minutes, Julian. You see I have had such a very short notice."

"I can hold on comfortably, Aunt; besides, I have got to have a change and a wash. That is of more importance than tea just at present."

After the meal was over, Frank gave the details of the examination, the narrative being very frequently stopped by exclamations and questions on the part of Mrs. Troutbeck.

"I have never heard of such a wicked thing. The idea of that man charging you with attempting to murder him! Julian, he ought to be punished for it."

"I fancy he has been punished, Aunt. I don't see how he is to keep his commission as a justice after what was said in court. Still, it is a bad thing for me. I was discharged, but it will always be against me. If I ever get into any sort of trouble again, people will say: 'Ah, yes; he was charged with attempting murder when he was a young fellow, and although he was lucky enough to get off then, there must have been something in it. He is evidently a man of ungovernable temper.'"

"But, my dear Julian, everyone knows that you have a very sweet temper."

"I was not in a sweet temper then at any rate, Aunt."

"Of course not, Julian. I should not have been so myself if anyone had hit me such a terrible blow as that in the face."

Her nephews both laughed, for they had never seen her ruffled out of her usual serenity.

"Well, Aunt, don't let us talk any more about it," Julian said. "I would give a good deal if it hadn't happened. As it is, one must make the best of it, and I hope that it will be forgotten in time. I wish now that I had gone into the army, but it is too late for that. I shall think over what I had best take to. I should certainly like to get away from here until it has blown over altogether."

On the following morning Frank met Captain Downes, and learned that he was right in his conjecture, and that it was he who had retained Mr. Probert's services in Julian's behalf before the magistrates.

For the next few days Julian kept in the house, except that after nightfall he went out for a long walk. The report of the proceedings in the court had caused a great sensation in Weymouth, and the feeling was so strong against Mr. Faulkner that he was hooted in the streets when he rode into the town. The general expectation was that he would resign his position on the bench; and when at the end of a week he did not do so, a private meeting of the other magistrates was held, and it was whispered in the town that a report of the proceedings at the court had been sent to the Home Secretary, with an expression of opinion that Mr. Faulkner's brother magistrates felt that they could not sit again with him on the bench after what had taken place.

Ten days after the affair Julian started early one morning for a day's rabbit-shooting at the house of a friend who lived some six miles up the valley. Some snow fell in the course of the afternoon and put a stop to shooting, and he started to walk home. When he was within a few hundred yards of Mr. Faulkner's place he heard a horse coming along behind him. The snow that had fallen had deadened the sound of the hoofs on the road, and, looking round, he saw Mr. Faulkner riding fast, at a distance of but fifty yards away. Had he caught sight of him sooner Julian would have left the road and entered the wood to avoid him, but it was too late now, and he hoped that at any rate the man would pass on without speaking. The horseman had apparently not recognized Julian until he came abreast of him, when, with a sudden exclamation, he reined in his horse.

"MARK MY WORDS, YOU YOUNG SCOUNDREL, I WILL BE EVEN WITH YOU YET."

"So it is you, Julian Wyatt?" he said, in a tone of suppressed fury.

"It is I, Mr. Faulkner," Julian replied quietly; "and as I don't want to have anything to say to you, I think that you had better go on your way without interfering with me."

"Mark my words, you young scoundrel, I will be even with you yet."

"The debt is not all on your side, Mr. Faulkner. I, too, have got a debt to pay; and perhaps some day we may square matters up, when you have not got a score of coast-guardsmen at your back. However, I am content to leave matters as they are so long as you do the same. As to your owing a debt to me, it is yourself you have to thank for the trouble you have got into; it was no doing of mine. However, I warn you that you had better abstain from insulting me again. I did not strike you back when you hit me last time, but if you call me scoundrel again you shall see that I can hit as hard as you can, and I will teach you to keep a civil tongue in your head."

"You mark my words," Mr. Faulkner repeated. "I will have you watched, and I will hunt you down, and if I am not mistaken I will put a rope round your neck one of these days." So saying, he struck spurs into his horse and galloped on.

Julian stood looking after him until he saw him turn in at his gate. The drive to the house led, as he knew, diagonally through the wood, and as he walked forward he heard the horse's galloping hoofs grow louder and louder. Suddenly there was the report of a gun some seventy or eighty yards away. It was mingled with that of a sudden cry, and Julian heard the horse galloping on even faster than before. With an exclamation of "Good heavens! something has happened!" he broke through the hedge and ran in the direction of the sound. As he approached it he thought that he caught sight of a man running through the trees, but he kept straight on until he came upon the drive. Twenty yards away Mr. Faulkner lay stretched on the ground. He went up to him, and stooped over him. His eyes were closed, and as he lay on his back Julian saw blood oozing through a bullet-hole in his coat high up on the left side of the chest.

Feeling sure that Mr. Faulkner was dead he started up, and without a moment's hesitation ran into the wood again, in the direction where he had thought that he had seen a figure. A minute later he came upon some footprints on a bare spot between the trees, where the snow had fallen lightly. Noting the direction they took, he followed at once. He saw no more signs of footprints, but followed the direction as nearly as he could until he came to the farthest side of the wood; then he leaped out into the field beyond, and followed the edge of the wood until he again reached the road. He then turned and went back again, and fifty yards from the point where he had first run out he came upon the footprints again.

"He was going to take to the hills, he muttered," as he set off along the track. He ran at a trot, and as he went, loaded both barrels of his gun. "Very likely the villain will show fight," he said to himself; "I must take him by surprise if I can."

After a quarter of a mile's run he reached the foot of the hill, and near its crest, three-quarters of a mile away, caught sight of the figure of a man. A moment later he had passed over the crest. Julian started at full speed up the hill. There was no need to follow the footprints now; indeed the strong wind that was blowing had swept the snow into the hollows, and the face of the hill was bare. When he reached the top of the hill he had decreased his distance considerably. He saw to his surprise that the man was bearing to the right, a course that would ere long bring him to the edge of the cliff. The run up the hill had left him breathless, and for some time the man, who was also running, fully maintained his lead. Then Julian began to gain upon him. The man had again changed his course, and was now going parallel with the line of cliffs. Three miles from the point where he had reached the top Julian was within a quarter of a mile of him. He would have caught him before this, had he not been obliged at times to make detours so as to avoid passing high ground, where the man, if he looked back, would have perceived him. By this time he was almost sure that the fugitive was a poacher, who had been recently released from a term of two years in prison for poaching in Mr. Faulkner's preserves. At last he saw him turn sharp to the right again. "Where on earth is he going?" Julian said to himself. "The cliffs are not many hundred yards away."

Hitherto he had supposed that the man was keeping away from the cliff to avoid meeting any of the coast-guards who would be on duty there, but this change of direction puzzled him completely. Keeping his eye on the poacher, he saw him enter a small clump of bushes, from which he did not emerge. Julian at once slackened his pace down to a walk. It was likely enough that the man had noticed that he was being pursued, and had determined to rid himself of the pursuer. It was not a pleasant idea, that the fellow might now be kneeling among the bushes with his gun at his shoulder.

"It could hardly be that either," he said to himself, "for if he intended to shoot me he would have turned the other way; for the sound of his gun would be probably heard by some of the coast-guard, and they could not fail to see him running away. At any rate," he muttered, "I am not going to turn back after such a chase as I have had."

Standing still and looking at the spot, he saw that the clump of bushes grew in a slight hollow, and that by turning to the right he would be able to approach within twenty or thirty yards of it without exposing himself to view. This he did, and in a short time lost sight of the bushes. Moving with great caution, he made his way towards them, and when he approached the slope into the hollow, lay down and crawled along, keeping his gun in front of him. As he neared the spot he lay down on his stomach in the short turf and wound himself along until he could see down into the bushes. With his gun at his shoulder, and his finger on the trigger, he gazed down into the hollow. To his surprise he could see no signs of the fugitive. The leafless boughs afforded but slight shelter, and after gazing fixedly at them for two or three minutes, he became convinced that the man was no longer there. As soon as he came to this conclusion he stood up and looked over the surrounding country. It was bleak and bare, and entirely destitute of hedges or any other shelter.

It was but for five or six minutes at the utmost that he had lost sight of the bushes, and in that time the man could not have got far. "Where on earth has he hidden himself?" Julian muttered.

He went down to the clump of bushes, still holding his gun in readiness for instant use. The patch was but some thirty feet long by half as wide. He walked backwards and forwards among the low bushes, but the fugitive was certainly not there. Going to the end of the patch he could see plainly enough the track where the man had entered, for although there was little snow on the top of the ground it lay among the tufts of grass. He walked round the clump, but there were no signs of any footsteps leaving it. "This is the rummest thing I ever saw," he muttered; "the fellow can't have flown away; yet, he certainly has not walked off."

Thinking it over, an idea suddenly occurred to him. When sailing along the coast with Bill, the latter had one day pointed out to him a hole in the cliff some twenty feet above high-water mark. "Do you see that hole, Mr. Julian?"

"Yes, I see it plain enough. What of it?"

"Well, sir, if I owned all the goods that have been taken into that hole on dark still nights I should be a rich man."

"Do you mean to say that they run cargoes there, Bill?"

"Not kegs—they are too heavy and too awkward to get away—but laces, and silks, and such like. Many a lugger when she comes from abroad lands all them sorts of things here, and then sails away and takes her chance of running the rest of the cargo somewhere else."

"But how can anyone get up there? I see nothing like a path."

"There ain't no path, sir. The revenue men would have found it out long ago if there had been. The boat comes along, as I said, of a dark night, when there is no swell on, and the chaps inside show a tiny light to guide them to the spot. When the boat comes, they lower a rope down and haul the bales up; and then the boat goes back to the lugger, and she ups sail, and no one is the wiser."

"But what do they do with the stuff? I don't mean, where do they stow it, but how do they get it away?"

"There is a passage somewhere," Bill replied. "I don't know where it goes out. I reckon there ain't half a dozen men in Weymouth who do know. I should say, except the men whose business it is to take the goods inland and forward them to London, there is only one chap who is in the secret; and he is not in Weymouth now—he is in jail. That is Joe Markham. He is in for poaching. But for a good many years he sailed in one of those French luggers. Then, as I have heard, he was keeper of the cave for a bit; but he had to give it up—he was too well known to the coast-guard, and they kept too sharp an eye on him for him to venture to go out. He had had enough of the sea, and no doubt he had got some money laid by; anyhow, he took a cottage by the river, and took to poaching, more for devilment, I should say, than because he wanted the money. I expect he was well paid by the smugglers, for he used to get up half the stories to put them off the scent, and never missed being present when a run was made."

This conversation came back to Julian's memory, as he stood by the clump of bushes wondering what had become of the man that he had pursued, and it flashed upon him that the spot where he was standing could not be far from the smugglers' cavern, and that the entrance to this might very well be among these bushes. The man knew where that entrance was, and nothing was more likely than that he should make for it as a place of concealment until an opportunity occurred to get on board a lugger and cross the channel. It was a very likely place; men could come and go at night without risk of being seen or heard by any of the coast-guardsmen on the cliff, and would not be likely to encounter anyone within two or three miles of it. Years might pass without anyone happening to enter the bushes.

Laying down his gun, Julian began to search in earnest. It was half an hour before, feeling about in the coarse grass, he came upon a handle. He pulled at it, gently at first, then as it did not yield, he exerted his strength, and it gave way, and a section of the rough herbage rose, while three feet away it sank in the same proportion. Raising it higher, he saw that the trap-door—for such it was—was two feet wide by about five feet long and eighteen inches deep; it was, in fact, a deep tray pivoted on the centre and filled with earth, on which grass grew as freely as in the ground adjoining.

The greater portion of the trap was overhung by bushes, which grew so thickly around the part which sank that the probability was small indeed that anyone would tread upon it. Julian saw, too, that under the handle was a bolt that, when fastened, would hold the trap firmly down. No doubt the man in his haste had forgotten to fasten it before he descended. Looking down, Julian saw a circular hole like a well, evidently artificially made in the chalk; a ladder was fastened against one side.

JULIAN FINDS HIMSELF A PRISONER AMONG THE SMUGGLERS.

Julian hesitated. Should he return to Weymouth, inform the authorities that he had traced the murderer of Mr. Faulkner to a place of concealment, and bring them there to arrest him, or should he go down and encounter him single-handed? Although of a fearless disposition, he would have decided on the more prudent course had it not been that to have done so, would have let the authorities into the knowledge of the smugglers' cave. Although he had determined to have nothing more to do with them, this he felt would be an act of treachery, for it was only because he had been believed by Bill to be absolutely trustworthy, that the latter had told him of the existence of this cavern and of the secret exit, and without that information he would never have searched for and discovered the trap-door. Then, too, the thought that the credit he would gain by the capture of the murderer single-handed would go far to efface the memory of the disgrace that had befallen him, helped to decide him.

He fetched his gun and slung it over his shoulder, got upon the ladder, and pulled the trap-door down behind him. As he did so he found that it moved easily, and that he could push it up again without any difficulty, and feeling the bolt, discovered that it had been partially shot, but not sufficiently to catch fairly, although containing so far a hold of the frame, that it had torn a groove in the somewhat rotten wood with the force that he had used to raise it. He went down the ladder very cautiously, until, after descending for some thirty steps, his foot encountered solid ground. After a moment's consideration he knelt down and proceeded on his hands and knees. Almost immediately he felt the ground slope away in front of him. He got on to his feet again. Holding out his arms he found that the passage was about four feet wide, and he began to descend with extreme care, feeling his way along both walls. He had gone, he thought, about fifty yards when the passage made a sharp turn, still descending, and at a considerable distance ahead the light streamed in through a rugged hole. He walked more confidently now, and soon the light was sufficient to enable him to see the path he was following.

On arriving at the aperture, he saw that, as he expected, he was looking over the sea. On one side of the hole there was a shelf cut in the chalk. This was stained as if by oil, and he guessed at once that it was a look-out and a spot for signalling a craft in the offing. The path here turned again and ran parallel with the face of the cliff. There was no occasion to exercise care in walking now, as here and there the light streamed in through openings a few inches long. He now unslung his gun, stooped and took off his boots, and then proceeded noiselessly. The descent was considerable, and in some places steps had been cut. At last he arrived at a door. It was roughly but very solidly made, and would doubtless sustain an attack for some time before it yielded, and so would give time to the occupants, in case the trap-door was discovered, to make their escape by the lower entrance on to the beach. There was a latch to it. Lifting this quietly, he found the door yielded, and, holding his gun in his right hand ready to cover the fugitive the moment he entered, Julian threw the door wide open and sprang forward.

He had not calculated on a further descent, but the floor of the cave was five feet below him, and he fell heavily upon it, the gun going off as it struck the floor. Instantaneous as the fall had been, his eyes had taken in the scene. Several lanterns faintly lit up the cave; while in the centre a table, at which several figures were sitting, was illuminated by three or four candles. He was partly stunned by the heaviness of his fall, but vaguely heard shouts of surprise and alarm, and was, a minute later, roughly seized and dragged along. Then he felt that he was being tightly bound. For some minutes he was left to himself, but he could see three men with guns in their hands standing near the door by which he had entered, listening attentively. Presently he heard steps coming down the passage and two other men came through the door, shut and bolted it carefully, and then came down the steps into the cabin.

They spoke to their comrades as they came in, and the news was evidently satisfactory, for the men leaned their guns against the wall and came to the table. There was some talk for a few minutes, and then Julian was raised and placed in a sitting position on the head of a cask by the table. One of the men then addressed him in French. Julian, who by this time had recovered from the effects of his fall, shook his head. The other then spoke to the poacher, who had seated himself opposite Julian, and the latter then said:

"You are the young fellow who was tried in court three weeks ago, are you not?"

"Yes, I am."

"I thought so; I was there. It was the very day I got to Weymouth. Well, what the deuce are you doing here? You are the chap who has followed me all the way up the hill?"

Julian nodded.

"What did you follow me for?"

"Because I was in the road when you shot Faulkner. I heard the gun, and ran in and found him dead. I caught sight of you in the wood, and went in chase of you."

"What did you intend to do, you young fool?"

"I intended to capture you," Julian said fearlessly.

"What for? I have done you a good service as well as myself. You had no reason to bear him any good-will, and some of the men who were there told me that though Downes got you off, it was true that you were going to throw Faulkner into the fire."

"So I was; but he had just struck me and I was in a furious passion; but that was a different thing altogether to shooting a man in cold blood."

"He got me two years' imprisonment," the man said, "which to my mind was a good reason for shooting him when I got the chance; and another thing was he would never leave us alone, but was always on our heels. There are two or three men in prison now that he got sent there, and eight more are waiting their trial. He made war on us, and I have turned the tables on him.

"I heard that you had been at several of the runs, and of course you are in with some of our fellows. How did you get to know about the entrance to this place?"

"I only knew that there was a cave here, that it was used by the smugglers, and that it had an entrance somewhere. The man who told me knew well that I was to be trusted, but it was only because you disappeared among those bushes, and that there were no footprints to show that you had left them, that it appeared to me that the passage might be there, and so I looked about until I found the handle to the trap-door."

"Why didn't you go and call the coast-guard? There was a station not a quarter of a mile away."

"Because I could not have done that without betraying the secret of the cavern. I found the entrance myself, but I should never have done so, if I had not been told about the cave and the secret passage, and I felt that it would be an act of treachery to betray it."

"And you were really fool enough to think that if you captured me single-handed I should walk with you like a lamb to the gallows?"

"I didn't intend to give you a chance of making a fight. I intended to rush straight in and covered you with my gun."

"Well, you have plenty of pluck, young fellow, if you haven't much wisdom; but if you think that after getting in here, I shall let you go out again to bring the constables down on me you are mistaken altogether."

CHAPTER IV

THE SMUGGLER'S CAVE

Joe Markham had, as soon as he arrived, told the French smugglers that he had shot the magistrate who had for the last five or six years given them so much trouble and caused them so much loss, and who had, as the last affair showed, become more dangerous than ever, as he could only have obtained information as to the exact point of landing by having bribed someone connected with them.

"It was a case of his life or our business," he said. "If he had not been got out of the way we must have given up the trade altogether on this part of the coast; besides, he has been the cause, not only of several seizures of cargoes, but of the death of eight or ten of our comrades and of the imprisonment of many others. Now that he is out of the way we shall find things a great deal easier."

"It served him right," the leader of the party said, "and you have rendered good service; but what are you going to do? Do you think that any suspicion will fall upon you?"

"Yes; I have put myself in an awkward position, I am afraid. I thought that the job had been so well managed that it could never be traced to me, but when I got up to the top of the hill I saw a fellow just starting from the bottom. I did not think much of it at the time, but he came up so quickly after me that he must have run all the way up. He has chased me hard, and as he got nearer I could see that he had a gun too. He was not more than a quarter of a mile away when I got to the trap-door."

"Why didn't you hide yourself in the bushes and put a bullet into him, Markham?"

"For several reasons. In the first place, the gun might have been heard by some of those cussed revenue men. Then there would be an inquiry and a search. They would have seen by the direction he had been going, that he must have been shot from the bushes, and as no one would have been in sight when they ran up, the thing would have been such a puzzle to them that you may be sure they would have suspected there must be some hidden way out of the clump. Besides, they would probably have hunted every inch of the ground to see if they could find anything that would give them a clue as to who had fired the shot. That is one reason."

"And quite good enough without any others," the Frenchman said.

"Well, there was another one that went for almost as much with me. I shot down Faulkner because he was a curse to us all. He had imprisoned several of my pals, and done a lot of damage to the trade, and was likely to break it up altogether, besides which I had a big grudge against him on my own account. But I should not have liked to shoot down this fellow in cold blood. I had no feeling against him; he has done me no harm; I did not even know who he was. If he had overtaken me in the open, you may be sure that I should have made a fight of it, for it would have been my life against his. I don't pretend to be soft; there is little enough of that about me, and I have fought hard several times in the old days when we were surprised; but I could not have shot down that fellow without giving him a chance of his life. If there had not been the trap-door to escape by I should have stood up, given him fair warning, and fought it out man to man. As it was—" at this point the conversation had been arrested by the sudden entrance of Julian.

"Who is he?" the chief of the smugglers asked Joe when he had finished his conversation with the prisoner. "Is he a spy?"

"No; he is a young chap as lives down in the town. He is a pal of some of our friends there, and has been with them at the landings of goods. He was caught in that last affair, but got off because they could not prove that he was actually engaged in the business. He is an enemy of Faulkner's too; they had a row there, and Faulkner hit him in the face. You can see the mark still; and he would have thrown Faulkner on to the bonfire they had lit if he had not been prevented by some of the coast-guards. It is through what he had heard from our friends of this cavern, and there being an entrance to it somewhere, that he came to look for the trap-door. I certainly pushed the bolt forward when I came down, but I was in a hurry, so I suppose it could not have caught rightly."

"Well, what is to be done, Joe?"

"I don't know. You see he knows about my shooting Faulkner. I would trust him not to peach about this cavern or the trap-door, but I don't know as I would about the other thing. It seems to me that he is just as likely to be suspected of having a hand in it as I am. His row with Faulkner is the talk of the place, and when Faulkner is found with a bullet in him, he will be the first fellow to be suspected. Well, if that was so, and you see he would not be able to account for himself for three or four hours afterwards, he might be driven to peach on me to save his own life, and he would be obliged to give all the story about following me and coming down here. There would be an end of the best hiding-place in the country, and I should not be able to show my face on this side of the Channel again."

"I should say the safest plan would be to cut his throat and chuck him into the sea, and have done with it."

"No, I won't have that," the poacher said positively. "Your lugger will be in to-night, and we will take him across with us to France."

"That is all very well," one of the men said; "but what is to prevent his coming back again?"

"We could prevent it somehow or other. We could get up a tale that he was an English sailor we had picked up at sea, and hand him over to the authorities, and tell them his story was, that he had fallen overboard from an English ship of war. Then they would send him away to some place in the interior where they keep English prisoners of war, and there he might lie for years; perhaps never get back again. He does not know a word of French, as you saw when you spoke to him, so he can't contradict any story we may tell, and if by chance any questions should be asked, I can just say what suits us."

"He might ruin us all if he came back," the smuggler growled.

"It ain't likely that he will come back," the poacher said. "I have heard that they die off like flies in those prisons of yours; and, besides, I will guarantee if he does, he will never split about this place. He is a gentleman, and I will get him to swear to me, and you may be sure he will not break his oath."

"But how about yourself?"

"Well, as he won't come back for some years, I will take my chance of that. He has got no evidence against me; it would be his word against mine. He would tell his story and I should tell mine, and mine would be the most likely. I should say I met him on the hills with his gun, and, knowing who I was, and what cause I had got to hate Faulkner, he told me that he had shot him, and asked me to get him on board a smuggler craft and across the Channel, and that I had done so: and that is all I should know about it. No, I am not afraid of anything he might say when he comes back again."

Julian had watched the speakers anxiously during this conversation. He was wholly ignorant of French, but from the tone and manner of the speakers, he gathered that the poacher was speaking in his favour. He had expected no mercy; his life was nothing to these French smugglers; and he was surprised to find the man, whose life he thought he held in his hand if released, apparently pleading his cause.

"Look here, young fellow!" the poacher said, turning towards him. "In the first place, these men are afraid that you may betray the existence of this place, and their opinion is that the best thing to make us safe would be to cut your throat and throw you out of the mouth of the cave into the sea. I told them that you knew of the cave from one of our friends, and could be trusted to keep the secret; at any rate they demand, in the first place, that you shall take an oath never to split about it."

"I will do that willingly enough," Julian said, with a great feeling of relief.

Joe Markham then dictated a terrible oath, which had been always taken by all those made acquainted with the existence of the cave, and this Julian repeated after him. The poacher then told the smugglers what Julian had sworn to.

"Now, young fellow, I may tell you that we are going to take you over to France to-night. You may think I shall be asking you to take another oath, like that, not to say anything against me, but I ain't going to. I shot the man, and I don't pretend to be sorry for it. He was a hard, bad chap, and he got what he deserved. I owed him a long score, not only for myself, but for others, and if I had not shot him, someone else would have done so sooner or later. I shall do what I can to prevent you coming back here, though I don't think you will say anything against me when you do come back. In the first place, like enough I shall take to the sea again, and may be settled in France before you return. In the next place, I may be dead; and, most of all, you have got no evidence against me. If I were here, and you told the story, of course I should say that it was a lie, and that you had shot the man yourself, and I had got you out of the way by sending you across to France in a lugger, so I think you will see that it is best to keep a quiet tongue in your head; anyhow I am ready to take my chance of it."

"They will be horribly alarmed when I don't get home to-night," Julian said.

"Well, they must be alarmed," the poacher said carelessly. "You have interfered in this business, which was none of yours, and you have got to take the consequences; you may think yourself a lucky fellow that you are not by this time drifting about on the tideway."

"I feel that," Julian said; "and though I did not understand a word of what you said, I am sure that it was owing to you that I am not there. I could not have promised that I would never say a word to anyone about you, because one can never tell how one may be placed; but, after what you have done, I think that I can safely promise that I will never go out of my way to denounce you."

"I don't want any promise about it," the poacher replied. "I have made up my mind to leave Weymouth, for, after having been in jail two years, I shall always have the constables as well as the revenue men keeping their eye on me, so I had intended all along to take to the lugger again, and live on board her as I did before, and I only stayed here until I could settle accounts with Faulkner. I have no doubt that they will suspect me of this business. There are plenty of men who know that I had sworn to be even with him, and my disappearance is sure to be put down to that. Now, in the next place, will you promise not to try to escape, because if you do, I will get them to take these ropes off you? I dare say you have been thinking that if you could get free you would make a run for the mouth of the cave and dive in, for it is about high water now."

Julian had, in fact, been thinking so, but as he saw that unless he gave his promise he would have to remain in the cords that were cutting into his wrists, he at once took the required oath. Joe told the Frenchmen, and they then unfastened Julian's cords.

"We may as well carry up the bales at once," their leader said, "before it gets dark. It is no use giving anyone at sea a chance of seeing a light. Tell him to take one and come up with us. I am not going to leave him here by himself, promise or no promise."

The poacher translated the order to Julian. Some bales were taken out from beneath a tarpaulin at the end of the cave, and, each shouldering one, they proceeded up the passage until they reached the foot of the ladder. Here they laid the bales down, and then returned to the cave.

"Is that all?" Julian asked.

"Yes, those bales are worth a lot of money. There is fifteen hundred pounds worth of lace in one of them. The others are silks and satins, and worth another five hundred. To-night, when we hear the signal, I and three of the Frenchmen will go up. We shall find two men there, and shall carry the bales to a place a mile and a half away, where they will be hidden until it is convenient to send them up to London, or wherever they are going to dispose of them—that is their business; ours is finished when they hand us over the money for them. They will come at eight o'clock, and at ten the lugger will be off the coast here and send a boat ashore for us. So you have got five or six hours yet, and I should say the best thing you can do is to turn in and sleep till then. There are plenty of blankets in that corner and a pile of sheep-skins that you can sleep on."

Julian nodded, threw two or three of the sheep-skins down in a corner, rolled another up for a pillow, drew a blanket over him, and for the first time looked round the cave. It was lighted only by a small hole used as a look-out; at present a blanket hung before this. There was a door similar to that by which he had entered from above leading to the lower cave. How far that lower entrance might be below them Julian had no means of knowing, but from the view he had obtained of the sea through a large loop-hole he had passed in his descent, he did not think that the cavern he was in could be less than seventy or eighty feet above the water. The sole ventilation, as far as he could see, was the current of air that found its way in through the door from below, and passed up through that above, and what could come in through the loop-hole seawards. Doubtless in warmer weather both the doors stood open, but were now closed more for warmth than for any other purpose, although he had noticed that the lower one had been bolted and locked after he had been first captured.

As he lay down he wondered how it was all going to end. His position was at once perilous and uncertain. He had, so far, escaped better than he could have expected, for from the looks the Frenchmen had given him, he had no doubt what his fate would have been had not the man he had been chasing spoken in his favour. His life therefore seemed for the present safe, but the future was very dark. The poacher had spoken as if he was not likely to return for some years. They surely could not intend to keep him on board ship all that time. Could they mean to put him upon some vessel sailing abroad? What a way Frank and his aunt would be in! They would learn that he had started for home early in the afternoon, and it would be absolutely certain that he could not have strayed from the road nor met with any accident coming along the valley. It would certainly be awkward his being missed on the same day Faulkner had been shot, especially as, according to the time he had started for home, he would have come along the road somewhere about the time the magistrate was shot.

It was a horrible thought that suspicion might fall upon him. Those who knew him would be sure that he could have had nothing whatever to do with the murder; still, the more he thought of it the more he felt that suspicions were certain to rise, and that he would find it extremely difficult to explain matters on his return. The memory of his quarrel with the magistrate was fresh in everybody's mind, and even his friends might well consider it singular that his words to Faulkner should so soon have been carried into effect. It is true that Joe Markham would be missing too, and that the man's own acquaintances would have no great difficulty in guessing that he had carried out his threats against Faulkner, but they would certainly not communicate their opinion to the constables, and the latter might not think of the man in connection with the murder, nor notice that he was no longer to be seen about the town.

Even were he himself free to leave the cave now and return to Weymouth, he would find himself in a most awkward position. There was, of course, no shadow of evidence against him save that he was known to have quarrelled with Faulkner, and must have been very near the spot the moment he was killed, but how could he explain six or seven hours' absence? He could but say that he had caught sight of a man in the plantation and followed him for miles among the hills, and had lost sight of him at last. He had not a shadow of evidence to produce in confirmation of his story; in fact there was no direct evidence either way. There could be no doubt he would have to remain under a cloud of suspicion. It was bad enough before, but this would be altogether intolerable, and it was perhaps best, after all, that he was to be taken away, and his future decided for him.

He should have gone anyhow, and no doubt he would be able to get some opportunity of writing to Frank and setting his mind at rest as to his safety, and telling him something about what had happened, and that he had been kidnapped and carried over to France. He had acted like a fool, no doubt, but Frank would understand why he had followed his first impulse and gone alone after the man who committed the murder, instead of going to the constables and telling them that some unknown man had killed the magistrate. One thing seemed certain, he should never be able to go back to Weymouth again unless the affair was cleared up, and he did not see how that ever could be.

At this point Julian's thoughts became confused. The voices of the men talking at the table seemed to get further and further away, and then he was conscious of nothing more until he heard a bell tinkle faintly somewhere overhead. There was a movement in the cave, and he sat up. All the men went out by the upper door. When they had left he got up and went to see if the lower door was so fastened that he could not open it. He had no idea of breaking his word, but did so out of curiosity rather than from any other feeling. He found that the bolts could be pulled back, but that the lock was a very strong one, and the jamb was, at the point where the bolt shot into it, covered with a piece of iron, so that no instrument could be used for forcing back the bolt.

"It may be," he thought, "that some other prisoner has been confined here at some time or other, or possibly this has been done in order that if the trap-door above should be found, and the revenue men come down that way, the smugglers in their flight might lock the door behind them and so have time to get away in a boat or along at the foot of the cliffs before their pursuers could get down to the lower entrance and open fire upon them."

Then he lay down again. He wondered whether the pull of the bell he had heard could be hidden in the grass like the handle of the trap. It might only be a very small knob, but he had looked so closely among the bushes that he wondered it had escaped him. In three or four minutes the French captain came down again, and walked across to where he was lying:

"Pauvre diable!" he muttered, and then went back to the table, filled himself a glass of spirits and water, and lit his pipe. A moment later a thought seemed to strike him, and he came across to Julian again and touched him. He at once sat up. The Frenchman motioned him to come to the table, went to a cupboard, brought out a wooden platter with a large lump of cold beef and a loaf of bread and some cheese, poured him out a horn of brandy and water, and motioned him to eat. Julian attacked the food vigorously. He had had some lunch with his friends before starting for his walk back to Weymouth, but that had been nearly seven hours before, and his run across the hills in the keen air had given him a sharp appetite, so he did full justice to the food.

"This is not a bad fellow after all," he said to himself, as the smuggler, when he had finished, brought out a box of cigars and placed it before him. "He would have knocked me on the head without compunction, in the way of business; but now when he has concluded that I am not dangerous, he comes out as a good fellow." He nodded pleasantly to the Frenchman as he lit the cigar, which was an excellent one, and far better than any Julian had been accustomed to smoke with his associates in the billiard room.

The Frenchman's thoughts were not dissimilar to his own. "He is a brave garçon," he said to himself, "and makes the best of things. He is a fine-looking fellow, too, and will be a big man in another year or two. It is a misfortune that we have got to take him and shut him up in prison. Why did he mix himself up in this affair of Markham? That is the way with boys. Instead of being grateful to the man that had killed his enemy, he must needs run after him as if he had done him an injury. Well, it can't be helped now; but, at least, I will make him as comfortable as I can as long as he is on board the lugger."

In another half hour Joe Markham returned with the French sailors. "There is a big stir down in Weymouth," he said to Julian. "I heard from our friend that the place is like a hive of bees. I tell you, Mr. Wyatt, that it is a lucky thing for you that you found the trap-door and came down here. You mayn't like being our prisoner; but it is a lot better than being in a cell down in Weymouth with a charge of murder hanging over you, which you would have been if you had gone straight back again."

"A charge of murder!" Julian repeated, springing to his feet. "How could such a charge be brought? It could not have been known so soon that I was missing. I must go back and face it. If I run away, now I have been openly accused, everyone will make sure of my guilt."

"Well, sir, I should say it is a sight better that they should suspect you, and you safely over in France, than that they should suspect you with you in their hands; but at any rate, you see you have no choice in the matter. You could only clear yourself by bringing me into it; though I doubt, as things have turned out, that that would help you a bit."

"I warn you that I shall make my escape, and come back again as soon as I can," Julian said passionately.

"Well, sir, if you have a fancy for hanging, of course you can do so; but from what I hear, hanging it would be, as sure as you stand there. There is a warrant out against you, and the constables are scouring all the country."

"But what possible ground can they have to go upon except that smuggling affair?"

"Well, if what our friend told me is true, they have very good grounds, as they think, to go on. He was talking with one of the constables, and he told him that Faulkner is not dead yet, though he ain't expected to last till morning. His servants came out to look for him when the horse came back to the house without him. A man rode into Weymouth for the doctor, and another went to Colonel Chambers and Mr. Harrington. By the time they got there Faulkner was conscious, and they took his dying deposition. He said that he had had a row with you a short distance before he had got to his gate, and that you said you would be even with him. As he was riding up through the wood to his house, he suddenly heard a gun and at the same moment fell from his horse. A minute later you came out from the wood at the point where the shot had been fired. You had a gun in your hand. Feeling sure that your intention was to ascertain if he was done for, and to finish him off if you found that he was not, he shut his eyes and pretended to be dead. You stooped over him, and then made off at full speed. Now, sir, that will be awkward evidence to get over, and you must see that you will be a long way safer in France than you would in Weymouth."

Julian sank down, crushed by the blow. He saw that what the poacher said was true. What would his unsupported assertion go for as against the dying man's deposition? No doubt Faulkner had stated what he believed to be the truth, though he might not have given quite a fair account of what had taken place in the road; still, there would be no cross-examining him as to what had passed there, and his statement would stand unchallenged. As things now stood, Julian's own story that he had pursued a man over the hills, and had lost him, would, wholly unsupported as it was, be received with absolute incredulity. He had been at the spot certainly at the time. He had had words with Faulkner; he had had a gun in his hands; he had come out and leaned over the wounded man within less than a minute of the shot being fired. The chain of evidence against him seemed to be complete, and he sat appalled at the position in which he found himself.

"Look here, youngster," the poacher said, "it is a bad job, and I don't say it isn't. I am sorry for you, but I ain't so sorry as to go and give myself up and get hung in your place; but I'll tell you what I will do. When I get across to France I will draw up a statement and swear it before a magistrate, giving an account of the whole affair, and I will put it in a tin case and always carry it about with me. I will direct it to Colonel Chambers, and whenever anything happens to me it shall be sent to him. I am five-and-twenty years older than you are, and the life I lead ain't likely to give me old age. To make matters safer, I will have two copies made of my statement—one I will leave in the hands of one of our friends here. The craft I am in may be wrecked some day, or sunk by one of the cutters; anyhow, whichever way it comes, he is certain to hear of my death, and I shall tell him that when he hears of it he is to send that letter to Chambers."

"Thank you," Julian said earnestly. "It may not come for a long time, but it will be something for me to know that some day or other my name will be cleared of this horrible accusation; but I would rather have gone and faced it out now."

"It would be just suicide," the man said. "Weymouth ain't the only place in the world; and it is better for you to live out of it, and know you will get cleared some day, than to get hung, with only the consolation that perhaps twenty years hence they may find out they have made a mistake."

"It isn't so much myself I am thinking of as my brother and aunt. My going away and never sending them a word will be like confessing my guilt. It will ruin my brother's life, and kill my aunt."

"Well, I'll tell you what I will do," Markham said. "You shall write a letter to your brother, and tell him your story, except, of course, about this cave. You can say you followed me, and that I and some smugglers sprang on you and captured you, and have carried you across to France. All the rest you can tell just as it happened. I don't know as it will do me any harm. Your folks may believe it, but no one else is likely to do so. I don't mean to go back to Weymouth again, and if I did that letter would not be evidence that anyone would send me to trial on. Anyhow, I will risk that."

"Thank you, with all my heart," Julian said gratefully. "I shall not so much mind, if Frank and Aunt get my story. I know that they will believe it if no one else does, and they can move away from Weymouth to some place where it will not follow them. It won't be so hard for me to bear then, especially if some day the truth gets to be known. Only please direct your letters to 'Colonel Chambers, or the Chairman of the Weymouth magistrates,' because he is at least ten years older than you are, and might die long before you, and the letter might never be opened if directed only to him."

"Right you are, lad. I will see to that."

Just at this moment one of the sailors came down from the look-out above, and said that the signal had just been made from the offing, and that the lugger's boat would be below in a quarter of an hour. All prepared for departure; the lower door was unbolted, the lights extinguished, and they went down to the lower entrance. It was reached by a staircase cut in the chalk, and coming down into a long and narrow passage, at the further end of which was the opening Julian had seen from the sea. The party gathered at the entrance. In a few minutes a boat with muffled oars approached silently; a rope was lowered, a noose at its upper end being placed over a short iron bar projecting three or four inches from the chalk a foot or two inside the entrance.

The French captain went down first. Julian was told to follow. The sailors and Markham then descended. A sharp jerk shook the rope off the bar, and the boat then rowed out to the smuggler, which was lying half a mile from shore. As soon as they were on board the sails were sheeted home, and the craft began to steal quietly through the water, towing the boat behind it. The whole operation had been conducted in perfect silence. The men were accustomed to their work; there was no occasion for orders, and it was not until they were another mile out that a word was spoken.

"All has gone off well," the captain then said. "We got the laces and silks safely away, and the money has been paid for them. The revenue cutter started early this morning, and was off Lyme Regis this afternoon, so we shall have a clear run out. We will keep on the course we are laying till we are well beyond the race, and then make for the west. We have sent word for them to be on the look-out for us at the old place near Dartmouth to-morrow night, and if we are not there then, the night after; if there is danger, they are to send up a rocket from the hill inland."

The wind was but light, and keeping a smart look-out for British cruisers, and lowering their sails down once or twice when a suspicious sail was seen in the distance, they approached the rocky shore some two miles east of the entrance to the bay at ten o'clock on the second evening after starting. A lantern was raised twice above the bulwark, kept there for an instant, and then lowered.

"I expect it is all right," the captain said, "or they would have sent up a rocket before this. Half-past eight is the time arranged, and I think we are about off the landing place. Ah, yes, there is the signal!" he broke off as a light was shown for a moment close down to the water's edge. "Yes, there it is again! Lower the anchor gently; don't let it splash."

A light anchor attached to a hawser was silently let down into the water.

"Now, off with the hatches; get up the kegs."

While some of the men were engaged at this work, others lowered the second boat, and this, and the one towing behind, were brought round to the side. Julian saw that all the men were armed with cutlasses, and had pistols in their belts. Rapidly the kegs were brought up on deck and lowered into the boat.

"Ah, here comes Thompson," the captain said, as a very small boat rowed up silently out of the darkness. "Well, my friend, is all safe?" he asked in broken English as the boat came alongside.

"Safe enough, captain. Most of the revenue men have gone round from here to the other side of the bay, where they got news, as they thought, that a cargo was going to be run. The man on duty here has been squared, and will be away at the other end of his beat. The carts are ready, a quarter of a mile away. I made you out with my glass just before sunset, and sent round word at once to our friends to be in readiness."

The boats started as soon as their cargoes were on board, and the work went on uninterruptedly for the next two hours, by which time the last keg was on shore, and the boats returned to the lugger. The men were in high spirits. The cargo had been a valuable one, and the whole had been got rid of without interruption. The boats were at once hoisted up, the anchor weighed, and the lugger made her way out to sea.

"What port do you land at?" Julian asked Markham.

"We shall go up the Loire to Nantes," he replied; "she hails from there. To-morrow morning you had best put on that sailor suit I gave you to-day. Unless the wind freshens a good deal we sha'n't be there for three or four days, but I fancy, from the look of the sky, that it will blow up before morning, and, as likely as not, we shall get more than we want by evening. There is generally a cruiser or two off the mouth of the river. In a light wind we can show them our heels easily enough, but if it is blowing at all their weight tells. I am glad to be at sea again, lad, after being cooped up in that cursed prison for two years. It seems to make a new man of one. I don't know but that I am sorry I shot that fellow. I don't say that he didn't deserve it, for he did; but I don't see it quite so strongly as I did when I was living on bread and water, and with nothing to do but to think of how I could get even with him when I got out; besides, I never calculated upon getting anyone else into a mess, and I am downright sorry that I got you into one, Mr. Wyatt. However, the job is done, and it is no use crying over spilt milk."

Markham's prediction turned out correct. A fresh wind was blowing by the morning, and two days later the lugger was running along, close under the coast, fifteen miles south of the mouth of the Loire, having kept that course in order to avoid any British cruisers that might be off the mouth of the river. Before morning they had passed St. Nazaire, and were running up the Loire.

CHAPTER V

FOLLOWING A TRAIL

Frank had started early for a walk with one of his school friends. Returning through the town at three in the afternoon, he saw people talking in groups. They presently met one of their chums.

"What is going on, Vincent?"

"Why, have you not heard? Faulkner, the magistrate, has been shot."

"Shot!" the two boys exclaimed. "Do you mean on purpose or accidentally?"

"On purpose. The servants heard a gun fired close by, and a minute later his horse galloped up to the door. Two men ran along the drive, and, not a hundred yards from the house, found him lying shot through the body. Three of the doctors went off at once. Thompson came back ten minutes ago, for some instruments, I believe. He stopped his gig for a moment to speak to the Rector, and I hear he told him that it might be as well for him to go up at once, as there was very little probability of Faulkner's living through the night."

"Well, I can't say that I am surprised," Frank said. "He has made himself so disliked, there are so many men who have a grudge against him, and he has been threatened so often, that I have heard fellows say dozens of times he would be shot some day. And yet I suppose no one ever really thought that it would come true; anyhow it is a very bad affair."

Leaving the other two talking together, Frank went on home. Mrs. Troutbeck was greatly shocked at the news.

"Dear, dear!" she said, "what dreadful doings one does hear of. Who would have thought that a gentleman, and a magistrate too, could have been shot in broad daylight within a mile or two of us. I did not know him myself, but I have always heard that he was very much disliked, and it is awful to think that he has been taken away like this."

"Well, Aunt, I don't pretend to be either surprised or shocked. If a man spends his life in going out of his way to hunt others down, he must not be surprised if at last one of them turns on him. On the bench he was hated; it was not only because he was severe, but because of his bullying way. See how he behaved in that affair with Julian. I can't say I feel any pity for him at all, he has sent many a man to the gallows, and now his time has come."

At five o'clock it was already dusk, the shutters had been closed, and the lamp lighted. Presently the servant entered.

"There is someone wants to speak to you, Master Frank."

Frank went out into the hall. The head of the constabulary and two of his men were standing there. Much surprised, Frank asked the officer into the other sitting-room.

"What is it, Mr. Henderson?" he said.

"It is a very sad business, a very sad business, Mr. Wyatt. Your brother is not at home, I hear?"

"No. Julian went over this morning to have a day's rabbit-shooting with Dick Merryweather. I expect it won't be long before he is back. There is nothing the matter with him?" he asked, with a vague feeling of alarm at the gravity of the officer's face.

"It is a very painful matter, Mr. Wyatt; but it is useless trying to hide the truth from you, for you must know it shortly. I hold a warrant for your brother's arrest on the charge of attempted wilful murder."

Frank's eyes dilated with surprise and horror.

"You don't mean—" he gasped, and then his faith in his brother came to his aid, and he broke off indignantly: "it is monstrous, perfectly monstrous, Mr. Henderson. I suppose it is Faulkner, and it is because of that wretched smuggling business that suspicions fall on him, as if there were not a hundred others who owe the man a much deeper grudge than my brother did; indeed he had no animosity against him at all, for Julian got the best of it altogether, and Faulkner has been hissed and hooted every time he has been in the town since. If there was any ill-feeling left over that matter, it would be on his part and not on Julian's. Who signed the warrant? Faulkner himself?"

"No; it is signed by the Colonel and Mr. Harrington. They took the dying deposition of Mr. Faulkner. There is no harm in my telling you that, because it must be generally known when your brother is brought up, but till then please do not let it go further. He has sworn that he overtook Mr. Wyatt two or three hundred yards before he got to his own gate. There was an altercation between them, and he swears that your brother used threats. He had a double-barrelled gun in his hand, and as Faulkner was riding up the drive to the house he was fired at from the trees on his left, and fell from his horse. Almost directly afterwards Mr. Wyatt ran out from the spot where the gun had been fired. Thinking he would finish him if he thought he was still alive, Mr. Faulkner closed his eyes and held his breath. Your brother came up and stood over him, and having satisfied himself that he was dead, ran off through the trees again."

"I believe it is a lie from beginning to end," Frank said passionately. "Julian has brought him into disgrace here, and the fellow invented this charge out of revenge. If it had been in the road, and Faulkner had struck Julian as he did before, and Julian had had his loaded gun in his hand, I don't say but that in his passion he might have shot him; still, I don't believe he would, even then. Julian is one of the best-tempered fellows in the world; still, I would admit that, in the heat of the moment, he might raise his gun and fire, but to say that he loaded his gun after Faulkner had gone on—for I am sure it was empty as he came along, as I have never known him to bring home his gun loaded—and that he then went and hid behind a tree and shot a man down. Why, I would not believe it if fifty honest men swore to it, much less on the oath of a fellow like Faulkner."

"I can't say anything about that, Mr. Wyatt; I have only my duty to do."

"Yes, I understand that, Mr. Henderson. Of course he must be arrested, but I am sure no one will believe the accusation for a minute. Oh!" he exclaimed, as a fresh idea struck him, "what was Faulkner shot with?"

"It is a bullet wound."

"Well, that is quite enough," Frank exclaimed triumphantly. "Julian had his double-barrelled gun with him, and had been rabbit-shooting; and if it had been he who fired it would have been with a charge of shot. You don't suppose he went about with a bullet in his pocket to use in case he happened to meet Faulkner, and have another row with him. Julian never fired a bullet in his life, as far as I know. There is not such a thing as a bullet-mould in the house."

The officer's look of gravity relaxed. "That is important, certainly," he said, "very important. I own that after hearing the deposition read it did seem to me that, as the result of this unfortunate quarrel, your brother might have been so goaded by something Mr. Faulkner said or did, that he had hastily loaded his gun, and in his passion run across the wood and shot him down. But now it is clear, from what you say, that it is most improbable he would have a bullet about him, and unless it can be proved that he obtained one from a gunmaker or otherwise, it is a very strong point in his favour. I suppose your brother has not returned this afternoon?"

"No. I asked the servant, when I got home at three, whether he had returned, though I did not expect him back so soon, and she said that he had not come in, and I am sure he has not done so since."

"Then I will not intrude any longer. I shall place one of my men in front of the house and one behind, and if he comes home his arrest will be managed quietly, and we will not bring him in here at all. It will save a painful scene."

When the officer had left, Frank returned to his aunt.

"What is it, Frank?" she asked.

"Well, Aunt, it is a more absurd affair than the other; but, absurd as it is, it is very painful. There is a warrant out for the arrest of Julian on the charge of attempting to murder Mr. Faulkner."

Mrs. Troutbeck gave a cry, and then burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. After vainly trying to pacify her, Frank went out for the servant, but as her wild screams of laughter continued he put on his hat and ran for the family doctor, who lived but a few doors away. He briefly related the circumstances of the case to him, and then brought him back to the house. It was a long time before the violence of the paroxysm passed, leaving Mrs. Troutbeck so weak that she had to be carried by Frank and the doctor up to her room.

"Don't you worry yourself, Aunt," Frank said, as they laid her down upon the bed; "it will all come out right, just as the last did. It will all be cleared up, no doubt, in a very short time."

As soon as the maid had undressed Mrs. Troutbeck, and had got her into bed, the doctor went up and gave her an opiate, and then went down into the parlour to Frank, who told him the story in full, warning him that he must say nothing about the deposition of Mr. Faulkner until it had been read in court.

"It is a very grave affair, Frank," the old doctor said. "Having known your brother from his childhood, I am as convinced as you are that, however much of this deposition be true or false, Julian never fired the shot; and what you say about the bullet makes it still more conclusive, if that were needed—which it certainly is not with me. Your brother had an exceedingly sweet and even temper. Your father has often spoken to me of it, almost with regret, saying that it would be much better if he had a little more will of his own and a little spice more of temper. Still, it is most unfortunate that he hasn't returned. Of course, he may have met some friend in the town and gone home with him, or he may have stayed at Mr. Merryweather's."

"I don't think he can have stopped in the town anyhow," Frank said; "for the first thing he would have heard when he got back would have been of the shooting of Faulkner, and he would have been sure to have come home to talk it over with me. Of course, he may have stopped with the Merryweathers, but I am afraid he has not. I fancy that part of Faulkner's story must be true; he could never have accused Julian if he had not met him near his gate—for Julian in that case could have easily proved where he was at the time. No, I think they did meet, and very likely had a row. You know what Faulkner is; and I can understand that if he met Julian he would most likely say something to him, and there might then be a quarrel; but I think that his story about Julian coming out and looking at him is either pure fancy or a lie. No doubt he was thinking of him as he rode along; and, badly wounded as he was, perhaps altogether insensible, he may have imagined the rest."

"That is all quite possible," the doctor agreed; "but in that case Julian's not coming home is all the more extraordinary. If he met Faulkner between two and three o'clock, what can he have been doing since?"

This was a question Frank could not answer.

"I can't tell, sir," he said after a long pause; "I really can't imagine. Still, nothing in the world would make me believe that Julian did what he is charged with."

Several times Frank went outside the door, but the constable was still there. At last, after sitting and looking at the fire for some time he put on his cap and went to the residence of the chief constable.

"Excuse me, Mr. Henderson, but I have been thinking it over ever since you left. Whoever did this murder did not probably return to the road, but struck off somewhere across the fields. There was snow enough in the middle of the day to cover the ground; it stopped falling at two o'clock, and has not snowed since. Might I suggest that in the morning a search should be made round the edge of the wood. If there are footprints found it might be of great importance."

"You are quite right, Mr. Wyatt, and I had already determined to go myself, with a couple of constables, at daylight."

"May I go with you, sir?"

"If you please. But you must remember that the evidence of footprints which we may find may be unfavourable to your brother."

"I have not the slightest fear of that," Frank said confidently.

"Very well, then, Mr. Wyatt. The two constables will be here at half-past seven, and I shall be ready to start with them at once. Should you by any chance be late, you will, no doubt, be able to overtake us before we get there."

The next morning Frank was at the office half an hour before the appointed time. Fortunately no snow had fallen in the night. The chief constable looked grave and anxious when the search began; Frank was excited rather than anxious. He had no fear whatever as to the result of the investigation; it would disclose nothing, he felt certain, to Julian's disadvantage. The continued absence of the latter was unaccountable to him, but he felt absolutely certain that it would be explained satisfactorily on his return.

The moment they got across the hedge into the fields skirting the wood the chief constable exclaimed:

"Stay, men; here are footprints by the edge of the trees! Do not come out until I have carefully examined them. Do you not think," he went on, turning to Frank, "that it would be much better that you should not go further with me, for you see I might have to call you as a witness?"

"Not at all, Mr. Henderson; whatever we find, I shall have no objection to being a witness, for I am certain that we shall find nothing that will tend to incriminate my brother. I see what you are thinking of—that these footprints were Julian's. That is my own idea too. At any rate, they are the marks of a well-made boot of large size, without heavy nails."

The constable nodded. "There are two sets," he said, "one going each way; and by the distance they are apart, and the fact that the heel is not as deeply marked as the rest of the print, whoever made them was running."

"Certainly," Frank agreed; "he ran up to the hedge and then turned. Why should he have done that?"

"Probably because he saw some vehicle or some persons walking along the road, and did not wish to be seen."

"Possibly so, Mr. Henderson; but in that case, why did he not keep among the trees both coming and going, instead of exposing himself, as he must have done running here; for the hedge is thin, and any one walking along, much less driving, could have seen him."

Mr. Henderson looked at Frank with a closer scrutiny than he had before given him.

"You are an acute observer, Mr. Wyatt. The point is an important one. A man wishing to avoid observation would certainly have kept among the trees. Now, let us follow these footprints along; we may learn something further."

Presently they came to the point where Julian had come out from the wood.

"You see he was in the wood, Mr. Wyatt," the constable said.

"I quite see that," Frank said. "If these are the marks of Julian's boots—and I think they are—we have now found out that he came out of the wood at this point, ran for some purpose or other, and without an attempt at concealment, as far as the hedge; then turned and ran back again, past the point where he had left the wood. Now let us see what he did afterwards—it may give us a clue to the whole matter."

Fifty yards further they came on the spot where Julian had turned off on the poacher's track.

"There it is, Mr. Henderson!" Frank exclaimed triumphantly. "Another man came out of the wood here—a man with roughly-made boots with hob-nails. That man came out first; that is quite evident. The tracks are all in a line, and Julian's are in many places on the top of the other's. They were both running fast. But if you look you will see that Julian's strides are the longest, and, therefore, he was probably running the fastest."

"It is as you say, Mr. Wyatt. The lighter footprints obliterate those of the heavier boots in several places. What can be the meaning of this, and what can the second man have been doing in the wood?"

"The whole thing is perfectly plain to me," Frank said excitedly. "Julian was in the road, he heard the report of the gun close by in the wood, and perhaps heard a cry; he jumped over the hedge and made for the spot, and possibly, as Mr. Faulkner said, ran into the drive and stooped over him; then he started in pursuit of the murderer, of whom he may possibly have obtained a sight. There was not enough snow under the trees for him to follow the footprints, he therefore ran to the edge of the wood, and then to the road, in search of the man's track. Then he turned and ran back again till he came upon them leaving the wood, and then set off in pursuit."

"By Jove! Mr. Wyatt," the officer said, "I do think that your explanation is the right one. Give me your hand, lad; I had no more doubt five minutes ago that your brother had, in a fit of passion, shot Mr. Faulkner than I have that I am standing here now. But I declare I think now that he acted as you say. How you have struck upon it beats me altogether."

"I have been thinking of nothing else all the night, Mr. Henderson. I put myself in Julian's position, and it seemed to me that, hearing a gun fired so close at hand, even if he did not hear a cry, Julian knowing how often the man had been threatened, might at once have run to the spot, and might have behaved just as Faulkner says he did. All that seemed to me simple enough; Julian's absence was the only difficulty, and the only way I could possibly account for it, was that he had followed the murderer."

"It was very imprudent," Mr. Henderson said gravely.

"Very; but it was just the sort of thing Julian would have done."

"But, however far he went, he ought to be back before this."

"That is what I am anxious about, Mr. Henderson. Of course he ought to be back. I am terribly afraid that something has happened to him. This man, whoever he was, must have been a desperate character, and having taken one life from revenge, he would not hesitate to take another to secure his own safety. He had a great advantage over Julian, for, as we know, his gun carried bullets, while Julian had nothing but small shot. Which way shall we go next, Mr. Henderson—shall we follow the track or go into the wood?"

"We will go into the wood; that will take us a comparatively short time, and there is no saying how far the other may lead us. But, before we do so, I will call up my two men, take them over the ground, and show them the discoveries we have made. It is as well to have as many witnesses as possible."

The two constables were called up and taken along the line of track, and the chief constable pointed out to them that the man with well-made boots was evidently running after the other. Then they entered the wood. Carefully searching, they found here and there prints of both the boots. They went out into the drive, and, starting from the spot where Mr. Faulkner had been found, made for a large tree some thirty yards to the left.

"Just as I thought," Mr. Henderson said. "Someone has been standing here, and, I should think, for some little time. You can see that the ground is kicked up a bit, and, though it was too hard to show the marks of the boots plainly, there are many scratches and grooves, such as would be made by hob-nails. Now, lads, search about closely; if we can find the wad it will be a material point."

After five minutes' search one of the men picked up a piece of half-burned paper. Frank uttered an exclamation of satisfaction as he held it up.

"Julian always used wads. This never came from his gun. Now let us go back to the tree, Mr. Henderson, and see which way the man went after firing the shot."

After careful search they found the heavy footprints at several spots where the snow lay, and near them also found traces of the lighter boots. The trees then grew thicker, but following the line indicated by the footprints, they came to the spot where he had left the wood.

"You see, Mr. Henderson," Frank said, "Julian lost the footprints just where we did, and bore a little more to the left, striking the edge of the wood between where the man had left it and the road. Now, sir, we have only to find the spot where Julian first left the road, and try to trace his footsteps from there to the spot where Mr. Faulkner was lying. We know that the shot was fired from behind that tree—and if my brother's footsteps miss this spot altogether, I think the case will be absolutely proved."

They went back into the road, and found where Julian had crossed the untrodden snow between it and the hedge, and had pushed his way through the latter. It was only here and there that footprints could be found; but, fortunately, some ten yards to the right of the tree there was an open space, and across this he had evidently run.

"You have proved your case, Mr. Wyatt," the chief constable said, shaking Frank cordially by the hand. "I am indeed glad. Whoever the man was who shot Mr. Faulkner, it was certainly not your brother. Now let us start at once on the tracks."

Frank's face became more serious than it had been during the previous search, as soon as they took up the double track across the fields. Before, he had felt absolutely confident that whatever they might find it could only tend to clear Julian from this terrible accusation; now, upon the contrary, he feared that any discovery they might make would confirm his suspicions that evil had befallen him. Scarcely a word was spoken as they passed along the fields.

"The man with the hob-nailed boots is taking to the hills," the chief constable remarked.

"I am afraid so, Mr. Henderson; and as they are bare of snow there will be no chance of our following him."

When they came to the point where the snow ended they stopped.

"There is an end of our search, Mr. Wyatt. We must return to the town. The magistrates will meet at eleven o'clock, and I and the constables must be there. But I will send off two men directly we get back, to go along the cliffs and question all the men who were on duty yesterday afternoon as to whether they saw two men with guns crossing the hills, one being probably some distance behind the other. I think, perhaps, you had better come to the court. I don't say that it will be absolutely necessary, but I think it would be better that you should do so; and you see it would be useless for you to be hunting over those hills alone. As soon as the court is over I will take four men and will myself start to search for him. There is no saying whether we may not find some sign or other. I shall be glad if you will go with me; you have shown yourself a born detective this morning, for had you been trained to it all your life you could not have followed the scent up more unerringly."

"I will certainly go with you, Mr. Henderson, and I will be at the court-house. I would start at once for the hills, but I have had nothing to eat this morning, and, what is much more important, I want to ease my aunt's mind. Of course, she was as certain as I was that Julian had nothing whatever to do with this, but naturally it will be an immense relief to her to know that the suspicion of so dreadful a crime no longer rests on him."

When Frank returned home he found that Mrs. Troutbeck was so prostrated with the shock that she was still in bed, where the doctor had ordered her to remain. As soon, however, as she heard that Frank was back, she sent down for him to come up. Her delight was extreme when he told her of the discoveries he had made, and that the constables had no doubt the warrant for Julian's arrest would be withdrawn. She became anxious again when she found that Frank could give no satisfactory explanation of his long absence.

"I would not trouble about it, Aunt," he said, soothingly; "no doubt we shall hear of him before long. Let us be content that he has come well out of this terrible accusation, just as he did from the former charge, and let us hope that the explanation of his absence will be just as satisfactory when we hear it. Even if I thought that Julian had got into any trouble, it would be infinitely easier to bear than a knowledge that he was suspected of murder, for it would have been murder, Aunt. I heard just now that Faulkner died last night."

The meeting of magistrates was an informal one, as they agreed, directly they heard that Julian was not in custody, that they could proceed no further in the matter. Mr. Henderson, after answering their first question, followed them into their private room.

"So you did not lay hands on him last night," Colonel Chambers said. "We shall have to alter the warrant, for I find that Mr. Faulkner is dead."

"I think, gentlemen," the chief constable said quietly, "that after you have heard what I have to tell, you will have to withdraw the warrant altogether."

"Eh! what? Do you mean to say, Henderson, that you think the young fellow did not fire the shot after all? I would give a hundred pounds if I could think so, but, with Faulkner's deposition before us, I don't see how there can be any possible doubt in the matter. Besides, I was present when he gave it, and though it may have been coloured a good deal by his feeling against young Wyatt, I am convinced that he believed, at any rate, that he was speaking the truth."

"I have no doubt he did, sir, and I had no more doubt than you have as to Mr. Wyatt's guilt; indeed, until his brother pointed out one very important fact, nothing would have persuaded me that he did not fire the shot. I don't say that it was at all conclusive, but it sufficed to show that the matter was by no means so certain as it seemed to be. I found him at the house when I went there to arrest his brother. Of course, the young fellow was greatly shocked when I told him the nature of the charge, and declared it to be absolutely impossible. So certain was he, that even when I told him the nature of Mr. Faulkner's depositions, he was more puzzled than alarmed. The first question he asked was whether Mr. Faulkner had been killed by shot or by a ball. When I said by a ball his face cleared up altogether. His brother, he said, and as we know, had been rabbit-shooting at Mr. Merryweather's. He would have had small shot with him, but young Wyatt said that he did not think his brother had ever fired a bullet in his life. He knew there was not such a thing as a bullet in the house. Mr. Wyatt could not possibly have known that he was likely to meet Mr. Faulkner on his way back from shooting, and therefore, unless upon the rather improbable theory that he went about with the intention of shooting Mr. Faulkner whenever he met him, and that he had bought a bullet in the town and carried it always about with him for the purpose, it was clear that he could not have fired that shot."

"There is something in that, Mr. Henderson. A good deal in it, I am ready to admit, but nothing that would really counteract the effect of Faulkner's direct testimony, given when he knew that he was dying."

"No, sir; still it is a point that I own I had entirely overlooked; however, that is not now so important. I will now tell you what has taken place this morning."

And he then related the story of the discovery of the tracks, that proved that Julian had not gone near the tree behind which the murderer had for some time been standing, and how, after running in and finding Mr. Faulkner's body, he had set out in pursuit of the scoundrel.

"I have the two constables outside who were with me, Colonel, and if you like to question them, they will, I am sure, confirm my statement in all respects."

"I am glad indeed to hear your story, Mr. Henderson," Colonel Chambers said warmly. "The lad's father was an old friend of mine, and it was terrible to think that his son could have committed such a dastardly crime. What you say seems to me quite conclusive of his innocence, and, at the same time, is not in any way in contradiction with the deposition. I give you very great credit for the manner in which you have unravelled this mystery."

"The credit, sir, is entirely due to Mr. Wyatt's brother. He had formed the theory that, as in his opinion his brother was certainly innocent of the crime, the only possible way in which he could account for his absence from home that night was that, upon hearing the gun fired so close at hand, Mr. Wyatt had at once run to the spot, found the body of Mr. Faulkner, and had then immediately started in pursuit of the murderer. Setting out with me on the search with this theory strongly fixed in his mind, young Wyatt seized at once every point that confirmed it, and pointed out to me that the man with heavy boots had crossed the fields at a run, and that the other had followed as soon as he came upon the footprints, after searching for them up and down by the edge of the wood. Once we had got this clue to follow up, the matter was then plain enough. The search through the wood showed us the whole circumstances of the case, as I have related them to you, just as plainly as if we had witnessed the affair. But if I had not been set upon the right trail, I say honestly that I doubt whether I should have unravelled it, especially as the snow is rapidly going, and by this afternoon the footprints will have disappeared."

"Well, as a matter of form, we will take down your statement, Mr. Henderson, and then take those of the constables."

"Young Mr. Wyatt is outside, if you would like to hear him, sir."

"Certainly we will," the Colonel said. "He must be a wonderfully shrewd young fellow, and I think we ought to take his statement, if only to record the part he played in proving his brother's innocence. But where is the brother, Mr. Henderson; hasn't he come back yet?"

"No, sir; and I own that I regard his absence as alarming. You see the murderer, whoever he is, was armed with a rifle, or at any rate with a gun that carried bullets, while Mr. Wyatt had only a shot gun. Such a fellow would certainly not suffer himself to be arrested without a struggle, and when he found that he was being followed across the hills, would be likely enough to shoot down his pursuer without letting him get close enough to use his fowling-piece. I have sent two constables up to inquire of the coast-guard men along the cliffs whether they observed any man with a gun crossing the hills yesterday afternoon, and whether they heard a gun fired. As soon as you have before you the statements of the constables who were with me this morning, I intend to take them and two others and start myself for a search over the hills, and I am very much afraid that we shall come upon Mr. Wyatt's body."

"I sincerely hope not," Colonel Chambers said; "but I own that I can see no other way for accounting for his absence. Well, if you will call the clerk in, he will take down your statement at once. What do you think, Harrington? It seems to me that when we have got the four statements we shall be fully justified in withdrawing the warrant against young Wyatt."

"I quite think so, Colonel. You see, the facts will all come out at the coroner's inquest, and, when they do so, I think there will be a good deal of strong feeling in the place if it is found that young Wyatt has been killed while bravely trying to capture Faulkner's murderer, while at the same time our warrant for his apprehension for the murder was still in force."

"Yes, there is a good deal in that, Harrington. If Faulkner had not died I think that it would have been best merely to hold the warrant over in order that when Wyatt comes back, if he ever does come back, all these facts might be proved publicly; now that will all be done before the coroner."

The statements of Mr. Henderson and the two constables were taken down. Frank was then called in.

"I congratulate you most heartily upon the innocence of your brother having been, to our minds, so conclusively proved, and, as Mr. Henderson tells us, chiefly owing to your shrewdness in the matter. Before you begin, you can repeat your opinion about the bullet that you pointed out to the chief constable last night, in order that the point may be included in your statement. After that you can tell us the story of your search in the wood."

When Frank had finished, Colonel Chambers said: "This is a very awkward thing about your brother's disappearance. While giving him the fullest credit for his courage in following a desperate man armed with a rifle, it was certainly a rash undertaking, and I fear that he may have come to harm."

"I don't suppose when he started, that it was so much the idea of capturing the man, Julian had in his mind, as of seeing who he was. Had my brother come back with only the statement that some man unknown had shot Mr. Faulkner, his story might not have been credited. Certainly, in the teeth of Mr. Faulkner's depositions, it would not have been believed when there was no evidence to support it. Still, I don't suppose it had even entered Julian's mind that any suspicion could possibly fall upon him. I am greatly afraid that he has been killed or badly hurt; if not, I can see but one possible way of accounting for his absence. Mr. Faulkner was extremely active in the pursuit of smugglers, and had, we know, received many threatening letters. If the man was a smuggler, as seems to me likely, he may have gone to some place where he had comrades awaiting him, and, Julian pursuing him, may have been seized and made prisoner. You see, sir, he knew many of them, and, after the affair the other day, was probably regarded as a friend, and they may hold him in their keeping only until the man who fired the shot can get safely out of reach."

"I hope that this may prove so indeed," the magistrate said. "It is at any rate possible. And now we will detain you no longer, for Mr. Henderson told me that you were going to accompany them in their search among the hills. I see that it is just beginning to snow, which will, I fear, add to your difficulties."

For some days an active search was maintained, but no trace was discovered of Julian Wyatt, or of the man whom he had followed. From inquiries that had been instituted in the town, the chief constable had learned that the man Markham, who had a few weeks before returned after serving out his sentence for poaching in Mr. Faulkner's preserves, had disappeared from his lodgings on the day of the murder and had not returned. As he was known to have uttered many threats against the magistrate, a warrant was issued for his arrest on the day after the coroner's jury, having heard the whole of the evidence, brought in a verdict that Mr. Faulkner had been wilfully murdered by a person or persons unknown.

CHAPTER VI

A COMMISSION

About a week after the coroner's inquest, the servant one evening brought in a letter that had been left at the door by a man who looked like a fisherman. Frank gave a shout of joy as he glanced at the address.

"It is Julian's handwriting, Aunt," he shouted, and then exclaimed, as Mrs. Troutbeck, who was on the sofa, gave a low cry and fell back fainting, "What an ass I am to blurt it out like that!" Then he rang the bell with a vigour that brought down the rope. "Here, Mary," he exclaimed, as the servant re-appeared at the door with a scared face, "Aunt has fainted; do what you can for her. I will run round for the doctor directly; but I must look at this letter first. It is from Mr. Julian."

"Lor', sir, that is good news!" the girl exclaimed, as she hurried across to her mistress. After the custom of her class, she had hitherto looked upon the matter in the darkest possible light, and had joined in the general conviction that Julian had been killed.

Julian's letter was written on board the smuggler.

"My dear Frank, I am afraid you must all have been in a horrible fright about me, and no wonder. I am a most unfortunate fellow, and seem to be always putting my foot in it, and yet really I don't think I was to blame about this. In the first place, I may tell you that I am on board a French smuggler, that we have just entered the Loire, and that in a few hours shall be at Nantes. The smugglers will bring this letter back to England, and as they say they shall probably sail again a few days after they get in, I hope it will not be very long before it comes to hand. And now as to how I got here."

Julian then related the story of the quarrel with Mr. Faulkner, of hearing the gun fired, of running in and finding the body, and of his pursuit of the murderer.

"After a long tramp on the hills he took to a place of hiding. I am bound by oath to afford no clue as to where that place is, and can only say that upon my following him in, I was pounced upon by some French smugglers who were there with him, and trussed up like a fowl. Then there was a discussion what to do with me, in which the man I had been following joined. Of course I did not understand the language, but I could see that the smugglers were in favour of cutting my throat for having discovered their hiding-place, and that the man himself was, contrary to what I should have expected, arguing in my favour. He had been a smuggler as well as a poacher, but although he had murdered Mr. Faulkner, and knew that I had pursued him for that crime, he undoubtedly saved my life. They first made me take an oath not to reveal their hiding-place, and then said that they should carry me over to France, and would take steps so that I should not return to England for some years.

"What those steps will be I cannot say, but I feel sure that they will in some way prevent my coming back for a long time. They can't keep me themselves, but may hand me over as a prisoner to the French authorities. Before we sailed the man told me he had learnt that a warrant was out against me for the murder of Faulkner, and that Faulkner had declared it was I who shot him. If I could possibly have escaped I would have come back to stand my trial, though I can see plainly enough that it might go very hard with me, for there would be only my word, which would go for nothing against Faulkner's accusation, and the fact of our quarrel. However, I would have come rather than disappear with this awful charge against me. The man has given me permission, not only to write and tell you this story, but even to give you his name, which is Joseph Markham. He had only been a short time out of prison, where he had been sent for poaching, and he killed Faulkner simply for revenge. He told me that he did not mind my getting his name as, in the first place, he had no idea of returning to Weymouth, and intended making France his home; and, in the second place, because, although you might believe my story, no one else would, and even if he showed himself in Weymouth, this letter, written by a man accused of the murder, would not be accepted for a moment against him. However, there is no doubt that the fellow has behaved extremely well to me, and I should be sorry to get him into trouble over this business with Faulkner, which is no affair of mine.

"You can, of course, show this letter to whom you like, but I don't expect anyone except you and Aunt to believe it. I have hopes of being cleared some day, for Markham has promised me to write out a full confession of his shooting Faulkner, and to swear to it before a French magistrate. He is going to write it in duplicate, and carry one copy about with him, directed to Colonel Chambers, or the senior magistrate at Weymouth, and to send the other copy to someone at home, who will produce it in case of his death in France, or by drowning at sea. I do not think that, if I get away, I shall return to England until I hear of his death. I am awfully sorry for you, old fellow, and for Aunt. But with this frightful accusation hanging over me, I don't think your position would be better if I were to come back and be hung for murder; and I see myself that the case is so strong against me that it would almost certainly come to that if they laid hands on me. I am specially sorry that this trouble should come upon you now, just as you were going to try to get a commission, for of course they could hardly give one to a fellow whose brother is accused of murder, and if they did, your position in the army would be intolerable. Now, good-bye, dear old Frank; give my fond love to Aunt, who has always been too good to me. If I get an opportunity I will write again, but I hardly fancy that I shall get a chance to do so, as, even if I were free to write I don't see how letters can be sent from France except through smugglers. God bless you, old fellow.

"Your unfortunate brother,

"JULIAN."

Happily, by the time he had finished reading the letter, the servant had succeeded in restoring Mrs. Troutbeck.

"It is exactly what we thought, Aunt. Julian was seized by smugglers, and has been taken over to France, and I am afraid it will be some time before he gets back again, especially as he believes that this charge is hanging over him. I won't read you the letter now, but to-morrow when you are strong enough you shall read it yourself. I must take it the first thing in the morning to Colonel Chambers, who will, I am sure, be very glad to hear that Julian is safe, for I know that he thinks he was shot by the man he pursued. He will be interested, too, and so will Mr. Henderson, at seeing how exactly we were right in the conclusions we arrived at."

Mrs. Troutbeck was quite satisfied with the explanation, and was at once taken up to bed by the servant, while Frank, seeing that it was as yet but eight o'clock, put on his cap and ran to Mr. Henderson's. The latter was at home, and received with great pleasure the news that Julian was alive. He read the letter through attentively.

"If we had seen the whole thing happen, we could not have been closer than we were in our conclusion as to how it all came about. Well, the news that it is Markham who shot Mr. Faulkner does not surprise me, for, as you know, I have already a warrant out against him on the charge. I fear that there is little chance that we shall lay hands on him now, for he will doubtless learn from some of his associates here of the evidence given at the coroner's inquest, and that your brother has been proved altogether innocent of the crime. I can understand that, believing, as he did, the evidence against Mr. Wyatt to be overwhelming, he had no great objection to his giving his name; for, as the matter then stood, your brother's story would only have been regarded as the attempt of a guilty man to fix the blame of his crime on another. As it has turned out, the letter is a piece of important evidence that might be produced against Markham, for all the statements in it tally with the facts we have discovered for ourselves. Still I congratulate you most heartily. I certainly thought that your brother had been murdered, though our efforts to find any traces of the crime have failed altogether. I am afraid, as he says, it will be a long time before he manages to get away; still, that is a comparatively unimportant matter, and all that I can hope is that this fellow Markham will come to a speedy end. Of course you will show this letter to everyone, for now that nobody believes for a moment that your brother was Mr. Faulkner's murderer, everyone will be glad to hear that the mystery is cleared up, and that he is simply in France instead of being, as all supposed, buried in some hole where his body would never be discovered.

"All that can possibly be said against him now is that he behaved rashly in following a desperate man instead of coming back to us for assistance; but I quite see that, under the circumstance of his relations with the magistrate, he was doubly anxious to bring the latter's murderer to justice, and, as we now know, the latter would certainly have got away unsuspected had your brother not acted as he did."

Colonel Chambers was equally pleased when Frank called upon him the next morning, and begged him, after showing the letter to his friends, to hand it over to him for safe keeping, as, in the event of Markham ever being arrested, it would be valuable, if not as evidence, as affording assistance to the prosecution.

"Do you think, Colonel Chambers, that they will be able to keep Julian away for a long time?"

"If his supposition is a correct one, and they intend to hand him over to the French authorities as a prisoner of war, it may be a long time before you hear of him. There are many towns all over France where English prisoners are confined, and it would be practically impossible to find out where he is, or to obtain his release if you did find out, while the two nations are at war. There are very few exchanges made, and the chances of his being among them would be very small. However, lad, things might have been a great deal worse. This tremendous war cannot go on for ever. Your brother is strong and healthy; he seems to be, from all I hear, just the sort of fellow who would take things easily, and although the lot of prisoners of war, whether in England or France, cannot be called a pleasant one, he has a fairer chance than most, of going through it unharmed.

"The experience may be of benefit to him. Of course, when this matter first began, I made close enquiries in several quarters as to his character and habits. I need not say that I heard nothing whatever against him; but there was a sort of consensus of opinion that it was a pity that he had not some pursuit or occupation. As you know, he mixed himself up to some extent with smugglers, he spent his evenings frequently in billiard-rooms, and altogether, though there was nothing absolutely against him, it was clear that he was doing himself no good."

"He had given up the billiard-table," Frank said. "He promised me that he would not go there any more, and I am sure he wouldn't."

"I am glad to hear it, lad; still I think that this experience will do him good rather than harm. He was a kindly, good-tempered, easy-going young fellow, a little deficient, perhaps, in strength of will, but very generally liked, and with the making of a fine man about him; and yet he was likely, from sheer easiness of temper and disinclination to settle down to anything, to drift with the stream till he ruined his life. That is how I read his character from what I have heard of him, and that being so, I think this complete break in his life may ultimately be of considerable benefit to him."

"Perhaps it will, sir. A better brother never lived, but he may have been too ready to fall in with other people's views. I think that it was a very great pity that he did not apply for a commission in the army."

"A great pity," Colonel Chambers agreed. "A young fellow who will start in pursuit of a desperate man who is armed with a gun, would be the sort of fellow to lead a forlorn hope. And what are you going to do, Frank?"

"I am going to try and get a commission, sir, now that Julian is completely cleared. I shall set about it at once. I am sixteen now. Colonel Wilson, with whom my father served in Spain, wrote at his death, and said that if either of us wished for a commission, he would, when the time came, use his influence to get him one, and that after father's services he was sure there would be no difficulty about it."

"None whatever. Colonel Wyatt's sons have almost a right to a commission. If you will write to Sir Robert Wilson at once, and let me know when you get his reply, I will write to a friend at the Horse-guards and get him to back up the request as soon as it is sent in."

Three weeks later Frank received an official document, informing him that he had been gazetted to the 15th Light Dragoons, and was to join the depot of his regiment at Canterbury immediately. Mrs. Troutbeck had been consulted by Frank before he wrote to Colonel Sir R. Wilson. As it had, since Julian decided not to enter the army, been a settled thing that Frank should apply for a commission, she had offered no objection.

"It is only right, my dear," she said, with tears in her eyes and a little break in her voice, "that one of my dear brother's sons should follow in his footsteps. I know that he always wished you both to join the army, and as Julian had no fancy for it, I am glad that you should go. Of course it will be a trial, a great trial to me; but a young man must go on his own path, and it would be wrong indeed for an old woman like me to stand in his way."

"I don't know, Aunt, that it is so. That is my only doubt about applying for the commission. I can't help thinking that it is my duty to stay with you until Julian comes back."

"Not at all, Frank. It would make me much more unhappy seeing you wasting your life here, than in knowing you were following the course you had marked for yourself. I shall do very well. Mary is a very good and attentive girl, and I shall get another in to do most of her work, so that she can sit with me and be a sort of companion. Then, you know, there are very few afternoons that one or other of my friends do not come in for an hour for a gossip or I go in to them. I take a good deal of blame to myself for all this trouble that has come to Julian. I think that if, three years ago, I had pressed it upon him that he ought to go into the army, he would have done so; but certainly anything that I did say was rather the other way, and since he has gone I see how wrong I was, and I certainly won't repeat the mistake with you. Even now Julian may come back long before you go. I don't mean before you go away from here, but before you go out to join your regiment, wherever that may be. You are sure to be a few months at the depôt, and you know we have agreed to write letters to Julian, telling him that the matter is all cleared up, and that everyone knows he had nothing to do with the murder, so of course he will try to escape as soon as he gets one of them."

"Yes, when he gets one, Aunt. I will give the letters to men who are, I know, connected with the smugglers, and possibly they may be taken over, but that is a very different thing from his getting them. We may be sure that the smugglers who have taken Julian over will not trouble themselves about detaining him. They would never go to all the bother of keeping and watching him for years. If they keep him at all it will be on board their craft, but that would be a constant trouble, and they would know that sooner or later he would be able to make his escape. If they have handed him over to the French authorities he may have been taken to a prison hundreds of miles from Nantes, and the smugglers would not know where he was and would be unable to send a letter to him. No, Aunt, I feel confident that Julian will come home, but I am afraid that it will be a long time first, for as to his escaping from prison, there is no chance whatever of it. There are numbers of English officers there; many of them must be able to speak French well, and the naval officers are able to climb ropes and things of that sort that Julian could not do. It is very rare indeed that any of them, even with these advantages, make their escape, and therefore I cannot hope that Julian will be able to do so."

"Well, then, my dear, I must wait patiently until he does. I only hope that I may be spared to see him back again."

"I am sure I hope so, Aunt. Why should you always call yourself an old woman? when you know that you are not old in years. Why, you said last birthday that you were fifty-nine, and it is only because you are such a hand at staying indoors, and live such a quiet life, that it makes you think yourself old. I should think this war won't last very much longer. If it does all the men in Europe will be used up. Of course, as soon as peace is made Julian will be sent home again."

The same day that the post brought Frank the news of his commission, it brought a letter from Colonel Wilson saying that he was at present in town, and giving him a warm invitation to come up and stay with him for a week, while he procured his necessary outfit. A fortnight later Frank arrived in town and drove to Buckingham Street, where Colonel Wilson was lodging. He received Frank very kindly, and when the lad would have renewed the thanks he had expressed in the letter he had written on receiving the news of his having obtained his commission, the Colonel said:

"It was a duty as well as a pleasure. Your father saved my life at Aboukir. I had been unhorsed and was guarding myself as well as I could against four French cuirassiers, who were slashing away at me, when your father rode into the middle of them, cut one down and wounded a second, which gave me time to snatch a pistol from the holster of my fallen horse and to dispose of a third, when the other rode off. Your father got a severe sabre wound on the arm and a slash across the face. Of course, you remember the scar. So you see the least I could do, was to render his son any service in my power. I managed to get you gazetted to my old regiment, that is to say, my first regiment, for I have served in several. I thought, in the first place, my introduction would to some extent put you at home there. In the second, a cavalry man has the advantage over one in a marching regiment that he learns to ride well, and is more eligible for staff appointments. As you know, I myself have done a great deal of what we call detached service, and it is probable that I may in the future have similar appointments, and, if so, I may have an opportunity of taking you with me as an aide. Those sort of appointments are very useful. They not only take one out of the routine of garrison life and enable one to see the world, but they bring a young officer's name prominently forward, and give him chances of distinguishing himself. Therefore I, as an old cavalry man, should much prefer taking an assistant from the same branch, and indeed would almost be expected to do so. From what I hear, I think that, apart from my friendship for your father, you are the kind of young fellow I should like with me."

Frank looked rather surprised.

"I had a letter," Colonel Wilson went on, "from Colonel Chambers, who was a captain in the 15th when I joined. He spoke in very high terms of you, and sent a copy of the proceedings and reports connected with the murder of that magistrate, and said that it was almost entirely due to your sharpness that your brother was cleared of the suspicion that had not unreasonably fallen upon him, and the saddle put upon the right horse. There is a sort of idea that any dashing young fellow will do for the cavalry, and no doubt dash is one of the prime requisites for cavalry officers, but if he is really to distinguish himself and be something more than a brave swordsman, more especially if he is likely to have the opportunity of obtaining a staff appointment, he needs other qualities, for on a reconnaissance a man who has a quick eye, good powers of observation and thoughtfulness, may send in a report of a most valuable kind, while that of the average young officer might be absolutely useless.

"Having said this much, I would advise you strongly to devote a couple of hours a day regularly to the study of French and German. You may find them invaluable, especially if you are engaged on any diplomatic mission, and much more useful at first than the study of writers on military tactics and strategy. There will be plenty of time for that afterwards. At Canterbury you will have no difficulty in finding a master among the many French émigrés, and as there are at present two or three troops of one of our German Hussar regiments there, and some of these men belong to families who preferred exile and service in the ranks to living under French domination, you may find a soldier who will be glad enough to add to his pay by a little teaching. A draft went out only a fortnight or so since to your regiment, and you are therefore likely to be some time at Canterbury before you are ordered out, and as the time in a garrison town hangs heavily on hand, a little steady work will help to make it pass not unpleasantly."

"I will certainly do so, sir. We had a French master at school. It was not compulsory to learn the language, but I thought it might be useful if I went into the army, and so took it up. I don't say that I can speak well at all, but I know enough to help me a good deal."

"That is right, lad. Ah, here is supper. I am sure you must want it after being eighteen hours on the outside of a coach in such weather as this, though I daresay as far as food went you did not do badly."

"No, sir; there was plenty of time at the stopping-places for meals, and as I was well wrapped up the cold was nothing."

Frank, however, could not deny that he felt very stiff after his journey, and was not sorry to retire to bed as soon as he had eaten his supper. There were few men in the army who had seen so much and such varied service as Colonel Sir Robert Wilson. Joining the army in 1793, he served through the campaigns of Flanders and Holland. In 1797, having attained the rank of captain, he was detached from his regiment and served on Major-general St. John's staff during the rebellion in Ireland. Two years later he rejoined his regiment and proceeded to the Helder, and was engaged in all the battles that took place during that campaign. On the Convention being signed he purchased a majority in one of the regiments of German Hussars in our service. He was then sent on a mission to Vienna, and having fulfilled this, went down through Italy to Malta, where he expected to find his regiment, which formed part of General Abercrombie's command. He joined it before it landed in Egypt, and served through the campaign there. He then purchased his lieutenant-colonelcy, and exchanged into the 20th Light Dragoons. He was with that portion of his regiment which formed part of Sir David Baird's division, and sailed first to the Brazils and then to the Cape of Good Hope, which possession it wrested from the Dutch.

On his return to England he was directed to proceed on the staff of Lord Hutchinson to Berlin, but on his arrival at Memel was despatched to the Russian headquarters as British commissioner. He continued with the Russian army during the next two campaigns, and on the signature of the treaty of Tilsit returned to England, and made several journeys to St. Petersburg with confidential despatches, and brought to England the first news that the Czar had concluded an alliance with Napoleon and was about to declare war against England. In 1808 Sir Robert Wilson was sent to Portugal to raise the Portuguese legion, and, acting independently as a Brigadier-general, rendered very valuable services, until in 1809 the legion was absorbed in the Portuguese army. He was now waiting for other employment.

The colonel went out with Frank after breakfast next morning and ordered his uniform and equipments. Frank was well supplied with money, for by the terms of his father's will either of his sons who entered the army was entitled to draw two hundred pounds a year to pay for outfit, horse, and as allowance until he came of age, when he would receive his share of the capital. Mrs. Troutbeck had, when he said good-bye to her, slipped a pocket-book with bank-notes for a hundred pounds into his hands.

"Money is always useful, Frank," she said, when he protested that he was amply supplied, "and if you should ever find that your allowance is insufficient write to me. I know that you are not in the least likely to be extravagant or foolish, but you see what a scrape your brother has got into, without any fault of your own, and you may also find yourself in a position where you may want money. If you do, write to me at once."

After the orders had been given, Sir Robert Wilson took Frank about London to see some of the sights. At dinner he asked him many questions as to his studies and amusements, and the way in which his day was generally spent. After dining at Sir Robert's club they returned to his lodgings.

"I am very pleased, Frank," he said as he lighted a cigar, "both with what I have heard of you and with what I see for myself. Now I will speak to you more freely than I did before, but mind, what I say is strictly confidential. Government have obtained secret information which points surely to the fact that Napoleon is meditating an offensive war against Russia. He is accumulating troops in Germany and Poland out of all proportion to the operations he has been carrying on against Austria. When that war will break out is more than I or anyone can say, but when it does take place I have Lord Wellesley's promise that I shall go out there in the same position I held during their last war, that is, as British commissioner with the Russian army. Now, lad, in that position I shall be entitled to take a young officer with me as my assistant, or what, if engaged on other service, would be called aide-de-camp. One cannot be everywhere at once, and I should often have to depend upon him for information as to what was taking place at points where I could not be present.

"He would, too, act as my secretary. It may possibly be a year before Napoleon's preparations are completed; but even in a year I should hardly be justified in choosing so young an officer from my old regiment, unless he had some special qualifications for the post. Now, for your father's sake, Frank, and because I like you and feel sure that you are just the man I require, I should like to take you, but could not do so unless you had some special knowledge that I could urge as a reason for applying for you. There is only one such qualification that I know of, namely, that you should be able to speak the Russian language. When I spoke to you about learning French and German I did so on general principles, and not with a view to this, for it did not seem to me that I could possibly select you to go with me on this service; but I have since thought it over, and have come to the conclusion that I could do so, if you did but understand Russian. It is a most difficult language, and although I can now get on with it fairly after my stay out there, I thought at first I should never make any headway in it. It would, therefore, be of no use whatever for you to attempt it unless you are ready to work very hard at it, and to give up, I should say, at least four hours a day to study."

"I should be quite ready to do that, sir," Frank said earnestly, "and I thank you indeed for your kindness. But who should I get to teach me?"

"That we must see about. There are, I have no doubt, many Russian Poles in London who speak the language well, and who have picked up enough English for your purpose. The Poles are marvellous linguists. We will go to-morrow to the headquarters of the Bow Street runners. They are the detectives, you know, and if they cannot at once put their hands upon such a man as we want, they will be able to ferret out half a dozen in twenty-four hours. One of these fellows you must engage to go down to Canterbury and take lodgings there. They are almost always in destitute circumstances, and would be content with very moderate pay, which would not draw very heavily on your resources. Thirty shillings a week would be a fortune to one of them. Even if this war should not come off—but I have myself no doubt about it—the language might in the future be of great value to you. I don't suppose there is a single officer in the English army, with the exception of myself, who knows a word of Russian, and in the future it might secure you the position of military attaché to our embassy there. At any rate it will render it easy for me to secure you an appointment on my mission when it comes off, and in that case you will be a witness of one of the most stupendous struggles that has ever taken place. You think you can really stick to it, Frank? You will have, no doubt, to put up with a good deal of chaff from your comrades on your studious tastes."

"I sha'n't mind that, sir. I have often been chaffed at school, because I used to insist on getting up my work before I would join anything that was going on, and used to find that if I took it good temperedly, it soon ceased."

The next day they went to Bow Street. Sir Robert's card was sufficient to ensure them attention, and several of the detectives were questioned. One of them replied, "I think that I know just the man. He occupies an attic in the house next to mine. He is a young fellow of four-and-twenty, and I know he has been trying to support himself by giving lessons in German, but I don't think that he has ever had a pupil, and I believe he is nearly starving. His landlady told me that he has parted with all his clothes except those that he stands upright in. Of late he has been picking up a few pence by carrying luggage for people who land at the wharves. I have not spoken to him myself, but she tells me that he is a perfect gentleman, and though sometimes, as she believes, he has not so much as a crust of bread between his lips all day, he regularly pays his rent of a Saturday."

"I should think that he would be just the man for us. Would you see him when you go home this afternoon, and ask him to come to No. 44 Buckingham Street, either this evening at nine, or at the same hour to-morrow morning? I have written my address on this card."

At nine o'clock that evening the landlady came upstairs and said, rather doubtfully, that a young man had called to see Sir Robert, and that he had one of Sir Robert's cards.

"That is right, Mrs. Richards. I was expecting him."

The Pole was brought up. He was a pale young man, dressed in a thin suit of clothes that accorded but ill with the sharp frost outside. He bowed respectfully, and said in very fair English, "I am told, sir, that you wish to speak to me."

"Take a seat, sir. By the way, I do not know your name."

"Strelinski," the man said.

"I am told that you are desirous of giving lessons in languages."

"I am, sir, most desirous."

"Mr. Wyatt, this gentleman here, is anxious to learn Russian."

The man looked with some surprise at Frank. "I should be glad to teach it, sir," he said doubtfully, "but Russian is not like French or English. It is a very difficult language to learn, and one that would require a good deal of study. I should not like to take money without doing something in return, and I fear that this gentleman would be disappointed at the small progress he would make."

"Mr. Wyatt has just obtained a commission, and he thinks that as there are few, if any, officers in the army who speak it fluently, it might be of great advantage to him. He is, therefore, prepared to work hard at it. I myself," he went on in Russian, "speak it a little, as you see; I have already warned him of the difficulty of the language, and he is not dismayed. He is going down to Canterbury to join the depôt of his regiment in the course of a few days, and he proposes that you should accompany him and take a lodging there."

The young man's face had a look of surprise when he was addressed in the Russian language, and Frank saw a faint flush come across his face and tears flow to his eyes as he heard the offer.

"What terms would you ask? He might require your services for a year."

"Any terms that would keep me from starving," the man said.

"May I ask what you were in your own country, Mr. Strelinski?"

"I was educated for the law," the Pole said. "I took my degree at the University of Warsaw, but I was suspected of having a leaning towards the French—as who had not, when Napoleon had promised to deliver us from our slavery—and had to fly. I had intended at first to enter one of the Polish regiments in the French service, but I could not get across the frontier, and had to make north, getting here in an English ship. The war between you and France prevented my crossing the sea again, and then I resolved to earn my living here, but—" and he stopped.

"You have found it hard work. I can quite understand that, Mr. Strelinski. It is terribly hard for any foreigner, even with good introductions, to earn a living here, and to one unprovided with such recommendations well-nigh impossible. Please to sit here for a moment. Frank, come into the next room with me."

"Well, what do you think?" he asked when they were alone.

"I should think that he will do splendidly, sir, and his being a gentleman will make it very pleasant for me. But I should not like to offer him as little as thirty shillings a week."

"I have no doubt that he would be delighted with it, Frank, but as he will have to pay his lodgings out of it and furnish his wardrobe, we might say two pounds, if you can afford it."

"I can afford it very well, sir. My aunt gave me a hundred pounds when I came away from home, and that will pay for it for one year. I am sure I shall like him."

"He impresses me very favourably too," Sir Robert said, "and perhaps I may find a post for him here if we go out, though we need not think of that at present. Well, let us go in to him again. I have no doubt that the poor fellow is on thorns."

"I have talked it over with Mr. Wyatt," he went on when they had returned to the sitting-room; "he will probably require your services for a year, though possibly he may have to join his regiment sooner than that. He is willing to pay two pounds a week for your services as his instructor. Will that suit you?"

"It is more than sufficient," the Pole said in a broken voice. "For half of that I could keep myself."

"Yes, but there will be your lodgings to pay, and other matters; and if you are willing to accept two pounds, which appears to us a fair rate of remuneration, we will consider that as settled. It is a cold night, Mr. Strelinski. You had better take a glass of wine and a biscuit before you venture out."

He fetched a decanter of port and a tin of biscuits from the sideboard, and placed them in front of him; then he made a sign to Frank to leave the room. In a few minutes he called him back again. Frank found the Pole standing with his hat in his hand ready to leave. There was a look of brightness and hope in his face, which was a strong contrast to his expression on entering. He bowed deeply to Sir Robert, and took the hand that Frank held out to him.

"You have saved me," he said, and then, without another word, turned and left the room.

"I have insisted upon his taking ten pounds on account of his salary, as I told him that he must have warm clothes and make a decent figure in Canterbury. You are to deduct ten shillings a week from his pay till it is made up. The poor fellow fairly broke down when I offered it to him. There is no doubt that he is almost starved, and is as weak as a rat. He is to come to-morrow at twelve o'clock. I have business that will take me out all day, so you can have a quiet chat with him and break the ice."

CHAPTER VII

A FRENCH PRISON

Julian Wyatt had expected that there would be some formalities on his arrival at Nantes—that he should probably be taken before a court of some sort,—and he determined to make a protest, and to declare that he had been forcibly brought over from England. At the same time he felt that to do so would make little difference in his position. When Holland was overrun with the French, all English residents were thrown into prison, and the same thing had happened after the short peace; still he determined to make the effort, for he thought that as a civilian he might not be placed in a military prison, and might, therefore, have a better chance of making his escape. He had, however, no opportunity for protest or remonstrance. The captain of the lugger and two of his men went ashore as soon as the craft was moored alongside the quay.

A quarter of an hour later they returned with a sergeant and two soldiers. The captain pointed him out to the sergeant. The latter crossed the plank on to the deck, put his hand on Julian's shoulder, and motioned to him to follow him ashore.

"Good-bye, young fellow!" Markham said, as, feeling the uselessness of protest or resistance, Julian moved towards the plank. "I am very sorry for you, but there is nothing else to do, and you will be as well there as anywhere, for you couldn't show your face in Weymouth. I will keep my promise, never fear; and some day or other everyone shall know that you had nothing to do with giving that fellow the end he deserved."

Julian was marched along the quay for some distance, and then through the streets till they came to a large building. The sergeant rang the bell at the gate. When it was opened he entered with Julian, leaving the two soldiers without. A sub-officer of the prison came up, and the sergeant handed to him a paper, which was an order signed by the mayor for the governor of the prison to receive an English sailor, name unknown, age twenty-one, who had been picked up at sea by the master of the French lugger Lucille. The official gave a receipt to the sergeant for the prisoner, and a warder then led Julian away to a vaulted hall, where some forty or fifty men were either lying on some straw or were walking up and down in the endeavour to warm themselves. Julian saw at once that they were English sailors, although their clothes were for the most part ragged and torn.

"Hulloa, mate!" one of them said as the door closed behind him. "Have you come all alone? For the most part we arrive in batches. Where do you hail from, and what was your ship?"

"I hail from Weymouth," Julian replied cheerfully, his habit of making the best of things at once asserting itself. "I don't know that I can be said to belong to any ship, but I made the passage across in a French smuggling lugger, the Lucille. I suppose I ought to feel indebted to them, for they brought me across without asking for any passage-money; but they have played me a dirty trick here, for they have handed me over to the authorities, as far as I can understand the matter, as a man-of-war sailor they have picked up."

"What were you doing on board?" another sailor asked. "Did you have to leave England in a hurry?"

"I left in a hurry because I could not help it. Going across the hills I came quite accidentally upon one of the smugglers' hiding-places, and was seized before I had time to say a word. There was a little discussion among themselves as to what they would do with me, and I should have had my throat cut if an Englishman among them had not known that I was friends with most of the fishermen there, and had been present once or twice when a cargo was run. So they finally made up their minds to bring me over here, and as they feared I might, if I returned, peach as to their hiding-place, they trumped up this story about me, and handed me over to the French to take care of."

"Well, that story will do just as well as another," one of the sailors laughed. "As to their taking care of you, beyond looking sharp that you don't get away, the care they give you ain't worth speaking of. We are pretty nigh starved, and pretty nigh frozen. Well, there is one thing, we shall get out of it in two or three days, for we hear that we are all to be marched off somewhere. A batch generally goes off once a fortnight."

"Are you mostly men-of-war's men?"

"None of us, at least not when we were taken, though I reckon most of us have had a spell at it one time or other. No; we all belong to two ships that were captured by a couple of their confounded privateers. The one I belonged to was bound for Sicily with stores for some of the troops stationed there; the other lot were on their way to the Tagus. They caught us off Finisterre within a couple of days of each other. We both made a fight of it, and if we had been together when they came up, we might have beaten them off; but we had not any chance single-handed against two of them, for they both carried much heavier metal than we did. I don't think we should have resisted if we had not thought that the noise of the guns might have brought one of our cruisers up. But we had no such luck, and so here we are."

"I suppose, lad, you haven't got anything to pay your footing with? They did not leave us a sou in our pockets, and I don't suppose the smugglers were much more generous to you."

"Yes, they were," Julian said. "I have a guinea and some odd silver. I will keep the odd silver for the present, for it may come in handy later on; but here is the guinea, and if there are any means of getting anything with it, order what you like."

There was a shout of satisfaction, followed by an animated debate as to how the money should be spent. Julian learnt that there was no difficulty in obtaining liquor in the prison, as one of the warders had permission to sell it in quantities not exceeding one glass, for which the charge was four sous, and also that prisoners with money could send out for food. After much discussion, it was finally settled that forty-five pints of soup and the same number of rations of rum should be obtained. The soup was but three sous a pint, which would leave them enough for a tot of grog all round next day. One of them, who had been first mate on board—for Julian found that only the masters had separate treatment as officers—went across to the man who supplied liquor. The warder soon returned with him, carrying four bottles, a large stone jar of water, and two or three small tin cups. The mate, who spoke French pretty fluently, had a sharp argument with him as to the amount in French money that he should receive as change out of the guinea; and as he had learnt from one of the last batch that had been sent away, the proper rate of exchange in the town, he finally got the best of it, and the work of serving out the liquor then began.

A few of the sailors tossed off their allowance without water, but most of them took it half and half, so as to make it go further. Undoubtedly if the warder would have sold more than one allowance to each man the whole of the guinea would at once have been laid out, but he was firm on this point. Soon afterwards the prisoners' dinner was brought in. It consisted of a slice of black bread to each man and a basin of very thin broth, and Julian was not surprised at the hungry look that he had noticed on the men's faces.

"Pretty poor fare, isn't it, mate?" one of them said as he observed the air of disfavour with which Julian regarded his rations. "It has been a matter of deep calculation with these French fellows as to how little would do just to keep a man alive, and I reckon they have got it to a nicety. This is what we have three times a day, and I don't know whether one is most hungry when one turns in at night, or when one turns out in the morning. However, we shall be better off to-night. We get our supper at six, and at eight we shall get in that stuff you paid for. It is a precious deal better than this, I can tell you; for one of our chums managed to hide two or three shillings when they searched us, and got some in, and it was good, and no mistake; and they give half a slice of bread with each pint. It is better bread than this black stuff they give us in prison. Though an English dog would turn up his nose at it, still it helps to fill up."

The second supper was voted a great success, and after it was eaten, the men, cheered by its warmth, and freed for a time from the annoying feeling of hunger they generally experienced, became quite merry. Several songs were sung, but at the conclusion of a grand chorus an armed warder came in and ordered them to be silent.

"If the governor hears you making that row," he said, "you will have one of your meals cut off to-morrow."

The threat was effectual, and the men lay down in the straw as close as they could get to each other for warmth, as by this means the thin rug each had served out to him sufficed to spread over two bodies, and their covering was thus doubled. Julian had really another guinea besides the silver in his pocket, but he had thought it better to make no mention of this, as in case of his ever being able to make his escape, it would be of vital service to him. The following day there was another council over the ten francs still remaining. A few would have spent it in another allowance of rum all round, but finally, by an almost unanimous vote, it was determined that fifteen clay pipes should be obtained, and the rest laid out in tobacco. The forty-five were solemnly divided into three watches. Each member of a watch was to have a pipe, which was to be filled with tobacco. This he could smoke fast or slow as he chose, or, if he liked, could use the tobacco for chewing. At the end of half an hour the pipes were to be handed over to the next watch, and so on in regular order until evening.

This plan was carried out, and afforded unbounded satisfaction, and many loudly regretted that it had not been thought of at first, as the money spent on grog would have largely extended the time the tobacco would hold out. So jealous did the men become of their store of tobacco that the mate was requested to fill all the pipes, as some of the men in helping themselves rammed their pipes so closely that they held double the proper allowance of tobacco. This treat at once established Julian as a popular character, and upon his lamenting, when talking to the mate, his inability to speak French, the latter offered to teach him as much as he could. Directly he began three or four of the younger sailors asked to be allowed to listen, a school was established in one corner of the room, and for several hours a day work went on, both master and pupils finding that it greatly shortened the long weary hours of idleness.

Three weeks passed without change. Then they were told that next morning they would be marched away to make room for another batch of prisoners that had been brought into the fort that afternoon. All were glad of the change, first, because it was a change, and next, because they all agreed they could not be worse off anywhere than they were at Nantes. They were mustered at daybreak, formed up in fours, and with a guard of twenty soldiers with loaded muskets marched out from the prison gates. The first day's journey was a long one. Keeping along the north bank of the Loire, they marched to Angers, which they did not reach until night was falling. Many of the men, wholly unaccustomed to walking, were completely worn out before they reached their destination, but as a whole, with the exception of being somewhat footsore, they arrived in fair condition. Julian marched by the side of the first mate, and the lesson in French was a long one, and whiled away the hours on the road.

"It would not be difficult for us, if we were to pass the word down, to fall suddenly on our guards and overpower them," the mate said in one of the pauses of their talk. "A few of us might be shot, but as soon as we had knocked some of them over and got their arms, we should easily make an end of the rest. The difficulty would be what to do afterwards."

"That is a difficulty there is no getting over," Julian said. "With the exception of yourself, there is not one who speaks French well."

"I don't speak it well," the mate said. "I know enough to get on with, but the first person that I addressed would see at once that I was a foreigner. No; we should all be in the same boat, and a very bad boat it would be. We should all be hunted down in the course of twenty-four hours, and I expect would be shot twelve hours afterwards. I think that instead of sending twenty men with us they might safely have sent only two, for it would be simply madness to try to escape. If one alone could manage to slip off there would be some chance for him. There is no doubt that the Bretons are bitterly opposed to the present state of things, and have not forgotten how they suffered in their rising early in the days of the Republic. They would probably conceal a runaway, and might pass him along through their woods to St. Malo or one of the other seaports, and thence a passage across might be obtained in a smuggler, but it would be a hazardous job."

"Too hazardous for me to care to undertake, even if I got the chance to slip away," Julian said.

"You are right, mate; nothing short of a big reward would tempt any of the smugglers to run the risk of carrying an escaped prisoner out of the country; and as I have not a penny in my pocket, and nothing to draw on at home—for there is only my pay due up to the date we were captured when we were only eight days out—I should not have the slightest chance of getting away. No; I shall take whatever comes. I expect we are in for it to the end of the war, though when that will be is more than any man can tell."

They were marched into the prison at Angers, where they were provided with a much more bountiful meal than they had been accustomed to, a good allowance of straw, and two blankets each. To their great satisfaction they were not called at daybreak, and on questioning one of the warders who brought in their breakfast, the first mate learnt that after the march to Angers it was customary to allow a day's rest to the prisoners going through. They were ready for the start on the following morning, and stopped for that night at La Flèche. The next march was a long one to Vendôme, and at this place they again halted for a day. Stopping for a night at Beaugency, they marched to Orleans, where was a large prison. Here they remained for a week. The guards who had accompanied them from Nantes left them here at Orleans and returned by water.

From Orleans they struck more to the north, and after ten days' marching arrived at Verdun, which was, they learned, their final destination. Here there were fully a thousand English prisoners, for the most part sailors. The greater portion of them were lodged in wooden huts erected in a great courtyard surrounded by a high wall. The food was coarse, but was much more abundant than it had been at Nantes. The newly arrived party were quartered together in one of the huts.

Night and day sentries were posted on the wall, along which a wooden platform, three feet from the top, permitted them to pass freely; on this sentry-boxes were erected at short intervals. As soon as their escort had left them, the newcomers were surrounded by sailors eager to learn the last news from England—how the war was going on, and what prospect there was of peace. As soon as their curiosity was satisfied, the crowd speedily dispersed. Julian was struck with the air of listless indifference that prevailed among the prisoners, but it was not long before he quite understood it. Cut off from all news, without hope of escape or exchange, it was difficult for even the most light-hearted to retain their spirits.

As sailors, the men were somewhat better able to support the dull hopelessness of their lives than others would have been. Most of them were handy in some way or other, and as they were permitted by the authorities to make anything they could, they passed much of their time in working at something or other. Some cut out and rigged model ships, others knitted, some made quilts from patches purchased for a trifle by the warders for them in the town, some made fancy boxes of straw, others carved walking-sticks, paper-cutters, and other trifles.

Each day, two or three of their number had permission to go down into the town to sell their own and their comrades' manufactures, and to buy materials. There was a fair sale for most of the articles, for these were bought not only by the townspeople, but by pedlars, who carried them through the country. The prices obtained were small, but they afforded a profit over the money laid out in materials, sufficient to purchase tobacco and other little luxuries—the introduction of spirits into the prison being, however, strictly forbidden. Of more importance than the money they earned, was the relief to the tedium of their life in the work itself. Julian found a similar relief in studying French. There were some among the prisoners who spoke the language far better than did the mate, and after three months' work with the latter, Julian was advised by him to obtain a better teacher. He found no difficulty in getting one, who spoke French really well, to talk with him three or four hours a day on condition of being supplied with tobacco during that time; and as tobacco was very cheap, and could be always bought from the soldiers, Julian's store of money was not much diminished by the outlay.

He himself had now regularly taken to smoking; not at first because he liked it, but because he saw how much it cheered and comforted his comrades, who, however, generally used it in the sailor fashion of chewing. Escape was never talked of. The watch kept was extremely strict, and as on getting outside of the walls of the courtyard, they would but find themselves in a town girt in by walls and fortifications, the risk was altogether too great to be encountered. It had been attempted many times, but in the great majority of cases the fugitives had been shot, and their bodies had always been brought back to the prison in order to impress the others with the uselessness of the attempt. A very few, indeed, had got away; at least, it was supposed that they had done so, as their bodies had not been brought back; but it was generally considered that the chances were enormously against their being able to make their way over the wide extent of country between Verdun and the sea, and then to succeed in obtaining a passage to some neutral port, from which they could make their way to England. Several times offers of freedom were made to such of the prisoners as volunteered to enter the French army or navy, but very few availed themselves of them.

At the end of ten months, Julian was able to speak French fluently. Large bodies of troops were continually marching through the town bound for the east, and the prisoners learned from the guards that the general belief was that Napoleon intended to invade Russia.

"I have a good mind to enlist," Julian said one day, to his friend the mate. "Of course, nothing would persuade me to do so if it were a question of fighting against the English. But now that I have learnt French fairly, I begin to find this life horrible, and am longing intensely to be doing something. There are the reasons that I have already told you of why, even if I were free, I could not go home. I might as well be taking part in this campaign as staying in prison. Besides, I should have infinitely better chances of escape as a soldier than we have here, and if I find I don't like it, I can at least try to get off."

"Well, placed as you are, Wyatt, I don't know that I should not be inclined to do the same. At any rate, you would be seeing something of life, instead of living like a caged monkey here. Of course, as you say, no one would dream of such a thing if one would have to go to Spain to fight our fellows there. Still, if by any chance, after this Russian business, your regiment was ordered back to France, and then to Spain, you would at any rate have a fair chance of escaping on such a journey. I would not do it myself, because I have a wife at home. One hopes, slight as the chance seems to be, that some day there will be a general exchange of prisoners. But as you can't go home, I don't know but that it would be a good plan for you to do what you propose. At any rate, your life as a soldier would be a thousand times better than this dog's existence."

"I could put up with that for myself, but it is awful seeing many of the men walking about with their heads down, never speaking for hours, and the pictures of hopeless melancholy. See how they die off, not from hunger or fever, for we have enough to eat, but wasting away and dying from home-sickness, and because they have nothing to live for. Why, of the forty-five of us who came up together, ten have gone already; and there are three or four others who won't last long. It is downright heartbreaking; and now that I have no longer anything to keep my thoughts employed a good part of the day, I begin to feel it myself. I catch myself saying, what is the use of it all, it would be better make a bolt and have done with it. I can quite understand the feelings of that man who was shot last week. He ran straight out of the gate; he had no thought of escape; he simply did it to be shot down by the sentries, instead of cutting his own throat. I don't believe I could stand it much longer, Jim; and even if I were certain of being killed by a Russian ball I think I should go."

"Go then, lad," the man said. "I have always thought that you have borne up very well; but I know it is even worse for you than it is for us sailors. We are accustomed to be cooped up for six months at a time on board a ship, without any news from outside; with nothing to do save to see that the decks are washed, and the brasses polished, except when there is a shift of wind or a gale. But to anyone like yourself, I can understand that it must be terrible; and if you feel getting into that state, I should say go by all means."

"I will give you a letter before I enlist, Jim; and I will get you, when you are exchanged, to go down with it yourself to Weymouth, and tell them what became of me, and why I went into the French army. Don't let them think that I turned traitor. I would shoot myself rather than run the risk of having to fight Englishmen. But when it is a choice between fighting Russians and going out of my mind, I prefer shouldering a French musket. I will write the letter to-day. There is no saying when they may next call for volunteers; for, as you know, those who step forward are taken away at once, so as to prevent their being persuaded by the others into drawing back."

The next day Julian wrote his letter. He recapitulated the arguments he had used to the mate, and bade Frank and his aunt a final farewell. "I may, of course, get through the campaign," he said. "The French soldiers here seem to think that they will sweep the Russians before them, but that is their way. They talked of sweeping us out of the Peninsula, and they haven't done it yet; and there is no doubt that the Russians are good soldiers, and will make a big fight of it. I hope you won't feel cut up about this, and really I care little whether I leave my bones in Russia or not. It may be twenty years or even longer before that fellow Markham's letter arrives to clear me. And until then I cannot return to England, or at any rate to Weymouth; indeed, wherever I was, I should live with the knowledge that I might at any moment be recognized and arrested. Therefore while others here have some hope of a return home, either by an exchange of prisoners or by the war coming to an end, I have nothing to look forward to. So you see, old fellow, that it is as well as it is.

"I have to earn my own living somehow, and this way will suit me better than most. Only, of one thing be sure, that if at the end of the Russian war I return alive, and my regiment is sent where there is a chance of fighting our people, I shall take an opportunity of deserting. As I have told you, I can speak French fairly well now, and after a few months in a French regiment I shall be able to pass as a native, and should have a good chance of making my way somehow through the country to the frontier. My idea at present is that I should make for Genoa and ship there as a sailor on board an Italian vessel, or, better still, if we happen to be masters of the place, or our fleet near, should either enlist in one of our regiments, or ship on board one of our men-of-war. I should, of course, take another name, and merely say that I had been captured by the French at sea, had been a prisoner at Verdun, and had managed to get free, and make my way across the country. Probably in any case I shall do this when the regiment returns from Russia. Two or three years' absence, and a fair share of the hardships of a soldier's life, and a disguise, might enable me without detection to travel down to Weymouth and see Aunt, and learn if there had been any news from Markham.

"Whether I shall find you there or not I can't tell. I have but little hope that you will be able to get a commission. This affair of mine will be, I fear, an absolute bar to that. But, wherever you may be, I shall do my best to find you out, after I have seen Aunt. This will be given you by a good fellow named Jim Thompson. He has been a first mate, and has been a good friend to me ever since I have been over here. If he is exchanged, he will bring it to you; if not, he will give it to one of the men who is exchanged to post it on his arrival in England. I shall direct it both to you and Aunt, so that if you are away from Weymouth she will open it. God bless you both."

Three days later a notice was posted in the prison saying that any of the prisoners who chose to volunteer for service in Germany were at liberty to do so. They would not be called upon at any future time for service against British troops, but would have the liberty to exchange into regiments destined for other service. Eight men, including Julian, came forward, when, an hour later, a French officer entered and called for volunteers. Julian had already announced his intention of doing so to his comrades in the hut, and to his other acquaintances.

"You see," he said, "we shall not be called upon for service against the English, and I would rather fight the Russians than stay in this place for years."

Hitherto the men who had volunteered had been hooted by their fellow-prisoners as they went out, but the promise that they should not be called upon for service against British troops made a great difference in the feeling with which the offer was regarded, and had it not been for the hope that everyone felt that he should ere long be exchanged, the number who stepped forward would have been greatly increased. A strong French division had marched into Verdun that morning, and the new volunteers were all divided among different corps. Julian, who now stood over six feet, was told off to a Grenadier regiment. A uniform was at once given to him from those carried with the baggage of the regiment, and the sergeant of the company in which he had been placed took him to its barrack-room.

"Comrades," he said, "here is a new recruit. He is an Englishman who has the good sense to prefer fighting the Russians to rotting in prison. He is a brave fellow, and speaks our language well, and I think you will find him a good comrade. He has handed over twenty francs to pay his footing in the company. You must not regard him as a traitor to his country, my friends, for he has received from the colonel a paper authorizing him to exchange into a regiment destined for other service, in case, after we have done with the Russians, we should be sent to some place where we should have to fight against his countrymen."

In half an hour Julian felt at home with his new comrades. They differed greatly in age: some among them had grown grizzly in the service, and had fought in all the wars of the Republic and Empire; others were lads not older than himself, taken but a month or two before from the plough. After they had drunk the liquor purchased with his twenty francs, they patted him on the back and drank to the health of Jules Wyatt, for Julian had entered under his own surname, and his Christian name was at once converted to its French equivalent. With his usual knack of making friends, he was soon on excellent terms with them all, joined in their choruses, and sang some English songs whose words he had as an exercise translated into French, and when the men lay down for the night on their straw pallets it was generally agreed that the new comrade was a fine fellow and an acquisition to the company.

The division was to halt for two days at Verdun, and the time was spent, as far as Julian was concerned, in the hands of a sergeant, who kept him hard at work all day acquiring the elements of drill. On the third morning the regiment marched off at daybreak, Julian taking his place in the ranks, with his knapsack and firelock. After the long confinement in the prison he found his life thoroughly enjoyable. Sometimes they stopped in towns, where they were either quartered in barracks or billeted on the inhabitants; sometimes they slept under canvas or in the open air, and this Julian preferred, as they built great fires and gathered round them in merry groups. The conscripts had by this time got over their home-sickness, and had caught the martial enthusiasm of their older comrades. All believed that the Grande Armée would be invincible, and fears were even expressed that the Russians would not venture to stand against them. Some of the older men, however, assured them that there was little chance of this.

"The Russians are hardy fighters, comrades," one of the veterans said. "Parbleu! I who tell you, have fought against them, and they are not to be despised. They are slow at manuœvring, but put them in a place and tell them to hold it, and they will do it to the last. I fought at Austerlitz against the Austrians, and at Jena against the Prussians, and in a score of other battles in Germany and Italy, and I tell you that the Russians are the toughest enemies I have met, save only your Islanders, Jules. I was at Talavera, and the way your people held that hill after the cowardly Spaniards had bolted and left them, and at last rolled us down it, was a thing I don't want to see again. I was wounded and sent home to be patched up, and that is how I come to be here marching against Russia instead of being under Soult in Spain. No, comrades, you take my word for it, big as our army will be, we shall have some tough fighting to do before we get to Moscow or St. Petersburg, whichever the Little Corporal intends to dictate terms in."

"It is as you say, Victor," one of the other veterans said, "and it is all the better. It would be too bad if we had to march right across Europe and back without firing a shot, but I, who know the Russians too, feel sure that that will never be."

Many a merry martial song was sung at the bivouac fires, many a story of campaigns and battles told, and no thought of failure entered the minds of anyone, from the oldest veteran to the youngest drummer-boy. Of an evening, after halting, Julian generally had half an hour's drill, until, three weeks after leaving Verdun, he was pronounced fit to take part in a review under the eyes of the Emperor himself. His readiness to oblige, even to undertaking sentry duty for a comrade who had grown footsore on the march, or was suffering from some temporary ailment, his cheeriness and good temper, had by this time rendered him a general favourite in the company, and when he was dismissed from drill the veterans were always ready to give him lessons with the sabre or rapier in addition to those he received from the maître d'armes of the regiment. Julian entered into these exercises with great earnestness. Quarrels between the men were not infrequent, and these were always settled by the sabre or straight sword, the officers' permission being necessary before these duels took place. It was seldom that their consequences were very serious. The maître d'armes was always present, and put a stop to the fight as soon as blood was drawn. At present Julian was on the best terms with all his comrades, but he felt that, if he should become involved in a quarrel, he of all men must be ready to vindicate his honour and to show that, Englishman as he was, he was not a whit behind his comrades in his readiness to prove his courage. Thus, then, he worked with ardour, and ere long became able to hold his own even with the veterans of the regiment.

CHAPTER VIII

PISTOL PRACTICE

"You are a rum fellow, Wyatt," one of the captains of the depôt of his regiment said to Frank a fortnight after he joined.

"How am I rum?"

"Why, about that Russian fellow. I never heard of a young cornet setting-to to work like a nigger, when there is no occasion in the world for him to do so."

"There is no absolute occasion perhaps, but you see Russian may be very useful some day."

"Well, yes, and so might any other out-of-the-way language."

"It is an off-chance, no doubt; still it is better to be doing something that may turn out useful than to be walking up and down the High Street or playing billiards. I don't spend much time over it now, for there is a good deal to do in learning one's work, but when I once get out of the hands of the drill-sergeant and the riding-master I shall have a lot of time to myself, and shall be very glad to occupy some of it in getting up Russian."

"Of course it is your own business and not mine, Wyatt; but I am afraid you won't find things very pleasant if you take a line of your own and don't go with the rest."

"I have no wish not to go with the rest," Frank protested. "When there is anything to be done, whether it is hunting or any sort of sport, I shall certainly take my share in it; but don't you think yourself, Captain Lister, that it is much better for a fellow to spend part of his time reasonably than in lounging about, or in playing billiards or cards?"

"I don't say that it isn't better, Wyatt, but that is hardly the question. Many things may be better than others, but if a fellow doesn't go with the run he gets himself disliked, and has a very hard time of it."

"I used to hear a good deal of the same thing when I was at school," Frank said quietly, "but I don't think I was disliked for sticking to work sometimes, when other fellows were playing. Surely when one is from morning till night with other men, it can matter to no one but himself if he gives two or three hours a day to work."

"It does not matter to anyone, Wyatt. I am quite willing to grant it, but for all that, I am afraid, if you stick to it, you will have to put up with a great deal of chaff, and not always of a good-natured kind."

"I can put up with any amount of chaff," Frank replied; "I mean chaff in its proper sense. Anything that goes beyond that, I shall, I hope, be able to meet as it deserves. Perhaps it would be better if I were to take half an hour a day off my Russian studies and to spend that time in the pistol-gallery."

Captain Lister looked at him earnestly. "I think you will do, youngster," he said approvingly, "that is the right spirit. There is a lot of rough fun and larking in a regiment, and the man that goes through it best, is he who can take a joke good-temperedly as long as it does not go beyond the bounds of moderation, but who is ready to resent any wilful insult: but I think you would be very wise to do as you say. Half an hour in a pistol-gallery every day is likely to be of vastly more use to you than any amount of Russian. The reputation that a man is a crack shot with a pistol will do more than anything in the world to keep him out of quarrels. Here at the depôt at any rate, where the fellows are for the most part young, it would certainly save you a good deal of annoyance if it were known that, although not by any means a quarrelsome fellow, you were determined to put up with nothing beyond good-humoured jokes. Well, lad, I don't want to interfere with your hobby, only I advise you not to ride it too hard, at any rate at first. When the men all know you and get to like you, and see that, apart from this fancy of yours, you are an all-round good fellow, as I can see you are, they will let you go your own way. At any rate, as captain of your troop, I will do all I can to make things pleasant for you, but don't forget about the pistol practice. At a depôt like this, where there are half a dozen regiments represented, you will meet with a larger proportion of disagreeable men than you would in your own ante-room. You see, if colonels have such men, they are glad enough to rid the regiment of them by leaving them at the depôt, and any serious trouble is more likely to come from one of them than from anyone in your own regiment."

"I will take your advice, certainly," Frank said; "the more so that the time spent in learning to be a good shot with a pistol will be most useful in a campaign, even if there is no occasion ever to put it to the test when at home."

"There is a gunsmith in St. Margaret's Street. It is a small shop, but the man, Woodall is his name, has got a long shed that he uses as a pistol-gallery, a quarter of a mile out beyond the gate. He is an admirable shot himself as well as an excellent workman, and you can't do better than go to him. Tell him that you want to become a good shot with the pistol, and are willing to pay for lessons. If he takes you in hand it won't be long before he turns you out as a fair shot, whether you ever get beyond that depends on nerve and eye, and I should think that you have no lack of either."

"I hope not," Frank said, with a smile. "At any rate I will see him this afternoon."

"Put on your cap at once, and I will go down with you," Captain Lister said; "and mind, I think if I were you I should say nothing about it at the depôt until he tells you that he has done with you. Knowing that the man is a learner might have just the opposite effect of hearing that he is a crack shot."

In a quarter of an hour they arrived at the gunsmith's. "Woodall," Captain Lister said, "my friend, Mr. Wyatt, who has lately joined, has a fancy for becoming a first-rate pistol shot."

"He couldn't have a more useful fancy, Captain Lister. My idea is, that every cavalry-man—trooper as well as officer—should be a dead shot with a pistol. The sword is all very well, and I don't say it is not a useful weapon, but a regiment that could shoot—really shoot well—would be a match for any three French regiments, though they were Boney's best."'

"He wants you take him in hand yourself, Woodall, if you can spare the time to do so; of course, he is ready to pay you for your time and trouble, and would meet you at any hour you like to name in the afternoon at your shed."

"All right, sir. It is a rum thing to me that, while every officer is ready to take any pains to learn the sword exercise, they seem to think that pistol-shooting comes by nature, and that, even on horseback, in the middle of the confusion of a charge, you have only got to point your pistol and bring down your man. The thing is downright ridiculous! It will be a pleasure to teach you, Mr. Wyatt. I should say, from your look, you are likely to turn out a first-rate shot."

"It won't be for want of trying if I don't," Frank replied.

"If you will take my advice, sir, you will learn to shoot with both hands. For a civilian who never wants to use a pistol except in a duel, the right hand is all that is necessary, but for a cavalry-man, the left is the useful hand. You see an officer always carries his sword in his right hand, and if he has got to shift it to his left before he can use his pistol, he could never use it at all, if hard pressed in a fight. Another thing is, that the left side is the weak side of a horseman. His sword is all right in defending him if attacked on the right, but if he is attacked on the left he is fighting under a big disadvantage. He has much more difficulty in guarding himself on that side, and he has nothing like the same reach for striking as he has on the other."

"That is quite true, now I come to think of it," Frank said; "though I never gave it a thought before. Yes, I see that the left hand is the most useful one, and I will practice with that as well as with the other. Well, what hour will suit you?"

"It don't make much difference to me, sir; the evenings are getting longer; you can see well enough until five."

"Well, then, shall we say half-past four?"

"Half-past four will suit very well, Mr. Wyatt. It is four o'clock now, so if you like to take your first lesson to-day I will meet you at the shed in half an hour. You cannot miss the place, it is on the right side of the road and stands by itself, and there is my name over the door."

"Thank you; I will be there," Frank replied.

"I may as well come with you, Wyatt," Captain Lister said. "I will fire a few shots myself, for I have had no practice for the last two years, and I have a fancy to see what I can do with my left hand. I have never tried with it, and I quite agree with Woodall that it is the left hand that a cavalry-man should use."

Frank was a good deal surprised at first to see how much more difficult it was to hit a mark, even at the distance of twelve paces, than he imagined that it would be. Woodall would not allow him to take aim.

"You will never get a chance to do that, Mr. Wyatt, in a fight; you have got to whip out your pistol, to throw up your arm and fire. It has got to be done by instinct rather than by aim. It is all very well to aim when you are on your feet and standing perfectly steady, but on a horse half-mad with excitement, and perhaps going at a gallop, you could no more hold your arm steady on a mark than you could fly. Put down the pistol for a time. Now you know, sir, when you point at a thing with your first finger extended, however quickly you do it, you will be there or thereabout, and it is the same thing if you have got a pistol in your hand. You see that black patch on the wall to the right of the target. Now turn your back to it. Now, when I give the word, turn on your heels, and the moment your eye catches that patch throw up your arm with your forefinger extended and point to it. When you get it up there, hold it as steady as you can. Now, sir!"

Frank did as he was ordered.

"Now, sir, look along your arm. You see you are pointing very nearly at the centre of the patch. You are just a little high. Now try it with your left. There, you see, you are not quite so accurate this time—you are six inches to the left of the patch, and nearly a foot high. Remember that it's always better to aim a little low than a little high, for the tendency of the hand in the act of pulling the trigger is to raise the muzzle. Now, sir, try that half a dozen times, using the hands alternately. Very good! Now take this empty pistol—no, don't hold it like that! Not one man in twenty, ay, not one in a hundred, holds a pistol right, they always want to get the first finger on the trigger. Now, you want the first finger to point with, the second finger is quite as good to pull with, in fact better, for going straight, as it does, with the arm, there is less tendency to throw up the muzzle. Now take it like this; you see my forefinger lies along in the line of the barrel, that is the really important point. Get into the way of always grasping your pistol so that the first finger is in an exact line with the barrel, then, you see, just as your finger naturally follows your eye and points at the spot, so your pistol must be in the same line. It is best to have the middle and third fingers both on the trigger, and the little finger and thumb alone grasping the butt.

"You will find that a little difficult at first, but you will soon get accustomed to it, and your little finger will rapidly gain strength, and, you see, the hold of your first finger along the barrel helps the other two to steady it. By having the middle and third fingers both on the trigger, you give a pressure rather than a pull to it, and they will soon come to give that pressure at the very moment when the first finger gets on the mark aimed at. Now try it half a dozen times with the pistol unloaded, and after pressing the trigger keep your hand and arm in as nearly the same position, so as to see if it is pointing truly at the mark. Very good! Now try with the left hand. There, you see, that hand is not so accustomed to its work, and though you might have hit the target, I doubt if either of the shots would have struck the inner circle. Now we will try with the pistol loaded."

Six shots were fired alternately with the right and left hand. Those of the former were all within a few inches of the bull's-eye, while none of the others went wide of the outside.

"Very good, indeed," the gunsmith said. "I don't hesitate to say that in a very short time you will become a fair shot, and at the end of three months, if you practise regularly, a first-class one. Your hand is very steady, your eye true, and you have plenty of nerve. Now, sir, I should advise you to keep that unloaded pistol in the drawer of your table, and whenever you have nothing else to do, spend five minutes in taking quick aims at marks on the wall, using your hands alternately. Now, Captain Lister, will you try a few shots?"

Taking a steady aim, Captain Lister put his bullets almost every time into the bull's-eye, but, to Frank's surprise, when he came to try quick firing in the way he had himself done, the captain's shooting was much less accurate than his own.

"It is a question of eye," the gunsmith said next day, when Frank was alone with him. "You see Captain Lister's shooting was fair when he took a steady aim, but directly he came to fire as he would in action, and that without the disturbing influences of excitement and of the motion of his horse, he was nowhere. He did not even once hit the target in firing with his left hand. He would certainly have missed his man and would have got cut down a moment later, and even with his right hand his shooting was very wild."

Captain Lister himself was evidently disconcerted at finding how useless his target practice would be to him in the field, and, two or three times in the next week, went with Frank to practise. He improved with his right hand, but did not seem to obtain any accuracy in firing with his left, while Frank, at the end of a month, came to shoot as well with one hand as with the other.

Frank worked steadily at Russian, and although he found it extremely difficult at first, soon began to make progress under his teacher, who took the greatest pains with him. He soon got over the good-tempered chaff of the subalterns of his detachment, who, finding that he was at other times always ready to join in anything going on, and was wholly unruffled by their jokes, soon gave it up. They agreed among themselves that he was a queer fellow, and allowed him to go his own way without interference. At the end of three months he was discharged from drill and riding school, and had thenceforth a great deal more time on his hands, and was able to devote three hours of a morning and two of an afternoon to Russian.

He was delighted with his master, whom he came to esteem highly, finding him a most intelligent companion as well as an unwearied teacher. Strelinski, indeed, would have been glad to have devoted twelve hours a day instead of five, could Frank have afforded the time. He was a very different man now to what he was when he had first called at Sir Robert Wilson's lodgings. He looked well and happy; his cheeks had filled out, and he carried himself well; he dressed with scrupulous care, and when Frank had no engagement with his comrades, the Pole accompanied him on long rides on his spare charger, he having been accustomed to riding from his childhood. From him Frank learned a great deal of the state of things in Poland and Russia, and gained a considerable insight into European politics, besides picking up a more intimate colloquial knowledge of Russian than he gained at his lessons. Of an evening Frank not unfrequently went to parties in the town. The gallant deeds of our troops in Spain had raised the military to great popularity throughout the country, and the houses of all the principal inhabitants of Canterbury were hospitably opened to officers of the garrison.

Many of the young men preferred billiards and cards in the mess-room, but Frank, who declined to play billiards, and had not acquired sufficient skill at cards to take a hand at whist, was very glad to accept these invitations. He specially enjoyed going to the houses of the clergy in the precincts of the cathedral; most of them were very musical, and Frank, who had never heard much music at Weymouth, enjoyed intensely the old English glees, madrigals, and catches performed with a perfection that at that time would have been hard to meet with except in cathedral towns.

After three months the gunmaker no longer accompanied Frank to his shooting-gallery.

"It would be robbing you to go on with you any longer, Mr. Wyatt. When a man can turn round, fire on the instant and hit a penny nine times out of ten at a distance of twelve paces, there is no one can teach him anything more. You have the best eye of any gentleman I ever came across, and in the twenty years that I have been here I have had hundreds of officers at this gallery, many of them considered crack shots. But I should go on practising, if I were you, especially with your left hand. It is not quite so good as the right yet, although very nearly so. I will come down once a week or so and throw up a ball to you or spin a penny in the air; there is nothing like getting to hit a moving object. In the meantime you can go on practising at that plummet swinging from the string. You can do that as well by yourself as if I were with you, for when you once set it going it will keep on for five minutes. It is not so good as throwing up a penny, because it makes a regular curve; but shooting, as you do, with your back to it, and so not able to tell where it will be when you turn round, that don't so much matter."

"What is the best shooting you ever heard of?"

"The best shot I ever heard tell of was Major Rathmines. He could hit a penny thrown up into the air nineteen times out of twenty."

"Well, I will go on practising until I can do that," Frank said. "If a thing is worth doing it is worth doing well."

"And you will do it, Mr. Wyatt; there is nothing you could not do with practice."

"There is one thing I wish you would do for me—that figure you have got painted as a target is ridiculous. I wish you would get some one who has an idea of painting to do another figure. I want it painted, not standing square to me, but sideways, as a man stands when he fights a duel. I want it drawn with the arm up, just in the same position that a man would stand in firing. I hope I shall never be called upon to fight a duel. I think it is a detestable practice; but unfortunately it is so common that no one can calculate on keeping out of it—especially in the army."

"Well, sir, you need not be afraid of fighting a duel, for you fire so mighty quick that you would be certain of getting in the first shot, and if you got first shot there would be an end of it."

"Yes, but that would be simple murder—neither more nor less, whatever people might call it—and I doubt whether, accustomed as I am to fire instantly the moment I catch sight of a thing, that I could help hitting a man in the head. Now what I want to become accustomed to is to fire at the hand. I should never forgive myself if I killed a man. But if ever I did go out with a notorious duellist who forced the duel upon me, I should like to stop his shooting for the rest of his life. So I want to be able to hit his hand to a certainty. Of course the hand is an easy enough mark, and by getting accustomed to the height and the exact position it would be in, I should get to hit it without fail."

"A very good idea, sir. The hand is not much of a mark when holding a pistol, still it is a good bit bigger than a penny piece, and you would soon get to hit it just as certainly."

For the next three months Frank fired fifty shots a day—twenty-five with each hand—and at the end of that time could hit a penny thrown up by Woodall, eighteen times out of twenty.

"That is good enough," he said; "now I shall only practise once a week, to keep my hand in."

Frank had not been without an incentive to gain exceptional proficiency with a pistol. Although he got on very well with his comrades of his own depôt, there was a captain of a lancer regiment who had not unfrequently taxed his patience to its farthest limit. The man was a noted duellist, and was known to be a dead shot. On the strength of this, he was in the habit of making remarks so offensive, that they would have at once been taken up, if uttered by anyone else in barracks. For the last two months he had made a special butt of a young cornet, who had recently joined the depôt of the Dragoons. He was a pleasant lad, with plenty of spirit and pluck, but he had a slight impediment in his speech, although when giving the word of command he never hesitated. It was this defect that was the object of Captain Marshall's ill-natured remarks. The lad tried to laugh them off and to ignore the offensiveness of the tone, but he felt them deeply, and confided to Frank—to whom he had specially taken—that he could not stand it much longer.

"I never used a pistol in my life until you advised me the other day to take some lessons from Woodall, and of course he would put a bullet through my head; but I can't help that. As it is, everyone must think me a coward for standing it, and at any rate I can show them that I am not that."

"Don't you mind, Wilmington," Frank said one day, "and don't make a fool of yourself. You put up with it a little longer, and something may occur to put a stop to it. He may go away on leave, or he may get a hint that he had better retire from the service. I have heard that it is likely enough that he will get a hint the next time he has an affair of this sort. The last two were with civilians, and I believe that is the reason why so few accept our invitations to mess; but I fancy if he gets into trouble again with one of ourselves he will have to go."

"Well, I will try to go on a little longer if you say so, Wyatt, but—"

"There are no 'buts' in it, Wilmington. You must give me your word of honour that you will go on as you have done. Don't be afraid of anyone thinking you a coward. There is no cowardice in refusing to fight a man who is so much your superior in skill that it would be nothing short of suicide in standing up against him. I have a private reason for believing that it won't last long."

"In that case I will give you my word of honour, Frank."

A week later there was an unusually large party at mess, the depôts were very strong, and some forty officers sat down; and it being a guest night, four or five civilians were present. Dinner went on without incident until one of the mess waiters asked Wilmington whether he would take sirloin of beef or goose. He replied, "B-b-b-b-beef." There happened to be a slight lull in the conversation at the moment, and Wilmington's effort to get the word out made him raise his voice so that it was generally heard.

"Waiter," Captain Marshall said loudly, "bring me some g-g-g-g-goose."

Wilmington's face flushed and then turned deadly pale. He looked appealingly at Frank, who was sitting next to him. The latter whispered, "Remember your word of honour. Get up and leave the room." There was a dead hush from those present as the young cornet rose and left the room, and then a low murmur of indignation. Captain Marshall looked round searchingly, as if to pick out one of those who had thus shown signs of resentment. But directly the door closed upon Wilmington, Frank rose to his feet.

"I wish, Mr. President," he said in a clear, steady voice, "to ask you, whether a man who, relying upon his skill with the pistol, wantonly insults another, is not a blackguard and unfit for the society of gentlemen?"

Had a thunderbolt fallen in the room those present could not have been more surprised. Some of Frank's comrades knew that he often went to Woodall's shooting-gallery to practise with the pistol, but they had no idea that he had attained any great skill in its use, and their impression when he spoke was that he must have gone out of his mind thus publicly to insult Marshall. The latter was at least as much astonished as anyone else. He started as if struck with a blow, and then, leaning across the table, he said in a low voice to Frank, who was sitting just opposite to him:

"Of course, you are prepared to answer to me for this, Mr. Wyatt?"

"Certainly," Frank said carelessly; "and at any time you please."

There was a strange hush in the dining-room until the cloth was removed. The guests, under one excuse or another, took their departure almost immediately after the king's health had been drunk; the officers talked in low tones together, and very soon rose from the table.

"Will you act for me, Captain Lister?" Frank said, going up to him quietly.

"Certainly, lad; but this is a horrible business. If it had been merely an ordinary quarrel the colonel would have interfered to stop it, but after what you said before us all, and with strangers present too, I am afraid it must go on. You must be mad, lad. I have not seen you shoot since that first evening when we went down, and two or three times shortly afterwards. Woodall told me that you were getting on well; but however well you may have got on, you can be no match with a pistol for a man like Marshall; and you may be sure he won't spare you after so public an affront."

"I must take my chance," Frank said quietly. He had himself begged the gunmaker to say little to anyone about his shooting. "Come across to my quarters. I suppose he will be sending over there at once."

They had just taken their seats when there was a hurried knock on the door, and Wilmington came in, pale and agitated.

"This cannot go on, Wyatt!" he exclaimed. "You put me on my word of honour and then take it up yourself. Don't you see that I am hopelessly disgraced in letting you be Marshall's victim for what he said of me. I shall go to him and insist upon my right to take the matter up myself."

"Sit down a minute, Wilmington, and be reasonable. If I get shot you can, if you like, go out and get shot next day. But I don't mean to get shot. There is one broad distinction between you and me—you can't shoot, and I can. Marshall could kill you without the slightest risk to himself, and I flatter myself that if I chose to do so, I could kill him with the same certainty. I shall not choose to do so. I don't want the blood of any man—not even of a ruffian like this—to rest upon my head. I shall simply prevent him from ever fighting another duel."

Captain Lister and the young cornet gazed at Frank as if they doubted his sanity.

"Do you quite know what you are saying, lad?" the former said kindly, after a pause. "You don't look as if you had been taking anything before dinner, and we know that you are always abstemious at mess; still you are talking strangely."

"I daresay you think so," Frank replied with a smile. "You fancy the excitement of this quarrel has a little turned my head. But it has not done so. In the first place, I have learnt to be so quick in firing that I am sure to get first shot."

"Yes, you might do that, lad," Captain Lister said sadly; "but it would be the very worst thing you could do. With a hurried shot like that it would be ten to one you missed him, and then he would quietly shoot you down."

"Not only shall I not miss him," Frank replied, "but I will lay you any wager you like that I will carry off his trigger-finger, and probably the second and third. Feel my hand. You see I am perfectly cool—as cool as I shall be to-morrow—and I do not think there is anything wild about my eye. It is simply as I say: I am a first-rate shot—probably as much better than Marshall as he is better than Wilmington. Ah, here is his man! Please arrange it for to-morrow morning, if possible. The sooner it is over the better."

Captain Lister nodded and went out. He returned in a quarter of an hour.

"It is to come off to-morrow," he said, "at six o'clock. It is to be in the field outside the wall, on the other side of the town. I have told my man to have the dogcart ready at half-past five. It did not take us long to arrange matters. His second is Rankin, of his regiment; and I don't think he liked the job at all. He began by saying:

"'I am afraid, Captain Lister, that there is no chance of our arranging this unhappy business. Nothing short of a public apology, and the acknowledgment that Mr. Wyatt was in liquor when he uttered the words will satisfy my principal, and I had great difficulty in bringing him even to assent to that.'

"I said that you had not the most remote idea of making any apology whatever. Therefore, we had only to arrange the preliminaries of a meeting.

"This was soon done. I could see that the young fellow was very much cut up over the affair, and that he had undertaken to act for Marshall because he was afraid to refuse. It did not take us five minutes altogether. I looked in at the doctor's after we separated, to ask him to go with us.

"'It is none of my aid you are likely to want, Captain Lister,' he said, 'and I protest against the whole affair; it is nothing short of cold-blooded murder. Still, of course, I will go.'

"And now, lad, let us hear something more about your shooting."

"It is just as I told you, Captain Lister. I suppose I have an unusually good eye and steady hand, and have a sort of natural aptitude for shooting. Woodall said that he considered me as good a shot as any man in the country, if not better. I am afraid we mustn't fire a pistol here, or I think I could convince you."

"No, we mustn't fire in barracks at this time of the evening, Wyatt. But if you are as good as that, the prospects are better than I thought they were. What can you do, lad?"

"I can hit a penny spun up into the air eighteen times out of twenty with my right hand, and sixteen or seventeen with my left."

"Is that so? Well, that ought to be good enough for anything," Lister said. "It sounds almost miraculous. Now, let us have a look at your pistols, lad."

"They are all right," Frank said. "I was using them this afternoon, and cleaned them when I came back."

"And you really mean to aim at his hand?"

Frank nodded.

"Well, of course, if you go a little high or a little low you will still have him; but if you go an inch or two wide you may miss him altogether. I would much rather, lad, that you aimed at the body. The fellow has never shown mercy to anyone, and there is no reason why you should show mercy to him."

"Don't be afraid of my missing him." And Frank spoke so confidently that his hearers felt satisfied he must at least have some good foundation for his faith in his skill.

"Well, I think you had better turn in now, Wyatt. Will you come across and have a cup of coffee with me before you start?"

"Thank you. Will you mind sending your servant across to call me at a quarter to five? I am not at all good at waking myself."

"All right, lad; I don't think I am likely to get much sleep."

"Don't say much to the others when you go out," Frank said. "You can tell them that, from what I say, it won't be such a one-sided affair as they seem to think."

"All right. I will tell them as much as that, for they are in such a state of mind about it that it would be kind to give them a little consolation."

"By the way, Captain Lister, do I go out in uniform or in mufti?"

"In mufti, lad. Put on a gray or dark-coloured suit. Gray is the best; but, above all, don't take a coat with conspicuous buttons or anything to catch the eye, that would be a fatal mistake. Good night, lad; I shall turn in in better spirits than I expected to do."

Wilmington did not speak, but grasped Frank's hand warmly.

"Don't come out to-morrow," Frank said.

"I couldn't," the lad replied in a broken voice, "but I shall see you before you start."

"The major will come on with the doctor," Captain Lister said, as, after taking their coffee next morning, they went out to the trap standing at the door. Frank looked round the barrack yard, but no one was about. "I sent them all away before you came, Wyatt. The lads all looked so woebegone that I put it to them whether they considered that the sight of their faces was likely to improve your nerve. As to young Wilmington, he was like a ghost. I had almost to threaten to put him under arrest before I could persuade him to go without seeing you. No one will be there but the major. He told me that he considered it his duty to represent the regiment, but he quite approved of all the others staying away. He said the fewer there were present at an infamous business like this the better. By the way, I made a condition with Rankin that you were to be placed back to back, and neither was to move until the signal was given; and I insisted that this should be by pistol shot, as otherwise you could not both see the signal equally well. I said that this was fairer than for you to stand face to face, and would increase the chances of the affair not being a fatal one."

"Thank you, Lister. I was wondering whether you had made that condition, for if we stood ready to fire he might draw his trigger before I did, and things might go quite differently to what I had decided on. A bad marksman might hold his fire, but Marshall would rely so implicitly on his skill that he would be sure to try and get first shot; for if I fired first and missed, he would know that the feeling against him if he shot me down afterwards would be very strong."

"Now jump up, lad; I will take the reins. All right."

The soldier servant standing at the head of the horse released the hold of the reins, swung himself up behind as the horse started and they drove out through the barracks gates, followed by the eyes of all Frank's comrades who, as soon as they heard the sound of the wheels, ran to their windows or doors to take, as they believed, their last look at him. They had, indeed, obtained slight consolation from the words with which Captain Lister had sent them off to their quarters—"Keep up your spirits, lads. There is many a slip between the cup and the lip, and I have strong hopes that the affair is not going to turn out as bad as you fancy."

CHAPTER IX

A DUEL

Captain Lister was very much more nervous than his principal as they drove on to the ground. In spite of Frank's confidence he could not bring himself to believe that the young fellow could be a match for a practised duellist, although he had, after he had left Frank's room the evening before, gone into the town and knocked up the gunmaker, who had sometime before gone to bed. When, however, Captain Lister confided to him the nature of his errand, he fully confirmed what Frank had said.

"Of course, I have not seen him stand up before a man with a pistol in his hand," he said, "but as far as shooting goes I would back him against any man in England; and I don't think, Captain Lister, that you need be afraid of him in the matter of nerve. Pistol shooting depends upon two things—nerve and eye; and he could never be the shot he is if he had not an extraordinary amount of both qualities. I will wager that he will be as cool as a cucumber. How are they to stand?"

"Back to back, and to turn at the signal of a pistol shot."

"Then he is all right, Captain. You need not worry about him. He is as quick as lightning, and he will get first shot, never fear, and more than that, I wouldn't mind betting that he carries off one of the fellow's fingers."

"Why, how do you know that?" Captain Lister asked in surprise. "He can't have been here since I left him."

"No, sir, he has not been here; but he told me that if he ever got into a duel he would aim at his opponent's hand, and he has been practising specially for that. He had a target made on purpose, but that did not please him, and we rigged out an arm holding a pistol and fixed it to the target just in the position it would be if the painted figure were firing at him. We had to have a rough sort of hand made of iron, for it would have cost a fortune if had been made of anything else. Sometimes he would have it painted white, sometimes gray, sometimes black, either of which it might be, if a man wore gloves, but it did not make any difference to him; and I have seen him hit it twenty times following, over and over again."

All this had been very reassuring to Captain Lister, and if it had not been for Marshall's reputation he would have gone to the place of meeting feeling confident that all would go well, but the fact that it was Frank's first duel, while Marshall had been in some eight or ten affairs, prevented his feeling otherwise than nervous as to the result. They were first upon the ground; the major and doctor arriving two minutes later.

"You may as well tell the major, Captain Lister, that he need not be alarmed. He is looking terribly anxious, and so is the doctor."

Captain Lister nodded, and went up to them as they dismounted from the gig. "I fancy that it is going to be all right, doctor," he said, "Wyatt tells me so himself, and what he says is confirmed by Woodall, the gunsmith. It seems the lad is an extraordinarily good shot. I told you last night that he had been practising a good deal, but I did not like to raise your hopes too high until I had seen Woodall. I will bet you a guinea that Wyatt comes out of it all right."

"I could not bet on it, Lister, though I would pay the guinea with greater pleasure than I ever felt at winning one; but I hear that Marshall is a very quick shot."

"So is Wyatt, major, and as the young 'un has been practising regularly, I fancy he will be as quick or quicker than the other."

"Well, I hope to heaven that it may turn out so. Nothing would please me more than that Wyatt should put a ball into the fellow's head. Men like him are a curse to the army."

"I don't think he will put a ball in his head, major, but I shall not be surprised if he carries off one of his fingers. He has conscientious scruples about killing the man, and he is going to aim at his hand."

The Major shook his head. "I am afraid that settles it, Lister. It may do for a good shot to try experiments of that sort with a bad one, but not against a man like Marshall. It would be far better for him to aim at the body. That is a good big mark, and if he is as good a shot as you say, and is quick enough to pull his trigger first, it would make matters safe, but as to aiming at his hand it would be sheer madness. You tell him what I think of it. Ah! here comes the others."

As soon as Captain Marshall and his second alighted, the latter came forward and spoke to Captain Lister. They talked for a minute together and then proceeded to choose the ground. This was quickly done, as there were no trees, and it being a cloudy morning neither party would have any advantage from the light. The two cases of pistols were then examined. They were of the same calibre and about the same weight, and Marshall's second at once agreed to Captain Lister's proposal that each should fire with his own pistol, so that neither should be placed at the disadvantage of using a weapon that he was unaccustomed to. Captain Lister proposed that they should toss which of the two seconds should fire the signal, but Rankin said, "I would rather not do it, Captain Lister. I need hardly tell you that I would give anything not to be here in my present capacity, and I would very much rather that a third party should fire it—either your major or the surgeon."

Lister went across to the major, who at once consented to give the signal. The pistols were then loaded, the ground measured, and the principals placed in position. The major took two pistols—one loaded with ball, the other with powder only, and then placed himself some ten paces on one side of the line of fire.

"Now," he said, "gentlemen, I shall say 'Are you ready?' and on receiving no answer shall fire; but mind I am determined that if either of you makes a move to turn, or raises his arm by as much as an inch from his side before he hears the shot I will shoot him down at once. Do you both understand that?"

Both answered "Yes."

He waited a moment, and then said "Are you ready?" Then a second later he fired. Both the antagonists turned swiftly on their heels, their arms going up as they did so. Then the two shots rang out. They seemed almost simultaneous; but Captain Lister, whose eyes were fixed on Marshall, saw that his hand jerked in the act of firing, and that his ball must have flown high. At the same moment his pistol fell to the ground, and he staggered back a pace. Then, with an exclamation of fury, he caught his right hand in his left, and stood rocking himself in pain. His second and the surgeon ran up to him.

"Are you hit, Marshall?" the former said.

"Of course I am hit," he said savagely. "You don't suppose I should have dropped the pistol if I hadn't been. I believe that young villain has carried off one of my fingers."

"I must protest against this language, Marshall," Lieutenant Rankin said indignantly. "I am bound to bear testimony that your opponent has acted extremely well, and that his conduct has been that of an honourable gentleman."

At this moment Captain Marshall turned deadly pale and would have fallen had not Rankin and the doctor caught him, and lowered him gradually to the ground.

"He will do no more shooting," the surgeon said grimly, "the ball has carried off his trigger finger. Cut his coat-sleeve off, Rankin. Don't you see he is bleeding a great deal? Lister, please bring me those bandages at once."

Captain Lister,—who had, as soon as he saw Marshall's pistol fall, run up to Frank and grasped his hand warmly, saying, "Thank heaven, my dear lad, that it has turned out as you said it would. I congratulate you with all my heart,"—at once ran to fetch the bandages, and they all gathered round the wounded man, Frank turning very white as he saw him lying insensible.

"What is it, doctor? I aimed at his hand. I hope it has not done any serious damage, except there." The latter was too busy to answer. "Bring the tourniquet," he said to Rankin, and as he ran off he looked up at the major.

"The ball evidently struck the first finger on the knuckle, and went in between the first and middle finger and then ran up the wrist and along the arm, and has gone out, as you see above the elbow, cutting an artery as it went, and smashing the bone just above the elbow. The first thing is to stop the bleeding."

"CAPTAIN MARSHALL'S PISTOL FELL TO THE GROUND, AND HE STAGGERED BACK A PACE."

He took the tourniquet from Rankin, and applied it two or three inches above the elbow, and continued to screw until the rush of blood ceased. Then he bandaged the arm and hand and fastened it across Marshall's chest. "That is all I can do now," he said. "I think there is no doubt I shall have to amputate above the elbow; but we will take him back first. I wish we had a stretcher."

"We have a stretcher," the major said. "I told off four men with one half an hour before we started. I thought we should want it to bring Wyatt back." He put a whistle to his lips and blew loudly. A minute later four troopers ran out from behind a cottage a hundred yards away. They had, no doubt, been furtively observing the combat, for there was an expression of gladness and triumph on their faces as they arrived.

"Lay Captain Marshall on the stretcher," the surgeon said. "Lift him carefully and carry him to his quarters. I will drive on at once and get things ready. I suppose, Mr. Rankin, you will go with him. You had better cover him up with a rug. Have either of you any brandy? I forgot to bring any with me."

"I have a flask," the major replied. "I will get it for you at once."

"We may as well be off, Wyatt," Captain Lister said to Frank; "it is of no use your waiting here any longer. We can do no good."

"I am sorry he is hurt so," Frank said, as they drove off.

"Then you will be the only man that is," Captain Lister replied. "You have rid the army of a pest; that is to say, you have rendered him harmless. Possibly he may not retire. There are plenty of men in the service who have lost an arm; however, I should think he will go. The disgrace will be worse to him than the wound."

"Still, I am heartily sorry that I hurt him so much," Frank repeated. "I meant to take off one or two of his fingers, and spoil his shooting for the rest of his life; but I never thought of the ball going up his arm as it did."

"Well, if you had not hit him where you did, you would be lying on that stretcher now. It was a close thing between the two shots, not more than a fifth of a second, I should say, and if you had only hit him in the body, I have no doubt that he would have fired before he fell; and if ever a man meant to kill another, he did. I could see it in his eye, as he stood there waiting for the signal. Well, Wyatt, you can stop in the army until you get to be a general, but one thing is morally certain, that after this affair no one will venture to insult you, and your first duel is likely to be your last."

"I sincerely trust so," Frank said gravely. "I think I can say that assuredly I shall never be the first to insult anyone else, and that if ever I fight again, it will, as in this case, not be in my own quarrel."

As they drove along the straight road towards the barracks, they saw a number of men clustered outside the gate.

"They are on the look-out," Captain Lister said. "They will have heard from the mess waiters the news of the quarrel last night, and I don't suppose there was a soul in barracks that did not know what our errand was when we drove out this morning. I expect if you had been killed they would have had to move either the Lancers' depôt or ours away from Canterbury, for the men of the two regiments would have been sure to have fought whenever they met each other."

As soon as they were near enough to the gates for their figures to be made out, there was a sudden movement among the men. Several took off their caps and waved them, while others threw them into the air.

"This is not exactly discipline, Wyatt," Captain Lister said, with a smile; "but it shows conclusively enough that you are a favourite with the men."

There were roars of cheering as they went in through the gates, in spite of Captain Lister holding up his hand and shaking his head. As they drove across the barrack square to Frank's quarters the subalterns came rushing out. "Glad indeed to see you back again, Wyatt," the first who run up exclaimed; "so it was arranged without fighting after all?"

"Not at all, Macalister," Captain Lister replied, as he reined in the horse at Frank's door. "Wyatt did exactly what he told me he was going to do—carried off Marshall's trigger-finger. But the bullet did what he had not intended it should—ran up the arm and smashed it above the elbow, and the doctor says that he thinks the arm will have to come off."

A shout of satisfaction rose from the group, and Wilmington grasped Frank's hand as he leapt down.

"Thank God that you are safe, Wyatt," he exclaimed. "I should never have forgiven myself if anything had happened to you. Of course, what you said last night cheered me a good deal, but I could hardly help thinking afterwards that you had made the best of it for that purpose."

"No, I did not, Wilmington. I felt absolutely confident that I should hit him on the hand. Now, I want some breakfast; I ordered it to be ready before I started."

"Well, you are a cool hand, Wyatt," Lister said. "If we ever get into a hand-to-hand affair with the French, I hope you will take me under your protection."

"We will see about it," Frank laughed. "Well, come up now. I ordered the breakfast for two, and I see Smith is bringing the dishes across from the kitchen."

"Oh, I say, Wyatt, you must let the rest of us up too. We can't wait to hear all about it until you have done."

"Come up, by all means. There is really nothing to tell you."

However, as the breakfast was being eaten, Captain Lister answered all questions.

"So he did not take it well," one of the subalterns said. "That is just what you would expect from a fellow like that."

"I don't think we should be too hard on him in that respect. It is very trying to any man's temper when he makes absolutely sure of doing a thing and is beaten by a novice. It was surprise, no doubt, as well as pain—and I fancy the pain was pretty sharp—that caused him to lose his temper. I expect that if he had been fighting with an old hand whom he thought dangerous, he would have borne the wound in a very different way. Now, look here, lads, there is one thing that you must bear in mind. Don't treat this affair as if it were a sort of triumph for the corps. I have no doubt that all the fellows in the Lancers will be every bit as much pleased as we are, at the way things have turned out; but we must not assume that. I should say you had much better not make any allusion to the affair, unless others speak to you about it. Of course, it will make a great deal of talk; there is no getting over that. But don't let it be a subject to be discussed in the mess-room. Duels between officers of different regiments have, before now, led to a lot of bad feeling, and I have known one such duel lead to half a dozen others. The Lancers are in no way to blame for Marshall's conduct; but, if they found any disposition among us to crow over it, it might give rise to ill-feeling, which would be bad enough if it were merely two regiments in garrison together, but would be a terrible nuisance in a depôt where there is a common mess. Therefore, when the matter is talked over, as it is sure to be, it is best to let the talking be done by others, and to keep your own mouths closed. Wyatt is the last fellow in the world to wish to pose as a conquering hero."

"Thank you, Lister," Frank said. "I am sure I never wish to hear the thing mentioned again. I have taken a lot of pains to become a good shot, and it seems that I have a natural aptitude that way. There is nothing more to feel boastful about than if nature had made me a giant, and I had thereby been able to thrash a man of ordinary strength. I am very glad that I have put it out of Marshall's power to bully other men, and, as he had several times done, to force them into duels, when his skill gave him such an advantage that it was nothing short of murder. I think that I shall go across to the major, and ask him to give me a fortnight's leave. I have not been away since I joined, and I had a letter yesterday saying that my aunt was not very well; so I should like to run down to Weymouth to see her."

"It would be a very good plan, Wyatt, and I am sure the major will give you leave at once."

When he had finished his breakfast, Frank went across to the major's quarters.

"I have not had time to congratulate you yet, Wyatt," the major said warmly, as he entered. "You have rendered a service to the army in general, and to our regiment in particular; for it would have been a nasty thing if it had got about that one of us had been grossly insulted without taking the matter up. If you had not interfered, the commandant told me that he should have reported the matter at headquarters. Had Wilmington taken it up, he would have refused to let the matter go on, until he had received an answer from the Horse-guards; and he would have done the same in your case, if you had not used such strong language. Your words practically forced Marshall into challenging you. Still, although we, who were present, should all have approved of Wilmington's not being allowed to throw away his life by going out with Marshall, one can't deny that it would have caused unpleasantness. Those who only heard that one of our fellows had put up with a gross insult without taking any steps, and had, so to speak, sheltered himself under the authority of the commandant, would have considered it an ugly business, and we should have found it very unpleasant when we joined the army in Spain. Therefore, we all feel very much indebted to you for having championed the honour of the regiment. You are a marvellous shot, lad, and you will have one satisfaction, which is, that when this affair is talked about, and it is known that you said beforehand that you intended to take off Marshall's trigger-finger, and that you did it, there is no chance of your ever being forced into a quarrel as long as you remain in the army."

"Thank you, Major. I have just come across to ask you if you will allow me a fortnight's leave of absence. I really want to pay a visit to my aunt at Weymouth, and I think it will be a very good plan for me to get away from here until this affair has blown over a little."

"A very good plan indeed, my lad. Certainly, you can have your leave. I will draw it out this moment, and take it over to the commandant, who will, I am sure, countersign it at once. Which way do you think of going?"

"I think I will go by the coach, that comes along here at twelve o'clock, to Dover; that is, if I see in the paper that there is any hoy sailing for the west this evening or to-morrow. The wind is in the east, and, with luck, I should get down there sooner than by going up to town and taking the coach."

"Here is the list of sailings," the major said, taking up a broad-sheet from a side table. "Yes, the hoy Keepsake will sail, weather permitting, from Dover this evening for Plymouth, touching at Southampton and Weymouth. That would just suit you. You had better not have more than a fortnight, for I think it likely we may get orders for the two troops to sail before long. Be sure and leave your address at the orderly-room."

From the major's Frank went straight to Strelinski's lodging, and told him that he would have a fortnight's holiday.

"I do not want it," the Pole said; "but I am glad that you should have one, for you have been working very hard lately, and it is now nearly nine months since you came down here."

"I will get you to write an account of my progress, Strelinski. I told Sir Robert Wilson that he should have one every three months, and the third is nearly due now. He was very pleased at your last report."

"This will be even better, for you have been able to give a good deal more time to it, since you have not had so many drills. Besides, progress is not so manifest at first, until one is able to converse a little; after that it goes on rapidly."

Strelinski at once sat down and wrote the report.

Frank read it with some interest, for Strelinski was not in the habit of saying what he thought of his progress.

"I think you have made this too strong," he said, as he laid it down.

"Not at all," the Pole replied. "We are able to talk freely now, and it is very seldom that you are at a loss for a word. I can say conscientiously that you are now able to converse rapidly and well in it. I could not say that your writing leaves nothing to be desired. Having acquired it so much by ear and conversation, you are not perfect in your grammar or construction when you write it; but that is of little consequence. Sir Robert Wilson will naturally write in his own language, and is not likely to have despatches to send in Russian. You are quite fit to act as an interpreter to deliver messages, and to carry on any ordinary conversation. There is a report that there has been a duel this morning, and that an officer was carried through the town on a stretcher."

"Yes. The wound is not a very serious one, but he will probably lose his forearm."

"And it was you who hit him," the Pole said quietly.

"How do you know that, Strelinski?"

"I guessed it. You have told me how you were practising, and how well you were getting on. I guessed you had some special purpose for taking so much pains, and you did not come in yesterday evening as usual. Then, too, you tell me he was hit in the arm, and you mentioned the other day that you were practising at that, and showed me the iron hand you had had made to hold a pistol."

"Well, yes, it was I. The fellow insulted a young comrade in my regiment, knowing well that he could not shoot; so I took it up, and there was an end of it."

"I am glad I knew nothing about it until it was all over. I should have been very unhappy if I had known that you were going to risk your life."

"I do not think there was any risk in it. As I told you, I have practised shooting very quickly, and felt sure that I should get first shot, and knew that there was no chance of my missing. The man was a dangerous fellow, and has fought many duels, but he will not now fight any more; and he will, I should think, leave the service. Well, I must not stay any longer, for I go by the twelve o'clock coach, and have to write a letter to Sir Robert Wilson before I start."

Frank caught the coach without difficulty, and on arriving at Dover went down and took his berth on board the hoy.

"We shall start at eight sharp," the skipper said.

"I will be on board in good time. I think you are likely to have a quick passage."

"Yes, if the wind holds we shall be at Southampton tomorrow evening. I shall get out the cargo by torchlight, for with this wind I don't want to lose an hour. I don't know how much there will be to take in, but I reckon anyhow that we shall be off by nine o'clock in the morning, and if we have luck shall be at Weymouth before dark."

Frank went on shore to the hotel and dined, and spent the time until the hour fixed for sailing in going over the fortifications. The voyage was a quick and pleasant one, and although the accommodation was rough it was vastly superior to that which he had been accustomed to when going out in the fishing boats. The skipper's calculations as to time were verified, and they entered the river at Weymouth forty-eight hours after leaving Dover. Mrs. Troutbeck was delighted to see Frank. He had indeed written a fortnight before, saying he hoped to be able before long to get a few days' leave and should come down to see her, and she was therefore not greatly surprised at his arrival.

"You have grown a good deal, my dear boy," she said after they had chatted together for some time, "but you are not changed so much as I expected."

"Well, Aunt, I don't see how I can change much till the hair begins to grow on my face. Putting on uniform doesn't in itself make one a man; but of course I feel older, and I think I have grown a bit. But there is no chance of my ever shooting up like Julian. Of course, you have heard nothing from him, Aunt, or you would have written to me at once!"

"Nothing, Frank. That fisherman, Bill, came in the other day, and said he had only heard what we knew before, that he had been sent to gaol, and that he had been marched away with a batch of prisoners somewhere inland. The smugglers could not learn what prison they had gone to. They said that the people of Nantes did not know that, as the guards who went with them from there only received orders to take them a short distance, and they were then handed over to other soldiers, who went so much further with them, and as their escort might be changed a dozen times not even the officials at Nantes had an idea where they were taken to at last."

"No news of Markham, Aunt?"

"Only that he is one of the regular crew of that French lugger now."

Frank looked up all his old friends and spent a pleasant week. His visit did his aunt a great deal of good, and the servant told him that she was quite a different woman since he had come home again.

"She missed you wonderful, Master Frank, and though she used to go about as usual, she did not seem to take an interest in things as she did before. I expect, now that she has seen you again, and has perked up a bit, she will fall into her old ways more regular. Now she has heard from you all about what you are doing, and your friends, and such like, and she knows that you are well and not changed, she will feel more comfortable, and won't be always worriting herself. Mr. Henderson often comes in and talks about you, and that always seems to do her good. And Colonel Chambers, he looks in sometimes, and she tells me that they both think a great deal of you, and of course that pleases her; and she looks forward wonderful to your letters coming regular once a week. I don't think you need trouble yourself about her, Master Frank. She has not really much the matter with her; only you know it was always her way to worrit about things, and you can't expect her to be otherwise, and I do think your coming here will do her a lot of good."

Two mornings later one of the coast-guard came in. "Captain Downes will be glad, sir, if you will go on board; there is something particular that he wants to speak to you about."

Frank at once put on his hat.

"We had a sharp fight with the smugglers last night, your honour," the sailor said as they started. "We had been cruising about for two days to the west, and yesterday morning we made out to sea and held east, and at ten o'clock came into Swanage Bay. We came upon the lugger that has fooled us so many times, and for once we caught her napping. They were at work unloading a cargo when we came up, and she did not make us out until we were within a couple of cables'-length of her, then she slipped and ran; I expect she would have shown us her heels as usual, but we gave her a broadside, and that big spar of hers came down with a run, and we were alongside in no time. They made a tough fight of it, but pretty nigh half her crew were ashore with the kegs. Howsomever we were not long in beating them below, though two or three of our chaps were pretty badly hurt, and three of theirs killed before the scrimmage was over. We did not trouble about the chaps ashore. I expect they were accounted for all right, for we heard some pistol shots there, but we came back here at once with the lugger, and got in two hours ago."

"Are the prisoners all French?" Frank asked eagerly.

"Ay, sir, just as French as can be. I was one of the party as took them ashore and lodged them in jail; and there was no doubt about their all being French. They had all got rings in their ears; besides, you could tell from the cut of their jib that they were Frenchies."

In ten minutes Frank stepped on to the deck of the Boxer. Captain Downes met him there. "I congratulate you, Mr. Wyatt," he said warmly. "I suppose you have been hearing that we had a sharp tussle with the smugglers, and at last captured that confounded lugger that has given us so much trouble for the past two years. Though I am mightily pleased at that, I am more pleased still that among those on board was that fellow Markham. He fought like a tiger. I reckon he knew that his neck was in a noose, for he would, of course, have heard from his friends here that the matter of Faulkner's murder had been cleared up, and there was a warrant out against him. Well, he got a pistol shot in his chest, and after it was all over we found that he was pretty near gone. As soon as a lantern was put to his face two or three of the men knew him at once, and I went up to him. He was pretty well past speaking, but as I stooped over him he said, 'You have got me this time, Captain Downes, and no mistake. Well, it don't make much matter; I was getting sick of the life. You look in the pocket of my jacket when I am gone, and you will find a letter there. I swore to young Wyatt that I would clear him of that charge of shooting Faulkner. I shot him myself, and I have put it all down there.'

"He died a quarter of an hour later, and here is the letter. I am going to take it over to Colonel Chambers, but I thought you would like to go with me. Of course, your brother was really cleared of all suspicion, but it is just as well to have got it under the real man's own hand."

"I am delighted, Captain Downes. When I was told, as I came along, of the lugger being captured, I hoped that you might possibly have something like this to tell me, for I had heard, since I came here, that he was still on board her, and as it was not likely he would risk going ashore, I thought perhaps you had got him prisoner. But this is better altogether, for if he had been put on trial for Faulkner's murder, he would, no doubt, have accused Julian, and though I think the evidence was strong enough to fix the guilt on the man, there might have been some who would have believed what he said. Now it will be altogether cleared up. Though when Julian will be found and brought home is more than anyone can say."

"Well, we need not trouble about that, lad, just at present. He is cleared, which is the principal thing, and sooner or later he is sure to find his way back again."

Frank landed with Captain Downes. Taking a trap they drove to the magistrate's, where fortunately they found Mr. Henderson, who had gone up to arrange for the examination of the prisoners. Both were greatly pleased when, on the letter being opened, it was found to contain a full confession of the murder, attested by a French magistrate, and corroborating in every respect the facts contained in Julian's letter, and as proved by the evidence given at the coroner's inquest. "I will give this letter to the Weymouth paper to insert," Colonel Chambers said, "and will send copies to the London papers, with a few lines recalling the facts of the murder and the proofs that had accumulated of Markham's share in it, and which show beyond all doubt the bona-fides of the confession."

"Thank you very much, Colonel," Frank said. "I only wish I knew where to send a copy to Julian."

"I am sure I wish that you could do so," the colonel said. "Poor fellow! he has paid dearly indeed for his well-meant though rash attempt to seize Faulkner's murderer. I shall have finished my business in two or three minutes, and shall be glad if you will stop to have a chat with me."

As soon as the magistrate had concluded his talk with Mr. Henderson, and the latter had gone off to carry out the arrangements, Colonel Chambers turned to the captain and said, "Have you seen any of the London papers, Downes?"

"No, Colonel. I have had enough to think of this morning since we moored up. Is there anything of importance in them?"

"Nothing perhaps extraordinarily important, but something certainly interesting at the present moment. Here is the Morning Herald. This is the item: 'Our correspondent at Canterbury states that much excitement has been lately caused in military circles there by an affair of honour—'" "Oh, that is too bad!" Frank broke in hotly—"'between an officer of the Lancers, Captain M—l, and a cornet of the 15th Light Dragoons, Mr. W—t. It is said that Captain M—l has been engaged in several similar encounters, and is famous for his skill with the pistol. The affair began, we understand, at a mess-dinner of the cavalry depôt a few days since, at which several well-known gentlemen of the town were present. Captain M—l used insulting language to a recently-joined young officer of the Dragoons. Mr. W—t took the matter up hotly, and rising, denounced Captain M—l in such strong language that a duel became inevitable. In view of the youth and supposed inexperience of Mr. W—t, the affair was regarded with extreme disapprobation by the officers of Captain M—l's regiment, as well as by those of the Dragoons. It seems, however, that Mr. W—t had for some time been practising with the pistol under the tuition of our respected townsman, Mr. Woodall the gunsmith, and before the parties met he confided to the officer who acted as his second that he intended to aim at his opponent's trigger-finger and so to incapacitate him from further adventures of the kind. Extraordinary as it may appear, this intention was carried out. Captain M—l not only lost his finger, but the bullet passed up his arm and broke it above the elbow. We understand that the limb has been successfully amputated by the surgeons of the two corps. This singular feat on the part of the young officer, when opposed to so skilled a duellist as Captain M—l, has created a profound sensation throughout the garrison.'

"Well, Master W—t, what have you to say to that?"

"I don't know that I have anything to say to it, Colonel," Frank replied, "except that it is a great nuisance that such a thing should be talked about. I suppose I have a good eye and a steady hand. I have practised steadily every day since I joined, and have got to shoot pretty straight. The man was a notorious bully, and if the young fellow he had insulted had gone out with him, it would have been nothing short of murder; and yet if he had not gone out with him I believe he would have shot himself, rather than suffer the disgrace of putting up with an insult. So as I felt pretty certain that I could disable Marshall without having to do him any serious injury, I took it up and hit him in the hand as I intended to."

"Well, Downes," Colonel Chambers said, "it seems to me that these two brothers are born to get into adventures and to get well out of them. However, Frank, although you have acted very creditably, and must certainly be a wonderful shot with a pistol, don't do this sort of thing too often."

"I am not going to, sir. I hope that I shall never fight a duel again, and I didn't practise for that, but to be able to use my pistols on service."

Three days later Frank said good-bye to his aunt and friends, and returned to Canterbury, travelling this time by coach, as no craft happened to be sailing for Dover.

CHAPTER X

SMOLENSK

Julian's regiment arrived at Konigsberg early in March, and found that it was to form part of Ney's division. The whole country round had been turned into an enormous camp, and every town was the centre round which a great array of tents was clustered. The troops were of many nationalities—French, Poles, Bavarians, Saxons, Prussians, Austrians, and even Spanish. Never since the hordes of Attila swept over Europe had so vast an army been gathered. The total force collected for the invasion of Russia amounted to 651,358 men, of whom some 520,000 were infantry, 100,000 cavalry, and the remainder artillery and engineers. They had with them 1372 guns.

April passed without any movement. The troops became impatient, and even the veterans, whose confidence in Napoleon was implicit, shook their heads.

"We ought to be across the frontier before this," an old sergeant of Julian's company said to him, as they smoked a pipe together over two mugs of German beer.

"It isn't that I think there will be much fighting, for what can Russia do against such an army as this? They say Alexander has been busy since the peace of Tilsit, but at that time he could scarce place 50,000 men in the field. No one fears the Russians; but it is a big country, and they say that in winter the cold is horrible. We shall have long distances to march, and you know how much time is always wasted over making a treaty of peace. If we are to be back again before winter we ought to be off now. Of course, the Emperor may mean to hold St. Petersburg and Moscow until next spring, and I daresay we could make ourselves comfortable enough in either place; but when you come to winter six hundred and fifty thousand men, and a couple of hundred thousand horses, it is a tremendous job; and I should think the Emperor would send all this riff-raff of Spaniards, Germans, and Poles back, and keep only the French as a garrison through the winter. Still, I would much rather that we should all be back here before the first snow falls. I don't like these long campaigns. Men are ready to fight, and to fight again, twenty times if need be, but then they like to be done with it. In a long campaign, with marches, and halts, and delays, discipline gets slack, men begin to grumble; besides, clothes wear out, and however big stores you take with you, they are sure to run short in time. I wish we were off."

But it was not until the 16th of May that Napoleon arrived at Dresden, where he was met by the Emperor and Empress of Austria, the Kings of Prussia and Saxony, and a host of archdukes and princes, and a fortnight was spent in brilliant fêtes. Napoleon himself was by no means blind to the magnitude of the enterprise on which he had embarked, and entertained no hopes that the army would recross the frontier before the winter. He had, indeed, before leaving Paris, predicted that three campaigns would be necessary before lasting terms of peace could be secured. Thus an early commencement of the campaign was of comparatively slight importance; but, indeed, the preparations for the struggle were all on so great a scale that they could not, with all the energy displayed in pushing them forward, be completed before the end of June.

Thus, then, while Napoleon delayed in Paris and feasted at Dresden, the roads of Germany were occupied by great hosts of men and enormous trains of baggage waggons of all descriptions, moving steadily towards the Russian frontier. On the 12th of June Napoleon arrived at Konigsberg. Ney's division had marched forward a fortnight before, and the Emperor on his route from Konigsberg to the frontier reviewed that division with those of Davoust and Oudinot, and also two great cavalry divisions.

To oppose the threatening storm Alexander had gathered three armies. The first, stationed in and round Wilna under General Barclay de Tolly, comprised 129,050 men; the second, posted at Wolkowich, and commanded by Prince Bagration, numbered 48,000; the third had its headquarters at Lutsk, and was commanded by Count Tormanssow; while the reserve, which was widely scattered, contained 34,000 men. Thus the total force gathered to oppose the advance of Napoleon's army of 650,000 was but 211,050. It had, too, the disadvantage of being scattered, for it was impossible to foresee by which of the several roads open to him, Napoleon would advance, or whether he intended to make for St. Petersburg or Moscow.

During the next few days the divisions intended to form the advance moved down towards the Niemen, which marked the frontier, and on the 24th of June three bridges were thrown across the river near Kovno, and the passage began. The French cavalry drove off the Cossacks who were watching the passage, and the same evening the Emperor established his headquarters at Kovno, and the corps of Davoust, Oudinot, and Ney crossed the bridges, and with the cavalry under Murat, composing altogether a force of 350,000 men, marched forward at a rapid pace on the 26th for Wilna, seventy-five miles distant. It was not until a few days before Napoleon crossed the frontier that the Russians obtained any definite information as to the force with which he was advancing, and their commander-in-chief at once saw that it would be hopeless to attempt to oppose so large a body. A great mistake had been committed in occupying a position so near the frontier, but when the necessity for retreat became evident, no time was lost in carrying it into effect, and orders were despatched to the commanders of the various armies to fall back with all speed. Thus, although the French accomplished the wonderful feat of marching seventy-eight miles in two days, which was done in the hope of falling upon the Russians before they had time to concentrate, they found the town already evacuated, and the whole of the immense magazines collected there destroyed.

Almost simultaneously with the passage of the Niemen by the three corps under the French marshals, those of Prince Eugene and the other generals also crossed, but further south, and also advanced at full speed in hopes of interposing between the three Russian armies, and of preventing their concentration. For the next week the French pressed hard upon the rear of the retreating Russians, but failed to bring on a battle, while they themselves suffered from an incessant downpour of rain which made the roads well-nigh impassable. The commissariat train broke down, and a hundred pieces of cannon and 5000 ammunition waggons had to be abandoned. The rain, and a bitterly cold wind that accompanied it, brought on an epidemic among the horses, which were forced to depend solely upon the green rye growing in the fields. Several thousands died; the troops themselves suffered so much from thirst and hunger that no less than 30,000 stragglers fell out from the ranks and spread themselves over the country, burning, ravaging, plundering, and committing terrible depredations. Such dismay was caused by their treatment that the villages were all abandoned, and the whole population retired before the advance of the French, driving their flocks and herds before them, and thus adding greatly to the difficulties of the invaders.

MAP SHOWING THE ROUTE OF NAPOLEON'S MARCH TO MOSCOW.

The greater portion of these straggling marauders belonged not to the French corps, but to the allies, who possessed none of the discipline of the French soldiery, and whose conduct throughout the campaign was largely responsible for the intense animosity excited by the invaders, and for the suffering that afterwards befell them.

As the pursuit continued even Napoleon's best soldiers were surprised at their failure to overtake the Russians. However long their marches, however well planned the operations, the Russians always out-marched and out-manœuvred them. It seemed to them almost that they were pursuing a phantom army, a will-o'-the-wisp, that eluded all their efforts to grasp it, and a fierce fight between the rear-guard of Barclay de Tolly's army and the advance-guard of Murat's cavalry, in which the latter suffered severely, was the only fight of importance, until the invaders, after marching more than half-way to Moscow, arrived at Witebsk.

Nevertheless they had suffered severely. The savage ferocity with which, in spite of repeated proclamations and orders, the invading army treated the people, had exasperated the peasantry almost to madness, and taking up arms, they cut down every straggler, annihilated small parties, attacked baggage trains, and repeated in Russia the terrible retaliation dealt by the Spanish guerillas upon their invaders.

On the right of the French advance there had been heavier fighting. There General Schwarzenberg with his 30,000 Austrians had advanced against the third Russian army, under Tormanssow. A brigade of the division under Regnier, which was by Napoleon's order marching to join Schwarzenberg, entered Kobrin, where it was surrounded by Tormanssow, and after a brave resistance of nine hours, in which it lost 2000 killed and wounded, the remainder, 2300 in number, were forced to surrender. Tormanssow then took up a strong position with his 18,000 men, and awaited the attack of the united forces of Schwarzenberg and Regnier, 38,000 strong.

The battle lasted all day, the loss on either side being between four and five thousand. Tormanssow held his position, but retired under cover of night. On the 3rd of August the armies of Barclay and Bagration at last succeeded in effecting a junction at Smolensk, and towards that town the French corps moved from various quarters, until 250,000 men were assembled near it, and on the 15th of August, Murat and Ney arrived within nine miles of the place.

Smolensk, a town of considerable size, on the Dnieper, distant 280 miles from Moscow, was surrounded by a brick wall thirty feet high and eighteen feet thick at the base, with loopholed battlements. This wall formed a semicircle of about three miles and a half, the ends resting on the river. It was strengthened by thirty towers, and at its forts was a deep dry ditch. The town was largely built of wood. There were no heavy guns upon the walls, and the city, which was completely commanded by surrounding hills, was in no way defensible, but Barclay de Tolly felt himself obliged to fight.

The greatest indignation prevailed in Russia at the retreat of the armies without attempting one determined stand, the abandonment of so large a tract of country to the French, and the suffering and ruin thereby wrought among the population of one of the richest and most thickly-peopled districts of Russia. Barclay's own plan had been to draw the enemy farther and farther into the country, knowing that with every mile of advance their difficulties would increase and their armies become weakened by fatigue, sickness, and the assaults of the peasantry. But the continued retreats were telling upon the spirit of his own troops also. To them the war was a holy one. They had marched to the frontier burning to meet the invader, and that, from the moment of his crossing the Niemen, they should have to retreat, hunted and harassed like beaten men, goaded them to fury. The officers were no less indignant than the men, and Barclay found that it was absolutely necessary to make a stand.

The French were as eager as the Russians to fight, and when it became known that the enemy seemed determined to make a stand at Smolensk they were filled with exultation. Ney's corps was the first to appear before the town, and took up its position on rising ground a short distance from the suburbs lying outside the wall and next to the river. Davoust's corps was to his right, Poniatowski's division came next, while Murat with his cavalry division completed the semicircle.

"The Russians must be mad," was the comment of the veterans of Julian's regiment. "The place is of no strength; the artillery will breach the walls in no time. They have but one bridge by which to retreat across the river, and we shall soon knock that to pieces with our guns on the right, and shall catch all who are in the town in a trap."

The obstinate resistance, however, that had been given by the Russians to the attacks on their rear-guard had impressed the invaders with a respect for their foes, that was in strong contrast to the feeling entertained when they crossed the frontier, save only among the soldiers who had met the Russians before, and who knew with what dogged valour they always fought, especially when on the defensive.

"It is going to be tough work, Jules, I can tell you," one of them said to Julian, whose English birth was now almost forgotten, and who, by the good temper he always manifested, however long the marches and however great the fatigues, had become a general favourite. "I guess we are only going to fight because the Russians are tired of retreating, just as we are tired of pursuing them. They can gain nothing by fighting here. We outnumber them tremendously. The great bulk of their army lies on the heights on the other side of the river, and there is nothing to prevent their retreating to some strong position, where they might give battle with advantage. On the other hand, there is no reason why we should fight here. We have come down thirty or forty miles out of the direct road to Moscow, and if, instead of doing so, we had crossed the river, and had gone straight on, the Russians must have evacuated the town and pushed on with all speed in order to get between us and Moscow. But this marching about without getting a battle discourages men more even than defeat, and I hope that it will do something to restore discipline among the Germans and Austrians, ay, and among our own troops too. I have been through a number of campaigns, and I have never seen such disorder, such plunder, such want of discipline as has been shown since we entered Russia. I tell you, Jules, even a defeat would do us good. Look at the Russians; they never leave a straggler behind them, never a dismounted gun, while the roads behind us are choked up with our abandoned guns and waggons, and the whole country is covered with our marauders. I should be glad if one of the brigades was ordered to break up into companies and to march back, spreading out across the whole country we have traversed, and shooting every man they met between this and the frontier, whether he was French, German, Austrian, or Pole."

"It has been terrible," Julian agreed, "but at least we have the satisfaction of knowing that Ney's corps d'armée has furnished a smaller share of stragglers than most of the others."

"That is true enough, but bad is the best, lad. Some of our battalions are nearly all young soldiers, and I can't say much for their conduct, while the seven battalions of Spaniards, Wurtemburgers, and men from the Duchy of Baden have behaved shamefully, and I don't think that the four squadrons of Polish cavalry have been any better. We have all been bad; there is no denying it; and never should we have conquered Germany, crushed Prussia, and forced Austria to submit, had our armies behaved in the way they have done of late. Napoleon would soon have put a stop to it then. He would have had one or two of the worst regiments drawn up, and would have decimated them as a lesson to the rest. Now his orders seem to go for nothing. He has far too much on his mind to attend to such things, and the generals have been thinking so much of pressing on after the enemy that they have done nothing to see the orders carried into effect. It was the same sort of thing that drove the Spaniards into taking to the mountains, and causing us infinite trouble and great loss of life. Fortunately, here we are so strong that we need fear no reverse, but if a disaster occurred I tell you, Jules, we should have good cause to curse the marauders who have converted these lazy peasants into desperate foes."

"I should think we ought not to lose many men in taking that town, sergeant. There seem to be no guns on the walls. We have the suburbs to cover our advance, and attacking them on all sides, as we shall do, we ought to force our way in without much trouble."

"It would seem so, lad; yes, it would seem so. But you know in Spain it once cost us five days' fighting after we got inside a town. I allow it was not like this. The streets were narrow, the houses were of stone, and each house a fortress, while, as you can see from here, the streets are wide and at right angles to each other, and the houses of brick, and, I fancy, many of them of wood. Still, knowing what the Russians are, I would wager we shall not capture Smolensk with a loss of less than ten thousand men, that is if they really defend it until the last."

The following day, the 16th of August, a cannonade was kept up against the walls by the French artillery, the Russians replying but seldom. The next morning it was discovered that Prince Bagration had marched with his army from the hills on the other side of the river to take post on the main Moscow road so as to prevent the position being turned by the advance of a portion of the French army by that route. During the night Barclay had thrown two pontoon bridges across the river in addition to the permanent bridge. At daybreak a dropping fire broke out, for both Davoust and Ney had sent bodies of troops into the suburbs, which they had entered without opposition, and these now opened an irritating fire on the Russians upon the wall. At eight o'clock the firing suddenly swelled into a roar. Doctorow, the Russian general in command of the troops in the town, made a sortie, and cleared the suburbs at the point of the bayonet. Napoleon, believing that the Russian army was coming out to attack him, drew up Ney and Davoust's troops in order of battle, with 70,000 infantry in the first line, supported by Murat's 30,000 cavalry.

Partial attacks were continued against the suburbs, but the Russians obstinately maintained themselves there. Finding that they showed no signs of advancing to attack him, Napoleon at two o'clock gave orders for a general assault, and the whole of the French troops advanced against the suburbs. The attack of Ney's corps was directed against the Krasnoi suburb, which faced them, and against an advanced work known as the citadel. For two hours a terrible struggle went on. The Russians defended all the suburbs with desperate tenacity, every house and garden was the scene of a fierce encounter, men fought with bayonet and clubbed muskets, the cannon thundered on the heights, and Poniatowski established sixty guns on a hill on the French right, but a short distance from the river, and with these opened fire upon the bridges. It seemed that these must soon be destroyed, and the retreat of the Russian troops in Smolensk entirely cut off. In a short time, however, the Russians on the other side of the river planted a number of guns on a rise of equal height to that occupied by Poniatowski's artillery, and as their guns took his battery in flank, he was ere long forced to withdraw it from the hill.

PLAN OF THE BATTLE OF SMOLENSK.

It was only after two hours' fighting that the Russians withdrew from the suburbs into the town itself, and as the bridges across the river had not suffered greatly from the fire of the great French battery, Barclay sent Prince Eugene of Wurtemberg across to reinforce the garrison. As soon as the Russians retired into the town a hundred and fifty guns opened fire on the wall to effect a breach, and at five a desperate assault was made upon one of the gates, which was for a moment captured, but Prince Eugene charged forward with his division and recaptured it at the point of the bayonet. The French shell and grape swept the streets and set fire to the town in a score of places, and several of the wooden roofs of the towers upon the wall were also in flames. After a pause for a couple of hours the French again made a serious and desperate assault, but the Russians sternly held their ground, and at seven o'clock made a sortie from behind the citadel, and drove the French out of the Krasnoi suburb. At nine the cannonade ceased. The French fell back to the position from which they had moved in the morning, and the Russians reoccupied the covered ways in front of the wall to prevent a sudden attack during the night.

"What did I tell you, Jules?" the old sergeant said mournfully, when the shattered remains of the regiment fell out and proceeded to cook their food. "I said that the capture of that town would cost us 10,000 men. It has cost Ney's corps alone half that number, and we have not taken it; and yet we fought well. Had every man been as old a soldier as myself they could not have done their duty better. Peste! these Russians are obstinate brigands."

"It was desperate work," Julian said, "more terrible than anything I could have imagined. How anyone escaped alive is more than I can say. Every wall, every house seemed to be fringed with fire. I heard no word of command during the day; all there was to do was to load and fire—sometimes to rush forward when the rest did so, sometimes to fall back when the Russians poured down upon us. Shall we begin again to-morrow?"

"I suppose so," the sergeant replied. "We certainly sha'n't march away until we have taken it. Perhaps the enemy may evacuate it. The whole town is a sea of flames; there is nothing to fight for, and next time we shall no doubt breach the walls thoroughly before we try. You see, we undervalued the Russians, and we sha'n't make that mistake again. Well, lad, we have both got out of it without serious damage, for that bullet you got through your arm will soon heal up again, but there is one thing, if you remain in the army for the next twenty years you are not likely to see harder fighting."

That night, indeed, Smolensk was evacuated by the Russians, contrary to the wishes of both officers and men, Prince Eugene and General Doctorow declaring that they could hold on for ten days longer. This might doubtless have been done, but Barclay was afraid that Napoleon might sweep round and cross the river somewhere to his left, and that in that case he must fall back, and the town would have to be evacuated in the day time when the enemy could sweep the bridges with their fire. By three o'clock in the morning the whole force in the city had crossed, and the bridges were burnt behind them. The flames acquainted the French with the fact that the city had been evacuated, and at daybreak they entered the town, and soon afterwards their skirmishers opened fire on the Russians on the other side of the river. At eight o'clock a Spanish brigade crossed the river waist deep, and entered the suburb known as St. Petersburg, on the right bank; but they were at once attacked; many were killed or taken prisoners, and the rest driven across the river again.

General Barclay then withdrew his army to the heights, wishing to tempt the enemy to cross, intending to give them battle before all had made the passage; but Napoleon kept his troops in hand, except that his artillery maintained a fire to the right against the Russians. At eight o'clock in the evening some skirmishers crossed the river, and fires shortly broke out in St. Petersburg, and in an hour several hundred houses, extending for a mile along the river, were in a blaze, while those in Smolensk were still burning fiercely. At night the Russians again fell back. The direct road lay parallel with the river, but as it was commanded by the enemy's guns General Barclay directed the force, divided into two columns, to march by cross roads. These led over two steep hills, and, owing to the harness breaking, these roads soon became blocked, and the march was discontinued till daylight enabled the drivers to get the five hundred guns and the ammunition trains up the hills.

The French, finding that the Russian army was going off, crossed the river in force and furiously attacked their rear-guard, and tried to penetrate between it and the main body of the army, but Prince Eugene's division was sent back to assist General Korf, who commanded there. In the meantime two columns of the French moved along the main road to Moscow with the evident intention of heading the Russian army at Loubino, the point where the cross road by which they were travelling came into it. This they might have accomplished owing to the much shorter distance they had to travel and the delays caused by the difficulty of getting the guns over the hills, but a small Russian corps under Touchkoff had been sent forward to cover that point. Ney had crossed the river early by two bridges he had thrown over it, and Touchkoff, as he saw this force pressing along the main road, took up a position where he covered Loubino, and for some hours repulsed all the efforts of the French to pass.

At three o'clock the pressure upon Touchkoff became so severe that several regiments from Barclay's column, which was passing safely along while he kept the road open for them, were sent to his assistance, and the fight continued. Napoleon believed that the whole Russian force had taken post at Loubino, and sent forward reinforcements to Ney. The woods were so thick that it was some time before these reached him, the guns of one of the columns being obliged to go a mile and a half through a wood before they could turn, so dense was the growth of the trees. Ney now pressed forward with such vigour that Touchkoff was driven from his position in advance, upon the village itself, where he was again reinforced by four infantry battalions, two regiments of cavalry, and heavy guns. Murat with his cavalry endeavoured to turn the Russian left, but the two Russian cavalry regiments, supported by their artillery, maintained their ground. Soon after five o'clock the French had received such large reinforcements that the Russians were forced to give way, and were in full retreat when Barclay himself arrived upon the scene, and rallied them. The battle was renewed, and the last effort of the French was repulsed by a charge with the bayonet by the Russian grenadiers.

In the charge, however, General Touchkoff, by whose valour the Russian army had been saved, was carried too far in advance of his men, and was taken prisoner. It was not until midnight that the rear of Barclay's column emerged from the cross road, in which it had been involved for twenty-four hours. In this fight the French and Russians lost about 6000 men each. Had Junot joined Ney in the attack on Touchkoff's force the greater part of the Russian army must have been destroyed or made prisoners.

The Russian army now pursued its march towards Moscow unmolested save by some attacks by Murat's cavalry. Ney's corps d'armée had borne the brunt of the fighting at Loubino, and had been diminished in strength by another 4000 men. In this battle, however, Julian's regiment, having suffered so heavily in the attack at Smolensk, was one of those held in reserve. Napoleon was greatly disappointed at the escape of the Russian army from his grasp. Only 30,000 Russians had been engaged both in the action in their rear and in that at Loubino, while the whole of the French army round Smolensk, with the exception of the corps of Junot, had in vain endeavoured to break through the defence and to fall upon the main body of the army so helplessly struggling along the road.

In the attack on Smolensk 12,000 of Napoleon's best soldiers had fallen. Loubino cost him 6000 more, and although these numbers were but small in proportion to the total strength of his army, they were exclusively those of French soldiers belonging to the divisions in which he placed his main trust. It was now a question with him whether he should establish himself for the winter in the country he occupied, accumulate stores, make Smolensk a great depôt that would serve as a base for his advance in the spring, or move on at once against Moscow. On this point he held a council with his marshals. The opinion of these was generally favourable to the former course. The desperate fighting of the three previous days had opened their eyes to the fact that even so great a force as that led by Napoleon could not afford to despise the Russians. The country that was at present occupied was rich. There were so many towns that the army could go into comfortable quarters for the winter, and their communications with the frontier were open and safe. It was unquestionably the safer and more prudent course.

With these conclusions Napoleon agreed in theory. It had originally been his intention to winter in the provinces that he had now overrun, and to march against St. Petersburg or Moscow in the spring. He had, however, other matters besides those of military expediency to consider. In the first place, the Poles were exasperated at his refusal to re-establish at once their ancient kingdom, a refusal necessitated by the fact that he could not do so without taking from Austria and Prussia, his allies, the Polish districts that had fallen to their share. Then, too, the Poles felt the terrible pressure of supporting the army still in Poland, and of contributing to the vast expenses of the war, and were the campaign to continue long their attitude might change to one of open hostility. In the next place, the conclusion of peace, brought about by the efforts of England, between both Sweden and Turkey with Russia, would enable the latter to bring up the whole of the forces that had been engaged in the south with the Turks, and in the north watching the Swedish frontier, and would give time for the new levies to be converted into good soldiers and placed in the field.

Then, too, matters were going on badly in Spain. He could place but little dependence upon Austria, Prussia, or Germany. Were he absent another year from France he might find these countries leagued against him. Therefore, although recognizing the justice of the arguments of his marshals, he decided upon pushing on to Moscow, and establishing himself there for the winter. He did not even yet recognize the stubbornness and constancy of the Russian character, and believed that the spectacle of their ancient capital in his hands would induce them at once to treat for peace. The decision was welcome to the army. The general wish of the soldiers was to get the matter over, and to be off home again. The obstinacy with which the Russians fought, the rapidity with which they marched, the intense animosity that had been excited among the peasants by the cruel treatment to which they had been exposed, the recklessness with which they threw away their lives so that they could but take vengeance for their sufferings, the ferocity with which every straggler or small detachment that fell into their hands was massacred—all these things combined to excite a feeling of gloom and anxiety among the soldiers.

There were no merry songs round the bivouac fires now; even the thought of the plunder of Moscow failed to raise their spirits. The loss of so many tried comrades was greatly felt in Ney's division. It had at first numbered over 40,000, and the losses in battle and from sickness had already reduced it by more than a fourth. Even the veterans lost their usual impassive attitude of contentment with the existing state of things.

"What I don't like," growled one of the old sergeants, "is that there is not a soul in the villages, not a solitary man in the fields. It is not natural. One gets the same sort of feeling one has when a thunderstorm is just going to burst overhead. When it has begun you don't mind it, but while you are waiting for the first flash, the first clap of thunder, you get a sort of creepy feeling. That is just what the sight of all this deserted country makes me feel. I have campaigned all over Europe, but I never saw anything like this."

A growl of assent passed round the circle, and there was a general repetition of the words, "It is not natural, comrade. Even in Spain," one said, "where they hate us like poison, the people don't leave their villages like this. The young men may go, but the old men and the women and children remain, and the priest is sure to stop. Here there is not so much as a fowl to be seen in the streets. The whole population is gone—man, woman, and child."

"It makes one feel," another said gloomily, "as if we were accursed, infected with the plague, or something of that sort."

"Well, don't let us talk about it," another said with an effort at cheerfulness. "There is Jules, he is the merriest fellow in our company. Come here, Jules. We are all grumbling. What do you think of things?"

"I don't think much about them one way or the other," Julian said as he came up. "We have not a great deal further to go to Moscow, and the sooner we get there the better. Then we shall have the satisfaction of seeing some people."

"Yes, Jules, that is what is vexing us, that everyone runs away at our approach."

"And no fools either," Julian replied, "considering the villainous way in which they have been harried. Even peasants have some feeling, and when they are treated like wild beasts they will turn. It seems to me that instead of ill-treating them we ought, with such a march as this before us, to have done everything in our power to show them that, although we were going to fight any armies that opposed us, we had no ill-feeling against the people at large. If they had found us ready to pay for everything we wanted, and to treat them as well as if they had been our own country people, there would have been no running away from us. Then, as we advanced we could have purchased an abundant supply of food everywhere. We should have had no fear as to our communications, and might have wandered a hundred yards outside our sentries without the risk of having our throats cut. However, it is of no use going over these arguments again. The thing has been done and cannot be undone, and we have but to accept the consequences, and make the best of them. A man who burns a wood mustn't complain a month afterwards because he has no fuel. However, I hope that in another day or two we shall be moving on. As long as we are going there is no time to feel it dull; it is the halt, after being so long in motion, that gives us time to talk, and puts fancies into our heads. We did not expect a pleasure excursion when we started."

CHAPTER XI

WITH THE RUSSIAN ARMY

When Frank arrived at Canterbury he found things in confusion, and received the news that two troops had orders to march the next morning for Portsmouth, where they were to embark for Spain.

"Why, the major said he would write!" he exclaimed. "His letter must have missed me somehow. I shall have enough to do to get ready to-night."

"You are not going, Wyatt," Wilmington, who was his informant, said. "The order expressly stated that Cornet Wyatt was not to accompany his troop, as his services were required in another direction, and that another officer was to take his place, and I am going with your troop. Lister has been grumbling desperately. What on earth can they want you for? However, there is a batch of letters for you in the ante-room, and I daresay you will learn something about it from them."

Frank ran in. There were two letters. One was an official document; the direction of the other was in Sir Robert Wilson's handwriting. He opened this first.

"My dear Wyatt, your letter inclosing Strelinski's certificate came in the nick of time. I had already made an application that you should be attached to me for service, on the ground that you belonged to my old regiment, and knew something of Russian; but your age and short service were against you, and I doubt whether I should have succeeded, as the post is considered an important one. However, when I went and showed them the Pole's report as to your knowledge of Russian, and pointed out that this was a far more important matter in the present case than any question of age or service, the commander-in-chief at once agreed, and you will no doubt receive an intimation that you are appointed my aide-de-camp. I have been made a brigadier-general. It is not as yet settled when we shall start. I have only just received my official appointment, and there is no saying when I may get my final instructions; for it is to a certain extent a political affair, and this sort of thing always drags on for a long time before it comes to a head. It is lucky that your matter is arranged now, for I hear at the Horse-guards that your troop is ordered out to Spain. No doubt, just at the moment, you will be sorry that you are not going with it, but I can assure you that this business will be vastly more useful to you in your profession, than anything you would be likely to meet with as a cavalry subaltern in Spain."

For a moment, indeed, Frank did regret that he was not going to accompany his troop. He was so sure, however, that Sir Robert Wilson was acting for the best that he put aside this feeling. The official letter was a simple notification that he was appointed aide-de-camp to General Sir Robert Wilson, but that he was to remain at the depôt and continue his ordinary duties until a further intimation reached him. The excitement of departure had, Frank was glad to find, quite thrown that caused by his duel into the background. All the officers who were to go were busy with their preparations, and Frank was occupied until a late hour that night in assisting them in packing not only the baggage that was to be taken, but the heavy cases that were to be stored away until their return. Many were the regrets expressed by the officers who were going out that Frank was not to accompany them, and much curiosity expressed as to the reason for which he was kept behind. He felt that, although Sir Robert Wilson had not specially enjoined silence, it would be undesirable that any information as to the probability of his proceeding to Russia should be given. He therefore said:

"I only know that Sir Robert Wilson, who was a great friend of my father's, and who obtained my commission for me, is going to have a command somewhere, and has asked for me as one of his aides-de-camp on the ground of his friendship for my father, and his former connection with our regiment."

"Well, then, very likely we shall see you out there before long, Wyatt," Captain Lister said. "Of course, it is a compliment to the regiment, but I daresay you feel it as a nuisance at present."

"I should like to be going with you all, Lister; but I suppose this is best for me in the long run."

"Of course it is. It is always a good thing for a fellow to serve on the staff. You have ten times as good a chance of getting mentioned in the despatches, as have the men who do all the fighting. Still, I have no doubt you will deserve any credit you may get, which is more than is the case nine times out of ten."

"How is Marshall getting on?"

"He is going on all right. He has sent in his papers, and I suppose he will be gazetted out by the time he is able to travel. I can assure you that there was quite as much satisfaction in the Lancers at the turn the affair took as there was with us."

"Does the major go with you, Lister?"

"No; he remains in command of the depôt for the present. Of course, he will go out if a vacancy occurs above him; but in any case he will go with the next draft, and the next two troops will be wound up to service pitch in another couple of months, so I expect by the spring he will be out there. I should not have minded if we too had waited until then, for of course the army have gone into its winter quarters, and there will be nothing doing for the next three or four months; and I take it we should be a good deal more comfortable here, than posted in some wretched little Spanish town till operations commence again. No doubt you will be out there long before the first shot is fired."

Another three months passed, and on the 28th of March, 1812, Frank received an official order to join Sir Robert Wilson at once, and a letter from the general, informing him that they were to sail on the 8th of April. The letter was written in haste, and gave no intimation whatever as to their destination. During this three months Frank had worked almost incessantly at Russian. He had informed the major in confidence that he believed Sir Robert Wilson was going as British Commissioner to the Russian army when the war broke out with France.

"Ah! that accounts for your working so hard at Russian, Wyatt," the major said in reply. "I suppose you had received a hint from Sir Robert."

"Yes, Major. He told me that as he had been commissioner with the Russians in their last war, it was probable that, if the rumours that Napoleon intended to invade Russia proved correct, he might be appointed again, and said that if I could get up enough of the language to speak it pretty fluently, he would apply for me."

"Well, you deserve it, Wyatt; for there is no doubt that you have worked hard indeed; and it will be a capital thing for you. Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes, sir. I thought, perhaps, that when you knew what I am going to do, you would relieve me of some of the ordinary drills, as I should like to spend as much time as possible before I go, in getting up Russian."

"Certainty," the major said. "After the official information that you were not to proceed with the draft, as you would be required for special service, I have a right to consider you as a supernumerary here, and will relieve you of all ordinary drills and parades. You must, of course, take your turn as officer of the day, and if there are any special parades ordered, or any field days with the Lancers, you will attend, but otherwise you will be free of all duty. The two next troops to go have their full complement of officers, so that really you are not wanted."

As soon as Frank received Sir Robert Wilson's letter he went to Strelinski.

"It has come," he said. "I have to go up to town tomorrow, as I embark on the 8th. I am awfully sorry that our lessons have come to an end. However, they have lasted over the year that we talked of at first."

"I am sorry too, Mr. Wyatt; though really I feel that in no case need you have continued your studies any longer. The last three months has made a great difference, for you have been talking Russian some eight or ten hours a day, and are now sufficiently acquainted with the language for any purpose whatever, except perhaps writing a book in it. If I had not known that you might leave at any time, I should myself have told you that I considered there was no advantage to be gained by your going on with me any longer. I shall, of course, go up to London with you to-morrow."

"I am sorry for your sake, as well as my own, that our lessons are over, Strelinski."

"It cannot be helped," the Pole replied. "It has been a God-send to me. When I first met you, I was well-nigh hopeless. Now I shall begin the battle again with fresh courage. I have saved enough money to keep me, with care, for many months, and doubtless your recommendation that you have learned Russian from me, will make matters more easy for me than they were before."

On arriving in town Frank went at once to Sir Robert Wilson's lodging. He found the general in, and after the first greetings, learned from him that they were to accompany the newly-appointed ambassador to Constantinople. "Our object there," Sir Robert said, "is to arrange, if possible, a peace between Russia and Turkey. There is no doubt whatever that Napoleon intends war. It is not declared yet, but it is absolutely certain, and it is of vital importance that Russia should have her hands free in other directions. As soon as this is arranged,—and I have no doubt that it will be managed, for it is so necessary to Russia that she will grant any terms, in reason, that Turkey can ask,—I am to journey north and join the headquarters of the Russian army."

This was delightful news to Frank. European travel in those days was rare, and to have the opportunity of visiting Constantinople, as well as being present at the tremendous encounter about to take place, was an unexpected pleasure indeed.

"There is one thing I want to speak to you about, Sir Robert," he said presently. "It is about Strelinski. I have been thinking that perhaps, as war is about to break out between Russia and France, you might be kind enough to get a post for him as interpreter at the War Office or Foreign Office."

"I have already thought of that," the general said. "You wrote so highly of him in your letters, that I felt I could thoroughly recommend him, and I spoke about it only the day before yesterday to the Marquis of Wellesley, and he said at once that they should be glad to have such a man, as it would enable me to send over official documents and other Russian statements without the trouble and loss of time in translating them, and as the man is from Russian Poland, he could give information concerning the country and the roads and other matters that would help them to understand what is going on, especially as, until my arrival there, they will have to depend upon Russian documents sent over by our ambassador at St. Petersburg. Tell him to be here at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning, and be here yourself in uniform. I have an appointment with Lord Wellesley at half-past."

Frank had put up at the hotel where the coach stopped, and had invited Strelinski to stay there with him until he started; and on his return he delighted the Pole by telling him that there was some chance of Sir Robert Wilson obtaining for him an appointment as interpreter. The next day Frank and Strelinski accompanied Sir Robert Wilson to the War Office. They remained in the ante-chamber while the general went in to Lord Wellesley's apartments. In half an hour an officer came out and called Frank in.

"Sir Robert Wilson has spoken very warmly in your favour, Mr. Wyatt," Lord Wellesley said, holding out his hand, as Sir Robert introduced him, "and his report is confirmed by your commanding officer, Major Tritton, who gives an excellent account of you. But you must not deprive His Majesty's army of the services of any more of its officers, Mr. Wyatt. Of course I received full details of that affair, and I am bound to say that it seems you behaved admirably, and you must be a wonderful shot. You don't look like a fire-eater either. It is a bad practice, Mr. Wyatt, a very bad practice. Well, well," he broke off, seeing a slight smile on Sir Robert's lips, "I suppose I have no right to say anything about it, having been an offender myself. However, from what I have learned, if ever a duel was justified, yours was. Well, sir, I hope that your future career will correspond with the reports that I have received of your past conduct. You are very fortunate in having been chosen for so important a service as that upon which you are now embarking, and I need hardly say that it will be of great value to you in your profession."

Frank expressed his thanks, and then retired. Strelinski was then called in, and in a few minutes returned radiant.

"What do I not owe to you," he said, "to you and General Wilson? I have been appointed interpreter on a salary of two hundred a year. Think of it! my fortune is made."

"I congratulate you indeed," Frank replied warmly. "I did not like to raise your hopes too high, but I felt sure, by what Sir Robert said, that it was as good as settled. I am almost as pleased as you are, for I should have been awfully sorry to go away, without knowing that you were comfortably settled here."

"What are you going to do, Wyatt, till you start?" General Wilson asked, as they left the War Office.

"It depends whether I can be useful here; if so, I am of course ready to do anything, but if you will not in any way want me, I shall start this evening by the coach for Weymouth, and join you at Portsmouth. I will send my baggage off at once by waggon."

"Do so by all means, Wyatt. Direct it 'Care of General Wilson, His Majesty's ship Argo.' You had better be there on the afternoon of the 7th, and go on board at once. We shall be down that evening, and shall sleep at the George, and go on board the first thing in the morning."

Frank found his aunt in good health. He stayed there three days, and then posted to Portsmouth, getting there early on the morning of the 7th. The Argo was lying at Spithead. Taking a wherry he went out to her at once. He found that all was in readiness, and that a small cabin had been assigned to him next to that of Sir Robert Wilson. His trunk was already there, and leaving his small portmanteau in his cabin, he went ashore and took up his quarters at the George. The ambassador, his secretary, and General Wilson arrived together in a post-chaise in the evening, and at eight o'clock next morning they all went on board.

The voyage was long and tedious, but Frank was very glad of a stay for two or three days at Gibraltar, and as long at Malta.

The Argo arrived at Constantinople at the end of June, and they found that the treaty of peace between Turkey and Russia had been already arranged. A month was spent in vexatious delays, which were the more irritating as it was known that Napoleon had arrived at the frontier, and was on the point of crossing the Niemen, if he had not already done so. At last the British ambassador succeeded in overcoming the inertness of the Porte; on the 14th of July the treaty was finally ratified, and on the 27th Sir Robert Wilson was sent by our ambassador to Shumla to arrange details with the Grand Vizier. Thence he went to the Congress at Bucharest, which was the headquarters of the Russian Admiral, Tchichagow, who commanded their army of the Danube.

After having finally arranged these matters, he started north with Frank, furnished with an order to postmasters on the road to supply them instantly with relays of horses. Travelling night and day without a stop, they arrived at Smolensk on the day before the French attacked the place. Sir Robert had expected to find the Emperor here, but learnt that he was still at St. Petersburg. Being personally acquainted with all the Russian generals he was received with the greatest courtesy, and at once placed himself at the disposal of the commander-in-chief, while Frank was introduced to the members of the staff.

Sir Robert Wilson found that a very grave state of things was prevailing. The generals were in open dissension with Barclay for having suffered the enemy to overrun so many provinces, and for not making any dispositions to defend the line of the Dnieper.

Next morning the Englishmen were awakened by a roar of musketry. They had been furnished with horses, and, dressing hastily, mounted, and joined the commander-in-chief's staff, which was taking up its position on the hill, whence a general view could be obtained of what was passing on the other side of the river. An aide-de-camp was on the point of starting as they rode up to ascertain the exact position of things in the town, and Sir Robert ordered Frank to accompany him. Frank had been introduced to the aide-de-camp on the previous day, and as they dashed down towards the bridge, he said:

"The fighting seems very heavy."

"It will be heavier before they take Smolensk," the Russian said. "There are 20,000 men in the town, and reinforcements can be sent across as required. At present the fighting is in the suburbs, but they won't drive us out of them as quickly as they expect."

After crossing the bridge they made their way to the headquarters of General Doctorow, and were at once shown in. The Russian saluted: "The commander-in-chief sends his compliments to you, general, and wishes to know how things are going on, and whether you need reinforcements. He desires that you should send messengers every ten minutes acquainting him with the progress of affairs."

"All goes well at present. The troops are everywhere doing their duty. As yet we need no reinforcements. They are making but little way in any of the suburbs, but of course their attack is not yet fully developed."

"Allow me to introduce to your Excellency this British officer, Mr. Wyatt, aide-de-camp to General Wilson, who arrived in our camp yesterday afternoon as British commissioner."

"You have come at an opportune moment, sir, to see fighting. If you had come sooner you would have seen nothing but running away. If you would like to make a tour of the walls to see what is going on, an officer shall accompany you."

Frank accepted the invitation with thanks. He had nothing at present to report more than the aide-de-camp would take back, and he knew that Sir Robert would be glad of further particulars. He therefore asked him to tell Sir Robert why he had stayed, and at once proceeded to the walls, accompanied by an officer of Doctorow's staff. From there, little could be seen of the fighting. The musketry fire, indeed, had almost ceased, and the French could be seen retiring up the hill, where dense masses of troops were drawn up. Returning to the general's quarters he mounted and rode back to the commander-in-chief's staff.

"The affair has scarcely begun yet," he said to Sir Robert, "but the whole of the French army is drawn up in line of battle, and, I should say, is about to assault the town in full force."

For some hours there was a lull, but about mid-day heavy masses of troops were seen descending from the French positions, and as they approached the suburbs a roar of musketry broke out. Twice in the course of the next two hours Frank was sent down into the town. He reported that, although resisting with the greatest obstinacy, the Russians were being driven out of the suburbs. Just as he returned the second time, Sir Robert Wilson, who was examining the enemy's position with a telescope, observed that ten batteries of artillery were making their way up the steep hill on the other side of the river. He at once reported this to the general, adding: "They will very speedily knock the bridges into pieces and isolate the garrison altogether. But I think, sir," he added, "if you place some batteries on the hill on this side, you will take them in flank. The two hills are both about the same height, and they will be completely exposed to your fire."

"Very well," General Barclay replied, "I will order eight batteries up there at once, and you will oblige me if you will accompany them and indicate the best position for them to take up. Colonel Stellitz, you will at once carry the order to the artillery, and request the officer in command of the batteries to post them as General Wilson may advise."

Sir Robert and the colonel, followed by Frank, at once rode off. Just as they reached the artillery, the French battery opened fire. Exclamations of rage burst from the soldiers as the shot splashed into the water round the bridges and the shell burst over them. The general in command of the artillery, on receiving the order, directed eight batteries to follow General Wilson. At a gallop they dashed up the hill, and in ten minutes had unlimbered and opened fire upon the French. The effect was visible at once. Much confusion was observed among the artillery-men, and in a short time several of the guns were dismounted, and four or five powder waggons blown up. Then a loud cheer burst from the Russian artillery-men as they saw the French bring up the horses from behind the shelter of the crest, limber-up and drive off with the guns. But from other points of vantage 150 guns were now pouring their fire into the town, and, as the flames broke out from several quarters, exclamations of grief and fury were heard from the Russian soldiers.

Smolensk was, like Moscow, considered a sacred city, and the soldiers were affected rather by the impiety of the act than by the actual destruction that was being wrought. As General Wilson and Frank rode back to the spot where General Barclay was stationed, a mass of Russian infantry moved down the hill towards the bridges, and at once began to cross.

"Whose division is that?" Sir Robert asked an officer as they joined the staff.

"It is Prince Eugene's," he replied. "They are pressing us hard now, having driven Doctorow's men out of the covered way, and are massing for an assault on one of the gates."

The fire continued unabated until seven o'clock. Then a messenger came across with the news that the French were drawing off, and that the covered way was being reoccupied. General Wilson was warmly thanked by the Russian commander-in-chief for having silenced the batteries that had threatened the bridges. That evening, when he issued the order for the evacuation of Smolensk, the disaffection with Barclay de Tolly broke out with renewed force, and during the night a body of generals came to Sir Robert Wilson's tent. He was at the time occupied in dictating a despatch to Frank, whom he requested to retire directly he saw the rank of his visitors. As soon as they were alone they said that it had been resolved to send to the Emperor not only the request of the army for a new chief, but a declaration in their own name and that of the troops "that if any order came from St. Petersburg, to suspend hostilities and greet the invaders as friends"—for it had all along been believed that the retrograde movements were the result of the advice of the minister, Count Romanzow—"such an order would be regarded as one that did not express his Imperial Majesty's real sentiments and wishes, but had been extracted from his Majesty under false representations or external control, and that the army would continue to maintain its pledge and to pursue the contest till the invader was driven beyond the frontier."

"We are here, General Wilson," one of the generals said, "to beg you to undertake the delivery of this message to the Emperor. It would mean death to any Russian officer who undertook the commission, but, knowing your attachment to the Emperor, and his equally well-known feelings towards yourself, no person is so well qualified to lay the expression of our sentiments before him. Your motives in doing so cannot be suspected; coming from you, the Emperor's self-respect would not suffer in the same way as it would do, were the message conveyed to him by one of his own subjects."

One after another the generals urged the request.

Sir Robert listened to their arguments, and then said: "This is altogether too grave a matter for me to decide upon hastily. I know thoroughly well that there is no thought of disloyalty in the mind of any of you towards the will of the Emperor, but the act is one of the gravest insubordination, and it is indeed a threat that you will disobey his Majesty's commands in the event of his ordering a suspension of hostilities. As to the conduct of the commander-in-chief, I am not competent to express any opinion whatever, but as a soldier I can understand that this long-continued retreat and the abandonment of so many provinces to the enemy, without striking a single blow in their defence, is trying in the extreme, both to yourselves and your brave soldiers. I shall not leave the army until I see it fairly on the march again, but before I start I will give you my reply."

The generals thanked Sir Robert warmly, and then withdrew.

"I shall write no more to-night, Wyatt," the general said when Frank entered the tent. "I have other grave matters to think about. You had best lie down at once, and get a few hours' sleep. To-morrow is likely to be an eventful day, for the operation of withdrawing the army from this position and getting on to the main road again will be full of peril, and may indeed end in a terrible disaster."

As soon as the Russian army had repulsed the attacks of the French and resumed its march towards Moscow, Sir Robert Wilson left it and proceeded to St. Petersburg, where he had promised the Russian generals to inform the Czar of the opinion and disposition of the army, their dissatisfaction with the general, and their determination to continue the combat and to refuse to recognize any negotiations or armistice that might be made with the enemy.

"I shall leave you here, Wyatt," the General said, on the morning after the desperate defence of Loubino had saved the army. "There is little chance of the French pressing the Russians any further. I think it probable that they may go into winter quarters where they now are; but in any case they cannot hope to outmarch us, and, if they follow, the battle will be in the position the Russians may choose. Even were there more fighting imminent, I should still start to-day for St. Petersburg; I only came round by Smolensk, as you know, because I thought that the Emperor would be found there. My first duty is to see him, and to report to him the arrangements that have been made on the Danube with the Grand Vizier and his people, by which the whole of the Russian army there will be able to join in the defence against the French. As soon as I have done so and explained to his Majesty the position here, I shall rejoin; and I hope the Czar will also be coming down here, for his presence would be most useful—not in the military way, for no men in the world could fight better than the Russians are doing,—but the army fears, above all things, that peace will be made before it has an opportunity of wiping out, what it considers its disgrace, in allowing the French to overrun so many rich provinces without striking a blow.

"In point of fact, the defence of Smolensk, and the way in which some 20,000 men yesterday withstood for hours the assault of three or four times their number, would be sufficient to prove to the world their fighting qualities. In my own mind, I consider that Barclay has acted wisely in declining to hazard the whole fortune of the war upon a single battle against an enemy which, from the first, has outnumbered him nearly threefold, but he should never have taken up his position on the frontier if he did not mean to defend it. Any other army than this would have become a disorganized rabble long ago. There is nothing so trying to troops as to march for weeks hotly chased by an enemy. Three times in the Peninsula we have seen what a British army becomes under far less trying circumstances. If the Russians did but know it, this retreat of theirs, and the admirable manner in which they have maintained their discipline, is as creditable as winning a great victory would be; still one can understand that the sight of this flying population, the deserted fields, this surrender of provinces to an enemy, is mortifying in the highest degree to their pride.

"Nevertheless, Barclay's policy, though I think it has been carried a great deal too far—for with troops who will fight as ours did yesterday he might have fought a dozen battles like that of Loubino, and would have compelled the French to advance slowly instead of in hot pursuit—has been justified to a great extent. From all I hear, the invading army has already suffered very great losses from fever and hardship, the effect of the weather, and from the number of stragglers who have been cut off and killed by the peasantry. Their transport has especially suffered, vast numbers of their horses having died; and in a campaign like this, transport is everything. In the various fights that have taken place since they entered Russia, they have probably suffered a heavier loss than the Russians, as the latter have always fought on the defensive; and the French loss has fallen on Napoleon's best troops, while the Russian army is all equally good.

"Lastly, although the Russians are discontented at their continued retreat, their morale does not seem to have suffered in any way, and it is probable that the long marches, the inability to bring on a general engagement, the distance from home, and the uncertainty about the future has told heavily upon that of the French, who are vastly more susceptible to matters of this kind than are the Russians. You will remain with the headquarter staff, and I wish you, while I am away, to obtain accurate details of the movements of the various columns, and to write a full report every evening of the march and of all matters of interest. I do not want you to forward these to me, but to keep them for future reference. I hope to rejoin before any further fighting takes place."

Sir Robert reached St. Petersburg on the 24th of August, but it was not until ten days later that he saw the Emperor, who had gone with Lord Cathcart, the British Ambassador, to meet the King of Sweden, and to conclude the negotiations that secured his co-operation. The information that General Wilson had brought of the admirable behaviour of the army did much to allay the alarm that prevailed in St. Petersburg; and, after dining with the Emperor on the evening of the arrival of the latter at his capital, he had a long private interview with him. The Emperor had already been made acquainted with the dissatisfaction in the army, and Marshal Kutusow had been sent to replace General Barclay, and he asked Sir Robert whether he thought the new commander would be able to restore subordination and confidence in the army. Sir Robert replied that he had met the marshal, and had informed him of the exact state of things there: that the latter had conjured him to acquaint the Emperor with the fullest details, and in accordance with that request, and in order to prevent his Majesty having the pain of hearing it from the lips of one of his own subjects—who perhaps would be less able to convince him of the intense feeling of loyalty to himself that still prevailed—he had consented to be the mouthpiece of the generals of the army. He then reported to him the interviews that he had had with the general officers, suppressing the names of those present, and the message they had desired him to deliver.

The Emperor was greatly moved. However, the manner in which the general fulfilled the mission with which he was charged, and his assurances that the act of seeming insubordination and defiance of the imperial authority was in no way directed against him, but against his advisers, whom they believed to be acting in the interests of Napoleon, had their effect, and the Emperor promised to give the matter every consideration, and to answer him definitely on the following day. At the next meeting he gave Sir Robert his authority to assure the army of his determination to continue the war against Napoleon while a Frenchman remained in arms on Russian soil, and that, if the worst came to the worst, he would remove his family far into the interior, and make any sacrifice rather than break that engagement. At the same time, while he could not submit to dictation in the matter of his ministers, he could assure them that these should in no way influence him to break this promise.

During Sir Robert's stay in St. Petersburg the Emperor took every occasion to show him marked favour, as if anxious to assure those whose views Sir Robert had represented, that he was in no way displeased with them for the attitude they had assumed; and upon his leaving to rejoin the army the Emperor directed him to repeat in the most formal manner his declaration that he would not enter into or permit any negotiations with Napoleon; and added that he would sooner let his beard grow to his waist, and eat potatoes in Siberia.

Frank had been active during the battle of Loubino. Sir Robert Wilson had taken up his post with Touchkoff during the action which was so desperately fought to cover the retreat of the main army, and Frank had acted as aide-de-camp, and, having carried orders to various parts of the field, had excellent opportunities of seeing the whole of the battle; and the Russian general in making his report of the engagement had mentioned his name among those who had rendered distinguished services. His horse had been shot under him, his cap had been carried away by a bullet, and he had received a slight flesh wound in his leg. Although this was of small consequence, it had caused the insertion of his name among those of the officers wounded in the battle. He was to see no more fighting for a time; for, although the army of Wittgenstein fought two or three severe actions with the divisions of St. Cyr and Oudinot, the main army fell back without again fighting until it took up the position that Marshal Kutusow had selected for giving battle.

CHAPTER XII

BORODINO

Barbarously as the French army behaved on its advance to Smolensk, things were even worse as they left the ruined town behind them and resumed their journey towards Moscow. It seemed that the hatred with which they were regarded by the Russian peasantry was now even more than reciprocated. The destruction they committed was wanton and wholesale; the villages, and even the towns, were burnt down, and the whole country made desolate. It was nothing to them that by so doing they added enormously to the difficulties of their own commissariat; nothing that they were destroying the places where they might otherwise have found shelter on their return. They seemed to destroy simply for the sake of destruction, and to be animated by a burning feeling of hatred for the country they had invaded.

Since the days of the thirty years' war in Germany, never had war been carried on in Europe so mercilessly and so destructively. As he saw the ruined homes or passed the bodies of peasants wantonly shot down, Julian Wyatt regretted bitterly that he had not been content to remain a prisoner at Verdun. Battles he had expected; but this destruction of property, this warring upon peaceful inhabitants, filled him with horror; his high spirits left him, and he no longer laughed and jested on the march, but kept on the way in the same gloomy silence that reigned among the greater part of his companions. When half way to Moscow a fresh cause of uneasiness manifested itself. The Russians no longer left their towns and villages for the French to plunder and burn, but, as they retreated, themselves applied fire to all the houses, with a thoroughness and method which showed that this was not the work of stragglers or camp-followers, but that it was the result of a settled plan. At last news came that the Russians had resolved to fight a pitched battle at Borodino, and the spirits of the army at once rose.

Napoleon halted them for two days, in order that they might rest and receive provisions from the baggage trains following. On the 4th of September they marched forward as before, in three columns, preceded by Murat's cavalry, which brushed aside the hordes of Cossack horse. Half-way to Gratz, a Russian division stoutly held for some time a height up which the road wound, but after some sharp fighting was forced to retreat.

The Russian position at Borodino was a strong one. The right was covered by the rivulet of Kolocza, which was everywhere fordable, but ran through a deep ravine. Borodino, a village on the banks of this rivulet, formed their centre, and their left was posted upon steeply rising ground, almost at right angles with their right. Borodino itself—which lay on the northern side of the Kolocza—was not intended to be held in force. The rivulet fell into the river Moskwa half a mile beyond Borodino. Field-works had been thrown up at several points, and near the centre were two strong redoubts commanding Borodino and the high-road. Other strong works had been erected at important points.

PLAN OF THE BATTLE OF BORODINO.

Considerably in advance of the general line of the position a strong work had been erected; this it was necessary to take before the main position could be attacked, and at two in the afternoon of the 5th, Napoleon directed an assault to be made upon this redoubt. It was obstinately held by the Russians. They were several times driven out, but, as often, reinforcements came up, and it was captured by them; and finally, after holding it until nightfall, they fell back to their main position, the loss having been heavy on both sides. The next day was spent by Napoleon in reconnoitring the Russian position and deciding the plan of attack. Finally he determined to make a strong demonstration against the village of Borodino, and, under cover of this, to launch his whole army upon the Russian left wing. On the morning of the 7th, Napoleon posted himself on an eminence near the village of Chewardino. Near the spot, earthworks were thrown up during the night for the protection of three batteries, each of twenty-four guns. Davoust and Ney were to make a direct attack on the enemy's left. Poniatowski was to endeavour to march through the woods and gain the rear of the Russian position. The rest of the force were to keep the Russian centre and right in check. The Imperial Guard formed the reserve.

On the Russian side Bagration's army formed the left, Beningsen's the centre, and Barclay's the right. The French force numbered about 150,000, the Russian from 80,000 to 90,000. The French had a thousand guns, the Russians 640. At six in the morning of the 7th of September the French batteries opened fire along the whole line, and the Russians at once replied. The roar of artillery was incessant, and ere long the rattle of musketry swelled the din, as Davoust launched the division of Desaix, and Ney that of Campans, against three small redoubts in front of the Russian position. Impetuous as was the assault, the Russians received it with unflinching courage; two of the Russian generals were wounded, but the assault was repulsed. Ney moved up another division, and after severe fighting the redoubts were carried. They were held, however, but a short time, for Woronzow led forward his grenadiers in solid squares, and, supporting the advance by a charge of cavalry, recaptured them, and drove the French back across the ravine in front of them.

There was now a short pause in the attack, but the roar of artillery and musketry continued unbroken. Poniatowski now emerged from the wood, and fell upon the Russian left rear, capturing the village of Outitska. Touchkoff, a brother of the general who had been captured at Loubino, who commanded here, fell back to a height that dominated the village and the ground beyond it, and maintained himself until mid-day. On the French left, where the Viceroy Beauharnois commanded, the advance was stubbornly opposed, and the French artillery was several times silenced by the guns on the eminence. At last, however, the Russians were driven across the rivulet, and the French occupied Borodino. Leaving a division of infantry to protect his rear, the Viceroy crossed the stream and advanced against a great battery in front of the village of Gorki. Davoust and Ney remained motionless until nine o'clock, as Napoleon would not forward the reinforcements they had asked for until he learned that Poniatowski had come into action, and that the Viceroy had crossed the stream and was moving to the attack of the Russian centre. Now, reinforced by the division of Friant, they moved forward.

For an hour the Russians held their advanced works, and then were forced to fall back; and the French, following up their advantage, crossed a ravine and occupied the village of Semianotsky, which had been partially destroyed on the previous day by the Russians, so that if captured it would afford no cover to the French. It was but for a short time that the latter held it. Coming up at the head of his grenadiers, Touchkoff drove them out, recrossed the ravine, and recaptured the advance works they had before so obstinately contested. In turn the French retook the three redoubts; but, again, a Russian division coming up wrested the position from them, and replanted their flag there. Napoleon, seeing that no impression could be made on the Russian left, now sent orders to the Viceroy to carry the great redoubt before Gorki. In spite of the difficulties presented by the broken ground, the three French divisions pressed forward with the greatest gallantry, and, heedless of the storm of grape poured upon them, stormed the redoubt. But its late defenders, reinforced by some battalions from Doctorow's corps, dashed forward to recover the position, and fell with such fury upon the French that the regiment that had entered the redoubt was all but annihilated, and the position regained, while at the same moment two regiments of Russian cavalry fell upon reinforcements pressing forward to aid the defenders, and threw them into disorder.

The Viceroy now opened fire on the redoubt with all his artillery, inflicting such loss upon the defenders that it was soon necessary to relieve them with a fresh division. Ney, finding it impossible to carry and hold the three redoubts in front of him, directed Junot to endeavour to force his way between the main Russian left and Touchkoff's division; but he was met by Prince Eugene's Russian corps, which brought his advance to a standstill. Junot's presence there, however, acted as a support to Poniatowski, who, covered by the fire of forty pieces of cannon, advanced against Touchkoff's division. For a time he gained ground, but the Russian general, bringing up all his troops, assumed the offensive, and, driving Poniatowski back, recovered the lost ground. The brave Russian leader, however, was mortally wounded in the fight. It was now twelve o'clock, and so far the French had gained no advantage. Napoleon felt the necessity for a decisive effort, and concentrating his whole force, and posting 400 guns to cover the advance, sent it forward against the Russian left.

The Russians, perceiving the magnitude of the movement, despatched large reinforcements to the defenders, and at the same time, to effect a diversion, sent the greater portion of their cavalry round to menace the French rear at Borodino. Three hundred Russian guns opposed the four hundred of the French, and amidst the tremendous roar of the guns, the great mass of French infantry hurled themselves upon the Russians. For a time no impression could be made, so sternly and fiercely did the Russians fight, but Bagration, their commander, with several other generals, were badly wounded and forced to retire. Konownitsyn assumed the command, but the loss of the general, in whom they placed implicit confidence, told upon the spirits of his troops, and Konownitsyn was forced to abandon the three redoubts, and to take up a new position behind Semianotsky, where he re-established his batteries and checked the progress of the enemy.

A portion of the French cavalry now made a desperate attempt to break through the Russian left, but two regiments of the Imperial Guard, throwing themselves into squares, maintained their position until five regiments of Russian cuirassiers came up and forced their assailants back. At this critical moment the great mass of Russian cavalry that had been sent round to attack the Viceroy fell upon his rear, drove his cavalry into the village with great loss, and pressed the infantry so hard that the Viceroy himself had to take refuge in one of his squares. Having thus succeeded in distracting the enemy's attention, arresting his tide of battle, and giving time to the Russians to reform and plant their batteries afresh, the Russian cavalry withdrew. The Viceroy recrossed the stream again, and prepared to make another attack upon the great bastion he had before captured, and the whole line again advanced. While the Viceroy attacked the great redoubt in front, Murat sent a division of his cavalry round to fall upon its rear, and, although swept by artillery and infantry fire, the brave horsemen carried out their object, although almost annihilated by the fire of the defenders of the redoubt.

The French infantry took advantage of the attention of the defenders being diverted by this attack, and with a rush stormed the work; the four Russian regiments who held it fought to the last, refusing all offers of quarter, and maintaining a hand-to-hand conflict until annihilated. The Russian artillery, in the works round Gorki, swept the redoubt with their fire, and under its cover the infantry made repeated but vain attacks to recapture it, for their desperate bravery was unavailing against the tremendous artillery fire concentrated upon them, while the French on their part were unable to take advantage of the position they had gained. Napoleon, indeed, would have launched his troops against the works round Gorki, but his generals represented to him that the losses had already been so enormous, that it was doubtful whether he could possibly succeed, and if he did so, it could only be with such further loss as would cripple the army altogether.

At three o'clock Napoleon, whose whole army, with the exception of the Imperial Guard, had been engaged, felt that nothing further could be done that day, and ordered the battle to cease. He had gained the three redoubts on the Russians' left and the great redoubt captured by the Viceroy, but these were really only advanced works, and the main position of the Russians still remained entirely intact. At night the French retired from the positions they had won, to those they had occupied before the battle begun, retaining possession only of the village of Borodino. The loss of the combatants during the two days' fighting had been nearly equal, no less than 40,000 men having been killed on each side, a number exceeding that of any other battle in modern times. Napoleon expected that the Russians would again give battle next morning, but Kutusow, contrary to the opinion of most of his generals, decided on falling back. Beningsen, one of his best officers, strongly urged him to take up a position at Kalouga, some seventy miles to the south of Moscow. The position was a very strong one. Napoleon could not advance against Moscow, which was in a position to offer a long and determined resistance, until he had driven off the Russian army. At Kalouga they could at any moment advance on to his line of communication, cut off all his supplies, and isolate him from France.

The advice was excellent, but Kutusow, who was even more unfitted than Barclay for the post of commander-in-chief, refused to adopt this course, and fell back towards Moscow, followed by the French. The sufferings of the latter had already become severe—the nights were getting very cold, the scarcity of food was considerable, the greater part of the army was already subsisting on horse-flesh, the warm clothing, which was becoming more and more necessary, was far in the rear, their shoes were worn out, and it was only the thought that they would have a long period of rest and comfort in Moscow, that animated them to press forward along the fifty miles of road between Borodino and that city.

Julian had passed through the terrible battle unscathed. It seemed to him, when fighting had ceased for the day, that it was almost miraculous a single man should have survived that storm of fire. While the fight had actually been going on, the excitement and the ardour of battle had rendered him almost insensible to the danger. With the soldiers as with their generals the capture of the three small redoubts became, as the day went on, a matter on which every thought was bent, every energy concentrated; it was no longer a battle between French and Russians, but a struggle in which each man felt that his personal honour was concerned. Each time that, with loud cheering, they stormed the blood-stained works, they felt the pride of victory; each time that, foot by foot, they were again forced backwards, there was rage in every heart and a fierce determination to return and conquer.

In such a struggle as this, when men's passions are once involved, death loses its terror; thickly as comrades may fall around, those who are still erect heed not the gaps, but with eyes fixed on the enemy in front of him, with lips set tightly together, with head bent somewhat down as men who struggle through a storm of rain, each man presses on until a shot strikes him, or he reaches the goal he aims at. At such a time the fire slackens, for each man strives to decide the struggle, with bayonet or clubbed musket. Four times did Julian's regiment climb the side of the ravine in front of the redoubts, four times were they hurled back again with ever-decreasing numbers, and when at last they found themselves, as the fire slackened, masters of the position, the men looked at each other as if waking from some terrible dream, filled with surprise that they were still alive and breathing, and faint and trembling, now that the exertion was over and the tremendous strain relaxed. When they had time to look round, they saw that but one-fourth of those who had, some hours before, advanced to the attack of the redoubt of Chewardino remained. The ground around the little earthworks was piled thickly with dead Frenchmen and Russians, and ploughed up by the iron storm that had for eight hours swept across it. Dismounted guns, ammunition boxes, muskets, and accoutrements were scattered everywhere. Even the veterans of a hundred battles had never witnessed such a scene, had never gone through so prolonged and terrible a struggle. Men were differently affected, some shook a comrade's hand with silent pressure, some stood gazing sternly and fixedly at the lines where the enemy still stood unconquered, and tears fell down many a bronzed and battle-worn face; some sobbed like children, exhausted by their emotions rather than their labours.

The loss of the officers had been prodigious. Eight generals were killed and thirty wounded, and nearly two thousand officers. The colonel and majors of Julian's regiment had fallen, and a captain, who was but sixth on the list when the battle began, now commanded. Between three o'clock and dusk the men were engaged in binding up each other's wounds, eating what food they carried in their haversacks, and searching for more in those of the fallen. Few words were spoken, and even when the order came to evacuate the position and retire to the ground they had left that morning, there was not a murmur; for the time no one seemed to care what happened, or what became of him. Once on the ground where they were to bivouac, fresh life was infused into their veins. The chill evening air braced up their nerves; great fires were lighted with brushwood, broken cartridge-boxes, and the fragments of gun-carriages and waggons; and water was brought up from the stream. Horse-flesh was soon being roasted, and as hunger and thirst were appeased, the buzz of conversation rose round the fires, and the minds as well as the tongues of men seemed to thaw from their torpor.

"Well, comrade, so you too have gone through it without a scratch," Julian's friend, the sergeant, said to him. "Well, you will never see such a fight again if you grow gray in the service. Where are those who scoffed at the Russians now? They can fight, these men. It was a battle of giants. No one could have done more than we did, and yet they did as much; but to-morrow we shall win."

"What! do you think we shall fight again to-morrow?"

"That is for the Russians to say, not for us. If they stand we must fight them again. It is a matter of life and death for us to get to Moscow. We shall win to-morrow, for Napoleon will have to bring up the Imperial Guard, 20,000 of his best troops, and the Russians put their last man into the line of battle to-day, and, never fear, we shall win. But I own I have had enough of it. Never before have I hoped that the enemy in front of us would go off without a battle, but I do so now. We want rest and quiet. When spring comes we will fight them again as often as they like, but until then I for one do not wish to hear a gun fired."

"I am sure I do not, sergeant," Julian agreed; "and I only hope that we shall get peace and quiet when we reach Moscow."

"Oh, the Russians will be sure to send in to ask for terms of peace as soon as we get there," the sergeant said confidently.

"I hope so, but I have great doubts, sergeant. When people are ready to burn their homes rather than that we should occupy them, to desert all that they have and to wander away they know not where, when they will fight as they fought to-day, I have great doubts whether they will talk of surrender. They can bring up fresh troops long before we can. They will have no lack of provisions. Their country is so vast that they know that at most we can hold but a small portion of it. It seems to me that it is not of surrender they will be thinking, but of bringing up fresh troops from every part of their empire, of drilling and organizing and preparing for the next campaign. I cannot help thinking of what would happen to us if they burnt Moscow, as they have burned half a dozen towns already."

"No people ever made such a sacrifice. What, burn the city they consider sacred!—the old capital every Russian thinks of with pride! It never can be, but if they should do so, all I can say is, God help us all. Few of us would ever go back to France."

"So it seems to me, sergeant. I have been thinking of it lately, and after the way in which the Russians came on, careless of life, under the fire of our cannon to-day, I can believe them to be capable of anything."

The next morning it was found that the Russian lines were deserted. So the French army set forward again on its march, and on the morning of the 14th arrived within sight of Moscow. Kutusow had at one time seemed disposed to fight another battle in front of the city, and had given a solemn promise to its governor that he should have three days' notice of any change in his determination, and so allow time for him to carry out his intention to evacuate the town, when the municipal authorities were, methodically and officially, to proceed to destroy the whole city by fire. This promise Kutusow broke without giving any notice whatever. On the 13th, at a council of war, he overruled the objections of his generals, and determined to retreat, his arguments being that the ground was unsuited for defensive operations; that the defeat of the one disciplined army would endanger the final success of the war; and that it was for Russia, not for any one city, they were fighting.

The argument was not without reason; but, if he had resolved not to fight again, he should have accepted the advice to take up a position on Napoleon's flank. Had he done this, the French could have made no advance, and Moscow would have been saved from destruction.

As the army began its passage through the capital the exodus of the inhabitants commenced. Already the wealthier classes had removed their effects, and the merchants the greater part of their goods. Now the whole population poured out into the streets, and thousands of carts and vehicles of all descriptions, packed closely with household furniture, goods, and effects of all kinds, moved towards the gates. Out of 200,000 inhabitants 180,000 left the city, with 65,000 vehicles of every kind. In addition to these were enormous quantities of fugitives from every town and village west of Smolensk, who had hitherto accompanied the army, moving through the fields and lanes, so as to leave the roads unencumbered for the passage of the guns and trains.

Every Russian peasant possesses a roughly-made cart on two or four wheels, and as their belongings were very scanty, these, as a rule, sufficed to hold all their property. The greater portion of the fugitives had passed out of the city at two o'clock in the afternoon, and shortly afterwards Murat with his cavalry passed across the river by a ford and entered the town. A few desperate men left behind opened fire, but were speedily overpowered and killed, but a number of citizens, mad with fury, rushed so furiously upon Murat and his staff, that he was obliged to open fire upon them with a couple of light guns.

At three o'clock Napoleon arrived with his guards, expecting to be met on his arrival by the authorities of the city with assurances of their submission and prayers for clemency for the population. He was astounded with the silence that reigned everywhere, and at hearing that Moscow had been evacuated by the population. Full of gloomy anticipations he proceeded to the house Murat had selected for him. Strict orders were issued against pillage, and the army bivouacked outside the city. The troops, however, were not to be restrained, and as soon as it was dark stole away and entered the town in large numbers and began the work of pillage. Scarcely had they entered when in various quarters fires broke out suddenly. The bazaar, with its ten thousand shops, the crown magazines of forage, wines, brandy, military stores, and gunpowder were speedily wrapped in flames. There were no means of combating the fire, for every bucket in the town had been removed by the orders of the governor.

Many a tale of strange experience in all parts of Europe was told around the camp-fires of the grenadiers of the Rhone that evening. Several of the younger men had been among those who had gone into Moscow in search of plunder. They had returned laden with goods of all sorts, and but few without a keg of spirits. The colonel had foreseen this, and had called the sergeants together.

"My braves," he said, "I am not going to punish anyone for breaking orders to-night. If I had been carrying a musket myself I have no doubt that I should have been one of those to have gone into the town. After such a march as we have had here, it is only natural that men should think that they are entitled to some fun; but there must be no drunkenness. I myself shall be at the quarter-guard, and six of you will be there with me. Every bottle of spirits brought in is to be confiscated. You will take it in your charge, and serve out a good ration to every man in the regiment, so that those who have done their duty and remained in camp shall fare as well as those who have broken out. I have no doubt there will be sufficient brought in for all. What remains over, you can serve out as a ration to-morrow. It is good to be merry, but it is not good to be drunk. The grenadiers have done their share of fighting and deserve their share of plunder, but do not let pleasure go beyond the line of duty. Give a good ration to each man, enough to enjoy the evening, and to celebrate our capture of Moscow, but not enough to make them noisy. It is like enough that the general will be round to-night to see how things are going on, and I should wish him to see us enjoying ourselves reasonably. Anything else that is brought in, with the exception of spirits, can be kept by the men, unless of course there is a general order issued that all plunder is to be given up."

As fully half the regiment were away, and as every man brought back one or more bottles or kegs of spirits, the amount collected at the quarter-guard was very considerable. Those of the men who, on coming back, showed any signs of intoxication were not allowed a share, but half a litre of spirits was served out to every other man in the regiment; and although a few of those who had brought it in grumbled, the colonel's decision gave general satisfaction, and there were merry groups round the bivouac fires.

"I have marched into a good many capitals," the old sergeant said. "I was with the first company that entered Madrid. I could never make out the Spaniards. At one time they are ready to wave their hats and shout "Viva!" till they are hoarse. At another, cutting your throat is too good for you. One town will open its gates and treat you as their dearest friends, the next will fight like fiends and not give in till you have carried the last house at the point of the bayonet. I was fond of a glass in those days; I am fond of it now, but I have gained wit enough to know when it is good to drink. I had a sharp lesson, and I took it to heart."

"Tell us about it, comrade," Julian said.

"Well it was after Talavera. We had fought a hard battle there with the English, and found them rough customers. The Spaniards bolted like sheep. As soldiers, they are the most contemptible curs in the world. They fought well enough in the mountains under their own leaders, but as soldiers, why, our regiment would thrash an army of 15,000 of them. The English were on the top of the hill—at least at the beginning there were a few of them up there, and we thought that it would be an easy job to drive them off, but more came up, and do what we would, we could not manage it; so it ended with something like a drawn battle. We claimed the victory, because they fell back the next morning, and they claimed it because they had repulsed all our attacks. However, we reaped the benefit; they really fell back, because those rascally Spaniards they were fighting for, starved them; and, besides that, we had two other divisions marching to interpose between them and Portugal, and that old fox Wellington saw that unless he went off as fast as he could, he would be caught in a trap.

"They got a good start of us, but we followed, and three nights after Talavera two companies of us were quartered for the night in the village right out on the flank of the line we were following. Well, I got hold of a skin of as good wine as ever I drank. Two or three of us stole out to enjoy it quietly and comfortably, and so thoroughly did we do it, that I suppose I somehow mistook my way back to my quarters, wandered aside, and then lay down to sleep. I must have slept soundly, for I heard neither bugle nor drum. When I awoke the sun was high, and there was a group of ugly-looking Spaniards standing near me. I tried to jump up on to my feet, but found that my arms and legs were both tied. However, I managed to sit up and looked round. Not a sign of our uniform was there to be seen; but a cloud of dust rising from the plain, maybe ten miles away, showed where the army had gone.

"Well, I gave it up at once. A single French soldier had never found mercy at the hands of the Spaniards, and I only wondered that they had not cut my throat at once, instead of taking the trouble to fasten me up. I knew enough of their language to get along with, and, putting as bold a face as I could on it, I asked them what they had tied me up for. They laughed in an unpleasant sort of way, and then went away. 'Let me have a drink of water,' I said, for my throat was nearly as dry as a furnace. They paid no attention, and till sunset left me there in the full heat of the sun. By the time they came back again I was half mad with thirst. I supposed then, as I have supposed ever since, that they did not cut my throat at once, because they were afraid that some other detachment might come along, and that if they found my body or a pool of blood, they would, as like as not, burn the village over their heads. Anyhow at sunset four men came, cut the ropes from my feet, and told me to follow them. I said that I would follow willingly enough if they would give me a drink of water first, but that if they didn't they might shoot me if they liked, but not a step would I walk.

"They tried kicking and punching me with their guns, but finding that I was obstinate, one of them called to a woman down by the village to bring some water. I drank pretty near a bucketful, and then said I was ready to go on. We went up the hill and then on some ten miles to a village standing in the heart of a wild country. Here I was tied to a post. Two of them went away and returned in a few minutes with a man they called El Chico. I felt before that I had not much chance, but I knew now that I had none at all, for the name was well enough known to us as that of one of the most savage of the guerilla leaders. He abused me for ten minutes, and told me that I should be burnt alive next morning, in revenge for some misconduct or other of a scouting party of ours. I pointed out that as I was not one of that scouting party it was unfair that I should be punished for their misdeeds; but, of course, it was of no use arguing with a ruffian like that, so he went away, leaving me to my reflections.

"I stood all night with my back to that post. Two fellows with muskets kept guard over me, but even if they hadn't done so I could not have got away, for I was so tightly bound that my limbs were numbed, and the cords felt as if they were red hot. In the morning a number of women brought up faggots. El Chico himself superintended their arrangement, taking care that they were placed in a large enough circle round me that the flames would not touch me; so that, in fact, I should be slowly roasted instead of burned. I looked about in the vague hope one always has that something might occur to save me, and my heart gave a jump when I saw a large body of men coming rapidly down a slope on the other side of the village. They were not our men, I was sure, but I could not see who they were; anyhow there might be someone among them who would interpose to save me from this villain.

"Everyone round me was too interested in what was going on to notice anything else; and you may be sure that I did not look that way again, for I knew well enough that if the guerilla had noticed them he would shoot me at once rather than run any risk of being baulked of his vengeance. So it was not until they began to enter the village that anyone noticed the new arrivals. A mounted officer, followed by four troopers, dashed down ahead and rode up to us, scattering the crowd right and left. I saw at once by his uniform that he was an English officer, and knew that I was saved. I fancy I must have been weak, for I had had nothing to eat the day before, and had been tied up all night. For a time I think I really fainted. When I recovered some soldiers had cut my bonds, and one was pouring some spirits down my throat. The English officer was giving it hot to El Chico.

"'You dog!' he said, 'it is you, and the fellows like you, who bring discredit on your country. You run like sheep when you see a French force under arms. You behave like inhuman monsters when, by chance, a single man falls into your power. I have half a mind to put you against that wall there and have you shot; or, what would meet your deserts better, hang you to yonder tree. Don't finger that pistol, you scoundrel, or I will blow your brains out. Be off with you, and thank your stars I did not arrive ten minutes later; for if I had come too late to save this poor fellow's life, I swear to you that I would have hung you like a dog. Who is the head man of the village?'"

A man stepped forward.

"'What do you mean, sir,' said the officer sternly, 'by permitting this villain to use your village for his atrocities? As far as I can see you are all as bad as he is, and I have a good mind to burn the whole place over your ears. As it is, I fine the village 800 gallons of wine, and 4000 pounds of flour, and 10 bullocks. See that it is all forthcoming in a quarter of an hour, or I shall set my men to help themselves. Not a word! Do as you are ordered!'

"Then he dismounted, and was coming to me, when his eye fell on El Chico. 'Sergeant,' he said to a non-commissioned officer,' take four men and march that fellow well outside the village, and then stand and watch him; and see that he goes on, and if he doesn't, shoot him.' Then he came over to me. 'It is well that I arrived in time, my lad,' he said in French.' How did you get into this scrape?'

"'It was wine did it, sir. I drank too much at our bivouac in a village down the plain, and did not hear the bugles in the morning, and got left behind. When I awoke they had tied me up, and they kept me lying in the sun all day, not giving me as much as a drop of water. At sunset they marched me up here and tied me to that post, and El Chico told me that I should be roasted in the morning; and so it certainly would have been if you had not come up.'

"I learned that he was a Colonel Trant. He commanded a force of Portuguese, and was a daring partizan leader, and gave us a great deal of trouble. I was never more pleased than I was at seeing the disgust of those villagers as they paid the fine imposed on them, and I should imagine that when El Chico paid his next visit there, his reception would not be a cordial one. The brigade had been marching all night, and halted for six hours, and the bullocks, flour, and wine furnished them with a good meal all round. It was an hour or two before I was able to stand, but after a while the circulation got right, and I was able to accompany them when they marched. They did not know until I told them that our force had passed on ahead of them in pursuit of Wellington. I made no secret of that, for they would have heard it from the first peasant they met. When we started, the colonel asked me what I meant to do.

"'I don't want to keep you prisoner, my man,' he said. 'In the first place, I don't wish to be troubled with looking after you; and in the second, you cannot be considered as a prisoner of war, for you were unarmed and helpless when we found you. Now, we are going to march all night. I am not going to tell where we are going; but I think it likely that we shall pass within sight of your camp-fires, and in that case I will leave you to make your way down to them, and will hand you back your musket and pouch, which you may want if you happen to fall in with a stray peasant or two.'

"I had noticed that they had taken along my musket and pouch, which had been brought up by the fellows that guarded me. They were strapped on to a mule's pack, of which they had about a couple of dozen with them, but I little thought the gun was going to be given me again.

"'Monsieur le Colonel,' I said, 'I thank you from my heart. I should have felt disgraced for ever if I were to go into the camp unarmed. Now, I shall be able to go in with my head erect, and take my punishment for having got drunk, and failing to fall in at the assembly, like a man. On the honour of a French soldier, I swear that I shall for ever regard the English as the most generous of foes.'

"It was noon when we started, and at nine o'clock at night, as we were keeping along high up on the hills, I saw our bivouac fires. A minute or two later, the colonel rode up.

"'There are your fires, lad,' he said. 'I don't fancy there is any village between us and the spot where your people are encamped. However, as there is a moon, you will be able to avoid one if you come upon it; and seeing you are armed, any peasants you may meet will scarcely venture to attack you within musket-shot of your own lines. Here is a note I have written to the colonel of your regiment telling him of the plight I found you in, and expressing a hope that what you have gone through may be considered a sufficient punishment for your indulgence in too much wine. Good-night.'

"Well, I got down safely enough. Of course, when I got to our line of pickets, I was challenged, and sent in a prisoner. In the morning I was taken before the colonel. He rated me soundly. I can tell you. When he had finished, I saluted and handed him the note. He read it through, and handed it to the major.

"'A letter from the enemy,' he said. 'It is from Trant, who must be a good fellow as well as a brave soldier, as we know to our cost. Tell me more about this, Rignold.'

"I told him.

"'I agree with the Englishman,' he said. 'You have had a lesson that will last you all your life. I wish I had means of sending an answer back to this English colonel, thanking him for his generous treatment. If he ever falls into our hands, I will take care that this action of his shall be brought to the general's notice. You can go.'

"Well, you see, that lesson has lasted all my life; and I am certainly not likely to forget it here, where the peasants are every bit as savage as the Spaniards. But as for the English, though I have fought with them half a dozen times since, and have been beaten by them too, I have always had a liking for them. That was one reason why I took to you, youngster, from the first."

"They fight well, do they?" one of the other sergeants asked. "I never was in Spain, but I thought from the bulletins that we generally beat them."

"Bulletins!" growled Rignold, "who can believe bulletins? We have got so accustomed to writing bulletins of victory that when we do get thrashed we can't write in any other strain. Why, I tell you that we who have fought and conquered in Italy and Austria, in Prussia and on the Rhine, have learned to acknowledge among ourselves, that even our best troops were none too good when it came to fighting the English. I fought a dozen battles against them, and in not one of them could I honestly say that we got the best of it. Talavera was the nearest thing. But we were fairly thrashed at Busaco and Salamanca. Albuera we claimed as a drawn fight, but such a drawn fight I never wish to share in again. The day had been going well. The Spaniards of course bolted, horse and foot. But at last matters cleared up, and we advanced against them in heavy columns. Soult called up all the reserves. We had captured six of their guns. Our columns had crowned the hill they held, and we cheered loudly, believing that the battle was won, when an English brigade in line fell upon us. Our guns swept them with grape, and that so terribly that for a time they fell into confusion. But to our astonishment they rallied, and came down on us. We were four to one, but we were in columns, and strove in vain to form into line to meet them. Volley after volley swept away the head of our formation. Soult exposed himself recklessly. Officers and men ran forward, and we kept up a fire that seemed as if it must destroy them, and yet on they came, cheering incessantly. Never did I see such a thing. Never did any other man there see such a thing. They came down upon us with the bayonet. We strove, we fought like madmen; but it was in vain, and we were hurled down that hill in utter confusion.

"We heard afterwards that of the 6000 British soldiers who began the day, but 1800 stood unwounded at the end. They had with them 24,000 Spaniards, but, of course, we never counted them as anything, and they did their allies more harm than good by throwing them into confusion in their flight. We had 19,000 infantry, all veteran troops, mind you, and yet we could not storm that hill, and drive those 6000 Englishmen off it. We lost over 8000 men, and that in a battle that lasted only four hours. Our regiment suffered so that it was reduced to a third of its number. We fought them again at Salamanca, and got thrashed there; soon after that we were sent back to France to fill up our ranks again, and I for one was glad indeed when we were sent to the Rhine and not back to Spain; for I tell you I never want to meet the English again in battle. Borodino was bad enough, and for stubborn, hard fighting, the Russians have proved themselves as tough customers as one can want to meet; but the English have more dash and quickness. They manœuvre much more rapidly than do the Russians, and when they charge, you have either got to destroy them or to go."

"You are right there, comrade," another said. "I was with my regiment, the 5th, at Badajoz. It was a strong place. Phillipson, who was in command, was a thoroughly good officer. He had strengthened the defences in every way, and the garrison was 5000 strong. We reckoned we could hold out for three months anyhow. 15,000 men sat down before us on the 17th of March, and began to open trenches against a strong outlying fort. We made several sorties, and did all we could to hinder them, but on the 25th they stormed the fort. It was defended desperately, but in an hour it was all over. Still, that was only an outlying work. Soult was known to be advancing to our relief; but he waited to gather as large a force as possible, believing, reasonably enough, that we could hold out a month, while we still calculated on holding out for three. The English worked like demons, and on the 6th of April they had made two breaches. We had prepared everything for them. We had planted mines all over the breaches. We had scores of powder barrels, and hundreds of shells ready to roll down. We had guns placed to sweep them on both flanks and along the top. We had a stockade of massive beams in which were fixed sword blades, while in front of this the breach was covered with loose planks studded with sharp iron points.

"Every man behind the stockade had half a dozen spare muskets. A legion of devils could not have taken the place. They did not take it, but never did mortal men try harder. Even when they felt that it was absolutely impossible, they stood there amid that storm of shot and shell, exploding powder barrels, and bursting mines. Two thousand men were killed in that breach, and yet they still stood there. Our own triumph was but a short one, for another British division had carried the castle. While we were exulting in victory, the town was lost. Thus, you see, they had in twenty days captured the fortress that we and everyone else made sure we could defend for at least three months. Fortunately we were exchanged a short time afterwards, and so I escaped being sent to an English prison. I agree with you, Rignold. I am ready to do my share of fighting, but I would rather do it against any one, even against these Russians, than against the English; and I think you will find that every man who has served in Spain would say the same."

"After all, comrades," another veteran said, "it seems to me that it does not make much difference who you have got to fight against, for you see the generals make things about even. If one of our generals finds that there are say 50,000 Spaniards marching against him, while his force is only 10,000, he gives battle. Well, he won't give battle to 50,000 Austrians unless he has got something like 35,000. I should say that after Borodino he would like to have 40,000, at least, against 50,000 Russians. No doubt the English calculate the same way, and, in Spain, we must admit that we always found them ready to fight when, as far as numbers went, we outmatched them. So I take it that the difference between the fighting powers of armies is not felt so much as you would think by each soldier, because allowance for that is made by the generals on both sides, and the soldiers find themselves always handicapped just in proportion to their fighting powers. So you see there is a big element of luck in it. The question of ground comes in, and climate, and so on. Now, taking Spain, though 10,000 against 50,000 would be fair enough odds in a fight in the open, if a hundred of us were attacked by 500 Spaniards among the mountains, it would go very hard with us. And, again, though 1000 Frenchmen might repulse 3000 of those Mamelukes if they attacked us in the cool of the morning or in the evening, yet if we were caught in the middle of the day, with the sun blazing down, and parched with thirst, we might succumb. Then, of course, the question of generals counts for a great deal. So you see that even supposing both sides agree, as it were, as to the fighting powers of their troops, the element of luck counts for a lot, and before you begin to fight you can never feel sure that you are going to win."

"Well, but we do win almost everywhere, Brison."

"Yes, yes; because we have Napoleon and Ney and Soult and the rest of them. We have had to fight hard many and many a time, and if the battle had been fought between the same armies with a change of generals, things would have gone quite differently to what they did."

"You were with Napoleon in Egypt, were you not?" Julian asked.

"Yes, I was there; and, bad as this desolate country is, I would anyhow rather campaign here than in Egypt. The sun seems to scorch into your very brain, and you are suffocated by dust. Drink as much as you will, you are always tormented by thirst. It is a level plain, for the most part treeless, and with nothing to break the view but the mud villages, which are the same colour as the soil. Bah! we loathed them. And yet I ought not to say anything against the villages, for, if it had not been for one of them, I should not be here now. I will tell you the tale. Two hundred of us had been despatched to seize some of the leading sheiks, who were said to be holding a meeting in some place fifteen miles away from where we were encamped. We had a squadron of horse and a hundred of our men. We afterwards found that the whole story was a lie, invented to get us into a trap. We were guided by a villainous-looking rogue on a camel, and beyond the fact that we were marching south-east, we had no idea where we were going. Half the cavalry kept ahead. We had marched four hours, when, on coming on to the crest of one of the sand-hills, we saw about half a mile away a little clump of mud huts. Near the foot of some high hills to the right were some tents.

"'There it is,' the guide said, pointing to the tents. And the cavalry set off at a gallop, followed by the guide, who soon fell far into their rear. Just as the cavalry reached the tents, we saw two great masses of horsemen appear from behind the sand-hills on either flank, and with loud yells ride down upon them. With a shout of fury we were about to break into a run, but the major who was in command said, 'It is useless, comrades. There is but one hope. Make for that village. We can hold that; and there, if any of our comrades escape, they will find shelter. Double, march.' Off we went, but it was against the grain. We could hear the cracking of pistols, the shouts of our brave fellows, the yells of the Arabs, and our hearts were there; but we felt that the major was right. There must have been fully a couple of thousand of the Arabs, and we should have but thrown away our lives. It was a terrible run. The heat was stifling; the dust rose in clouds under our feet. We could scarce breathe, but we knew that we were running for life. As we neared the village, we heard yells behind us.

"'A hundred yards further, lads,' the major shouted. We did it, and when we reached the first house we halted. Three hundred yards away were a dozen of our troopers, followed by a mob of Arabs. The Major faced twenty men about, and ordered the rest of us to divide ourselves among the huts. There were but nine of these. The villagers, who had seen us coming, had bolted, and we had just got into the houses when we heard the rear-guard open fire. There was a young lieutenant with the troopers, and, as they rode in, he ordered them to dismount, and to lead their horses into the huts. A moment later the rear-guard ran in. We felt for a moment like rats caught in a trap, for, in the hut I was in, there were but two rooms. One had no light but what came in at the door; the other had an opening of about nine inches square, and that not looking into the street. In a moment, however, we saw that there was a ladder leading up to the flat roof, and we swarmed up. These houses are all built with flat roofs made of clay like the walls. Some of them have a parapet about a foot high; some of them none at all. In better-class villages some of the parapets are a good deal higher; so that the women can sit there unobserved from the other roofs.

"The hut we were in had a low parapet, and we threw ourselves down behind it. The street was full of horsemen, yelling and discharging their guns at the doors; but when, almost at the same moment, a rattling fire broke out from every roof, the scene in the street changed as if by magic. Men fell from their horses in all directions. The horses plunged and struggled, and so terrible was the mêlée that, had the houses stood touching each other, I doubt whether a man of those who entered would have got out alive. As it was, they rode out through the openings, leaving some sixty or seventy of their number dead in the street. We had breathing time now. The whole of the Arab horsemen presently surrounded us, but the lesson had been so severe that they hesitated to make another charge into the village. The major's orders, that we were not to throw away a shot, unless they charged down in force, were passed from roof to roof round the village. We were ordered to barricade the doors with anything we could find, and if there was nothing else, we were, with our bayonets, to bring down part of the partition walls and pile the earth against the door. Each hut was to report what supply of water there was in it. This was to be in charge of the non-commissioned officer, or the oldest soldier if there was not one, and he was to see that it was not touched at night. It was to be divided equally among all the huts.

"'You will understand, men,' he shouted from his roof, 'that our lives depend more upon the water than upon your arms. We could defend this place against that horde for a year; but if water fails altogether, there will be nothing to do but to sally out and sell our lives as dearly as we can.' Fortunately, we had still water with us, for it was not known whether we should find any on the march, and we had been ordered to leave our kits behind, and to carry, in addition to the water-bottles, a skin holding about a gallon. In our hut we found eight porous jars, each of which would hold about a couple of gallons. Six of them were full. The empty ones we filled up from our skins, for these jars keep the water wonderfully cool. In none of the other huts had they found so good a supply as ours, but all had more or less water; and, on totalling them up, it was found that there was an average of four jars in each hut, without, of course, counting that which we had brought. As there were a hundred and ten of us, this gave a total supply of a hundred and eighty-two gallons; rather better than a gallon and a half a man.

"The major ordered that the allowance was to be a pint night and morning for the first four days. If help did not come at the end of that time, it was to be reduced by half. We could see where the water came from. There was a well-worn path from the village to a hollow about three hundred yards away, and we could see that there was a great hole, and it was down this that the women went to fill their water-jars. It was a consolation to us that it was so close, for, if the worst came to the worst, half of us could go down at night and refill the jars. No doubt they would have to fight their way, but, as the rest could cover them by their fire, we felt that we should be able to manage it. For the next four days we held the place. We slept during the day. The Arabs did not come near us then; but as soon as it got dusk they began to crawl up, and flashes of fire would break out all round us.

"Unfortunately, there was no moon, and as they came up pretty nearly naked, their bodies were so much the colour of the sand that they could not be made out twenty yards away. They were plucky enough, for they would come right in among the houses and fire through the doors, and sometimes a number of them would make a rush against one; but nothing short of bursting the doors into splinters would have given them an entry, so firmly did the piles of earth hold them in their places. In the middle of the fifth day a cloud of dust was seen across the plain from the direction in which we came. No one had a doubt that it was a party sent to our relief, and every man sprang to his feet and swarmed up on to the roof, as soon as the man on watch above told us the news; directly afterwards the major shouted, 'Each man can have a ration of water.'

"In a few minutes we saw the Arabs mount and ride off, and it was not long before five hundred of our cavalry rode into the village. We had only lost five men; all had been shot through the head as they were firing over the parapet. We had each night buried those who fell, and in five minutes after the arrival of the cavalry, were ready to start on our march back. If it had not been for that village, and for the quickness with which the major saw what was the only thing to be done, not a single man would ever have got back to camp to tell what had happened. They were brave fellows, those Arabs; and, if well drilled by our officers, would have been grand troops on such an expedition as this, and would have taught the Cossacks a good many things at their own game.

"The Egyptian infantry were contemptible, but the Arabs are grand horsemen. I don't say that in a charge, however well drilled, they could stand against one of our cuirassier regiments. Men and horses would be rolled over; but for skirmishing, vidette duty, and foraging, no European cavalry would be in it with them. They are tireless, both horses and men, and will go for days on a little water and a handful of dates; and if the horses can get nothing else, they will eat the dates just as contentedly as their masters."

Several times as these stories had been told, the group had risen to their feet to watch the fires that were burning in various parts of the town, and just as the sergeant brought his story to a close, the assembly sounded.

"I have been expecting that for some time," Brison said. "As our division is nearest to the city, I thought they would be sure to turn us out before long, to put out those fires. They must be the work of some of our rascally camp-followers, or of some of the ruffians of the town, who have been breaking into deserted houses and plundering them. Well, the liquor is finished, and there is always interest in fighting a fire."

Five minutes later, the Grenadiers of the Rhone and six other regiments of their division marched into Moscow to extinguish the flames.

CHAPTER XIII

WITH THE REAR-GUARD

Napoleon had as yet no idea that the fires were other than accidental, and the next morning removed his headquarters to the Imperial Palace, the Kremlin, from which he fondly hoped to dictate terms of peace to Russia. But it was not long before the truth became evident. Every hour fresh fires broke out, and, spreading rapidly, by nightfall the whole city was in flames. On the following day the Kremlin itself became so uninhabitable from the heat, that the Emperor was forced to withdraw from it, and could not return till the 20th, when heavy rain extinguished the flames, which had already consumed nine-tenths of the city. Of 48,000 houses only 700 escaped; of 1600 churches 800 were destroyed and 700 damaged; of 24,000 wounded French and Russians in the hospitals more than 20,000 perished in the flames. In the meantime Kutusow had tardily adopted the advice he had before rejected, had moved round with his army and taken up his position on the Oka river, near Kulouga, where he menaced the French line of communication. Already the Cossack cavalry were hovering round Moscow, intercepting convoys and cutting up small detachments, while the horses of the French cavalry were so worn out by fatigue and famine that in several affairs with the Russian cavalry the latter gained decisive advantages.

"You are right again, comrade," the old sergeant said to Julian, who had been promoted to the rank of sergeant after the battle of Borodino, as they stood together on the night of the 15th gazing at the terrible spectacle of the city enveloped in flames. "Peste! these Russians are terrible fellows. Who could have thought of such a thing? It is a bad look-out for us."

"A terrible look-out, there is no denying it," Julian agreed. "It is impossible for the army to stay here without food, without forage, without shelter, with our communications threatened, and the Russian army on our flank. I see nothing for it but to retreat, and the sooner we are out of it the better. Were I the Emperor I would issue orders for the march to begin at daylight. In another month winter will be on us, and none can say what disasters may befall the army."

Had the order been given that day the French army might have made its way back to the frontier, with heavy loss doubtless, but without disaster. But Napoleon could not bring himself to believe that the Russians would refuse to enter into negotiations. He tried through various sources to send proposals to Alexander, and even opened secret negotiations with Kutusow, and had arranged for a private meeting with him, when the matter was stopped by Sir Robert Wilson, who had received specific instructions from the Emperor Alexander to interpose in his name to prevent any negotiations whatever being carried on. Thus week after week of precious time passed, and then a portion of the army moved against the Russians. Several engagements took place, the advantage generally resting with the Russians, especially in an engagement with Murat, who suffered a decisive repulse.

Julian had, as soon as the fire in Moscow burnt itself out, employed himself in endeavouring to buy some warm garments. Money was plentiful, for there had been no means of spending it since they entered Russia, and he was fortunate in being able to buy some very warm tinder-garments that had been looted by the plunderers on the night of their first arrival before Moscow. He also purchased a peasant's sheep-skin caftan with a hood, and sewed this into his military cloak so as to form a lining, the hood being for the time turned inside. From another sheep-skin he manufactured a couple of bags to be used as mittens, without fingers or thumbs. Many of his comrades laughed at him as he did his work, but as the days grew colder most of them endeavoured to follow his example, and the skins of sheep brought in occasionally by the cavalry were eagerly bought up. Encouraged by his success, Julian next manufactured a pair of sheep-skin leggings, with the wool inside. They were sewn up at the bottom, so that they could be worn over his boots. The shape left much to be desired, but by cutting up a blanket he made two long bands, each three inches wide and some twenty feet long. These he intended to wrap tightly round the leggings when in use.

The leggings, gloves, and bands were stowed away in his knapsack, almost everything else being discarded to make room for them; for he felt sure that there would be no inspection of kits until the frontier had been crossed.

Still, Napoleon could not bring himself to issue a general order for a retreat, but corps after corps was moved along the western road. Mortier's division remained last in Moscow, and marched on the 23rd of October, after having, by Napoleon's orders, blown up the Kremlin, the Church of St. Nicholas, and the adjoining buildings. The safest line of retreat would have been through Witebsk, but Napoleon took the more southern road, and the army believed that it was intended to fight another great battle with the Russians.

The weather at first was fine. On the 24th the vanguard, under the Viceroy, came in contact with Doctorow's division, and a fierce fight took place near Malo Jaroslavets. The French were checked, and Kutusow, coming up with the main army, it was apparent to all, that the French vanguard could be overwhelmed and Napoleon's retreat brought to a standstill. But, just as the generals were all expecting the order to attack, Kutusow, whose previous conduct in entering into secret negotiations with Napoleon had excited strong suspicions of his good faith, announced that he had changed his mind, and ordered the Russian army to draw off, thus for a time saving the French from complete disaster.

The battle, however, had been a sanguinary one, no less than ten thousand being killed on each side. After the retirement of the Russians the retreat was continued. Davoust commanded the advance; Ney's division was to cover the rear. The French army at first moved very slowly, for it was not until the 29th that Napoleon reached Borodino. He himself had long been in ill-health; bodily pain had sapped his energy. He had for a long time been unable to sit on a horse, and had travelled in a close carriage. Consequently he seemed to have lost for a time all his energy and quickness of decision, and after five weeks thrown away at Moscow, another was wasted in slow movements when haste was of the greatest importance. The French suffered, too, from the disadvantage that, while their every movement was discovered and reported by the ubiquitous Cossacks, they themselves were in absolute ignorance of the strength and movements of the enemy.

On the 6th of November a bitter frost set in, and the soldiers awoke chilled to the bone, and with gloomy anticipations of what would happen when the full rigour of a Russian winter was upon them. In some respects the frost was an advantage, for it hardened the roads, that were before often almost impassable from the amount of heavy traffic that had passed over them. But, upon the other hand, floating masses of ice speedily covered the rivers, rendering the work of fording them painful and difficult in the extreme. A Russian division had, on the 3rd, pressed hotly on the retreating column just as they reached the Wiazma river. A sanguinary conflict took place, the corps of the Viceroy passed through the town on its banks, and crossed the river in fair order, but that of Davoust broke and crossed in great confusion, covered by Ney's division, which retreated steadily, facing about from time to time, and repulsing the infantry attacks, but suffering heavily from the artillery. Ney set the town on fire to cover his retreat, crossed the bridges, and there stemmed the further advance of the Russians.

The French loss in the engagement was 6000 killed and wounded, and 2000 prisoners. The Viceroy was directed to march on Witebsk, but he was overtaken by the enemy when endeavouring to throw a bridge over the half-frozen little river called the Vop. The bridge, hastily made, gave way. The banks were extremely steep. The Grenadiers waded through the river, though the water, full of floating ice, came up to their breasts; but the artillery following were unable to climb the bank, and the guns were soon frozen fast in the river, and they and the whole of the baggage had to be left behind. A similar misfortune befell another of the Viceroy's divisions, which had remained behind to cover the retreat, and of the 14,000 soldiers who commenced the march but 6000 remained with their colours, and but 12 of the 92 guns that had accompanied them.

The condition of the French army rapidly deteriorated. The cold had already become intense, and the soldiers being weak with hunger were the less able to support it. The horses died in great numbers, and their flesh was the principal food upon which the troops had to rely. No one dared straggle to forage, for the Cossacks were ever hovering round, and the peasants, emerging from their hiding-places in the forests, murdered, for the most part with atrocious tortures, everyone who fell out of the ranks from wounds, exhaustion, or frost-bite.

Julian had, since their retreat began, again recovered his spirits. He was now not fighting to conquer a country against which he had no animosity, but for his own life and that of the thousands of sick and wounded.

"I am glad that we are in the rear-guard," he said to a number of non-commissioned officers who were one evening, when they were fortunate enough to be camped in a wood, gathered round a huge fire.

"Why so, Jules? It seems to me that we have the hardest work, and, besides, there is not a day that we have not to fight."

"That is the thing that does us good," Julian replied. "The columns ahead have nothing to do but to think of the cold, and hunger, and misery. They straggle along; they no longer march. With us it is otherwise. We are still soldiers; we keep our order. We are proud to know that the safety of the army depends on us; and, if we do get knocked over with a bullet, surely that is a better fate than dropping from exhaustion, and falling into the hands of the peasants."

"You are right, Jules," several of them exclaimed. "It is better a thousand times."

"We have a bad prospect before us," Julian went on. "There is no denying that; but it will make all the difference how we face it. Above all things we have got to keep up our spirits. I have heard that the captains of the whalers in the northern seas do everything in their power to interest and amuse their crews. They sing, they dance, they tell stories of adventures, and the great thing is to keep from brooding over the present. I am but a young sergeant, and most of you here have gone through many a campaign, and it is not for me to give advice, but I should say that above all things we ought to try to keep up the spirits of our men. If we could but start the marching songs we used to sing as we tramped through Germany, it would set men's feet going in time, would make them forget the cold and hunger, and they would march along erect, instead of with their eyes fixed on the ground, and stumbling as if they could not drag their feet along. We should tell them why we sing, or they might think it was a mockery. Tell them that the Grenadiers of the Rhone mean to show that, come what may, they intend to be soldiers to the last, and to face death, whether from the Russians or from the winter, heads erect and courage high. Let us show them that, as we have ever done our duty, so we shall do it to the end, and that it will be a matter of pride that throughout the division it should be said, when they hear our songs, 'There go the Grenadiers of the Rhone, brave fellows and good comrades; see how they bear themselves.'"

"Bravo, bravo, Jules! bravo, Englishman!" the whole of the party shouted. "So it shall be, we swear it. The Grenadiers of the Rhone shall set an example."

Suddenly the voices hushed, and Julian was about to look round to see the cause of their silence, when a hand was laid on his shoulder, and, turning, he saw Ney standing beside him, with three or four of his staff. They had come up unobserved, and had stopped a few paces away just as Julian began to speak.

"Bravo, comrade!" the marshal said; "spoken in the true spirit of a soldier. Were there a dozen men like you in every regiment I should have no fear for the future. Did they call you Englishman?"

"Yes, General. I was a prisoner at Verdun, though neither an English soldier or sailor, and when a call came for volunteers, and I was promised that I should not be called upon to fight against my own countrymen, I thought it better to carry a French musket than to rot in a French prison."

"And you have carried it well," the marshal said. "Had you not done so you would not have won your stripes among the men of the Grenadiers of the Rhone, where every man has again and again shown that he is a hero. Carry out your brave comrade's idea, lads. We all want comforting, and my own heart will beat quicker to-morrow as I ride along and hear your marching song, and I shall say to myself, 'God bless the brave Grenadiers of the Rhone;' I trust that others will follow your example. What is your name, sergeant?"

"Julian Wyatt, General."

"Put it down in my note-book," Ney said to one of his staff. "Good-night, comrades, you have done me good. By the way, a hundred yards to your left I marked a dead horse as I came along; it may help your suppers." Then, amid a cheer from the soldiers, Ney moved on with his staff.

It was not many minutes before portions of the horse were cooking over the fire.

"I feel another man already," one of the younger sergeants laughed, as they ate their meal. "Jules is right; good spirits are everything."

"Bear that in mind to-morrow, Antoine," another said. "It is easy enough to be cheerful when one is warm and has got some meat, even though it be only horse-flesh and mightily tough at that, between your teeth; but it is harder to be so after sixteen hours of marching and fighting."

"Well, we will try anyhow, Jacques."

Another quarter of an hour and the circle broke up, the non-commissioned officers going off to the companies to which they belonged.

Wood being plentiful, great fires were kept blazing all night, and round each was told what Julian had said, the commendation Ney had given the regiment, and his warm approval of the plan. As soon as the order was given to march in the morning, and Julian started one of their old marching songs, it was taken up from end to end of the column, to the astonishment of the officers and of the men of other regiments within hearing. The effect upon the men themselves was electrical. The dogged look of determination with which they had before plodded along was supplanted by an air of gaiety. They marched along in time to the music with a step that was almost elastic. Not since they had crossed the Niemen had the song been heard; occasionally a singer was silent for a minute or two, and passed his hand across his eyes as he thought of the many voices of comrades, now hushed for ever, that had then joined in the chorus. Half-an-hour later Ney, followed by his staff, rode along past the column. As he reached the head he spoke to the colonel, and the order was at once given for the regiment to form up in hollow square. When they had done so the colonel shouted, "Attention!" Ney took off his plumed hat and said, in a voice loud enough to be heard by all:

"Grenadiers of the Rhone, I salute you. All honour to the regiment that has set an example to the army of cheerfulness under hardships. You will be placed in the order of the day with the thanks of your marshal for the spirit you have shown. Maintain it, my friends; it will warm you more thoroughly than food or fire, and will carry you triumphantly through whatever fate may have in store for us."

A deep cheer burst from the regiment as the gallant soldier bowed to his horse's mane and then rode on with his staff, while the regiment, again breaking into a song, continued its march. Late in the afternoon they were again engaged. The long columns ahead were delayed by crossing a narrow bridge over a river, and for two hours the rear-guard had to stand firm against constant attacks by the Russians. At one time a heavy column of Russian infantry moved down upon them, but Ney, riding up to the grenadiers, said:

"I give you the post of honour, comrades. Drive back that column."

The colonel gave the order to charge, and the regiment rushed forward with such ardour to the attack, that the Russians were compelled to fall back with heavy loss, and shortly afterwards news came that the bridge was clear, and the rear-guard followed the rest of the army. Forty of the grenadiers had fallen, among them their colonel and two other officers. The next morning, before the regiment marched, the major as usual read out to it the order of the day. The marshal expressed his approbation of the spirit which the Grenadiers of the Rhone had manifested.

"This fine regiment," he said, "has ever merited eulogium for the manner in which it has sustained the honour of its flag in every engagement in which it has taken part. The marshal considers, however, that even higher praise is due to it for its bearing in the present stress of circumstances. Good spirits, and the resolution to look at things in a cheerful light, is the best method of encountering them, and it cheered the hearts of all near them to hear them singing their marching songs. The marshal in passing them was struck with the renewal of their martial appearance, as they marched, head erect, in time to their songs, and he hopes that their example will be followed by the other regiments of the corps, and is sure that not only will it be to the advantage of the discipline and efficiency of the troops, but it will greatly conduce to their own well-being, and the manner in which they will be able to support cold, hunger, and fatigue."

The marshal had brought the conduct and fine bearing of the Grenadiers of the Rhone under the attention of the Emperor. In spite of the fact that the soldiers of Ney's corps had to endure a larger amount of hardship than that of the rest of the army, from the necessity of constant vigilance, and from the long hours they were upon the road, their health suffered less than that of other troops. In the first place, they had an absolute faith in their commander; in the next, they were in the post of honour, and on them the safety of the whole army depended. Thus the constant skirmishing, and, occasionally, hard fighting that went on, braced them up, and saved them from the moody depression that weighed upon the rest of the army. They had, too, some material advantage from the broken-down waggons and vehicles of all sorts that fell behind. Every day they obtained a certain amount of stores, while from the bodies of those who had dropped from exhaustion, sickness, or cold they obtained a supply of extra clothing.

The morning after the reading of Ney's order of the day commending the regiment, an order from Napoleon himself was read at the head of the regiment, Ney taking his place by the side of the newly promoted colonel. The Emperor said that he had received the report of Marshal Ney of the conduct and bearing of the Grenadiers of the Rhone, together with a copy of his order of the day, and that this was fully endorsed by the Emperor, who felt that the spirit they were showing was even more creditable to them than the valour that they had so often exhibited in battle, and that he desired personally to thank them. The marshal had also brought before his notice the conduct of Sergeant Wyatt of that regiment, who had, he was informed, been the moving spirit in the change that he so much commended, and, as a mark of his approbation, he had requested the marshal himself, as his representative, to affix to his breast the ribbon of the cross of the Legion of Honour.

The colonel called upon Sergeant Wyatt to come forward. Julian did so, saluted, and stood to attention, while the marshal dismounted and pinned to his breast the insignia of the order, while the regiment saluted, and, as Julian returned to his place in the ranks, burst into a hearty cheer. As soon as the marshal had ridden off, and the regiment fell out, the officers gathered round Julian and congratulated him upon the honour he had received, and, at the same time, thanked him heartily for the credit that the regiment had gained, through his means, while the enthusiasm of the soldiers knew no bounds. A word of praise from the Emperor was the distinction that French soldiers and French regiments most coveted, and to have been named, not only by their marshal in his orders, but by the Emperor in a general order to the army, was an honour that filled every heart with pride.

Julian had been a favourite before, but henceforth his popularity was unbounded. Many of the other regiments followed the example of the grenadiers, and, in spite of the ever-increasing cold and the constantly augmenting hardships, Ney's corps retained their discipline and efficiency. Their appearance, indeed, was no longer soldierly. Their garments were in rags. Many wore three or four coats. Their legs were encased in hay-bands, strips of blanket, or sheep-skins. Julian now took out for the first time from his knapsack the leggings that he had manufactured, and, with the strips of blanket that he wound round them, they differed in appearance in no degree from the leggings of some of his comrades, except that they enveloped the feet also. On the day following the reading of Napoleon's order, the grenadiers came upon an overturned caleche. It had been ransacked by a regiment that had preceded them. The driver and a woman lay dead beside it, and they would have passed on without paying any attention to it, had it not been for a faint cry that met the ears of Julian, as his company passed close by it. He dropped back a few paces to an officer, and asked leave to fall out for a minute. Going to the carriage he found lying there among the cushions a little girl some five or six years old. Her cloak had been stripped off her, and she was blue with cold. Julian hesitated.

"I will try anyhow," he muttered to himself. He first ripped open one of the cushions, pulled out the woollen stuffing, and wrapped it round the child's arms and legs, binding it there with strips of the velvet covering the cushions. Then he took off his cloak, and raised her on to his back, having first cut off one of the reins. With this he strapped her securely in that position, put on his warm cloak again, and then, hurrying forward, soon overtook the rear of his regiment.

"Bravo, Jules!" many of his comrades said, as he passed along the column; while others asked, "Why do you encumber yourself with that child? It is enough now for every man to look to himself, and you cannot carry her far."

"I will do what I can," he replied. "She is not so heavy as my knapsack when it is full, and it is empty now; I am only keeping it because it is useful as a pillow. I can't say how far I can carry her, but as long as I can go she shall. We have taken lives enough, heaven knows. It is as well to save one if one gets the opportunity."

In half an hour Julian felt a movement on the part of his little burden, whose hands he had been chafing with his own unoccupied one. Presently something was said in Russian. He did not reply, and then there was a little struggle, and the voice said in French: "Nurse, where am I? Where are you taking me? Where is the carriage?"

"Do not fret, little one," Julian replied in the same language. "I am a friend, and will take care of you. Your carriage broke down, and so I am carrying you until we can get you another. Are you warm?"

"Yes," the child said. "I am quite warm, but I want my nurse."

"Nurse can't come to you now, my dear; but I will try to be a good nurse to you."

"I want to see what you are like."

"You shall see presently," he said. "It would be very cold if you were to put your head outside. The best thing that you can do is to try to get to sleep."

The warmth doubtless did more than Julian's exhortation, for the child said no more, and Julian felt certain after a short time that she had gone off to sleep. He was now in his place with his company again, and joined in the song that they were singing, softly at first, but, as he felt no movement, louder and louder until, as usual, his voice rose high above the chorus. Nevertheless, his thoughts were with the child. What was he to do with her? how was she to be fed? He could only hope for the best. So far Providence had assuredly made him the means of preserving her life, and to Providence he must leave the rest. It might be all for the best. The weight was little to him, and there was a sense of warmth and comfort in the little body that lay so close to his back. What troubled him most was the thought of what he should do with her when he was engaged with the Russians. He decided that she must stay then in one of the carts that carried the spare ammunition of the regiment, and accompanied it everywhere. "At any rate, if I should fall," he said, "and she be left behind, she has only to speak in Russian when the enemy come up, and no doubt they will take care of her. Her father must be a man of some importance. The carriage was a very handsome one. If she can make them understand who she is, there is no doubt they will restore her to her parents."

There was but little fighting that day, and when the regiment fell out, fortunately halting again in a wood, Julian waited until the fires were lighted, and then unloosened the straps and shifted the child round in front of him. She opened her eyes as he did so.

"Well, little one, here we are at our journey's end," he said cheerfully. "You have had a nice sleep, and you look as warm as a toast."

She was indeed changed. A rosy flush had taken the place of the bluish-gray tint on her cheeks; her eyes were bright, and she looked round at the strange scene with a face devoid of all fear.

"Are you my new nurse?" she asked.

"Yes, dear."

"You look nice," she said calmly, "but I should like Claire, too."

"She can't come at present, little one, so you must put up with me."

"Are you one of those wicked Frenchmen?" she asked.

"I am an Englishman. Some of them are Frenchmen, but all Frenchmen are not wicked. You will see that all my friends here will be very kind to you, and will do everything they can to make you comfortable, till we can send you to your friends again."

The child was silent for some time.

"There was a great noise," she said gravely, "and guns fired, and the coachman fell off the box, and then nurse called out and opened the door and jumped out, and then the horses plunged and the carriage fell over, and I don't know any more."

"There was an accident," Julian said. "Don't think about that now. I will tell you about it some day."

"I am hungry," the child said imperiously. "Get me something to eat."

"We are going to cook our suppers directly, dear. Now let us go and sit by that fire. I am afraid you won't find the supper very nice, but it is the best we have got. What is your name?"

"I am the Countess Stephanie Woronski," the little maid said; "and what is your name?"

"My name is Julian Wyatt."

"It is a funny name," the child said; "but I think I like it."

Julian carried her to the fire, and seated her with her feet before it.

"Where is my cloak," she asked, as on setting her down she perceived the deficiency; "and what are those ugly things?" and she looked at the swathing round her arms and legs.

"Some bad men took your cloak," he said; "none of these men here did it; and you were very cold when I found you, so I put some of the stuffing from the cushions round you to keep you warm, and you must wear them till I can get you another cloak. Comrades," he went on, to the soldiers who had gathered round to look at the little figure, "this is the Countess Stephanie Woronski, and I have told her that you will all be very kind to her and make her as comfortable as you can as long as she is with us."

There was a general hum of assent, and when the child went gravely among them, shaking hands with each, many an eye was moistened, as the men's thoughts went back to their own homes, and to little sisters or nieces whom they had played with there. Soon afterwards the colonel came by, and Julian, stepping forward, saluted him and said:

"I have picked up a little girl to-day, Colonel."

"So I have been told, Sergeant. I think it was a mistake, but that is your business. Everyone is getting weaker, and you are not likely to be able to carry her for long. However, of course, you can take her if you like, and as long as there are horses to drag the ammunition carts you can put her in them when you choose."

"It is only when we are fighting that I should want to stow her away. She does not weigh more than a knapsack, Colonel."

"Well; just as you like, Sergeant. If you wanted to take along ten children I could not say no to you. She is a pretty little thing," he added, as he went nearer to her.

"Yes, Colonel. She says that she is a countess."

"Poor little countess!" the colonel said tenderly. "She will want something warmer than she has got on now."

"We will manage that, Colonel. She will be warm enough as long as she is on the march with me; but as, even before that fire, she has not enough on her, we will contrive something. In the first broken-down baggage-waggon that we come across, we are pretty sure to find something that we can fit her out in."

As yet the pressure of hunger had not come severely upon the grenadiers. In the fights with the Russians some of the horses of their own cavalry and artillery, and those of the enemy, were daily killed, besides the animals which dropped from fatigue were at once shot and cut up. Moreover, a small ration of flour was still served out, and the supper that night, if rough, was ample. Julian sat facing the fire with his cloak open and the child nestling up close to him. As soon as supper was over half a dozen of the soldiers started off.

"We will bring back a fit-out, Jules, never fear. It will be strange if there is not something to be picked up in the snow between us and the next corps."

In half an hour they came in again, one of them carrying a bundle. By this time the child was fast asleep, and, taking off his cloak and wrapping it round her, Julian went across to them on the other side of the fire.

"What have you got?"

"A good find, Jules. It was a young officer. He was evidently coming back with an order, but his horse fell dead under him. The lad had lost an arm, at Borodino I expect, and was only just strong enough to sit his horse. We think that the fall on the hard snow stunned him, and the frost soon finished the work. He had been well fitted out, and some of his things will do for the little one. He had a fur-lined jacket which will wrap her up grandly from head to foot. Here are a pair of thick flannel drawers. If we cut them off at the knee you can tuck all her little clothes inside it, and they will button up under her arms and come down over her feet. She will look queer, but it will keep her warm. This pair of stockings will pull up her arms to her shoulders, and here is another pair that was in his valise. They are knitted, and one will pull down over her ears. You see they are blue, and if you cut the foot off and tie up the hole it will look like a fisherman's cap, and the other will go over her head and tie up under her chin."

"Splendid, comrade! That is a first-rate fit-out. I am obliged to you indeed."

"You need not talk of a little thing like that, Sergeant. There is not a man in the regiment who would not do a good deal more than that for you: besides we have all taken to the child. She will be quite the pet of the regiment. Moreover, the lad's valise was well filled. We have tossed up for choice, and each of us has got something. Henri got the cloak, and a good one it is. I had the next choice, and I took his blanket, which is a double one. Jacques had the horse rug, Ferron had another pair of drawers and his gloves, and Pierre, who has got a small foot, took his boots. So we have all done well."

As Julian lay down with his hood over his head and the child held closely in his arms under his cloak, he felt strangely warm and comfortable, and breathed a prayer that he might be spared to carry the little waif he had rescued, in safety across the frontier.

"I will keep her with me," he said, "until she gets a bit bigger. By that time the war may be all over, and I will send her to my aunt, if I dare not go home myself. She will take care of her, and if she should have gone, I know Frank will do the best he can for the child, and may be able, through the Russian embassy, to send her back to her friends."

The cold was so intense in the morning that the child offered no objection to her novel habiliments. Some inches had to be cut from the bottom of the jacket to keep it off the ground, and the strip served as a band to keep it close round her waist.

"It is too big," she said a little fretfully.

"It is large, Stephanie," Julian said, "but then, you see, there is the advantage that when you like you can slip your arms altogether out of the sleeves, and keep them as warm as a toast inside. Now you get on my back and we will fasten you more comfortably than I could do yesterday."

This, with the assistance of a couple of soldiers, was done. Then, putting on his cloak again, Julian fell in with his comrades, and, as usual, striking up a merry song, in which the rest at once joined, continued his march.

Day passed after day. The Russians pressed hotly on the rear, and many times Ney's corps had to face about and repel their attacks. Sometimes when the fighting was likely to be serious Julian handed his charge over to the care of the driver of one of the ammunition carts, but as a rule he carried her with him, for she objected strongly to leaving him. On the march she often chose to be carried on his shoulder—a strange little figure, with the high fur collar of the jacket standing up level with the top of her head, and a yellow curl or two making its way through the opening in front. She soon picked up the songs that were most often sung, and her shrill little voice joined in. She was now a prime favourite with all the men.

"ON THE MARCH LITTLE STEPHANIE OFTEN CHOSE TO BE CARRIED ON JULIAN'S SHOULDER."

Food became scarcer every day. The cavalry were now almost wholly dismounted, the horses still available being taken for the guns. Among the divisions in front the disorganization was great indeed. It was a mob rather than an army, and only when attacked did they form up, and with sullen fury drive off the foe. At other times they tramped along silently, ragged, and often shoeless, their feet wrapped in rough bandages. Whenever one fell from weakness, he lay there unnoticed, save that sometimes a comrade would, in answer to his entreaties to kill him rather than to leave him to the mercy of the peasants, put his musket to his head and finish him at once. No one straggled, except to search a deserted cottage on the line, for all who fell into the hands of the peasants—who followed the army like wolves after a wounded stag—were either put to death by atrocious tortures, or stripped and left to perish by cold. All the sufferings inflicted by the army in its advance upon the peasantry were now repaid an hundredfold, and the atrocities perpetrated upon all who fell into their hands were so terrible that Sir Robert Wilson wrote to the Czar, imploring him for the honour of the country to put a stop to them. Alexander at once issued a proclamation offering the reward of a gold piece for every French prisoner brought in, and so saved the lives of many hundreds of these unfortunates. In the French army itself all feelings of humanity were also obliterated. The men fought furiously among themselves for any scrap of food, and a dead horse was often the centre of a desperate struggle. Those who fell were at once stripped of their garments, and death came all the sooner to put an end to their sufferings. The authority of the officers was altogether unheeded.

Day by day the numbers dwindled away. The safety of the French army thus far was chiefly due to the vacillation, if not the absolute treachery, of Kutusow. Moving on by roads well supplied with provisions, and perfectly acquainted with the movements of the enemy, he was able to outmarch them, and several times had it absolutely in his power to completely overwhelm the broken remains of Napoleon's army. But, in spite of the entreaties of the generals and the indignation of the army, he obstinately refused to give the order. The French army no longer travelled by a single road; sometimes the corps were separated from each other by great masses of Russian troops. Numerous detached battles were fought; but in each of these the French troops, although suffering heavily, displayed their old courage, and either by hard fighting cut their way through obstacles, or managed by long and circuitous marches to evade them.

Napoleon's plans, which, if carried out, would have saved the army, were brought to nought by the incapacity of the generals charged with the duty. The vast depôts and stores that had been formed at various points fell successively into the hands of the various Russian armies now operating against the French. Bridges of vital importance on the line of retreat were captured and destroyed, and repeated defeats inflicted upon the armies that should have joined Napoleon as he fell back. Everywhere fatal blunders were made by the French commanders, and it seemed as if Heaven had determined to overthrow every combination formed by Napoleon's sagacity, in order that the destruction of his army should be complete. The army of Macdonald, that should have joined him, was itself warmly pressed by the forces of Wittgenstein and the garrison of Riga, which had been greatly reinforced. Schwarzenberg, with the Austrian army, fell back without striking a blow; for the Austrians, in view of the misfortunes that had befallen Napoleon, were preparing to cast off their alliance with him; and to aid in his discomfiture, Wittgenstein was ordered by Alexander to withdraw at once from his operations against Macdonald and to march upon Borizov on the Berezina, the point towards which Napoleon was making; while Admiral Tchichagow, with the army of the Danube, that had been engaged in watching the Austrians, was to march in the same direction, and also interpose to cut off the French retreat.

CHAPTER XIV

NEY'S RETREAT

Ney's corps, as usual, had remained at Smolensk as the rear-guard of the army. The rest and abundance of food did much to restore their morale. Ney had utilized the time they remained there to see that the arms were examined, and new ones served out from the magazines in place of those found to be defective. A certain amount of clothing was also served out to the troops, and discipline restored. The numerous stragglers belonging to the divisions that had gone on were incorporated with his regiments, and all prepared for the toilsome and dangerous march before them. They believed that at Krasnoi they should come up with the main body of the army. But Krasnoi had already fallen, and the enemy were mustering thickly along the road.

"We have a rough time before us, Jules," one of the veterans said. "I should not say as much to any of the youngsters, but your spirits seem proof against troubles. You see, in the first place, we know really nothing of what is going on. For the last four days we have heard the sound of cannon in the air. It is a long way off, and one feels it rather than hears it; but there has certainly been heavy and almost constant fighting. Well, that shows that there are Russians ahead of us. Never was I in a country before where we could get no news. It is all guess-work. There may be 50,000 Russians already between us and Davoust's division, and there may be only a handful of Cossacks. It is a toss-up. Nothing seems to go as one would expect in this country. We are at a big disadvantage; for the skill of our generals is thrown away when they are working altogether in the dark.

"Do you know, this reminds me a good deal of our pursuit of your army to Corunna; only there I was one of the hunters, while here we are the hunted. When we entered the towns they had quitted we heard that they were altogether disorganized—a mere rabble of fugitives. But whenever we came up to them they turned round and fought like their own bull-dogs; and never did they make a stronger stand than they did when we came up at last and caught them at Corunna. There was the army we had been told was a disorganized mass standing in as good order, and with as firm a front, as if they had but just landed from their ships. And it was not in appearance only. They had 16,000 men; we had 20,000. They had only six or eight cannon, having embarked the remainder on board their ships; we had over fifty guns; and with Soult in command of us, there was not a man but regarded the affair as being as good as over, and considered that the whole of them would fall into our hands. Well, it wasn't so. We were on higher ground than they were, and soon silenced their little guns; and the village of Elvira, in front of their position, was carried without difficulty.

"Suddenly their reserve marched round, fell on our flank, and threatened our great battery that was in position there. They drove us out of Elvira, and for a time held us in check altogether. The fight round there became very hot; but they pushed forward and continued to attack us so desperately that they partly rolled our left up, and if it had not been that night set in—the fight had not begun until two o'clock—things would have gone very badly with us, for we were falling back in a great deal of confusion. There was a river behind us with but a single bridge by which we could retreat, and I can tell you we were glad indeed when the English ceased to press us and the firing stopped. All night their picket-fires burned, and we were expecting to renew the battle in the morning, when we found that their position was deserted, and that they were embarking on board their ships. That shows that although troops may be greatly disorganized in a retreat they do not fight any the worse when you come up to them.

"The English had practically no guns, they had no cavalry, they were inferior in numbers, and yet they beat us off. Their back was against a wall. You see, they knew that if they didn't do it there was nothing but a French prison before them. It is the same thing with us, lad; we don't want to fight—we want to get away if we can. But if we have got to fight we shall do it better than ever, for defeat would mean death; and if a soldier has got to die, he would a thousand times rather die by a musket-ball or a bayonet-thrust than by cold and hunger. There is one thing in our favour, the country we have to cross now is for the most part forest; so we shall have wood for our bivouacs, and if we have to leave the road it will cover our movements and give us a chance of making our way round the enemy. You will find that child a heavy burden, Jules. I do not blame you for bringing her along with you, but when things come to such a pass as this a man needs every ounce of his strength."

"I am aware of that," Jules said, looking at Stephanie as she stood laughing and talking with some of the soldiers at a fire close by; "but I believe that I shall save her. I cannot help thinking she would never have given that little cry which met my ears as I passed by the broken carriage, if it had not been meant that she should be saved. To all appearance she was well-nigh insensible, and she would have suffered no more pain. It would have been a cruel instead of a kind action to save her, when she was already well-nigh dead. I firmly believe that, whoever falls during the struggle that may be before us, that child will get through safely and be restored to her parents. I don't say that I think that I myself shall go through it, but my death does not necessarily mean hers. If she falls into the hands of the peasants, and tells them who she is, they may take care of her for the sake of getting a reward, and she may in time be restored to her friends. At any rate, as long as I have strength to carry her I shall assuredly do so; when I cannot, I shall wrap her in my cloak and shall lie down to die, bidding her sit wrapped up in it till she sees some Russians approaching. She will then speak to them in their own language and tell them who she is, and that they will get a great reward from her parents if they take care of her and send her to them."

"You are a good fellow, comrade—a man with a heart. I trust that, whoever gets out of this alive, you may be one of them. To most of us it matters little one way or the other. We have had our share of good luck, and cannot expect that the bullets will always avoid us. Now let us turn in, for we march at daybreak. At any rate, we may think ourselves lucky to have had five days' rest here, with no more trouble than was needed to keep the Russians from occupying that place across the river."

Julian called Stephanie to him, lay down by the side of his comrade near the fire, and was soon fast asleep. They were under arms before daylight broke, and in a few minutes were on the way. They had marched but half a mile when a series of tremendous explosions were heard—the magazines left behind at Smolensk had been blown up, together with such buildings as the fire had before spared. 112 guns had been left behind, there being only sufficient horses remaining to draw twelve. The fighting force was reduced to 7000 combatants, but there were almost as many stragglers, more or less armed, with them. The march led by the side of the Dnieper, and they bivouacked that night at Korodnia. The next day they arrived at a point within four miles of Krasnoi, where, on a hill, fronted by a deep ravine, 12,000 Russians, with forty guns, had taken up their position.

A thick mist covered the lower ground, and the advance of the French was not perceived by the enemy until they were within a short distance of its crest. Then the forty guns poured a storm of grape into the leading regiment. The survivors, cheering loudly, rushed forward at the batteries, and had almost reached them, when a heavy mass of Russian infantry flung themselves upon them with the bayonet, and after a short but desperate struggle hurled them down the hill again. The Russian cavalry charged them on the slope, and swept through their shattered ranks. Ney, ignorant that Napoleon had already left Krasnoi, and that the whole Russian army barred his way, made another effort to force a passage. He planted his twelve guns on a height above the ravines, and sent forward several companies of sappers and miners to endeavour to carry the battery again. Gallantly they made their way up the hill through a storm of fire. But the Russians again fell upon them in great force, and few indeed were enabled to make the descent of the hill and rejoin their comrades.

Darkness had set in now, and Ney, finding it impossible to make his way further, and feeling sure that had the Emperor been still at Krasnoi he would have sent a force to his assistance, fell back into the forest. His position was a desperate one; the scanty supply of provisions with which they had started was exhausted, and they were in an unknown country, surrounded by foes, without a guide, without carriage for the wounded, without an idea of the direction in which to march. The Russian general sent in two flags of truce, offering him terms of capitulation which would save the life of himself and of his brave soldiers. Ney, however, was not yet conquered. He detained the messengers with the flags of truce, lest they might take news to their general of the position of his force, and then, with all capable of the exertion, continued his march. They passed in silence within half a mile of the Cossack fires, and reaching a village on the Dnieper, attempted the passage; but the ice broke under the first gun, and it was necessary to abandon the whole of the artillery and every vehicle.

Before the entire body had passed, the Cossacks, attracted by the sound made by the troops marching across the ice, arrived and captured several hundred prisoners, for the most part stragglers. In a village further on they found temporary rest, surprising a few Cossacks and capturing their horses, which afforded a ration to the troops; but on the next morning a great swarm of Cossacks appeared on the plain and opened a heavy artillery fire. Unable to advance in that direction the column turned towards a wood on its left, but as it was about to enter the refuge, a battery concealed there poured a volley of grape into them. The column hesitated, but Ney dashed to the front, and they rushed forward and drove the battery from the wood. All day they continued their march through the forest, until, coming upon a village, they obtained a few hours' rest and shelter and some food.

It had been a terribly heavy day, for the snow here was not, as on the road, trampled down, and the marching was very heavy. Julian had carried the child the greater part of the day. The grenadiers had not been actively engaged, as they formed the rear-guard, and several times his friend the sergeant relieved him of Stephanie's weight.

"This is better luck than I looked for, comrade," he said as they cooked the food they had found in the village, filled their pipes, and sat down by a blazing fire. "Peste! I was frightened as we crossed the river last night. We knew the ice was not strong, and if it had given way as we crossed, not a man upon it would have reached the other side. However, it turned out for the best, and here we are again, and I believe that we shall somehow get through after all. Ney always has good luck. There is never any hesitation about him. He sees what has to be done and does it. That is the sort of man for a leader. I would rather serve under a man who does what he thinks best at once, even if it turns out wrong, than one who hesitates and wants time to consider. Ney has been called 'the child of victory,' and I believe in his star. Anyone else would have surrendered after that fight yesterday, and yet you see how he has got out of the scrape so far. I believe that Ney will cross the frontier safe, even if he carries with him only a corporal's guard."

Julian was too exhausted to talk, and every moment of rest was precious. Therefore, after smoking for a short time, he lay down to sleep. At daybreak the next morning the march through the forest continued. When from time to time they approached its edge, the Cossacks could be seen hovering thickly on the plain; but they dared not venture into the wood, which was so close that their horses would be worse than useless to them. At three o'clock, when within twenty miles of Orsza, two Polish officers volunteered to push ahead to that town on some peasant's horses that had been brought from the village where they had slept to acquaint the commander of any French force that might be there with their situation, and to pray for assistance. After a halt of an hour the column pushed on again. When they had marched another twelve miles the forest ceased. Night had long since fallen, and a thick fog hung over the ground. This served to hide their movements, but rendered it difficult in the extreme for them to maintain the right direction.

Their way led over a steep hill, which was climbed with great difficulty by the exhausted troops; but on reaching the summit they saw to their horror a long line of bivouac fires illuminating the plain in front of them. Even the most sanguine felt despair for a moment. Ney himself stood for a few minutes speechless, then he turned to his men.

"There is but one thing to do, comrades," he said. "It is death to stay here. Better a thousand times meet it as soldiers. Let us advance in absolute silence, and then rush upon our enemies and strive to burst our way through. They cannot know that we are so near, and, aided by the surprise, we may force a passage. If we fail, we will, before we die, sell our lives so dearly that our enemies will long bear us in remembrance."

In silence the column marched down the hill. No sound proclaimed that the enemy had taken the alarm. When within charging distance, the line levelled its bayonets and rushed forward to the fires. To their stupefaction and relief, they found no foe to oppose them. The fires had been lighted by order of the Cossack general to make them believe that an army lay between them and Orsza, and so cause them to arrest their march. Half an hour was given to the men to warm themselves by the fires, then the march was resumed. Three miles further the sound of a large body of men was heard, then came a challenge in French, "Qui vive!" A hoarse shout of delight burst from the weary force, and a minute later they were shaking hands with their comrades of Davoust's division. The Polish messengers had, in spite of the numerous Cossacks on the plains, succeeded in reaching Orsza safely. The most poignant anxiety reigned there as to the safety of Ney's command; and Davoust, on hearing the welcome news, instantly called his men under arms and advanced to meet them.

The delight on both sides was extreme, and Ney's soldiers were supplied with food that Davoust had ordered his men to put in their haversacks. A halt of three or four hours was ordered, for the column had been marching for eighteen hours, and could go no further. At daybreak they completed the remaining eight miles into Orsza. Napoleon himself was there. Here they rested for five days. Food was abundant, and arms were distributed to those who needed them. Ammunition was served out, and Napoleon employed himself with great energy in reorganizing his forces and in distributing the stragglers,—who were almost as numerous as those with the standards,—among them. Ney's corps was now too small for separate service, and henceforth was united to that of Davoust. The halt did wonders for the men. They were billeted among the houses of the town, and warmth and abundant food revived their strength. They looked forward with some confidence to reaching the spot where great magazines had been prepared, and where they would take up their quarters until the campaign recommenced in the spring.

Napoleon's plans, however, were all frustrated by the inconceivable blunders and follies of the generals, to whom were entrusted the task of carrying them out. Everywhere, in turn, they suffered themselves to be deceived and caught napping. The important positions entrusted to them were wrested from their hands. Minsk, where there were supplies for the whole army for months, had been captured, and now Borizow, where the passage of the Berezina was to be made, was captured almost without resistance. Well might Napoleon when he heard the news exclaim in despair:

"Will there never be an end to this blundering?"

Great as the cold had been before, it increased day by day in severity. Happily for the French, Kutusow, with the main Russian army, was far in their rear, and they might well hope, when joined by Victor, who was to meet them near the Berezina with his division, to be able to defeat the two Russian armies that barred their way, either force being inferior to their own.

Stephanie had borne the march wonderfully well. Since leaving Smolensk, she had had no walking to do. The cold was so great that she was glad to remain during the day snuggled up beneath Julian's cloak. The marching songs had ceased. Hunted as they were, silence was imperative, and indeed the distances traversed and the hardships endured were so great that even Julian felt that he had no longer strength to raise his voice. Few words indeed were spoken on the march, for the bitter cold seemed to render talking almost impossible.

Being in ignorance of the forces concentrating to cut him off, Napoleon ordered Oudinot's corps to march forward to secure the passage at Borizow, and Victor that at Studenski, but Tchichagow arrived at Borizow before Oudinot, and began to cross the bridge there. Oudinot, however, fell upon him fiercely before his whole army had passed over, and the Russians drew back across the bridge, destroying it behind them. Napoleon on his arrival found the Russian army of the Danube drawn up on the opposite bank ready to dispute his passage. He at once sent bodies of troops up and down the river to deceive the Russian admiral as to the point at which he intended to force a passage. Victor had already come in contact with Wittgenstein and had fought a drawn battle with him, and now moved to join Napoleon at the spot decided upon for the passage of the Berezina, near Studenski.

On the evening of the 25th of November Napoleon arrived there with Oudinot's corps. The engineers immediately commenced the construction of two bridges, and the cavalry and light infantry crossed the river to reconnoitre the enemy, and some batteries were established to cover the work. Materials were very scarce, and it was not until noon on the following day that the bridges were reported practicable. Oudinot's corps crossed at once, but the rest of the troops passed over in great confusion, which was increased by the frequent breaking down of the bridges. Victor took up a position to cover the rear, but one of his divisions was cut off by Wittgenstein, and eight thousand men forced to surrender. The main body of the French army, completely panic-stricken by the thunder of guns in their rear, crowded down in a confused mass. The passage was frequently arrested by fresh breakages in the bridges; hundreds were pushed off into the river by the pressure from behind; others attempted to swim across, but few of these succeeded in gaining the opposite bank, the rest being overpowered by the cold or overwhelmed by the floating masses of ice. Thousands perished by drowning. By the 28th the greater part of the French army had crossed, Victor's corps covering the passage and repulsing the efforts of Wittgenstein up to that time; then being unable to hold the Russians at bay any longer he marched down to the bridge, forcing a way through the helpless crowd that still blocked the approaches.

Altogether the loss of the French amounted to 28,000 men, of whom 16,000 were taken prisoners.

On the same day Tchichagow attacked in front with his army, but, animated by Napoleon's presence, and by despair, the French fought so fiercely that he was repulsed with much loss, and the way lay open to Wilna. The intensity of the cold increased daily, and the sufferings of the army were proportionately great. On the 5th of December Napoleon handed over the wreck of the army, now reduced to 45,000 men, to Murat; while the Viceroy was to have the chief command of the infantry.

By the time they reached the Berezina, Davoust's corps had been diminished to a few thousand men, and on Victor taking the post of rear-guard, they were relieved from that arduous task, and were among the first who crossed the fatal bridge. From there to Wilna there was comparatively little fighting. Kutusow's army was still far behind, and although Wittgenstein and the Admiral hung on their rear, the French army still inspired sufficient respect to deter them from attacking it in force.

As the army approached the Berezina, scarce a hundred men of the Grenadiers of the Rhone still hung together, and these were so feeble that they staggered rather than marched along. Rations had ceased to be issued, and the troops depended solely upon the flesh of the horses of the waggons conveying the military chests, treasure, and artillery, and from what they could gather in the deserted villages. So desperate were they now that even the fear of falling into the hands of the peasants was insufficient to deter them from turning off, whenever a village appeared in sight, in the hope of finding food, or, if that failed, at least a few hours' shelter. Not one of them was in such good condition as Julian, who had been sustained not only by his naturally high spirits, but by the prattle of the child, and by the added warmth of her sleeping close to him at night.

She now, for the most part, trotted beside him, and it was only when very tired that the child would allow him to take her up. She herself had never been short of food, for however small the portion obtained, enough for her was always set aside before it was touched. One day Julian had, with some of his comrades, entered a village. The others had insisted on lying down for a sleep, after devouring a little food they were fortunate enough to find in one of the houses. Julian's efforts to induce them to continue the march were in vain. They lighted a huge fire on a hearth with wood obtained by breaking up some of the doors, and declared that they would be warm for once, whatever came of it. The column was already some distance off, and night was closing in. Julian therefore started alone. He was carrying the child now, and for an hour he kept on his way. Still there were no signs of a road, and he at last became convinced that he must have gone in the wrong direction. He walked for half an hour longer, and then coming upon a small hut, he at once determined to pass the night there.

Laying the sleeping child down, he covered her over with his cloak. Then he broke up some woodwork, cut a portion of it into small pieces, mixed the contents of a cartridge with a little snow and placed it among them, and then drew the charge from his musket, put a little powder into it, and discharged it into the heap. In a few minutes a bright fire was blazing, and taking the child in his arms, he lay down before it, and was soon asleep. He was awakened some time afterwards by a strange noise. He sprang up at once, threw some fresh wood on the embers, and, grasping his musket, stood listening. In a minute the noise was renewed; something was scratching at the door, and a moment later he heard a pattering of feet overhead. Then came a low whimper and a snarl, and the truth at once rushed upon him. He was surrounded by wolves.

For a long time the march of the army had been accompanied by these creatures. Driven from the forest by cold and hunger, and scenting blood from afar, they had hung upon the skirts of the army, feasting on the bones of the horses and the bodies of the dead. Julian examined the door. It was a strong one, and there was no fear of their making an entry there. The roof, too, seemed solid; and the window, which was without glass, had a heavy wooden shutter. Hoping that by morning the wolves, finding that they could not enter, would make off, Julian lay down by the fire again, and slept for some hours. When he woke daylight was streaming in through a crack in the shutter. On looking through this and through the chinks of the door, he saw to his dismay that the wolves were still there. Some were sitting watching the house; others were prowling about. It was clear that they had no intention whatever of leaving. The child had been roused by his movements.

"Stephanie wants breakfast," she said decidedly, as he broke up some more wood and rekindled the fire.

"I am afraid, dear, you will have to wait," he said. "I have not got any to give you."

"Let us go and get some," she said, standing up.

"I would, Stephanie; but there are some wolves outside, and we can't go until they move."

"Wolves are bad beasts. Stephanie was out riding in the sleigh with papa, when they came out from a wood and ran after us, and they would have killed us if the horses had not been very fast. Papa shot some of them, but the others did not seem to mind, and were close behind when we got home, where the men came out with forks and axes, and then they ran away. Stephanie will wait for her breakfast."

Julian thought for some time, and, then going to the window, opened the shutters and began to fire at the wolves. Several were killed. They were at once torn to pieces by their companions, who then withdrew to a safe distance, and sat down to watch. Julian had not even hoped that it would be otherwise. Had he waited, it was possible that they would at last leave the hut and go off in the track of the army; but even in that case, he would not, he felt, be able to overtake it alone, for, weak as he was, he felt unequal to any great exertion, and he and his charge might be devoured by these or other wolves, long before he came up with the column, or they might be killed by Cossacks or by peasants. The last were the most merciless enemies, for death at their hands would be slower and more painful than at the hands of the wolves, but at least the child might be saved, and it was in hopes of attracting attention that he opened fire. He continued therefore to discharge his gun at intervals, and to his great satisfaction saw in the afternoon a number of peasants approaching. The wolves at once made off.

"Stephanie," he said, "there are some of your people coming. They will soon be here, and you must tell them who you are, and ask them to send you to your father, and tell them that he will give them lots of money for bringing you back to him."

"Yes," the child said, "and he will thank you very, very much for having been so good to me."

"I am afraid, Stephanie, that I shall not go back with you. The people kill the French whenever they take them."

"But you are not French; you are English," she said, indignantly. "Besides, the French are not all bad; they were very good to me."

"I am afraid, dear, that it will make very little difference to them my being an Englishman. They will see that I am in French uniform, and will regard me as an enemy just as if I were French."

"I will not let them hurt you," she said sturdily. "They are serfs, and when I tell them who I am they will obey me, for if they don't I will tell them that my father will have them all flogged to death."

"Don't do that, dear. You are a long way from your father's house, and they may not know his name; so do not talk about flogging, but only about the money they will get if they take you back. They are poor men, they have had a great deal to suffer, and have been made very savage; so it is best for you to speak kindly and softly to them. Now, dear, let us turn down that collar, so that they can see your face, and take your things off your head, and then go out and speak to them. They are close here."

The child did as he told her, and as he opened the door she stepped out. The peasants, who were only some twenty yards away, stopped in surprise at the appearance of the strange little figure before them. Her golden hair fell over her shoulders, and the long loose jacket concealed the rest of her person. She spoke to them in Russian, in a high, clear voice:

"I am the Countess Stephanie Woronski. I am glad to see you. I was travelling to go to my father, when there was an accident, and my nurse and the coachman were both killed; and I should have died too, but a good man—an Englishman—took me up, and he has carried me many days, and has fed me and kept me warm and been my nurse. He must go with me back to my father; and my father will give you lots of money for taking us both to him, and you must remember that he is an Englishman and not a Frenchman, although somehow he has been obliged to go with their army; and he is very, very good."

All this time Julian was standing behind her, musket in hand, determined to sell his life dearly. The peasants stood irresolute; they conferred together; then one of them advanced, and took off his fur cap and bowed to the child.

"Little mistress," he said, "we are but peasants, and do not know the name of your honoured father; but assuredly we will take you to our village, and our priest will find out where he lives, and will take you home to him; but this man with you is a Frenchman, and an enemy."

The child stamped her foot angrily. "Pig of a man!" she exclaimed passionately, "Do I, then, lie? I tell you he is English. I have a French coat on, just as he has. Will you say next that I am a French girl? I tell you that my friend must come with me, and that when I come to my father he will give you much money. He is a friend of the Czar, and if I tell him that you have hurt my friend, he and the Czar will both be angry."

A murmur broke from the group of peasants. The anger of the Czar was, of all things, the most terrible. Doubtless this imperious, little countess was a great lady, and their habitual habit of subservience to the nobles at once asserted itself, and, while they had hesitated before, the threat of the Czar's anger completed their subjugation.

"I AM THE COUNTESS STEPHANIE WORONSKI. I AM GLAD TO SEE YOU."

"It shall be as the little mistress wills it," the peasant said humbly. "No harm shall be done to your friend. We cannot promise that the troops will not take him away from us, but if they do not he shall go with you when we find where your father lives. If he has saved your life, he must be, as you say, a good man, and we will take care of him."

"They will take care of you," the child said in French, turning to Julian. "I told them that my father would reward them, and that the Czar would be very angry with them if they hurt you; and so they have promised to take you with me to him."

Julian at once placed his gun against the wall, and, taking her hand, walked forward to the peasants.

"Tell them," he said, "that the English are the friends of Russia, and that there are some English officers now with their army, for I have several times seen scarlet uniforms among the Russian staff."

The child repeated this to the peasants. One of them went into the hut, and looked round; and then securing Julian's musket, rejoined the others, who at once started across the snow, one of the party carrying Stephanie. On her telling them that she was hungry, some black bread was produced. She gave the first piece handed her to Julian, and then sat contentedly munching another. The peasants had now come to the conclusion that the capture would bring good fortune to them, and one of them took from the pocket of his sheep-skin caftan a bottle, which he handed to Julian. The latter took a drink that caused him to cough violently, to the amusement of the peasants, for it was vodka, and the strong spirit took his breath away after his long abstinence from anything but water. It did him good, however, and seemed to send a glow through every limb, enabling him to keep pace with the peasants. Their course lay north, and after four hours' walking they arrived at a good-sized village at the edge of a forest.

Their arrival created much excitement. There was a hubbub of talk, and then they were taken into the largest house in the village. Stephanie, who had been asleep for some time, woke up; and Julian threw aside his cloak, for the close heat of the interior was almost overpowering. A very old man, the father of the families that occupied the house,—for in Russia married sons all share the houses of their parents,—made a deep bow to Stephanie, and placed a low seat for her before the stove. Julian helped her off with her jacket and her other encumbrances, and her appearance in a pretty dress evidently increased the respect in which she was held by the peasants. In a short time bowls of hot broth were placed before them, and, weak as was the liquor, both enjoyed it immensely after their monotonous diet of horse-flesh. Then Stephanie was given a corner on the cushion placed on a wide shelf running round the apartment. The place next to her was assigned to Julian, who, after swallowing another glass of vodka, was in a few minutes sound asleep, with a sweet consciousness of rest and security to which he had long been a stranger.

In the morning there was a gathering composed of the papa or priest of the village and the principal men. When it was concluded, Stephanie was informed that none of them knew the place of residence of her father, but that a messenger had been sent off to the nearest town with a letter from the priest to the bishop there, asking him to inform them of it. She was asked how many days had passed since she had fallen in with the French, and how long she had been travelling before she did so. Julian was able to say exactly where he had fallen in with her—about thirty miles from Smolensk. Stephanie herself was vague as to the time she had travelled before the accident to the carriage, "days and days" being the only account that she could give of the matter. The priest then spoke to her for some time in Russian.

"They want you," she said to Julian, "to take off your uniform and to put on clothes like theirs. They say that though they wish to take you with me to my father, they might on the way fall in with other people or with soldiers, who would not know how good you are, and might take you away from them and kill you, so that it would be safer for you to travel in Russian dress. You won't mind that, will you?"

"Not at all, Stephanie; I think that it is a very good plan indeed."

A quarter of an hour later Julian was equipped in the attire of a well-to-do peasant, with caftan lined with sheep-skin, a round fur cap, a thick pair of trousers of a dark rough cloth, bandages of the same material round the leg from the knee to the ankle, and high loose boots of untanned leather with the hair inside. The transformation greatly pleased the peasants, whose hatred of the French uniform had hitherto caused them to stand aloof from him, and they now patted him on the shoulder, shook his hand, and drank glasses of vodka, evidently to his health, with great heartiness. Julian could, as yet, scarcely believe that all this was not a dream. From the day that he had crossed the Niemen he had been filled with gloomy forebodings of disaster, and sickened by the barbarities of the soldiers upon the people, while, during the retreat, he had been exposed to constant hardship, engaged in innumerable fights and skirmishes, and impressed with the firm belief that not a Frenchman would ever cross the frontier save as a prisoner. After this the sense of warmth, the abundance of food, and the absence of any necessity for exertion seemed almost overpowering, and for the next three or four days he passed no small proportion of his time in sleep.

Stephanie was quite in her element. She was treated like a little queen by the villagers, who considered her presence among them a high honour as well as a source of future reward. They were never weary of listening to the details of her stay among the French, and accorded to Julian a good deal of deference both for the kindness he had shown the little countess and for the service that he had thereby rendered to themselves. It was ten days before an answer was received as to the count's estates. They lay, it said, far to the south, but the bishop was of opinion that the little countess had better be sent to St. Petersburg, as the count had a palace there, and would be certain to be at the capital at the present juncture of affairs. He offered that, if they would bring her to him, he would see that she was sent on thither by a post-carriage, but that in view of the extreme cold it would be better that she should not be forwarded until the spring.

A village council was held on the receipt of this letter, and the proposal that she should be sent by the bishop was unanimously negatived. It seemed to the villagers that in such a case the glory of restoring Stephanie to her parents, and the reward that would naturally accrue from it, would not fall to them; but, at the same time, no alternative method occurred to them. Finally, after much consultation, Stephanie was asked to interpret the bishop's letter to Julian, and when she had done so she was told to add: "They think, Julian, that if they send us to the bishop papa will not know that it was they who found me and took care of me."

Julian understood the difficulty. He first inquired how much the village could raise to pay for the expenses of a post-carriage to St. Petersburg. He said that it would, of course, be only a loan, and would be repaid by the count. This led to a considerable amount of discussion, but the difficulty was much diminished when Julian said that he could himself supply five napoleons towards the fund. It had been decided that three times that amount would be required to pay all expenses of travel, and the priest agreeing to contribute an equal amount to Julian's, the remaining sum was speedily made up. It was then arranged that the priest would himself go to Borizow and obtain the podorojna or order for the supply of post-horses at the various stations. He would have to name those who would accompany him. The head man of the village was unanimously elected to go with him, and after some talk it was settled that Julian should be put down as Ivan Meriloff, as a foreign name would excite suspicion and cause much trouble, and possibly he might be detained as a prisoner, in which case the peasants saw that there would be considerable difficulty in inducing the little countess to go with them. The priest was absent three days, and then returned with the necessary document authorizing him to start from Borizow in four days' time. Julian was sorry when the time came for his departure. After four months of incessant hardship and fatigue, the feeling of rest and comfort was delightful. He had been more weakened than he was aware of by want of food, and, as his strength came back to him, he felt like one recovering from a long illness, ready to enjoy the good things of life fully, to bask in the heat of the stove, and to eat his meals with a sense of real enjoyment.

Rumours had come in every day of the terrible sufferings of the French as they were hotly pressed by the triumphant Russians, and of the general belief that but few would survive to cross the Niemen. Still, while the French were thus suffering the Russians were in but little better plight, following, as they did, through a country that had been swept bare of everything that could be burned by the retreating French. Their sufferings from cold were terrible, 90,000 perished, and out of 10,000 recruits, who afterwards marched for Wilna, as a reinforcement, only 1500 reached that city, and the greater portion of these had at once to be taken to the hospital mutilated from frost-bite. Thus, then, the number of Russians that perished was at least as great as that of their harassed foes, and this in their own climate, and without the necessity for the constant vigilance, that had assisted to break down the retreating army.

Julian was instructed in the Russian words to reply if asked by any of the postmasters whether he was the Ivan Meriloff mentioned in the passport, and, on the day after the return of the priest, they started in a sledge filled with hay and covered with sheep-skins.

Julian with Stephanie were nestled up in the hay at one end of the sledge, the two Russians at the other. On reaching Borizow they stopped at the post-house, and on producing the podorojna were told that the carriage and horses would be ready in half an hour. They had brought a considerable amount of provisions with them, and now laid in a stock of such articles as could not be procured in the villages. When the post-carriage came round, a large proportion of the hay in the sledge was transferred to it, together with the sheep-skins. There was no luggage, and four horses were deemed sufficient. The wheels had, of course, been taken off the vehicle, and it was placed on runners. The driver climbed up to his seat, cracked his whip furiously, and the horses started at a gallop. The motion was swift and pleasant, indeed travelling in Russia is much more agreeable in winter than in summer, for the roads, which in summer are often detestable, are in winter as smooth as glass, over which the sledge glides with a scarce perceptible movement, and the journeys are performed much more rapidly than in summer.

The distance between the post-houses varied considerably, being sometimes only nine miles apart, sometimes as many as twenty, but they were generally performed at a gallop, the priest, at Julian's suggestion, always giving somewhat more than the usual drink-money to the driver, and in five days from the time of their leaving Borizow they arrived at St. Petersburg, halting only for a few hours each night at post-houses. They had no difficulty in ascertaining where the Woronski palace was situated, and, taking a droski, drove there at once. Stephanie clapped her hands as she saw it.

"You ought to have put on your cloak, Julian, and to have packed me up under it as you used to carry me, and to take me in like that."

"I am afraid that grand-looking personage at the door would not have let me in. As it is, he is looking at us with the greatest contempt."

"That is Peter," the child said. "Peter, Peter, what are you standing staring for? Why don't you come and help me down as usual?"

The porter, a huge man with a great beard, and wearing a fur cap and a long fur-trimmed pelisse, almost staggered back as the child spoke. He had, as Julian said, been regarding the droski and its load with an air of supreme contempt, and had been about to demand angrily why it ventured to drive up into the courtyard of the palace. He stood immovable until Stephanie threw back her sheep-skin hood, then, with a loud cry, he sprang down the steps, dashed his fur cap to the ground, threw himself on his knees, and taking the child's hand in his, pressed it to his forehead. The tears streamed down his cheeks, as he sobbed out, "My little mistress, my little mistress! and you have come back again to be the light of our hearts—oh, what a joyful day is this!"

"Thank you, Peter. Now, please lift me down. I am quite well. Are papa and mamma well?"

"The gracious countess is not well, little mistress, but when she knows that you are back, she will soon regain her health. His excellency, your father, is not ill, but he is sorely troubled. He has been away for a fortnight searching for news of you, and returned but last week. I don't know what his news was, but it was bad, for the countess has been worse since he returned."

"This gentleman has told me, Peter, that I must not run in to see them without their being told first that I am safe, and that you had better fetch Papa Serge. This is the English gentleman, Peter, who saved my life when I was almost dead with cold, and carried me for days and days under his cloak, and kept me warm close to him when we lay down in the snow at night."

Again the Russian fell on his knees, and seizing Julian's hand, put it to his forehead. Then he jumped up, "Why am I keeping you out in the cold?" he said. "Come in, little mistress, and I will send to fetch the papa."

"Cover up your head, Stephanie," Julian said as, holding his hand tightly, they entered the hall together. "If others were to see you the news would run through the house like wildfire, and it would come to your mother's ears before it had been broken to her. Tell Peter to take us into a quiet room, and not to inform the man he sends to the priest that you are here."

Followed by the village priest and the peasant they entered a room fitted as a library.

"It is here papa writes his letters," Stephanie said, throwing back her hood again and taking off her cloak; "isn't it nice and warm?"

Coming in from the temperature of some forty degrees below freezing, it was to Julian most uncomfortably warm. It was some four or five minutes before the door opened, and Papa Serge, the family chaplain, entered with a somewhat bewildered face, for he had been almost forcibly dragged down by Peter, who had refused to give any explanation for the urgency of his demand that he should accompany him instantly to the count's study. When his eyes fell on Stephanie, who had started up as he entered, he gave a cry of joy. A moment later she sprang into his arms.

"Dear, dear, Papa Serge!" she said, as she kissed his withered cheeks warmly. "Oh I do love to be home again, though I have been very happy, and everyone has been very kind to me. Now, you mustn't stay here, because I want to see papa and mamma; and this gentleman says—he is my great friend, you know, and I call him Nurse Julian—that you must go and tell them first that I have come, and that you must tell them very gently, so that it won't upset poor mamma."

"Tell him, Stephanie, that he had better say at first only that someone has just come with the news that you are quite safe, and that you will be here soon, and then after a little while, he had better call your father out and tell him the truth. By the way, ask if they are together now."

The child put the question.

"No, the countess is in bed and the count is walking up and down the great drawing-room. He does it for hours at a time."

"In that case, Stephanie, tell Serge to speak first to your father, and to bring him down here to you. He will break it to your mother better than anyone else would do."

The priest was too deeply moved to speak, but upon Stephanie translating what Julian had said, put her down and left the room. As soon as he had done so the priest who had travelled with them, and who, with his companion, had been standing in an attitude of respect while Stephanie was speaking, said to her:

"Little countess, we will go out into the hall and wait there. It were better that his excellency, your father, should meet you here alone."

"He would not mind," Stephanie said, "but if you think that you had better go, please do."

The two peasants left the room somewhat hastily. They had been absolutely awed at the splendour of the house, which vastly surpassed anything they had ever imagined, and were glad to make an excuse to leave the room and so avoid seeing the count until his daughter had explained the reason of their presence there. Julian guessed their reason for leaving and was about to follow them when Stephanie took him by the hand.

"No," she said, "you are not to go, Julian. It is you who saved my life, and it is you who must give me back to papa." A few minutes elapsed, then the door was suddenly thrown open and the count ran in.

"My Stephanie! my little Stephanie!" he cried, as he caught her up. "Oh, my little girl! we never thought to see you again—it seems a miracle from heaven. Do not cry, darling," he said presently, as she lay sobbing with her head on his shoulder. "It is all over now, and you will come to think of it in time as a bad dream."

"Not a very bad one, papa. It has been funny and strange, but not bad. Oh, and I meant this gentleman—he is an English gentleman, papa—to have put me into your arms, only somehow I forgot all about it when you came in. I call him Nurse Julian, papa, because he has been my nurse. He has carried me for days and days on his back under his warm cloak, and I have slept curled up in his arms; and sometimes there were battles. Oh, such a noise they made! When it was a big battle he stowed me away in a waggon, but sometimes when it was a small one, and he had not time to take me to the waggon, he carried me on his back, and I used to jump at first when he fired his gun, but I soon got accustomed to it, and he always got me plenty of food, though it was not very nice. But he didn't often get enough, and he became very thin and pale, and then I used sometimes to run along by his side for a bit, and I only let him carry me when I was very tired, and at last we were in a little hut by ourselves, and some peasants came. They looked very wicked at first, but I told them who I was, and that you would give them money if they brought me back to you, and so we went to their village and stayed there, and it was warm and nice, and there was plenty of food, and dear Julian got strong again, and then they brought us here in a post-carriage, and two of them came with me. They are out in the hall now."

The count set his little daughter down, and coming up to Julian threw his arms round his neck and kissed him in Russian fashion. "My benefactor!" he exclaimed, "I don't understand all that Stephanie has told me, but it is enough that you saved her life, and that you nursed her with the tenderness of a mother, and have restored her to us as one from the grave. Never can I fully express my thanks or prove my gratitude to you, but now you will, I trust, excuse me. I am burning to carry the news of our dear one's return to her mother, whose condition is giving us grave anxiety. She is far too weak to stand any sudden shock, and I will merely tell her now that news has come that a little girl whose description corresponds with that of Stephanie has been found and is on her way here, and may arrive very shortly. More than that I shall not venture upon to-day, unless, indeed, I find that the excitement and suspense is likely to be even more injurious to her than the state of dull despair in which she now lies. If I see that it is so I must go on, little by little, till she guesses the truth. Now, Stephanie, you had better come up to your own room. Of course, your friend will come with you," he added with a smile as Stephanie took Julian's hand. "But you had better wait three or four minutes so that I may give strict orders to the household that everything is to be kept perfectly quiet, and that not a sound is to be heard in the house. There will be time enough for rejoicings afterwards."

The count, who was a handsome man some thirty years old, now left the room. He paused in the hall for a minute, shook the priest and his companion warmly by the hand, and assured them that they should be handsomely rewarded for the kindness they had shown to his daughter, and then after speaking to Peter he ran lightly upstairs to his wife's room. Stephanie waited for about five minutes and then said:

"I should think that papa has had time to give the orders. Now, Julian, shall we go?"

"Yes, dear, I think we might do so."

On going out into the hall a singular spectacle presented itself. The grand staircase was lined on each side with kneeling men and women. There was a sound of suppressed sobbing, and a low murmur was heard as Stephanie appeared.

"Go first, Stephanie dear," Julian said in a low voice; "they want to kiss your hands."

Stephanie showed no shyness, for, stopping on each step, she held out her hands to the kneeling figures, who murmured prayers and blessings. As they kissed them, she said softly to each, "Thank you very much, but I must not talk now. This gentleman is my friend. It is he who saved my life, and nursed me, and carried me. You must all love him for my sake," whereupon, as Julian followed her, he met with a reception similar to that given to their young mistress. He was glad when at last they reached the top of the stairs and Stephanie led the way into her own room, which was a sort of glorified nursery. Here two or three maids were laying a table, and as the door closed behind him they crowded round her and by turns kissed and hugged her. Then an old woman, who had sat apart until the girls had had their turn, came forward. She placed her hands solemnly on the child's head:

"May the great Father bless you, my child. I have seen many glad days since I entered the service of your house sixty years ago. I was present at your grandfather's wedding, and your father's, but never was there so bright and happy a day as this, which but half an hour ago was so dark and sad. It was but three days ago that the whole household went into mourning for you, for the news your father brought home seemed to show that all hope was at an end. In five minutes all this has changed. You see the maids have got on their festive dresses, and I will warrant me they never changed their things so rapidly before. Now we have but to get your beloved mother strong again, which, please God, will not be long, and then this will be the happiest house in all Russia."

"This is my nurse, my new nurse, Elizabeth. His name is Julian, and he is an English gentleman, as you will see better when he gets some nice clothes on. He has carried me days and days across the snow, and kept me warm by night and day, and done everything for me. He doesn't speak Russian, but he can speak French, and so, of course, we got on very nicely; and I have been in battles, Elizabeth, think of that! and I was not afraid a bit, and I was quite happy all the time, only, of course, I am very, very glad to get home again."

The meal was now laid, and Julian and the child sat down to it with a vigorous appetite. Their food while in the village had been coarse though plentiful, and Julian especially appreciated the delicate flavour and perfect cooking of the many dishes of whose names and contents he was absolutely ignorant. An hour after they had finished, the count came in.

"Your mother has borne it better than I expected, Stephanie," he said. "I have been able to break the news to her sooner than I expected. Come with me; be very quiet and do not talk much. She will be well content to have you lying quietly in her arms." So saying, he lifted her and carried her off, saying to Julian, "I will return and have the pleasure of a talk with you after I have left Stephanie with her mother."

CHAPTER XV

IN COMFORTABLE QUARTERS

It was an hour before the Count returned to the nursery. "Ah, my friend," he said, "what happiness have you brought to us. Already my wife is a new creature. I had begun to think that I should lose her too, for the doctors told me frankly that they feared she would fall into a decline. Now her joy is so great that it was with difficulty that I could tear myself away from contemplating her happiness, but the doctor came in and recommended that she should try and sleep for a time, or if she could not sleep that she should at least lie absolutely quiet, so Stephanie has nestled down by her side, and I was able to come to you." He now led the way to a luxuriously furnished smoking-room.

"This is my snuggery," he said. "The library below is where I go into matters with my stewards, receive persons who come on business, and so on. This is where I read and receive my friends. Now, will you help yourself to those cigars, and let us talk. At present I know nothing. Stephanie was left down at our estate, near Kieff, under the charge of her French nurse, who has been with her since she was born. She was rather governess than nurse of late. She was a French émigré, and of good French family, and we had implicit confidence in her. I wrote to her when the invasion first began, saying that as at present we could not tell whether St. Petersburg or Moscow would be Napoleon's object of attack, but as all the centre of Russia would be involved in the war, I wished that Stephanie should remain quietly with her. I said that, should any French army approach Kieff, she was to take Stephanie at once to my estate near Odessa.

"After the invasion began I sent off several letters to the same effect, two by my own couriers, but owing to our army falling back so rapidly, I imagine that none of the letters ever reached the nurse. Of course, the whole postal communication of the country has been thrown into confusion. At last, two months ago, a messenger from Kieff brought me a letter from her making no allusion to those I had sent her, but saying that as she heard that the French army was at Moscow she felt sure I should wish her to bring Stephanie to us, and that, after a consultation with my steward, she would in three days start direct after sending off her letter. We were, of course, thunderstruck. She apparently had the idea that the whole of the French were at Moscow, and that it would, therefore, be perfectly safe to cross the roads between them and the frontier. The poor woman said that should they by any chance come across any body of her countrymen, she was sure that they would not interfere with a woman and child. Her anxiety seemed to relate solely to the weather and food, but she assured me that she would bring an abundance of wraps of all sorts, and a supply of provisions in the fourgon sufficient for the journey.

"Half an hour after I received the letter I sent off two couriers. They were, of course, to go round east of Moscow and then to Kieff. They were to drive at the top of their speed the whole way, and I obtained a special order for them to be instantly furnished with post-horses everywhere. In the meantime there was nothing to do but to wait. My orders were that immediately they arrived they were to send off a fresh messenger by the way they had come, saying whether Stephanie had started, and they were bearers of letters of instruction to the steward that six mounted men were instantly to follow the road the carriage had taken, making inquiries at every post-house, and to endeavour to trace them, and if the clue was anywhere lost to bring word to me. I waited ten days, then I got news that Stephanie had left five weeks before my messengers arrived there. The nurse's letter had been a very long time in coming to me, and they had started, as she said, three days after it was written, therefore if they had got safely through the country occupied by the French they should have arrived here at least three weeks before.

"According to the dates there was little doubt that they must have crossed the main road from Moscow to the frontier at the very time when the French army on its retreat would be moving along. All that we had heard and knew of the terrible distress, both of their army and of our own, showed that at that time the intense suffering of the French and the savage reprisals of our peasantry had reduced them to a state when nothing was respected, and that a pair of valuable horses and a heap of costly furs, to say nothing of the food carried, would be prizes almost beyond value. Deprived of these, a nurse and child would, in a few hours, die of the cold. That some such fate must have befallen them seemed almost certain, for otherwise they must have joined us.

"I could tell pretty well the road that they would follow, and started along it. Half way between here and Smolensk I met the six men. What they said confirmed my worst fears. They had learnt where the carriage had last halted for the night. The party had not travelled post, but had kept their own horses and had travelled only by day. Had they lingered only one day anywhere on the way they would have crossed the Moscow road on the day after the rear-guard of the French had passed.

"But news travelled slowly, and no doubt, at the post-house where they slept, no word that the French army was passing along had been received. Beyond that, the men had been able to gather no news whatever of the carriage. The country was a desert, tenanted only by dead; and the men's descriptions of what they saw were so horrible that my blood was frozen. However, I kept on my journey, taking them with me. We went to the post-house where the carriage had last stopped, and then took up the search. There were half a dozen roads by which they might have proceeded; however, we took the most easterly one, and then, when it crossed the main road, followed the latter. It was choked with deserted waggons and guns. Dead bodies lay everywhere; many partly devoured by wolves; all stripped of their clothing. After making our way through this terrible scene for a few miles, we saw, fifty yards from the road, the remains of a sleigh. Its bright yellow colour caught our eyes, and when we got to it there was no room for doubt. The body of the sleigh was gone—had been burnt for firewood; but the colour was that of my own carriage, and two of the men who belonged to the stables at Kieff said that they could swear to it, owing to a new iron that had been put on to one of the runners the day before it had started. But there were other signs. Portions of the harness lay about, and on one of these enough of the silver-work remained to show that it was ours.

"Then we searched farther. Turning over a mound of newly-fallen snow, we found the bodies of the coachman and the nurse. We searched for hours, but could not find that of the child; but as to her fate we had no doubt. She might have run away into the forest, or she might have been devoured by wolves. That she was dead was certain. I left four of the men there. They were to establish themselves in the nearest village, and to continue the search day by day, and to remain there, if necessary, till the spring came and the snow disappeared. I returned here ten days ago with the news that all hope was at an end, and that Stephanie was lost to us for ever. Now, sir, will you tell me how it was that you saved her? You were doubtless with the French army, though how you came to be there is almost as great a puzzle as how Stephanie was saved."

"I will tell you that afterwards, Count," Julian replied.

Then he related how, on marching past the overturned carriage, he heard what would doubtless have been Stephanie's last cry, and had found her lying half-frozen among the cushions. He stated the means he had taken to restore warmth to her, and how he had strapped her to his back under his warmly-lined cloak.

Then he gave, as well as he could remember, the details of each day's experience: how Stephanie had become a general pet of the soldiers; how they had manufactured a warm cloak and hood for her; how she had ridden on shoulders, and had joined in the marching songs of the regiment, and had really kept well and in good spirits on the march; how, as he got too weak to carry her, she had trotted by his side; and how his comrades, in spite of their exhaustion, had been willing to relieve him of her weight. Then he told how, at last, they had separated from the regiment when but a few hours' march from the Berezina; and how Stephanie in turn had saved his life from the peasants.

"So you see, Count," he concluded, "the kindness that I had shown your child has already been repaid to me many fold. Not only did she save my life from the peasants, but I have no doubt that her pretty talk, and the occupation she offered to my thoughts, and her warmth as she nestled close to me at night, were the means of my retaining my strength to a far greater degree than was the case with most of my comrades, and enabled me to survive when so many dropped dead from cold and exhaustion."

"That may be so, my friend," the count said. "God has doubtless rewarded you for your good action, but that in nowise lessens our obligations towards you. Now, will you tell me somewhat of your own history?"

"It is a long story, Count."

"All the better, my friend. I trust that my wife is asleep by this time, and the child with her, and nothing can be of greater interest to me than to hear it."

Julian therefore related his story in full, and produced the paper given him on his enlistment, guaranteeing that he should not be called upon to fight against his countrymen.

"Since we entered Russia, Count," he said, "and I have seen the savage manner in which the peasantry were treated, not so much by the French troops as by the allies, I bitterly regretted that I had enlisted; but, at the time, no notion of this had ever entered my mind. I have told you that the life at Verdun was intolerable. We died in hundreds, for a sort of dull despair seemed to settle on everyone; and, although for a long time I had borne up against it, I had come to the point when death would have been welcome. A return to my own country seemed closed to me, owing to the circumstances I have related to you; and I entered the French service, just as, in the wars a couple of hundred years ago, Englishmen and Scotchmen were to be found fighting as soldiers of fortune in the armies of well-nigh every power of Europe."

"I cannot blame you, Mr. Wyatt. Yours is a singular and most unfortunate story, and it seems to me that, had I been in your place, I should have acted precisely the same, and should have been glad to take service under any flag rather than have remained to rot in a prison. Certainly you had a thousand times better excuse than had the Austrians and Prussians, who, after having been our allies, entered upon this savage war of invasion without a shadow of excuse, save that it was the will of Napoleon. However, I think that it will be as well, in order to save any necessity for explanation, that I should introduce you to my friends as an English gentleman who has come to me with the warmest recommendations, and whom I am most anxious to serve in any way. This is not a time when men concern themselves in any way with the private affairs of others. There is not a family in Russia, high or low, who has not lost one or more members in this terrible struggle. Publicly, and as a nation, we rejoice at our deliverance, and at the destruction of our enemies. Privately, we mourn our losses.

"They have been terrible. As yet we scarcely know how great; but I imagine that they will be found to have been no less than that of the enemy. We hear that, in the pursuit, and without having taken any part in the actual fighting after Krasnoi, Kutusow's army alone has lost nearly 100,000 men from cold and fatigue; while, of the central army of Napoleon, but four hundred infantry and six hundred cavalry repassed the Niemen with their arms and standards. The other Russian divisions suffered as severely as those with Kutusow. The Emperor has himself gone to Wilna to endeavour to alleviate the sufferings of the sick and wounded, with which the city is crammed. Wide as will be the mourning in France, it will be no less so in Russia. Now, the first thing to do is to provide you with suitable garments. This I will put in hand immediately; but, until they can be procured, you must content yourself with some of mine, though, as you are some four inches taller than I am and far wider, they will suit you but poorly. However, I have an ample store of dressing-gowns and wraps, and you must remain indoors a prisoner until you are properly fitted out. By the way, I had an interview with the two honest men who came with you before I returned to you, and have arranged their business fully to their satisfaction. The Papa will be able to build himself a new church, and the villagers to repair all the losses they have suffered in the campaign.

"They were," he said, with a smile, "anxious to see you, as they said that they had an account to settle with you, as you had furnished one-third of the money required for the trip. However, I told them that they could set their minds at rest on that score, for that I would settle with you privately. I only mention it that you should not think they had gone off without any remembrance of your share in the business."

An hour later, a tailor with his assistant came to measure Julian. Three days later, the Count suggested that he should go for a drive with him in his sledge, and, wrapped up in furs, Julian took his place beside him in a splendidly-appointed open vehicle. Stephanie sat between them. The sledge was drawn by three horses—the centre one in shafts, while those on either side ran free. A purple net covered the three animals almost touching the ground, and so preventing the particles of snow being thrown up by their hoofs into the sledge. The driver, in fur cap and pelisse, and with an immense beard, sat on a seat in front. A number of bells were attached to the harness of the horses, and to a bow-shaped piece of wood that arched over the head of the central horse.

"This is an improvement on the post-waggons, Stephanie," Julian said.

The child nodded brightly. "You said it would all seem like a dream, Julian," she remarked presently, as they dashed swiftly down the broad street of the Nevsky, crowded with vehicles of all kinds, from the splendidly-appointed sledges, like their own, to the lumbering vehicles of the peasants piled up with firewood. "It almost seems like a dream already, and yet you know I was very comfortable with you."

"It will be something for you to look back upon all your life," her father said. "There will be many who will have strange and sad memories of the war, but not one who will have a stranger experience than you have to talk about. Happily, there was, as far as you are concerned, but little sadness in it."

Julian was delighted with the brightness and gaiety of St. Petersburg, with its broad streets, its stately palaces, its fine cathedrals, and its busy population. The universal use of furs prevented the symbols of mourning being apparent, and, as they drove along in the luxurious equipage, even he, like the child, could scarce believe that the desperate fight at Smolensk, the even longer and more obstinate contest at Borodino, and the terrible scenes on the retreat, were realities. On his return to the palace, Julian understood the object of the Count in having taken him for a drive, for he found the armoires and wardrobes of his room crammed with garments of all descriptions.

Here was underclothing of every kind, sufficient for a life-time; morning suits, riding suits, dress suits, visiting suits, in bewildering variety. In one wardrobe were three superb overcoats, lined with the most costly furs, half a dozen fur caps of various patterns, four huge fur rugs, high boots lined with fur, a dozen pairs of fur gloves for walking and driving; and arranged along the wall were ten pairs of boots of different kinds, fur-lined slippers, and dress boots. He examined them all with something like consternation.

"What nonsense!" he exclaimed. "What am I to do with all these things? It is magnificent; but it is too much altogether. Why, these furs alone are worth hundreds of pounds! No doubt the count is extremely rich. I have already heard him speak of three or four estates in different parts of Russia, and this palace is fit for a prince. Of course, he can afford it well enough, but to me all this is quite overpowering. I should like to see Aunt's face if I were to turn up at Weymouth with all this kit."

There was a letter lying on the table. He opened it. It was, as he had expected, from the count.

"My dear Mr. Wyatt, you will, I am sure, accept the little outfit that I have provided, in the same spirit in which I have obtained it, and will oblige me by making no allusion to it whatever, or to the contents of the enclosed pocket-book, which will provide you with ready-money while you are staying here. They are but poor tokens of the life-long obligations you have conferred upon the countess and myself."

The pocket-book contained a roll of Russian notes to the value of a thousand pounds. Julian felt that there was indeed nothing to do but, as the letter said, to accept the presents in the spirit in which they were made. Everything showed that thoughtful kindness had been exercised. On the dressing-table stood a superb travelling-case of Russian leather, fitted with all necessaries of the toilet in ivory, mounted with silver, and with his initials engraved upon the back of the various brushes. Hitherto he had made no attempt to remove the soft brown beard that had grown untouched from the day when the army had turned its back upon Moscow. He now set to and shaved himself, and then dressed for dinner. In glancing at one of the long cheval glasses in the room, he could not but feel a distinct satisfaction at his appearance. Except in shop windows in Germany, he had not, since he left home, had the opportunity of seeing more of himself than could be gathered from the tiny glass that formed part of his kit.

He now saw himself as he was, a tall figure of six feet two in height, with a broad pair of shoulders. The scenes of the last six months had given an expression of power and decision to his face that it had lacked before. The stern, set look of battle had left its mark upon it, and though a distinctly pleasant and kindly one, it was undoubtedly that of a soldier who had seen hard service and had looked death many times in the face. All question as to what he should say to the count was set at rest on his entry into the drawing-room, for the count took him by the hand, and, leading him across the room, presented him to the countess, who had for the first time made her appearance. She rose as they came across, and with trembling hands and eyes full of tears, came up to him.

"Ah, Mr. Wyatt," she said, "what can I say to the saviour of my child? I have had difficulty in restraining my patience so long; but it was only to-day that the doctor gave me permission to leave my room."

She held out both her hands to him. He bowed deeply over them and raised them to his lips. "My happiness is no less than your own, countess," he said, "that God has permitted me to be the means of bringing your child back again. It was no great thing to do on my part; and, as I have told the count, the little act of kindness was vastly more than repaid, for your daughter assuredly saved my life from the peasants, as I saved hers from the cold. Your little daughter is quite a heroine," he said more lightly. "I can assure you that even when the bullets were flying about thickly she evinced no signs of fear, and the way in which she stood before me facing those enraged peasants was splendid."

"It shows her perfect faith in you, Mr. Wyatt. A child who has absolute confidence in the person in whose charge she is, is almost without fear. Her idea of danger is derived almost entirely from the conduct of those around her. If they show fear, she is terrified; while if their manner convinces her that they have no fear, she does not understand that danger can exist. She is evidently deeply attached to you, as indeed she has reason to be, and when I get tired with talking to her, and say to her, 'Now you must go, dear,' she trots off as contentedly to you as if you were indeed what she calls you, her nurse, much more so than she used to do to Claire. The poor woman was a most careful nurse and an excellent instructress, although she did start so madly, as it would seem, on this journey. But the child never really took to her, as she had not the faculty of winning affection. She was thoroughly trustworthy, and would, I believe, have given her life for the child, but she was certainly rather precise in manner, and was perhaps a little too peremptory in giving her orders. That was, I admit, a fault on the right side, for Stephanie is so accustomed to adulation on the part of the servants, that she rather needs a firm hand over her. However, the child has scarcely mentioned Claire's name since her return, while yours is incessantly on her lips."

"She has not been in any way spoilt by adulation, Countess, and has been as amenable to my slightest wish as the humblest peasant child could be; but she certainly has a pretty little air of dignity. It was funny to see how she queened it among the French soldiers, who always called her Mademoiselle la Comtesse, and always put aside the best piece of their scanty ration of meat for her."

"Yes, she has been telling me how good they were to her. What a war this has been, Mr. Wyatt."

So they chatted until dinner was announced; then the countess lay down on the sofa, and Stephanie came in and sat on a low stool beside her, while her father and Julian went to the dining-room. After the meal was over the count proposed that Julian should accompany him on a visit to the Nobles' Club. The sledge was already waiting at the door, and in a few minutes they arrived, not, as Julian had expected, at a stately building, but at a garden.

"This is our skating place," the count said as they entered. "We have guest-nights here once a week during the winter. As a rule, those present are simply the invited guests of members; but to-night the tickets are sold at twenty roubles each, and the proceeds go to the funds for the benefit of the wounded. It will furnish a handsome sum, for everyone is here, and there are few indeed who have paid as little as the twenty roubles. Some sent cheques for as much as five hundred roubles for their tickets, and a hundred may be taken as the average. This is the first time that we have had a military band, for music is naturally considered out of place when everyone is in mourning and such vast numbers of our soldiers are still suffering horribly; but as this is for their benefit it is considered as an exception. You will not see much skating; the ice will be far too crowded."

It was indeed a brilliant scene. The gardens were lighted with myriads of lamps. The sheet of ice was of a very irregular shape and broken by several islets, upon which grew trees. From their branches hung numbers of lanterns, while the bank round the ice was studded with lamps. The crowds walking about by the edge of the lake were all wrapped up in furs. A large proportion of those on skates wore uniforms, while the ladies were in short, tightly-fitting jackets, trimmed with fur, and with coquettish little fur caps. The crowd was far too great for any attempt at figure-skating, but they moved swiftly round and round the lake in a sort of procession, each lady accompanied by a cavalier, who held her hand, and all skating with a grace and freedom that was to Julian surprising indeed. The scene, with its bright colours and rapid movement, was almost bewildering, and Julian was glad to turn away and go up to the pavilion, where hot coffee and liquors were handed to all comers.

The count spoke to many acquaintances, introducing Julian to each of them as his great friend, Monsieur Wyatt, an Englishman. After waiting an hour in the gardens they drove to the club itself. There were here a large number of gentlemen, all of whom had been for a few minutes at the garden. Here more introductions took place, and the count put down Julian's name as an honorary member. "You will have a long day's work to-morrow, Monsieur Wyatt."

"How is that, Count?"

"It will be your duty to call upon every gentleman to whom I have introduced you; that is to say, to leave a card at the door, and every one of them will leave a card at my house for you. I will make out a list for you in the morning of the names and addresses. You will find a sledge at the door at three o'clock; it will be at your disposal while you remain with me. It is a small and light one, like this, with a pair of horses. It is seldom that three horses are used unless ladies are of the party. There is much for you to see, and it will be more pleasant for you to be your own master and go about as you please."

The following morning, after breakfast, the count said, as they lit their cigars, "Have you formed any plans yet, Mr. Wyatt? Of course I do not mean for the present. It is understood that this is your home as long as you will be good enough to make it so, and the longer you stay the greater pleasure it will give us; but I mean for the future. Are you thinking of returning to England?"

"I am intending to write at once to my brother. Whether he is at home or not, of course I cannot say. He was going into the army, but I greatly fear that the unfortunate affair in which I was engaged will have rendered that impossible. At any rate, I shall also write to my aunt; if alive she is sure to be there. In the first place, I shall tell them what has become of me. There has been no possibility of my sending a letter from the time I left home, with the exception of one written while crossing the Channel, and which the smugglers promised to deliver on their return. They must think that I am dead by this time, and my letter will, at any rate, relieve their anxiety. In the next place, I am most anxious to know if anything has been heard further from the smuggler. He gave me his solemn promise that in the event of his death a letter acknowledging that he was the murderer should be sent to the magistrates of Weymouth. I have no reason in the world for supposing that he is dead, for he was not above middle age, and if, as is but too probable, no such letter had been received, I cannot return home. I might, however, return to London, and thence take ship to some foreign country—either to the United States or to South America, or perhaps to our own colony of Canada, and make my way there or enlist in the English army."

"Or you might stay here?"

"I might stay here, count, but as I am ignorant of Russian, and have no trade or profession, I do not well see what I could possibly do."

"You would not be long in picking up Russian," the count said, "and if you could make up your mind to settle down here until you learn that your innocence of this foul charge has been completely proved, there would be no necessity for any trade or profession. Why, Monsieur, you do not suppose that the countess and I are without heart, or would allow you, the preserver of our child, to struggle for an existence here or anywhere else! We have more money than we know what to do with. We have six estates in different parts of Russia. We have some ten thousand serfs. However, we can settle nothing until you receive an answer to your letter; after that we will talk matters over seriously. At any rate, do not trouble about your future. This is the reason that I have spoken to you to-day. Your future is our care, and you can leave it safely in our hands."

"You are too good altogether, Count," Julian said; but the Russian checked him with a peremptory gesture of his hand.

"Let us have no talk like that, Mr. Wyatt. You will only pain me deeply, and make me think less well of you than I do now. Stephanie is to us infinitely more than all our possessions, and did we assign to you all else that we have in the world we should feel that the balance of obligation was still against us. Now let us talk of other matters. In the first place, about sending your letter. Of course, at present the Baltic is frozen, and the ports beyond are all in the hands of the French. Sweden, however, is in alliance with us, and our despatches for England go up through Finland, then across the ice to Sweden, and by land to Gothenburg, and thence by sea to England. It is a round-about journey, but it is performed rapidly; and as there are English packets always ready to sail from Gothenburg, your letters should, under favourable circumstances, be in England in a fortnight.

"I should incline to advise you to write them in duplicate, for the packet might be captured by a French privateer on its way, and it would be safer therefore to despatch copies of your letters ten days after those you first send off. In five weeks, if all goes well, you may expect an answer. In the meantime, I hope you will find enough to amuse you here, although the opera is closed, and there will be nothing like gaieties this season; still, there will be dinner parties and the club; and when you feel that you want a change I have an estate some five hours' sledge drive from here. It consists largely of forest, but there is plenty of game, elk and bears. If you are fond of shooting I can promise you good sport."

"Thanks, indeed, Count. I am quite sure that I shall not be tired of St. Petersburg in five or six weeks' time, and as for shooting, I do not feel at present as if I should ever care to fire a gun again, certainly not to take life, unless to satisfy hunger. I have seen so many horses and dogs die, and have felt so much pity for them that I do not think that I shall ever bring myself to take the life of a dumb beast again. I am afraid I became somewhat callous to human life. I have seen thousands of men die, and came somehow to regard it as their fate; and certainly, during the retreat it came in most cases as a happy release from suffering. But I could never, to the end, see a horse that had fallen never to rise again, or a starving dog lying by its master's body, without having intense pity for the poor creatures, who had, through no fault or will of their own, come to this grievous end. No doubt you, as a sportsman, Count, may consider this as overstrained feeling. I am quite willing to admit that it may be so. I can only say that at present I would not fire at an elk or a bear on any condition whatever."

"I can understand your feelings. I myself have had the cry of a horse pulled down by wolves, in my ears for days, and I can well imagine how the sight of so much suffering day after day among thousands of animals would in time affect one."

The next three weeks passed most pleasantly for Julian. Every day there were calls to make, excursions to various points to be undertaken, and dinner parties nearly every evening, either at the count's, at the houses of his friends, or at the club. He found French almost universally spoken among the upper class, and was everywhere cordially welcomed as a friend of the count's. The latter was sometimes questioned by his intimate acquaintances as to his English friend, and to them he replied, "Monsieur Wyatt is the son of a colonel in the English army. He has rendered me a very great service, the nature of which I am not at liberty to disclose. Suffice that the obligation is a great one, and that I regard him as one of my dearest friends. Some day, possibly, my lips may be unsealed, but you must at present be content to take him on my sponsorship."

The countess had gained strength rapidly, and there were no grounds for any further uneasiness as to her health; she was now able to take daily drives with Stephanie.

"The child has become quite a military enthusiast," she said to Julian one day. "Nothing pleases her so much as to look on at the troops drilling."

St. Petersburg was indeed crowded with soldiers. New armies were rising in all parts of Russia, and great preparations were being made to recommence the campaign in the spring, this time upon foreign ground. No sacrifices were too great to demand from the people. Nobles and merchants vied with each other in the amount of their contributions, and as it was certain that Austria, and probably Prussia would join the alliance, hopes were entertained that the power that had dominated Europe for so many years would be finally crushed. Already serious disasters had fallen upon France in Spain. It was probable that ere long the whole of the Peninsula would be wrested from her, and that she would be threatened with an invasion in the south, as well as in the east. In spite, therefore, of the terrible losses and calamities she had suffered, Russia looked forward with ardent hope and expectations to the future.

CHAPTER XVI

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

Frank Wyatts's work throughout the campaign had been arduous in the extreme. It is true that it was done on horseback instead of on foot, that he had not hunger to contend against, and that for the most part his nights were passed in a shelter of some kind. But from daybreak until sunset, and frequently till midnight, he was incessantly occupied, from the moment when Napoleon turned his back on Moscow, until the last remnant of his army crossed the frontier. Until after the battle at Malo-Jaroslavets on the 24th of October, when the French army owed its safety solely to Kutusow's refusal to hurl all his forces against it, he had remained at headquarters, where he was assisted in his work by the Earl of Tyrconnel, who was now also acting as aide-de-camp to Sir Robert Wilson. He was a delightful companion and a most gallant young officer, and a fast friendship became established between him and Frank, during the time the Russian army was remaining inactive, while Napoleon was wasting the precious time at Moscow, unable to bring himself to acknowledge the absolute failure of his plans caused by the refusal of the Russians to treat with him, after his occupation of their ancient capital. But after Kutusow had allowed the French to slip past they saw but little of each other, for one or other of them was always with the troops pressing hard on the French rear, it being their duty to keep Sir Robert, who was necessarily obliged to stay at headquarters, thoroughly informed of all that was going on in front, and of the movements both of the French and Russian divisions.

Sir Robert himself was so utterly disgusted with the obstinacy and, it almost seemed, deliberate treachery of Kutusow that, for the most part, he accompanied General Benningsen, who was a prompt and dashing soldier, and who, with the whole of the Russian generals, was as furious with the apathy and delays of the worn-out old man who was in command, as they had been with those of Barclay. The English general still acted as the Emperor's special representative, and kept him fully acquainted with all that was going on. Alexander was as much dissatisfied as were his generals and soldiers with Kutusow's refusal to put an end to the terrible struggle, by an action which must have ended in the destruction or capture of Napoleon and his army. He felt, however, that he could not at present remove him from his command. Kutusow was a member of the old nobility, who were straining every nerve for the national cause, were stripping their estates of their serfs, and emptying their coffers into the military chests, and who would have greatly resented his removal.

The people at large, too, overjoyed at the retreat of Napoleon and the success of their arms, and ignorant of all the real circumstances of the case, regarded Kutusow with enthusiastic admiration; and Alexander felt that, great as might be his faults, the injury that would be inflicted by his supercession would be greater than the benefits derived from it. An ample supply of horses had been placed at the disposal of the English general and his aides-de-camp, and Frank, having three always at his orders, was able to ride them by turns, and therefore got through an immense amount of work. The scenes that everywhere met his eyes were far more trying than the fatigues he had to undergo. The hideous barbarities that were perpetrated by the peasants upon the French who fell into their hands, filled him with burning indignation, and at times placed his life in serious danger when he endeavoured to interfere on their behalf. He always started on his rides in the morning with his saddle-bag stored with provisions, and a small keg of spirits fastened behind him, and these were divided during the day among the unfortunate men, Russians and French alike, who, wounded or exhausted, had sunk by the way.

THE LAST OF A VETERAN OF NAPOLEON'S GRANDE ARMÉE.

Innumerable were the appeals made to him daily to end their sufferings with a pistol-ball; and, although he could not bring himself to give them the relief they craved, on several occasions, when he saw that the case was altogether beyond hope, and that but a few hours of mortal agony remained, he yielded to their entreaties, handed them one of his pistols, and walked a few paces away, until the sharp report told him that their sufferings were over.

The horrors of the hospitals at Wilna and other places affected him even more than the scenes of carnage that he had witnessed at Borodino. At Wilna the Earl of Tyrconnel was seized with a fever and died, and Frank lay for some time ill, and would probably have succumbed had not Sir Robert obtained a lodging for him at the house of a landed resident, three or four miles from the infected city. He was, in a sense, thankful for the illness, because it spared him the sight of the last agony of the broken remains of Napoleon's army. Quiet and rest soon did their work. The breakdown was the result more of over-fatigue, and of the horrors of which he was so continually a witness, than of actual fever. Frank, therefore, rapidly recovered, and declared after a fortnight that he could again sit on his horse.

The general, however, would not hear of this.

"I shall be leaving for St. Petersburg myself in a few days," he said, "and we will travel together by post. You will be sorry to hear that to-day Kutusow has been decorated with the great order of St. George. The Emperor himself begged me not to be present. He called me into his cabinet and confessed to me that it would be too humiliating to him were I to be there. He acknowledged that he felt by decorating this man with the great Order he was committing a trespass upon the institution; but he had no choice. It was a cruel necessity to which he had to submit, although he well knew that the marshal had done few things he ought to have done, with nothing against the enemy that he could avoid, and that all his successes had been forced upon him."

Sir Robert himself had urgent need of change and rest. The responsibility upon his shoulders had been tremendous. The Emperor had relied upon him entirely for information as to the true state of things in the army, and the Russian generals regarding him as specially the Emperor's representative, had poured their complaints into his ears.

Had they but received the slightest encouragement from him they would have led their divisions against the French in spite of the orders of the marshal, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he persuaded them to restrain their exasperated troops, and to submit to carry out the disastrous policy, which entailed as much loss and suffering upon the Russian soldiers as upon the French.

It was the end of January when Sir Robert Wilson and Frank reached St. Petersburg, and, putting up in apartments assigned to them in the palace, rested for a few days.

One bright morning Frank strolled down to the Nobles' Club, of which he and the general had been made honorary members. It was his first visit to St. Petersburg. His fur coat was partly open and showed his British uniform. He was looking about with interest at the scene in the Nevsky Prospect when he noticed a gentleman in a handsomely appointed sledge looking fixedly at him. As the uniform attracted general attention he thought little of this, but after going a short distance the sledge turned and passed him at a slow rate of speed. The gentleman again gazed fixedly at him, then stopped the coachman, and leaped from the sledge to the pavement.

"Frank!" he exclaimed, "is it you, or am I dreaming?"

Frank stepped back a pace in astonishment. It was the voice rather than the face that he recognized.

"Julian!" burst from his lips, "my brother, can it be really you?"

Julian held out both his hands, and they stood for a moment in silence, gazing into each other's face. Julian was the first to break the silence.

"Jump in here, Frank," he said, leading the way to the sledge. "They must all think that we have gone mad, and we shall have a crowd round us in a minute."

Still completely bewildered, Frank followed his brother.

"Drive out into the country," Julian said to the coachman as he took his seat. "This is little short of a miracle, old fellow," he said, as they drove off. "I thought you were living quietly at Weymouth; you thought I was rotting in a French prison, and here we run against each other in the heart of Russia."

"I can hardly believe even yet that it is you, Julian, you have altered so tremendously. Thank God, old man, that I have found you."

"Thank God, my dear Frank, that, as I see, that stupid business of mine has not prevented your entering the army, as I was afraid it would do; though how you come to be here is more than I can guess."

"I am General Wilson's aide-de-camp, and have been with him all through the war; and you, Julian, what on earth are you doing here? But first of all, I suppose you have not heard that you have been cleared completely of that charge of murder."

Julian's face paled at the sudden news, and he sat for a minute or two in silence.

"Quite cleared, Frank?" he asked in a low tone; "cleared so that no doubt remains, and that I can go home without fear of having it thrown into my face?"

"Completely and entirely," Frank replied. "You were cleared before you had been gone a day. The coroner's jury brought in an open verdict, but a warrant was issued against that poacher Markham; and your letter first, and his confession a year later, completely bore out the evidence at the inquest, and established his guilt beyond question."

"To think that I should never have known it," Julian said. "If I had dreamt of it I would have attempted to break out from Verdun, and make my way home. I don't know that I should have succeeded, but at any rate I should have tried. But tell me all about it, Frank; my story will keep just at present."

"You seem to have fallen on your legs, anyhow," Frank remarked. "May I ask if this is your Imperial Highness's sledge. I have learned something of the value of furs since I came out here, and that coat of yours is certainly worth a hundred pounds, and this sable rug as much more."

"It is not my sledge, nor is it my rug, though I have two or three of them quite as handsome. The coat is my own, the sledge belongs to my intimate friend Count Woronski, with whom I am at present staying."

"You really must tell me your story first," Frank said, laughing. "Now that you know you are cleared, you can very well wait to hear all the details, and I refuse to say a word until you have told me what all this means."

"Well, Frank," Julian said seriously, "mine is not altogether a pleasant story to tell now; but I acted for the best, and under the belief that there was no chance of my being able to return for years to England. The story is too long for me to give you the details now, but I will give you the broad facts. I was sent prisoner to Verdun. I was there about ten months. There was fever in the place, and we died off like sheep. There seemed no possibility of escape, and if I could have got away I could not, as I thought, make for England. I was getting hopeless and desperate, and I don't think I could have held out much longer. Then there was an offer made to us that any of us who liked could obtain freedom by enlisting in the French army. It was expressly stated that it was going east, and that at the end of the campaign we should,—if our corps was ordered to a place where it was likely to come in contact with the English,—be allowed to exchange into a regiment with another destination.

"Well, it seemed to me that it mattered very little what became of me. Even should I be exchanged and sent to England I could not have stayed there, but must have gone abroad to make my living as best I could, and I thought I might as well go as a soldier to Russia as anywhere else; so I accepted the offer, little knowing what would come of it. I regretted it heartily when I saw the misery that was inflicted by the misconduct, partly of the French, but much more of the Poles and Germans, on the unfortunate inhabitants. However, there I was, and I did my duty to the best of my power. When I tell you that I was in Ney's division, you may imagine that I had my share of it all."

"Extraordinary!" Frank said, "to think that you and I should both have been through this campaign, and on opposite sides. Why, we must have been within musket shot of each other a score of times."

"I have no doubt I saw you," Julian said; "for I often made out a bit of scarlet among the dark masses of the Russians, and thought that there must be some English officers with them. The first time I noticed them was on the heights opposite to Smolensk. Two officers in scarlet were with the batteries they planted there and drove our own off the hill on our side of the river."

"Those were the general and myself, Julian. We had only joined two days before. But still, I am as much in the dark as ever. What you have said explains how you come to be in Russia, but it does not at all explain how you came to be here like this."

"It was on the day after we got past the Russians. It was a strong place with a hard name—Jaro something or other. The next day, as we were marching along, we came across an overturned carriage. A coachman and a woman were lying dead. On nearing it, I heard a little cry, and I stepped out from the side of my company—I was a sergeant and was marching on the flank—and I found among the cushions a little girl, about six years old, who was already almost frozen to death. I fastened her on to my back under my cloak, and carried her along with me. She came round, and was a dear little creature. Well, I carried her all through the retreat. Sometimes, when there was an alarm, I had time to stow her away in one of the waggons; when there was not, she went on my back into the middle of the fighting, and you know that was pretty rough occasionally. However, we both of us seemed to possess a charm against balls. We got on all right until the day before we were to arrive at the Berezina. Then I went out foraging with some companions; they got into a hut, lit a fire, and would not leave, so I started alone with her.

"I lost my way, and was found by a lot of peasants, who would have made very short work of me, but the child stepped forward like a little queen and told them that she was the Countess of Woronski, and that her father was a friend of the Czar's, and that if they sent us to him they would get a great reward. Thinking that it was good enough, they took us to their village and dressed me up in peasant's clothes, and kept us there a fortnight. Then the head man and the village Papa came with us here by post. The child's father and mother had given her up as dead, and their gratitude to me is boundless. It has been deemed unadvisable to say anything about my ever being with the French, and I am simply introduced by the count as an English gentleman whom he regards as his very dear friend. I sent letters home to you and Aunt a fortnight since, and if I had heard that the charge of murder was still hanging over me I should probably have remained here for good. The count has already hinted that there is an estate at my disposal. He is as rich as Crœsus, and he and the countess would be terribly hurt if I were to refuse to accept their tokens of gratitude. They have no other child but Stephanie, and she is, of course, the apple of their eye."

"Well, you have had luck, Julian. I did think that if you once got out of prison you would be likely to fall upon your feet, because you always had the knack of making yourself at home anywhere; but I had no idea of anything like this. Well, I don't think you are to blame for having entered the French service rather than remaining a prisoner, especially as you were, as far as you knew, cut off from returning home. Still, I agree with you that it is as well not to talk about it at present. It is marvellous to think that you were with Ney through all that fighting. The doings of the rear-guard were, I can assure you, the subject of the warmest admiration on the part of the Russians. Sir Robert Wilson considers that the retreat from Smolensk was one of the most extraordinary military exploits ever performed. And so you were made a sergeant after Borodino? Well, Julian, to win your stripes among such a body as Ney led is no slight honour."

"I received another, Frank; not so much for valour as for taking things easy." He took from his pocket the cross of the Legion of Honour. "This, Frank, is an honour Napoleon sent to me, and Ney pinned on my breast. I would rather that it had been Wellington who sent it, and say Picton who pinned it on; but it is a big honour none the less, and at any rate it was not won in fighting against my own countrymen. This document it is wrapped up in, is the official guarantee that I received on enlisting, that I should under no circumstances whatever be called upon to serve against the English."

"You have a right to be proud of the cross, Julian. I should be proud of it myself, British officer as I am. But how do you say that you got it for taking things easy?"

"It was not exactly for taking things easy, but for keeping up the men's spirits. Discipline was getting terribly relaxed, and they were losing their military bearing altogether. A lot of us non-commissioned officers were talking round a fire, and I suggested that we should start marching songs again as we used to do on our way through Germany. It would cheer the men up, get them to march in military order and time, and shorten the road. Ney and some of his staff happened to be within hearing, and he praised the idea much more than it deserved. However, the men took it up, and the effect was excellent. Other regiments followed our example, and there can be no doubt that, for a time, it did have a good effect. Ney reported the business to Napoleon, who issued an order praising the Grenadiers of the Rhone for the example they had set the army, bestowing the Legion of Honour on me, and ordering that henceforth marching songs should be sung throughout the army. However, singing was dropped at Smolensk. After leaving there we were reduced to such a handful that we had not the heart to sing, but it did its work, for I believe that the improvement effected by the singing in the morale of Ney's troops had at least something to do with our being able to keep together, and to lessen the fatigues of those terrible marches.

"Now tell me more about yourself. How was it that you had the wonderful luck to be chosen to accompany Sir Robert Wilson as his aide-de-camp?"

"It was to his suggestion when I first joined, Julian, and to nearly a year's steady work on my part. He got me gazetted into his old regiment, the 15th Light Dragoons, and at the same time told me that if, as was already anticipated, Russia broke off her alliance with Napoleon, he was likely to be offered his former position of British commissioner at the Russian headquarters. He said that if by the time that came off I had got up Russian, he would apply for me to go with him, so I got hold of a Russian Pole in London, a political exile, a gentleman and an awfully good fellow. I took him with me down to Canterbury, where our depôt was, and worked five or six hours a day with him steadily, so that when, at the outbreak of war, Sir Robert got his appointment he was able to apply for me upon the ground, that I had a thoroughly good colloquial knowledge of Russian."

"You always were a beggar to work, Frank," his brother said admiringly. "I worked for a bit myself pretty hard at Verdun, and got up French well enough to pass with, but then you see there was no other mortal thing to do, and I knew that it would be useful to me if ever I saw a chance of escape. Of course, at that time I had no idea of enlisting: but it must have been a different thing altogether for a young officer to give up every amusement, as you must have done, and to slave away at a crack-jaw language like Russian."

"It required a little self-denial I have no doubt, Julian, but the work itself soon became pleasant. You may remember in the old days you used to say that I could say 'No,' while you could not."

"That is true enough, Frank. I was a great ass in those days, but I think that now I have learnt something."

"I should think you have, Julian," Frank said, looking closely at his brother. "The expression of your face has very much changed, and you certainly look as if you could say 'No' very decidedly now."

By this time they had, after a long drive, re-entered the city.

"You must come home with me first, Frank. I must introduce you to the count and countess, and to Stephanie. Then to-morrow morning you must come round early. I have heard nothing yet as to how the truth about that murder came out so rapidly. It seemed to me that the evidence was conclusive against me, and that even the letter that I wrote telling you about it, was so improbable that no one but you and Aunt would credit, in the slightest."

"It did look ugly at first, Julian. When I heard Faulkner's deposition I could see no way out of it whatever. I could not suppose that a dying man would lie, and, absolutely sure of your innocence as I was, could make neither head nor tail of the matter. Is this the mansion? You certainly have fallen on good quarters."

Leaving their fur coats in the hall they went upstairs. They found the countess seated in an arm-chair. The count was reading the last gazette from the army to her, and Stephanie was playing with a doll. The count and his wife looked surprised as Julian entered with a young English officer.

"I have the honour, countess," Julian said, "to present to you my brother, who is aide-de-camp to the English General, Sir Robert Wilson, whom he accompanied throughout the campaign. Count, you will, I am sure, rejoice with me, in this unexpected meeting."

"We are glad, indeed, to make the acquaintance of the brother of our dear friend," the countess said, holding out her hand to Frank.

JULIAN INTRODUCES STEPHANIE TO HIS BROTHER FRANK.

"I regret, countess, that I am not able to reply to you in French," Frank said in Russian. "I had thought that Russian would be absolutely necessary here, but I find that almost everyone speaks French. Had I known that, I could have saved myself a good deal of labour, for to us your language is very difficult to acquire."

"You speak it extremely well, Mr. Wyatt," the count said. "I can scarcely imagine how you have acquired such familiarity with it in your own country."

"I learned it from a Russian Pole, a political exile, with whom I worked for about six hours a day for nearly twelve months, in order that I might qualify myself to accompany Sir Robert Wilson."

"This is my little friend Stephanie, Frank," Julian said, lifting the child up on his shoulder, her favourite place.

"And this is my Nurse Julian," the child said with a laugh. "Isn't he a big nurse?"

"He is big," Frank agreed, looking up at him. "I feel quite small beside him. He was always a great deal taller than I was, and he has grown a good bit since I saw him last. But he looks rather big for a nurse."

"He is not too big at all," Stephanie said earnestly. "He could never have carried me so far if he had not been very big and strong. Could he, papa?"

"No, Stephanie; though I think goodness of heart had as much to do with it as strength of body. Your brother has, of course, told you, Mr. Wyatt, how deep an obligation he has laid us under."

"He said that he had had the good fortune to find your little girl, and that he took her along with him in the retreat; but he seemed to consider that the service she did him when they fell among the Russian peasants quite settled matters between them. Doubtless, they mutually saved each other's lives."

"Mr. Wyatt," the count said gravely, "the one act was momentary and without risk. The other was done at the cost of labour and sacrifice daily and hourly for nearly a month. You have been through the campaign, and know how frightful were the sufferings, how overwhelming the exhaustion of the soldiers. You can judge, then, how terrible was the addition to a soldier's labours to have to carry a child like that for so long, when his own strength was hourly weakening, and when every additional pound of weight told heavily upon him. The tears come into the eyes of the countess and myself every time we think of it. It was an act of self-devotion beyond words; altogether beyond the understanding of those who know not how terrible were the sufferings endured on the march."

"They were indeed terrible, Count," Frank said gravely. "It was agony for me to witness them, and I cannot but share your wonder how my brother supported the extra weight, even of your little daughter, and came through it safely, while tens of thousands of men not so burdened fell and died along the road."

Julian did not understand what was being said, but he guessed by their faces what they were speaking of.

"I suppose you are saying that it was hard work carrying the child," he broke in in English; "but I can tell you that I believe it aided me to get through. It gave me something to think of besides the snow, the distance, and the Russians. She was always cheerful and bright, and her merry talk lightened the way, but in addition to that the warmth of her body against my back by day and curled up in my arms at night, greatly helped to keep life in me. I think that it was largely due to her that I got through safely where many men as strong as myself died."

The count looked inquiringly at Frank, who translated what Julian had said. He smiled, "Your brother is determined to try to make out that the obligation is all on his side, but it will not do. There is the simple fact that we have our little daughter again, safe and sound. If it had not been for him she would have been lost to us for ever."

Julian went down to the door with Frank. "Of course you will tell the general all about it, Frank. I suppose he knows something of the circumstances under which I went away, as he was a friend of our father's, and got you your commission, and takes such an interest in you. I daresay he will be shocked to hear that I have been carrying a French musket, but I am not ashamed of it myself, and consider that under the circumstances I was perfectly justified in doing so. Come round in the morning the first thing after breakfast. I have yet to learn all about how you found out that Markham committed that murder, and then you can tell me, too, what the general says."

On going upstairs Julian told his hosts that he had been completely cleared of the charge that had hung over him and darkened his life, and that there was nothing to prevent him from returning to England. They expressed much gratification at the news, but at the same time said that for themselves they could not but regret that this would prevent their having the pleasure they had looked forward to of having him settled near them.

"This, however, we must talk about again," the count said. "At any rate, I hope that you will from time to time come over to stay for a while with us and Stephanie."

"That I will assuredly do, Count," Julian said warmly. "I do not quite know at present what I shall do. As I have told you, I shall, in addition to my share of my father's money, inherit some from my aunt, and shall be able, if I choose, to buy a small estate and settle down. I am too old to go into our army now, but, besides, I think that ere long this European struggle will be over, and in that case there will be nothing for a soldier to do. Still in any case I shall be able occasionally to make a voyage here; and I can assure you that it will be one of my greatest pleasures to do so."

Sir Robert Wilson was greatly surprised when he heard from Frank of his meeting with his brother, and of the adventures through which he had passed.

"I do not blame him in any way," he said. "Had he been a king's soldier or sailor the matter would have been altogether different. To have entered a foreign army then would have been a breach of his oaths. But as a private individual he was free to take service abroad, as tens of thousands of English, Scotch, and Irish have done before him. It would, of course, have been much better had he entered the army of a power friendly to England, but the document that he received on enlisting goes far to absolve him from any responsibility in the matter. At any rate, he was not a deserter, and seeing that he could not go back to England even if he escaped, that he was practically friendless in the world, and that, had he not acted as he did he might have died at Verdun, I do not think that even a severe moralist would be able to find any fault with his decision. So he was one of Ney's heroes! Well, Frank, when this war is over, and the bitterness between the two nations has passed away, he will have good cause to feel proud of having been one of that unconquerable band. No troops have ever gained greater glory by victory than they have by retreat; besides to have won his stripes in such company, and to have received the Legion of Honour from Ney, is as high an honour as any soldier could wish for. At the same time, I think that he and his friends have done wisely in keeping silence as to the part he played—it might have led to all sorts of trouble. Had it been known, he might have been claimed as a prisoner of war; and even if this had not been done, he might have been embroiled in quarrels with hot-headed young Russians; and it is scarcely probable, Frank, that he is such a dead shot with the pistol as you are."

The next morning Julian heard from Frank full details of the manner in which the truth had been arrived at of the circumstances of Mr. Faulkner's murder.

"By Jove! Frank," he exclaimed, when his brother brought the story to a conclusion; "you ought to have been a Bow Street runner. I can't think how it all occurred to you. Thinking it over, as I have done hundreds of times, it never once occurred to me that the footprints in the snow might prove that I had set off in pursuit of Markham, and that they would have shown that he was standing behind that tree whence the shot was fired, while I went straight from the road to the place where Faulkner was lying. What a head you have, old fellow!"

"It was simple enough, Julian. I was certain that you had not committed the murder, and it was therefore clear that someone else must have done so. Then came the question, first, how Faulkner had come to charge you as he had done, and, second, how and why you had disappeared. The only conceivable explanation that I could find was that you must have run into the wood, caught sight of the murderer, and followed him up. Directly we found your footprints on the snow overlapping his it made that a certainty. We had only then to go into the wood and pick up the whole story bit by bit. For a time I certainly thought that you had been killed by the friends of the man that you had followed, and you may imagine what a relief it was to us when your letter came.

"And now, old fellow, I suppose you will be going home? Sir Robert has told me that he will be willing to give me leave at once, and that he considers I ought to have a thorough rest, to get the seeds of that horrible hospital fever out of my blood. Therefore, I am ready to start with you whenever you are ready to go. He does not know yet whether he will continue as commissioner here when the campaign recommences in the spring; but there is little doubt that he will do so, and in that case I shall rejoin as soon as the weather breaks sufficiently for operations to commence. I got my lieutenantcy three months ago owing to the vacancies made in the regiment during the campaign in Spain; and Sir Robert has been good enough to speak so strongly of my services here that I have every chance of getting another step before I return."

"I see no reason why I should not start at the end of the week, Frank. Of course, I am extremely comfortable here; but now that I know I can go back all right I am longing to be home again. Indeed I should soon get tired of having nothing to do but to drive about and eat dinners here; and besides, I cannot but feel that I am in a false position, and am very anxious to get out of it."

Frank nodded. "I quite understand that, old fellow, and I agree with you thoroughly. A question might be asked any day that you could not reply to without saying how you came to be here; and for the sake of the count as well as yourself, that should be avoided if possible."

The count was loud in his expressions of regret when he heard that Julian was about to leave with his brother at once; but when Julian urged that he was constantly in fear that some chance question might be asked, and that the falseness of his position weighed heavily upon him, the count could not but admit the justice of the view he took. Preparations were immediately begun for departure. They were to travel by sledge through Finland, passing through Vibourg to Abo, and there to cross the Gulf of Bothnia to the Swedish coast, a few miles north of Stockholm, and to travel across the country to Gothenburg. The count placed one of his travelling carriages on runners at their disposal as far as Abo, and insisted on sending one of his own servants with them to attend to their wants on the road.

Stephanie was inconsolable at the approaching departure of her friend, and even the promise that he would return and pay them another visit before very long, scarcely pacified her. In three days all was ready. The luggage, packed in a light waggon, had been sent off in charge of one of the count's servants forty-eight hours before; and the travelling carriage had but to take three or four great hampers stored with provisions and wines. The count and countess had had on the previous day a long talk with Frank, who at their request called at an hour when Julian would be out paying a long round of farewell visits. The conversation was a serious one, and had ended by the count saying:

"You see, Mr. Wyatt, nothing will alter the determination of the countess and myself in this matter; and if you had not consented to accept our commission and to carry out our wishes, we should have had no course open but to communicate with our embassy in London, and to request them to appoint someone to act as our agent in the matter. This would not have been so satisfactory, for the agent would of course have been ignorant of your brother's tastes and wishes; whereas you will be able to learn from him exactly the position that would be most agreeable. All we ask is that you will not go below the minimum we have named, and the more you exceed it the better we shall be pleased. You know well how we feel in the matter, and that anything that can be done in this way will still fall very far short of the measure of gratitude we feel towards your brother."

"I will carry out the commission that you have given me to the best of my abilities, Count; and will endeavour to act as if my brother was an entire stranger."

"Thank you greatly, Mr. Wyatt. I agree with you that if you dismiss altogether from your mind the fact that your brother is interested in the matter, and that you regard yourself as simply carrying out a business transaction as our agent, it will simplify matters greatly. I don't wish you to have the trouble of the actual details. I shall write myself to our ambassador, who is a personal friend of mine, and request him, as soon as he hears from you, to instruct an English lawyer to carry out all the business part of the arrangement."

The journey across Finland was a very pleasant one. Both were in high spirits. The cloud that had hung over Julian had been dispelled, and Frank's constant anxiety about him had been laid to rest. They had gone safely through the most wonderful campaign of modern times, and were now on their way home. Julian's supply of money was untouched save for the purchase of a variety of presents for his aunt. They travelled only by day. The carriage was constructed with all conveniences for sleeping in, and when, on their arrival at the end of their day's journey, they returned from a stroll down the town to an excellent dinner prepared by their servant, they had but to turn in for a comfortable night's rest in the vehicle. At Abo they found their baggage awaiting them.

"By Jove! Julian," Frank said laughing, as he looked at the great pile of trunks in the post-house, "one would think that you were carrying the whole contents of a household. Those modest tin cases comprise my share of that pile."

"It is tremendous!" Julian said almost ruefully. "I feel quite ashamed to turn up with such an amount of baggage. The first thing we must do, as soon as we get back, is to effect a division. I am afraid that my outside clothes will be of no use to you—they would require entire remaking; but all the other things will fit you as well as me. I do believe that there are enough to last me my life-time; and it will be downright charity to relieve me of some of them. You may imagine my stupefaction when I came back one day to the count's and found my room literally filled with clothes."

"I will help you a bit," Frank laughed. "The campaign has pretty well destroyed all my kit, and I shan't be too proud to fill up from your abundance."

They found that the servant who had preceded them with the baggage had already made all the arrangements for their crossing the gulf. The extreme cold had everywhere so completely frozen the sea that there was no difficulty in crossing, which, they learned, was not often the case. Three sledges had been engaged for their transport. The distance was about 120 miles; but it was broken by the islands of the Aland Archipelago, and upon one or other of these they could take refuge in the event of any sudden change of weather. They were to start at midnight, and would reach Bomarsund, on the main island of Aland, on the following evening, wait there for twenty-four hours to rest the animals, and would reach the mainland the next day.

The frost continued unbroken, and they crossed the gulf without difficulty, travelled rapidly across Sweden, and reached England without adventure of any kind. They waited for a day in London. Frank carried despatches from Sir Robert Wilson, and was occupied at the War Office all day, having a very long interview with the minister, to whom he gave a much more detailed account of the campaign than had been given in the general's reports. The minister expressed much satisfaction at the information he afforded, and said at the conclusion of the interview:

"Sir Robert has spoken several times as to your services, and I am happy to inform you that your name will appear in the next gazette as promoted to the rank of captain. I consider that the manner in which you devoted yourself to the acquisition of the Russian language was most highly meritorious, and I wish that many young officers would similarly acquire foreign or oriental languages. I trust that you will thoroughly recover your health, so as to be able to rejoin Sir Robert Wilson by the time that the troops take the field again. The campaign is likely to be a most important, and—we have great grounds for hoping—a final one."

Before leaving the building Frank found out where Strelinski was at work. He was engaged in translating a mass of Russian documents. He rose from his seat with an exclamation of delight when he saw Frank, who, after a short chat, asked him to come that evening to his hotel. He there learned that the Pole was getting on very well. His knowledge of German as well as of Russian had been very valuable to him; his salary had already been raised, and he was now at the head of a small department, having two of his countrymen and three Germans under him, and his future in the office was quite assured.

"The work is somewhat hard," he said, "for when a ship comes in from Germany or Russia we are often at work all night, sometimes eight-and-forty hours at a stretch, but we are all paid overtime. The work is pleasant and interesting, and your officials are good enough to say that we get through a wonderful amount in the time, and the minister has twice expressed his approbation to me. Ah, Mr. Wyatt, how much do I owe to you and the good general?"

"I owe fully as much to you as you owe to me, Strelinski," Frank said. "Putting aside the interest there has been in witnessing such mighty events, it has been a splendid thing for me in my profession. I shall be gazetted captain this week, while I am pretty sure of a brevet majority at the end of the next campaign, and of further employment in the same line afterwards."

Julian was not present at the interview. He had never been in London before, and after spending the day in strolling through the streets and visiting the principal sights, had gone to a theatre, leaving Frank to talk with the Pole. The latter had not left when Julian returned. He and Frank had found such an abundance of subjects to talk about that they were scarcely aware how the time had passed. The latter proposed that they should go to one of the fashionable taverns to supper. Julian would have excused himself, but Frank insisted on his accompanying him. As they were sitting there, two gentlemen passed by their table. One of them stared hard at Frank, and then with an angry exclamation turned away. Then Strelinski said:

"That is your old antagonist, unless I am mistaken, Mr. Wyatt. You pointed him out to me once when I was in barracks with you, and I thought I remembered his face; that empty sleeve assures me that it is him."

Frank nodded.

"What is that?" Julian asked.

"Oh, it is nothing," his brother said hastily.

"No, no, Mr. Wyatt, it was a grand thing. Has not your brother told you of it, Mr. Julian?"

"No, he has told me nothing about an antagonist."

"You do not know, then, that Mr. Frank may claim to be the finest pistol shot in the British army."

Julian looked at his brother in astonishment. "I did not know that you had ever fired a pistol in your life, Frank."

"I practised pretty hard while I was at Canterbury," Frank answered. "I suppose that I had a good eye for it, and certainly came to be what you would call a good shot, though I dare say there are others just as good. I got involved in a quarrel with the man who has just passed me, who was a captain in the Lancers, and a notorious bully and duellist. We went out. I hit him in the hand, and he lost his arm above the elbow, and there was the end of it."

"Perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me a little more about it, Mr. Strelinski," Julian said, turning to the Pole, and in spite of a growl from Frank that there was nothing to tell, the Pole related the whole circumstances of the quarrel, the feeling that had been excited by it, Frank's expressed determination not to inflict serious injury upon the man but to carry away his trigger-finger only, and so put an end to his duels in the future, and the manner in which his intention was carried out.

"Well, I congratulate you, Frank, very heartily," Julian said, when Strelinski had finished. "Why on earth did you not tell me about this before?"

"Really, Julian, there was nothing to tell about. It was a disagreeable incident altogether, and I considered then, as I have considered since, that it was hardly fair of me to go out with him when I was so certain of my shooting, and it was a hundred to one in my favour. I should never have done it if he had not forced the quarrel upon young Wilmington; for the young fellow must either have gone out, which would have been throwing away his life, or left the service."

"Unfair, my dear Frank! why the man himself had always relied upon his superior skill, and you were able to beat him at his own game. Well, I wish I could shoot as well. However, as I am not going to do any more soldiering, I don't know that it would be of much use to me; still I should like to be able to do it."

The next morning they started by coach for Weymouth, leaving Julian's heavier luggage to follow by carrier waggon. Mrs. Troutbeck's joy, when her two nephews arrived together, for a time completely overpowered her, and smelling salts and other restoratives had to be brought into play before she recovered. The event created quite an excitement in Weymouth. The appearance of Frank's name so frequently in Sir Robert Wilson's despatches had been a source of pride to the whole town, and especially to his old school-fellows, while the clearing up of the mystery that had so long hung over Julian's fate was no less interesting. The sympathy with him was so great and general that no one was surprised or shocked that, under the circumstances, he had been driven to enlist in the French army, and had taken part in the Russian campaign. Indeed, the fact that he had been one of Ney's celebrated division, whose bravery had excited general admiration, was considered a feather in his cap, especially when it became known that he had been awarded the Cross of the Legion of Honour by Napoleon himself. Had not the brothers received the proposal most unfavourably, a public dinner would have been got up to celebrate their return.

"Well, Julian, you will have to settle what you mean to do with yourself," Frank said one day. "You can never settle down here without any occupation whatever, after what you have gone through."

"No, I quite feel that, Frank. I have had enough of soldiering; that one campaign is enough for a life time. I really can hardly make up my mind what to do. Aunt was speaking to me yesterday afternoon when you were out. The dear old soul said that it was nonsense for me to wait for her death, wasting my life here, and that she was anxious to hand me over at once half her money. She said that that would be £10,000, and with the £8,000—my share of father's money—I could then buy an estate."

"It would be the best thing you could do, Julian, but, of course, there is no hurry about it. What part of the country would you prefer to settle in?"

"I don't know, Frank, I have never thought much about it. I don't think I should choose anywhere near Weymouth, and I would rather go to a flatter country, and a better wooded one. If I bought land, I should like to have land that I could cultivate myself, so as to give me an interest in it, and I should like, after a time, to be on the bench, which would give one a good deal of occupation. I suppose I shall marry some day, and so would prefer to be within reach of a town. I should think, from what you say, the country round Canterbury must be pretty. There is a garrison there, Dover is within reach, and it is a good deal more handy for getting up to town than it is from here. However, as you say, there is plenty of time for me to think about that."

Mrs. Troutbeck was, as Julian had predicted, astounded upon the arrival of his baggage. "I never saw such a thing!" she exclaimed, as trunk after trunk was carried into the house. "That Russian count of yours, Julian, must be a little cracked, I should think. Why, my dear boy, if you were to get stout what in the world would you do with all these things?"

"That is a contingency I have never thought of, Aunt. You quite frighten me. I must go in for a course of severe exercise to prevent the chance of such a thing occurring."

"You might take to shooting," Mrs. Troutbeck said doubtfully; "and I am sure that at present there is not a gentleman round who would not be glad to give you a day's shooting."

"I have done enough shooting, Aunt," Julian said gravely. "It was the means of my getting into a bad scrape here. In Russia it was often part of my duty to shoot dying horses, to say nothing of shooting men, and I have no desire ever to take a gun in my hands again. I have looked up my old friend Bill, and shall take to sailing again, but I will promise you that I will keep clear of smugglers."

Two days later Frank announced his intention of going up to London for a few days, as he thought he had better offer to be of any assistance he could at the War Office. He was away for nearly three weeks, and on his return mentioned that he had run down to Canterbury, and had seen some of his old friends at the depôt. A fortnight later he received a bulky letter from town, and in the course of the day asked his aunt if she felt equal to taking a journey with him.

"A journey, my dear!" she repeated in surprise. "Where do you want to go to?"

"Well, Aunt, I want to go to London in the first place; we will travel by post-chaise, so that everything will be comfortable; afterwards we may go somewhere else. I can't tell you anything about it now; it is a little secret. But I do very much want you and Julian to go with me."

"Then, of course we will, my dear," the old lady said. "I should very much like to visit London again, and see the theatres and shows. What do you say, Julian?"

"Of course I will go, Aunt, though I can't think what Frank has got in his head. Still, I am very tired of Weymouth, and it will be a change. I was saying to Dick Halliburne yesterday that unless I could hit on something to do, I should have to ask them if they would let me go to school again."

Six days later they drove up in a post-chaise to a fine mansion some three miles from Canterbury. Julian's astonishment at Frank's mysterious proceedings had been growing ever since they left Weymouth.

"Who on earth are we going to see here?" he asked, as they approached the mansion.

"Restrain your impatience for a few minutes longer, Julian, then you shall know all about it. This mansion, I may tell you, belongs to a friend of mine. It is the centre of an estate of some 2,000 acres, and its rent-roll is about £3,000 a year."

"Very nice indeed!" Julian said. "Well, I won't ask any more questions till we get there."

A gentleman appeared at the door as the carriage drove up. He shook hands warmly with Frank, who introduced him to his companions as Mr. James Linton, solicitor to the Russian embassy. The gentleman led the way to a very handsome drawing-room, then he looked inquiringly at Frank, who nodded. From a mahogany box on the table Mr. Linton produced a large packet of papers.

"Mr. Wyatt," he said to Julian, "it is my pleasant duty to present you with these documents. They are the title-deeds of this mansion and the surrounding property. In purchasing them I have followed out the instructions of Count Woronski, and have had the benefit of the assistance of your brother in selecting an estate that would, he thought, from its situation, be agreeable to you."

Julian looked at the speaker as if unable to take in the sense of his words.

"I beg your pardon," he said hesitatingly. "I don't think I quite understand you."

"It is as I said, Mr. Wyatt. Count Woronski wrote to me expressing his desire to present you with an estate here as some slight token, as he expressed it, of the enormous obligation under which you have placed him and the countess, his wife. I may say that his instructions to me would have authorized the purchase of a much larger estate than this, but he begged me to be guided by the advice of your brother, Captain Wyatt, in the matter, and the latter obliged me by taking the responsibility of choosing an estate off my hands, and has selected this. My part in the business has therefore been confined to carrying out the legal part in the matter and completing the purchase."

"My dear Frank," Julian said, "this is monstrous."

"I have only carried out the wishes of the count, Julian. He and the countess had a long conversation with me, and it was with some reluctance that I accepted the mission to select an estate for you, and only because he said that if I refused, he should have to request the Russian ambassador to ask one of his secretaries to do so, and that it would be very much more satisfactory to him that the place chosen should be, in point of situation and other respects, just what you would yourself like."

"I am overpowered, Mr. Linton. It has all come upon me so much by surprise that I do not know what I ought to say or do."

"There can be no doubt what you ought to do," the solicitor replied. "Count Woronski is a very wealthy nobleman. You have rendered to him and his wife one of the greatest services one man can render to another. The count mentioned in his letter that had you remained in Russia it was his intention to transfer one of his estates to you, and the smallest of them is of much greater value than this. As to your refusing the gift, it is, if I may say so, impossible. Nothing could exceed the delicacy with which the count has arranged the business, and he would naturally feel deeply hurt were you to hesitate to accept this token of his gratitude. I am sure you must see that yourself."

"I do indeed see it," Julian said, "and I feel that it would be not only ungrateful but wrong for me to refuse this noble gift. But you will admit that it is natural that I should for a time be overwhelmed by it. I am not so ungracious as to refuse so magnificent a present, although I feel that it is altogether disproportionate, not to the service I was fortunate enough to render, but to my action in rendering it. Well, Mr. Linton, I can only thank you for the part you have taken in the matter. Of course, I shall write at once to the count and countess expressing my feelings as to this magnificent gift, and will send the letter to the embassy to be forwarded at the first possible opportunity. And now what is the next thing to be done, for I feel almost incapable of forming any plans at present?"

"I would suggest, Mr. Wyatt, that in the first place you should drive round your estate. There are horses and carriages in the stable. The estate had only been advertised a day or two before your brother came up to town, and the purchase included the furniture, horses and carriages, and the live stock on the home farm. I engaged the coachman, grooms, and gardeners to remain until, at least, you should decide whether to take them into your service. I should suggest also that, after driving round the place, you should return to Canterbury for the night. Beyond an old man and his wife, who are in charge of the house, I have not made any arrangements, thinking it better to leave that to you and Mrs. Troutbeck."

"You will have to move here, you know, Aunt," Frank said. "I gave orders, before we came away from Weymouth, to Mary to lock up the house, and to come up to town by the coach two days later, and then to come on to Canterbury. I have no doubt that we shall find her at the Fountain when we get there. I daresay you will be able to hear of some good servants at the Hotel."

"You have taken away my breath altogether, Frank," Mrs. Troutbeck said. "However, I am too bewildered to think for myself, and for the present must do whatever you tell me."

Before Frank started three weeks later to rejoin Sir Robert Wilson he had the satisfaction of seeing Julian comfortably established in his new position, and settling down to the life. He himself went through the tremendous campaign that brought about the conclusion of the war and the downfall of Napoleon, and was present at the great battles of Lutzen, Bautzen, Reichenbach, Dresden, Culm, and Leipsic. At the termination of the war he received the rank of brevet major, and the appointment of military attaché to the British embassy in Russia. He remained there for some years, and then retired from the army with the rank of colonel.

Mrs. Troutbeck had by this time passed away, having first had the pleasure of seeing a mistress installed at Julian's. The latter was now a justice of the peace, and one of the most popular landowners in the county. Mrs. Troutbeck, at Julian's earnest request, left the whole of her property to Frank, nor could the latter persuade his brother to take any share of it. Frank had no inclination for a country life, and settled down near London, where, after a time, he too married.

He then went in for politics, and was returned for a Kentish constituency. Although he took no very prominent part in party politics he became one of the recognized authorities in the house on all matters connected with the affairs of Eastern Europe, and took a lively interest in the movements set on foot for the benefit of the British soldier. Julian kept his promise to the count, and for many years went over occasionally to stay with him. His wife accompanied him until the cares of a rising family detained her at home. To the end of their lives neither Frank nor he ever regretted that they had taken part in the memorable campaign in Russia.

THE END.

Table of Contents

One of the 28th

PREFACE.

CHAPTER I.

UNEXPECTED NEWS.

CHAPTER II.

A COUNTRY VISIT.

CHAPTER III.

RUN DOWN.

CHAPTER IV.

THE PRIVATEER'S RENDEZVOUS.

CHAPTER V.

THE BRITISH CRUISERS.

CHAPTER VI.

HOME AGAIN.

CHAPTER VII.

A COMMISSION.

CHAPTER VIII.

STARTLING NEWS.

CHAPTER IX.

MR. TALLBOYS' VISITOR.

CHAPTER X.

ON DETACHMENT.

CHAPTER XI.

STILL-HUNTING.

CHAPTER XII.

THE CAVE AMONG THE ROCKS.

CHAPTER XIII.

STARTLING NEWS.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE NEW HOUSEMAID.

CHAPTER XV.

IN BELGIUM.

CHAPTER XVI.

FOUND AT LAST.

CHAPTER XVII.

QUATRE BRAS.

CHAPTER XVIII.

WATERLOO.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE ROUT.

One of the 28th

PREFACE.

Although in the present story a boy plays the principal part, and encounters many adventures by land and sea, a woman is the real heroine, and the part she played demanded an amount of nerve and courage fully equal to that necessary for those who take part in active warfare. Boys are rather apt to think, mistakenly, that their sex has a monopoly of courage, but I believe that in moments of great peril women are to the full as brave and as collected as men. Indeed, my own somewhat extensive experience leads me to go even further, and to assert that among a civil population, untrained to arms, the average woman is cooler and more courageous than the average man. Women are nervous about little matters; they may be frightened at a mouse or at a spider; but in the presence of real danger, when shells are bursting in the streets, and rifle bullets flying thickly, I have seen them standing kitting at their doors and talking to their friends across the street when not a single man was to be seen.

There is no greater mistake than to think women cowards because they are sometimes nervous over trifles. Were it necessary, innumerable cases could be quoted from history to prove that women can, upon occasion, fight as courageously as men. Cæsar found that the women of the German tribes could fight bravely side by side with the men, and the Amazons of the King of Dahomey are more feared by the neighboring tribes than are his male soldiers. Almost every siege has its female heroines, and in the Dutch War of Independence the female companies at Sluys and Haarlem proved themselves a match for the best soldiers of Spain. Above all, in patient endurance of pain and suffering, women are immeasurably superior to men. I emphasize this point because I know that many boys, simply because they are stronger than girls, are apt to regard them with a sort of contempt, and to fancy themselves without the least justification, not only stronger but braver and more courageousin fact superior beings in every way.

G. A. HENTY.

CHAPTER I.

UNEXPECTED NEWS.

"I have written to ask Ralph Conway to come and stay for a time with me." The announcement was a simple one, but it fell like a bombshell in the midst of the party at breakfast at Penfold Hall. The party consisted only of the speaker, Herbert Penfold, and his two sisters. The latter both exclaimed "Herbert!" in a tone of shocked surprise. Mr. Penfold was evidently prepared for disapprobation; he had spoken in a somewhat nervous tone, but with a decision quite unusual to him. He had finished his last piece of toast and emptied his last cup of tea before making the announcement, and he now pushed back his chair, rose to his feet, and said: "Yes; I have been thinking of having him here for some time, and I suppose that as master of this house I am at liberty to ask whom I like; at any rate I would rather have no discussion on the subject."

So saying, without giving his sisters time to reply, he walked hastily to the door and went out. Miss Penfold and Miss Eleanor Penfold gazed at each other in speechless astonishment. So accustomed were they to settle everything that took place at Penfold Hall, that this sudden assumption of authority on the part of their brother fairly staggered them. Miss Penfold was the first to speak:

"This is terrible, Eleanor! To think that after all these years Herbert's thoughts should still be turning toward that woman. But it is only what might be expected. The ingratitude of men is terrible. Here we have for the last twenty years been devoting our lives to himnot only keeping his house for him, but seeing that he did not fall a victim to any of the designing women who would have insinuated themselves into his good graces, and preventing him from indulging in all sorts of foolish tastes and bringing himself to ruin; and now you see he turns again to that artful woman, and, without saying a word to us, invites her son to come here. It is monstrous, sister!"

"It is monstrous," Miss Eleanor Penfold repeated, with tears in her eyes. "It is like flying in the face of Providence, sister."

"It is flying in our faces," Miss Penfold replied sharply; "and just at the present moment that is of more importance. To think that that man must have been brooding over this, and making up his mind to act in this way for weeks perhaps, and never to say a word to us upon the subject. I wonder he didn't ask the woman herself down!"

"He never could have done such a shameless thing, Charlotte," her sister said much shocked. "Of course, we must have left the house instantly."

"I should not have left the house," Miss Penfold said firmly. "If the woman comesand now he has asked the boy it is quite possible that he may ask the motherour duty will be to remain here. You know we have been uneasy ever since her husband died. Herbert's infatuation concerning her has been pitiable, and we have always believed it has been that alone which has caused him to refuse so obstinately to enter into our plans, or to pay even decent courtesy to the various excellent young women we have from time to time asked down here, and who were in every way suitable for the position of mistress of this housewomen full of sense, and who, with right guidance, would have made him perfectly happy. And now he flies in our faces and asks the boy down. I have had an idea for some little time that he has had something on his mind; he has been more nervous and fidgety than usual, and several times he has seemed to be on the point of saying something, and then changed his mind. Of course, one can understand it all now. No wonder he was ashamed to look us in the face when he was meditating such a step as this. The duplicity of man is something shocking!"

It was not surprising that Herbert Penfold's sudden assertion of his will was a shock to his sisters. These ladies had so long been accustomed to rule absolutely at Penfold Hall that Mr. Penfold's assertion of his right to act as he pleased in his own house came upon them like an act of absolute rebellion. At their father's death they were women of twenty-seven and twenty-six years old respectively. Herbert was a lad of sixteen. He was of a gentle and yielding disposition; and as their father for some years previous to his death had been a confirmed invalid, and they had had the complete management of the house, it was but natural that at his death they should continue in the same position.

Owing to weak health, Herbert had not been sent to school, but had been educated under the care of a tutor. He had wished when he reached the age of nineteen to enter one of the universities; but his sisters had been so opposed to the idea, and had represented so strongly to him his unfitness to take part in the rough sports of the young men, and how completely he would feel out of place in such companionship, that he had abandoned the idea, and had traveled on the Continent for three years with his tutor, his sisters being for most of the time of the party. Soon after his return he had fallen in love with the daughter of Colonel Vernon, an officer living on half-pay at Poole, which was the nearest town to Penfold Hall. The announcement of his engagement came like a thunder-clap upon his sisters, who had agreed that it would be in all respects desirable that Herbert should not marry for some years.

They had, however, been wise enough not to offer any open opposition to the match. Three months later the engagement was broken off. How it came about no one exactly knew. Unpleasant reports were set on foot; there were misunderstandings which should easily have been cleared up, but which grew until they gave rise to serious quarrels. Letters which might have set matters straight somehow failed to come to hand; and so at last things went from bad to worse until there was a final quarrel, a return of letters and presents on both sides, and a final breaking off of the engagement. A year later Mary Vernon married Mr. Conway, an architect, resident in London.

Mr. Penfold had before this become convinced that Mary Vernon had not been to blame in the matter, and that he had in some way or other taken an altogether mistaken view of the subject. He knew by the comments of such friends as were intimate enough to speak, and the coolness of many others, that he was considered to have behaved very badly toward her. And this thought was a most distressing one, for he was deeply attached to Mary; and had he not been convinced that from some reason or other she herself had ceased to care for him, and was anxious to break off the engagement, he would have gone any length towards healing the breach. When it was too late he bitterly regretted his own weakness in submitting to the domination of his sisters, and felt a deep though silent resentment against them for the share that he was convinced they had taken in causing the breach between himself and Mary Vernon; but although he resented, he had neither the will nor firmness to free himself from their domination.

At times he struggled feebly against it; and on two or three occasions had suddenly gone up to town, and thence on to the Continent, and had traveled there for weeks. On one of these occasions he had written to them saying that he thought it would be for the happiness of them all if they were to leave Penfold Hall and set up an establishment of their own. But upon his return he found things going on exactly as before, and Miss Penfold had spoken somewhat severely of the silly letter he had written to them, a letter displaying at once such ingratitude and folly that it had been beneath them to notice it. As Herbert Penfold was in a way really fond of his sisters, who spared no effort in making his home comfortable for him, and who allowed him to have his own way in all minor matters, he could not bring himself to repeat when face to face with them the opinion he had expressed in writing; and so things had gone on for years.

The Miss Penfolds were really anxious to see their brother married. Provided only that it was to a lady who would be, in their estimation, fitted for him, and who would also have a feeling of gratitude towards themselves for their share in installing her as mistress of the Hall, they were quite prepared to abdicate in her favor, and to retire to some pretty house near a pleasant watering-place, paying visits once or twice a year to the Hall.

The listless life their brother led was a source of grief to them; for they were really attached to him, and believed that they had in every way been working for his happiness.

They had no shadow of regret for the part they had played in breaking off his engagement with Mary Vernon. Having once convinced themselves that she was a frivolous girl, quite unsuited for the position of mistress of Penfold Hall, they had regarded it as an absolute duty to protect Herbert from the consequences of what they considered his infatuation. Consequently, for years they were in the habit of inviting for long visits young ladies whom they considered in every way eligible as their successor, and had been much grieved at their want of success, and at the absolute indifference with which Herbert regarded the presence of these young women. When, four years after his marriage to Mary Vernon, Mr. Conway had died suddenly they had been seized with a vague disquiet; for they believed that the remembrance of his first love was the real cause of Herbert's indifference to others, and considered it probable he might still be sufficiently infatuated with her to attempt to undo the past.

To their gratification Herbert never alluded to the subject, never, so far as they knew, made the slightest effort to renew her acquaintance. In fact, Herbert Penfold was a diffident as well as a weak man. Once convinced that he had acted badly toward Mary Vernon, he was equally convinced that she must despise him and that he was utterly unworthy of her. Had it been otherwise he would have again entered the lists and tried to recover the love he had thrown away.

Although he occasionally yielded to the entreaties of his sisters and showed himself with them at county gatherings, gave stately dinner-parties at regular intervals, and accepted the invitations of his neighbors, he lived the life almost of a recluse.

His sole companion and friend was the rector of the parish, who had been his tutor during his Continental tour, and whom he had presented with the living which was in his gift, to the secret dissatisfaction of his sisters, who had always considered that Herbert's tutor had endeavored to set him against them. This had to some extent been the case, in so far, at least, that Mr. Withers, who had left college only a short time before starting with Herbert, had endeavored to give him habits of self-reliance and independence of thought, and had quietly striven against the influence that his sisters had upon his mind. It was not until after the Mary Vernon episode that the living had fallen vacant; had it been otherwise things might have turned out differently, for Herbert would certainly have sought his friend's advice in his troubles.

After that it was too late for his interference. Mr. Withers had watched the state of matters at the Hall, and his young wife had often urged him to try to induce Herbert Penfold to rouse himself and assert himself against his sisters, but the vicar remained neutral. He saw that though at times Herbert was a little impatient at the domination of his sisters, and a chance word showed that he nourished a feeling of resentment toward them, he was actually incapable of nerving himself to the necessary effort required to shake off their influence altogether, and to request them to leave the Hall.

Nothing short of this would suffice to establish his independence; for after a mere temporary assertion of authority he would, if they remained there, assuredly speedily allow affairs to lapse into their present state, and the vicar thought that harm rather than good would be caused by his interference, and that, as his influence would be sure to be suspected, there would be a breach between the Hall and the Rectory. As it was the connection was an intimate one. Herbert was always glad to see him when he came in for a talk in the course of his rounds, or when he and his wife would come up to dine quietly. The Miss Penfolds were always ready with their purses to aid him to carry out his schemes for the good of the parish, and to sympathize with his young wife in her troubles; for of these she had a large shareall her children, save one girl, having been carried off in their infancy.

Mabel Withers was as much at home at the Hall as at the Rectory. She was chief pet and favorite with Mr. Penfold; and although his sisters considered that the rector allowed her to run wild, and that under such license she was growing up a sad tomboy, they could not withstand the influence of the child's happy and fearless disposition, and were in their way very kind to her.

Such was the state of things at Penfold Hall when its owner's sudden announcement that he had invited young Ralph Conway to come to stay there had fallen like a bombshell upon his sisters.

The invitation had caused almost as much surprise to Mrs. Conway as to the Miss Penfolds. Her father had died a few months after her marriage, and at the death of her husband she found herself left with an income of about a hundred a yearthe interest of the sum for which he had insured his life.

To her surprise she had a month or two later received an intimation from the lawyer who managed her business that a friend had arranged to pay the sum of a hundred pounds every quarter to her account, on condition only that no inquiry whatever should be made as to his or her identity. Mary Conway had thankfully accepted the gift, which had, however, caused her intense wonderment and curiosity. So far as she knew neither her father nor her husband had any relations who could have afforded so handsome a gift. She knew that Colonel Vernon had been most popular with his regiment, and the supposition at which she finally arrived was that some young officer whom he had befriended in difficulties had, on coming into a large property, determined similarly to befriend the daughter of his former colonel.

Had she been alone in the world she would have declined to accept this aid from an unknown benefactor, but for her son's sake she felt that it would be wrong to do so. The idea that the money might come from Herbert Penfold had once or twice occurred to her, only to be at once dismissed, for had she really believed that it came from him she could not, even for Ralph's sake, have accepted it. He had, as she believed, quarreled with her altogether without cause, her letters had been unanswered, and she considered the quarrel to have been simply a pretext upon the part of Herbert to break off an engagement of which he was tired. Words dropped, apparently by accident, by Herbert's sisters had, before the misunderstanding commenced, favored this idea, and although she had really loved him her disposition was too spirited to allow her to take the steps she otherwise might have done to set herself right with him.

At any rate she had no ground whatever for believing that Herbert, after the breach of the engagement, entertained any such feelings toward her as would have led him to come forward to assist her in any way after she had become the wife of another; and so for twelve years she had continued to receive her quarterly income. She had established herself in a pretty little house near Dover, where several old friends of her father resided, and where she had plenty of pleasant society among the officers of the regiments stationed there. Although far from rivaling Portsmouth or Plymouth in life and bustle, Dover was a busy town during the time of the great war. The garrison was a large one, the channel cruisers often anchored under the guns of the castle, and from the top of the hills upon a clear day for months a keen lookout was kept for the appearance from the port of Boulogne of the expedition Napoleon had gathered there for the invasion of England.

The white sails of the English cruisers as they sailed up or down the channel were clearly visible, and occasionally a privateer could be seen making its way westward with a prize it had picked up off Texel. Military and naval matters were the sole topics of conversation, and by the time he was fifteen Ralph had fully determined to follow in his grandfather's footsteps and to become a soldier. Having passed almost all her life among military men Mrs. Conway had offered no objections to his wishes, and as several of her father's old friends had promised to use their influence on his behalf, there was little doubt that he would be enabled to procure a commission as soon as he reached the regulation age.

It was not often that the postman called at Mrs. Conway's with letters; for postage was expensive, and the people in those days only wrote when they had something particular to say. Mrs. Conway had just made breakfast when Ralph came in with a letter in his hand.

"Here is a letter for you, mother; but please don't open it until you have given me my breakfast. I am very late now, and shall barely have time to get through with it and be there before the gates close."

"Your porridge is quite ready for you, Ralph; so if you are late it will be your own fault not mine. The eggs will be in before you have eaten it. However, I won't open the letter until you have gone, because you will only waste time by asking questions about it."

Ralph began his bread and milk, and Mrs. Conway, stretching out her hand, took the letter he had laid beside his plate, and turning it over glanced at the direction to ascertain from which of her few correspondents it came. For a moment she looked puzzled, then, with a little start, she laid it down by the side of her plate. She had recognized the handwriting once so familiar to her.

"What is it, mother? You look quite startled. Who is it from?"

"It is from no one you know, Ralph. I think it is from a person I have not heard from for some years. At any rate it will keep until you are off to school."

"It's nothing unpleasant, I hope, mother. Your color has quite gone, and you look downright pale."

"What should be the matter, you silly boy?" Mrs. Conway said, with an attempt to smile. "What could there be unpleasant in a letter from a person I have not heard from for years? There, go on with your breakfast. I expect you will hear some news when you get down into the town, for the guns in the castle have been firing, and I suppose there is news of a victory. They said yesterday that a great battle was expected to be fought against Napoleon somewhere near Leipzig."

"Yes; I heard the guns, mother, and I expect there has been a victory. I hope not."

"Why do you hope not, Ralph?"

"Why, of course, mother, I don't want the French to be beatennot regularly beaten, till I am old enough to have a share in it. Just fancy what a nuisance it would be if peace was made just as I get my commission."

"There will be plenty of time for you, Ralph," his mother said smiling. "Peace has been patched up once or twice, but it never lasts long; and after fighting for the last twenty years it is hardly probable that the world is going to grow peaceful all at once. But there, it is time for you to be off; it only wants ten minutes to nine and you will have to run fast all the way to be in time."

When Mrs. Conway was alone she took up the letter, and turned it over several times before opening it.

What could Herbert Penfold have written about after all these years? Mrs. Conway was but thirty-six years old now, and was still a pretty woman, and a sudden thought sent a flush of color to her face. "Never!" she said decidedly. "After the way in which he treated me he cannot suppose that now" and then she stopped. "I know I did love him once, dearly, and it nearly broke my heart; but that was years and years ago. Well, let us see what he says for himself," and she broke open the letter. She glanced through it quickly, and then read it again more carefully. She was very pale now, and her lips trembled as she laid down the letter.

"So," she said to herself in a low tone, "it is to him after all I owe all this," and she looked round her pretty room; "and I never once really suspected it. I am glad now," she went on after a pause, "that I did not; for, of course, it would have been impossible to have taken it, and how different the last twelve years of my life would have been. Poor Herbert! And so he really suffered too, and he has thought of me all this time."

For fully half an hour she sat without moving, her thoughts busy with the past, then she again took up the letter and reread it several times. Its contents were as follows:

"Dear Mrs. Conway: You will be doubtless surprised at seeing my handwriting, and your first impulse will naturally be to put this letter into the fire. I am not writing to ask you to forgive my conduct in the old days. I am but too well aware how completely I have forfeited all right to your esteem or consideration. Believe me that I have suffered for my fault, and that my life has been a ruined one. I attempt to make no excuses. I am conscious that while others were to blame I was most of all, and that it is to my own weakness of will and lack of energy that the breach between us was due. However, all this is of the past and can now interest you but little. You have had your own sorrows and trials, at which, believe me, I sincerely grieved. And now to my object in writing to you. Although still comparatively a young man, I have not many years to live. When last in London I consulted two of the first physicians, and they agreed that, as I had already suspected, I was suffering from heart disease, or rather, perhaps, from an enfeebled state of my heart, which may at any moment cease to do its work.

"Naturally then, I have turned my thoughts as to whom I should leave my property. My sisters are amply provided for. I have no other near relatives, and therefore consider myself free to leave it as I choose. I have long fixed my thoughts upon the daughter of a dear friend, the rector of Bilston; she is now thirteen years old, and half my property is left her. I have left the other half to your son. The whole subject to an annuity to yourself; which you will not, I trust, refuse to accept. I have never thought of any woman but you, and I hope that you will not allow your just resentment against me to deprive me of the poor satisfaction of making what atonement lies in my power for the cruel wrong I formerly did you.

"Were I strong and in health I can well imagine that you would indignantly refuse to receive any benefits from my hands, but knowing your kindness of heart, I feel sure that you will not sadden the last days of a doomed man by the knowledge that even after his death his hopes of insuring the comfort of the one woman on earth he cared for are to be disappointed.

"I should like to know your son. Would it be too much to ask you to spare him for a while from time to time so long as I live? I have a double motive, I say frankly, in thus asking him to come here. I wish him and my little pet, Mabel Withers, to come to like each other. I wish to divide my property between them, and yet I should be glad if the whole estate could remain intact.

"I should not be so foolish as to make a proviso that two persons who are as yet so young, and who may not in any way be suitable to each other, should marry, but nothing would please me so much as that they should take a fancy to each other; and thrown together as they would be here, for Mabel is constantly at the house, it is just possible that one of those boy and girl affections, which do sometimes, although perhaps rarely, culminate in marriage, might spring up between them. Whether that may be so in the present case I must leave to fate, but I should at any rate like to pave the way for such an arrangement by bringing the young people together. I need not say that it will be best that neither of them should have the slightest idea of what is in my mind, for this would be almost certain to defeat my object.

"If the proposal is agreeable to you, I hope that you will let Ralph come to me at the beginning of his holidays; which must, I fancy, be now near at hand. I think it will be as well that he should not know of my intention as to the disposal of my property, for it is better he should think that he will have to work for his living; but at the same time there would be no harm in his knowing that it is probable I shall help him on in life. This will make him bear better what would otherwise be a dull visit. But I leave this matter entirely in your hands. You know the boy and I do not, and you can therefore better judge what will be best for him to know. And now, dear Mary, if you will pardon my once again calling you so,

"I remain,

"Your affectionate friend,

"HERBERT PENFOLD."

It was characteristic of Mrs. Conway that at the first reading of this letter she thought rather of the writer than of the bright prospects which his offer opened to her son. She thought rather of Herbert Penfold, her first love, now ill, if not dying, of the days of their engagement and its rupture, than of the fact that her son was to inherit half the Penfold estates. She had been sorely hurt at the time; and even after all these years it was a pleasure to her to know that the quarrel was not as she had often thought at the time, a mere pretext for breaking off the engagement, but that Herbert had really loved her, had cared for her all these years, and had been the mysterious friend whose kindness had so lightened her cares.

"I did not throw away my love after all," she said to herself, as with her eyes full of tears she stood at the window and looked out towards the sea. "He cared for me enough to be faithful all this time and to think of me constantly, while I had almost forgotten the past. I ought to have known all the time that he was acting under the influence of othersthose sisters of his, of course. I was always certain they hated mehated the thought of my becoming mistress of Penfold Hall. I knew the influence they had over him. Herbert had no will of his ownit was the only fault I ever saw in himand they could twist him round their little fingers. And now he is going to make Ralph his heir, or at least his heir with the girl he speaks of. It is a grand thing for Ralph; for the estates were worth, he told papa, eight thousand a year, and if Herbert's little romance comes off Ralph will have all."

Then she thought over the years he had been befriending her, and wondered what she should do about that. Finally, being a sensible woman, she decided to do nothing. Had she known it before, or learned the truth by other means, she would have refused absolutely to touch Herbert Penfold's money; but it would be indeed a poor return for his kindness were she now, when he was ill and feeble, and was about to bestow still further benefits upon her, to refuse to permit him any longer to aid her. She wished, as she read the letter over again, that he had expressed some desire to see her. She should have liked to have thanked him in person, to have told him how grateful she felt for his care and kindness, to have taken his hand again if but for a minute.

But he had expressed no wish for a meeting, had never all these years made an effort to see her. She could read in the wording of the letter that he had been principally deterred from making any attempt to see her by the feeling that he had entirely forfeited her regard, and had offended her beyond chance of forgiveness. And had she been asked the day before she would doubtless have replied that she had no wish whatever ever again to meet Herbert Penfold; whereas now she felt almost aggrieved that he should express no wish to meet her, should have stayed away so long without making one effort to bring about reconciliation.

"Of all faults that a man can have," she said pettishly, "I do not think there's one so detestable as that of self-distrust. Why could he not have said ten years ago, 'I behaved badly, Mary; I treated you abominably; but forgive me and forget. I was not wholly to blame, except that I allowed others to come between us?' If he had come and said that, we could at least have been good friends. I have no patience with men who cannot stand up for themselves. Now, how much shall I tell Ralph?" and she again read the letter through.

"Ralph," she said when he came in to dinner, "you remember that letter I had this morning?"

"Yes, I know, mother; the one that made you turn so white. You said it was from an old friend, though why a letter from an old friend should upset any one I can't make out. What was it about, mother?"

"Well, my boy, it contains a pleasant piece of news. Mr. Penfold, that is the name of the writer, was a friend of my family. He knew me long ago when we were young people, and at one time it seemed likely that we should be married. However, as you know, that never took place. However, it seems, as he says by his letter, that he has never altogether forgotten me, and he intends to help you on in life if you turn out as he would like to see you. He wishes you to go down to stay with him when your holidays begin."

"That sounds nice," Ralph said; "and if he has got any boys about my own age it will be pleasant."

"He has no children, Ralph. He is what you may call an old bachelor, and lives with his sistersor, rather, they live with him."

"That does not sound very cheerful, mother. An old gentleman with two old ladies alone in the house can't make much fun."

"He is not an old gentleman, Ralph," Mrs. Conway said almost angrily. "I told you we were young people together. Still it may not be very lively for you, but you must put up with that. He evidently means to be very kind to you, and it will be of great advantage to you going down to stay with him."

"But what are you going to do with yourself, mother, all alone here? I think he might have asked you as well as me."

"I shall do very well, Ralph. I have plenty of friends here."

"Where does Mr. Penfold live, mother?"

"Down in Dorsetshire. It is a very nice place, and only about a mile from the sea. But, as I say, I do not expect you will find it lively; but that you mustn't mind. It will be a very good thing for you, and will be well worth your while putting up with a little dullness for a time. Mr. Penfold is one of the kindest of men, but I do not think you will like his sisters much. Certainly you will not unless they are a good deal changed from what they were as I remember them. Still you must try to get on with them as well as you can, and I dare say you will find some pleasant companions in the neighborhood. I am sure you will do your best when I tell you that I am most anxious for many reasons that Mr. Penfold should like you."

"Of course I will do my best, mother, though I must say that the lookout is not, according to your description, a very cheerful one, and I would a deal rather stop at home with you."

"We can't always do exactly as we like, Ralph; though that is a lesson you have as yet to learn. What day did you say your holidays began?"

"Next Monday week, mother. But I do hope I may have two or three days' sailing with Joe Knight the fisherman before I go."

"Mr. Penfold says he will be glad to see you as soon as your holidays begin, Ralph; still I suppose a day or two will make no difference, so we will settle that you shall go on Friday. As you go down to school this afternoon you had better tell Rogerson the tailor to come up this evening to measure you for a suit of clothes. You must look decent when you go down; and you know except your Sunday suit, you have got nothing fit to wear in such a house as that."

"I am afraid it's going to be a horrible nuisance altogether," Ralph said ruefully. "However, I suppose it's got to be done as you say so, mother; though it's hard breaking in on my holidays like that. He might just as well have asked me in school-time. One could have put up with it ever so much better if it took one out of old Harper's clutches for a bit. How long am I to stay there?"

"I expect the greater part of your holidays, Ralph. I think he wants to get to know all about you."

Ralph groaned loudly. "He may intend very kindly," he said; "but I wish he would keep his good intentions to himself."

"You think so now," Mrs. Conway said with a smile. "You won't think so when you are in the army, but will find a little extra allowance or a tip now and then very welcome."

"I dare say I shall, mother," Ralph said, brightening. "Anyhow, if the old gentlemanthat is to say, the gentlemantakes it into his head to make me an allowance, it will take me off your hands, and I shall not be always feeling that I am an awful expense to you. All right, mother. I think I can promise that I will be on my best behavior, and will try hard to get on even with his sisters. I wish he had asked Phil Landrey to go down with me. Two fellows can get on anywhere."

"I should have very little hope of your making a good impression if you went there with your friend Phil," Mrs. Conway said, smiling. "I can believe in your good conduct while you are alone, but I should have no hopes whatever of you if you and he were together."

"But how am I to go, mother? It seems such a tremendous way from here down into Dorsetshire."

"I have not thought anything about it yet, Ralph; but probably Mr. Penfold will give some instructions as to your journey when he hears from me that you are coming."

CHAPTER II.

A COUNTRY VISIT.

When Ralph had gone off to school again Mrs. Conway sat down to answer the letterby no means an easy taskand she sat with the paper before her for a long time before she began. At last, with an air of desperation, she dipped her pen into the ink and began:

"MY DEAR HERBERT PENFOLD: It is difficult to answer such a letter as yoursto say all one feels without saying too much; to express the gratitude with which one is full, but of which one feels that you do not desire the expression. First, a word as to the past. Now that it is irreparable, why should I not speak freely? We were the victims of a mistake! You were misled respecting me. I foolishly resented the line you took, failed to make sufficient allowances for your surroundings, and even doubted a love that seemed to me to be so easily shaken. Thus my pride was, perhaps, as much responsible for what happened as your too easy credence of tales to my disadvantage. At any rate, believe me that I have cherished no such feelings as those with which you credit me toward you. Now that I know the truth, I can only regret that your life has been, as you say, spoiled, by what can but be called a fatal misunderstanding.

"Next, I must thank you, although you make no allusion to it in your letter, for your kindness during past years. Of these, believe me, I never suspected that you were the author; and I need hardly say how deeply I have been touched at finding that the hand to which I and my boy owe so much is that of Herbert Penfold. Of this I will say no more. I leave you to picture my feelings and my gratitude. Also, most warmly I thank you for your intentions regarding my boy. He will be ready to come to you on Friday week. I suppose his best way will be to go by coach to London and then down to you, or he could take passage perhaps in a coaster. He is very fond of the sea.

"We had settled that he should enter the army; but of course I consider that nothing will be decided on this or any other point as to his future until I know your wishes on the matter. Lastly, dear Herbert, believe me that the news that you have given me concerning your state of health has caused me deep sorrow, and I earnestly hope and trust that the doctors may be mistaken in your case, that you may have a long life before you, and that life may be happier in the future than it has been in the past.

"I remain,

"Your grateful and affectionate

"MARY CONWAY."

A fortnight later Ralph Conway took his place on the outside of the coach for London. As to the visit to this unknown friend of his mother, he anticipated no pleasure from it whatever; but at the same time the journey itself was delightful to him. He had never during his remembrance been further away from Dover than Canterbury; and the trip before him was in those days a more important one than a journey half over Europe would be at the present time. In his pocket he carried a piece of paper, on which his mother had carefully written down the instructions contained in the letter she had received in answer to her own from Herbert Penfold. Sewn up in the lining of his waistcoat were five guineas, so that in case the coach was stopped by highwaymen, or any other misfortune happened, he would still be provided with funds for continuing his journey.

Under the seat was a small basket filled with sandwiches, and his head ought to have been equally well filled with the advice his mother had given him as to his behavior at Penfold Hall. As his place had been booked some days before, he had the advantage of an outside seat. Next to him was a fat woman, who was going up to town, as she speedily informed her fellow-passengers, to meet her husband, who was captain of a whaler.

"I see in the Gazette of to-day," she said, "as his ship was signaled off Deal yesterday, and with this ere wind he will be up at the docks to-morrow; so off I goes. He's been away nigh eighteen months; and I know what men is. Why, bless you, if I wasn't there to meet him when he steps ashore, as likely as not he would meet with friends and go on the spree, and I shouldn't hear of him for a week; and a nice hole that would make in his earnings. Young man, you are scrouging me dreadful! Can't you get a little further along."

"It seems to me, ma'am, that it is you who are scrouging me," Ralph replied. "This rail is almost cutting into my side now."

"Well, we must live and let live!" the woman said philosophically. "You may thank your stars nature hasn't made you as big as I am. Little people have their advantages. But we can't have everything our own way. That's what I tells my Jim; he is always a-wanting to have his own way. That comes from being a captain; but, as I tells him, it's only reasonable as he is captain on board his ship I should be captain in my house. I suppose you are going to school?"

"No, I am not. My school is just over."

"Going all the way up to London?"

"Yes."

"That's a mercy," the woman said. "I was afraid you might be only going as far as Canterbury, and then I might have got some big chap up here who would squeeze me as flat as a pancake. Men is so unthoughtful, and seems to think as women can stow themselves away anywheres. I wish you would feel and get your hand in my pocket, young man. I can't do it nohow, and I ain't sure that I have got my keys with me; and that girl Eliza will be getting at the bottles and a-having men in, and then there will be a nice to-do with the lodgers. Can't you find it? It is in the folds somewhere."

"With much difficulty Ralph found the pocket-hole, and thrusting his hand in was able to reassure his neighbor by feeling among a mass of odds and ends a bunch of keys.

"That's a comfort," the woman said. "If one's mind isn't at ease one can't enjoy traveling."

"I wish my body was at ease," Ralph said. "Don't you think you could squeeze them a little on the other side and give me an inch or two more room?"

"I will try," the woman said; "as you seem a civil sort of boy."

Whereupon she gave two or three heaves, which relieved Ralph greatly, but involved her in an altercation with her neighbor on the other side, which lasted till the towers of Canterbury came in sight. Here they changed horses at the Fountain Inn.

"Look here, my boy," the woman said to Ralph. "If you feel underneath my feet you will find a basket, and at the top there is an empty bottle. There will be just time for you to jump down and get it filled for me. A shilling's worth of brandy, and filled up with water. That girl Eliza flustered me so much with her worritting and questions before I started that I had not time to fill it."

Ralph jumped down and procured the desired refreshment, and was just in time to clamber up to his seat again when the coach started. He enjoyed the rapid motion and changing scene much, but he was not sorry whenas evening was coming onhe saw ahead of him a dull mist, which his fellow-passenger told him was the smoke of London.

It was nine in the evening when the coach drove into the courtyard of the Bull Inn. The guard, who had received instructions from Mrs. Conway, at once gave Ralph and his box into the charge of one of the porters awaiting the arrival of the coach, and told him to take the box to the inn from which the coach for Weymouth started in the morning. Cramped by his fourteen hours' journey Ralph had at first some difficulty in following his conductor through the crowded street, but the stiffness soon wore off, and after ten minutes walking he arrived at the inn.

The guard had already paid the porter, having received the money for that purpose from Mrs. Conway; and the latter setting down the box in the passage at once went off. Ralph felt a little forlorn, and wondered what he was to do next. But a minute later the landlady came out from the bar.

"Do you want a bed?" she asked. "The porter should have rung the bell. I am afraid we are full, unless it has been taken beforehand. However, I will see if I can make shift somehow."

"I should be very much obliged if you can," Ralph said; "for I don't know anything about London, and am going on by the Weymouth coach in the morning."

"Oh, might your name be Conway?"

"Yes, that is my name," Ralph said, surprised.

"Ah, then there is a bedroom taken for you. A gentleman came three days ago and took it, saying it was for a young gent who is going through to Weymouth. Tom," she called, "take this box up to number 12. Supper is ready for you, sir. I dare say you would like a wash first?"

"That I should," Ralph replied, following the boots upstairs.

In a few minutes he returned, and a waiter directed him to the coffee-room. In a short time a supper consisting of fish, a steak, and tea was placed before him. Ralph fell to vigorously, and the care that had been bestowed by Mr. Penfold in securing a bedroom and ordering supper for him greatly raised him in the boy's estimation; and he looked forward with warmer anticipations than he had hitherto done to his visit to him. As goon as he had finished he went off to bed, and in a few minutes was sound asleep. At half-past six he was called, and after a hearty breakfast took his seat on the outside of the Weymouth coach.

Sitting beside him were four sailors, belonging, as he soon learned, to a privateer lying at Weymouth. They had had a long trip, and had been some months at sea; and as their ship was to lie for a fortnight at Weymouth while some repairs were being done to her, they had obtained a week's leave and had ran up to London for a spree. Weymouth during the war did a brisk trade, and was a favorite rendezvous of privateers, who preferred it greatly to Portsmouth or Plymouth, where the risk of their men being pressed to make up the quota of some man-of-war just fitted out was very great.

The sailors were rather silent and sulky, at first at the cruise on land being nearly over, but after getting off the coach where it changed horses they recovered their spirits, and amused Ralph greatly with their talk about the various prizes they had taken, and one or two sharp brashes with French privateers. Toward evening they became rather hilarious, but for the last two hours dozed quietly; the man sitting next to Ralph lurching against him heavily in his sleep, and swearing loudly when the boy stuck his elbow into his ribs to relieve himself of the weight. Ralph was not sorry, therefore, when at ten o'clock at night the coach arrived at Weymouth. The landlord and servants came out with lanterns to help the passengers to alight, and the former, as Ralph climbed down the side into the circle of light, asked:

"Are you Master Conway?"

"That's my name," Ralph replied.

"A bed has been taken for you, sir, and a trap will be over here at nine o'clock in the morning to take you to Penfold Hall."

Supper was already prepared for such passengers as were going to sleep in the hotel; but Ralph was too sleepy to want to eat, and had made a good meal when the coach stopped at six o'clock for twenty minutes to allow the passengers time for refreshments. At eight o'clock next morning he breakfasted. When he had finished the waiter told him that the trap had arrived a few minutes before, and that the horse had been taken out to have a feed, but would be ready to start by nine. Ralph took a stroll for half an hour by the sea and then returned. The trap was at the door, and his trunk had already been placed in it. The driver, a man of twenty-three or twenty-four, was, as he presently told Ralph, stable-helper at Penfold Hall.

"I generally drive this trap when it is wanted," he said. "The coachman is pretty old now. He has been in the family well-nigh fifty years. He is all right behind the carriage-horses, he says, but he does not like trusting himself in a pair-wheel trap."

"How far is it?"

"A matter of fifteen miles. It would be a lot shorter if you had got off last night at the nearest point the coach goes to; but the master told the coachman that he thought it would be pleasanter for you to come on here than to arrive there tired and sleepy after dark."

"Yes, it will much more pleasant," Ralph said. "The road was very dirty, and I should not like to arrive at a strange house with my clothes all covered with dust, and so sleepy that I could hardly keep my eyes open, especially as I hear that Mr. Penfold's sisters are rather particular."

"Rather isn't the word," the driver said; "they are particular, and no mistake. I don't believe as the master would notice whether the carriage was dirty or clean; but if there is a speck of dirt about they are sure to spot it. Not that they are bad mistresses; but they look about all right, I can tell you, pretty sharp. I don't say that it ain't as well as they do, for the master never seems to care one way or the other, and lets things go anyhow. A nice gentleman he is, but I don't see much of him; and he don't drive in the carriage not once a month, and only then when he is going to the board of magistrates. He just walks about the garden morning and evening, and all the rest of the time he is shut up in the library with his books. It's a pity he don't go out more."

"Are there any families about with boys?" Ralph asked.

"Not as I knows of. None of then that ever comes to the Hall, anyhow. It's a pity there ain't some young ones there; it would wake the place up and make it lively. It would give us a lot more work to do, I don't doubt; but we shouldn't mind that. I have heard it used to be different in the old squire's time, but it has always been so as long as I can remember. I don't live at the house, but down at the village. Jones he lives over the stables; and there ain't no occasion to have more than one there, for there's only the two carriage-horses and this."

"How far is the sea from the house?"

"It's about half a mile to the top of the cliff, and a precious long climb down to the water; but going round by Swanagewhich is about three milesyou can drive down close to the sea, for there are no cliffs there."

There was little more said during the drive. From time to time the man pointed out the various villages and country seats, and Ralph wondered to himself how he should manage to pass the next three weeks. It seemed that there would be nothing to do and no one to talk to. He had always been accustomed to the companionship of lots of boys of his own age, and during the holidays there was plenty of sailing and fishing, so that time had never hung on his hands; the present prospect therefore almost appalled him. However, he had promised his mother that he would try to make the best of things; and he tried to assure himself that after all three weeks or a month would be over at last. After an hour and a half's drive they passed through a lodge gate into a park, and in a few minutes drew up at the entrance to Penfold Hall. An old servant came out.

"Will you come with me into the library, sir? Mr. Penfold is expecting you. Your box will be taken up into your room."

Ralph felt extremely uncomfortable as he followed his conductor across a noble hall, floored with dark polished oak, and paneled with the same material. A door opened, and a servant announced "Master Conway." A gentleman rose from his chair and held out his hand.

"I am glad to see you, Ralph Conway; and I hope your journey has been a pretty comfortable one. It is very good of you to come such a long distance to pay me a visit."

"Mother wanted me to, sir," Ralph said honestly. "I don't think" and he stopped.

"You don't think you would have come of your own accord, Ralph? No, that is natural enough, my boy. At your, age I am sure I should not have cared to give up my holidays and spend them in a quiet house among strangers. However, I wanted to see you, and I am very glad you have come. I am an old friend of your mother's, you know, and so desired to make the acquaintance of her son. I think you are like her," he said, putting his hand on Ralph's shoulder and taking him to the window and looking steadily at him.

"Other people have said so, sir; but I am sure I can't [illegible words] be like her a bit. Mother is so pretty, and I am sure I am not the least bit in the world; and I don't think it's nice for a boy to be like a woman."

This was rather a sore point with Ralph, who had a smooth soft face with large eyes and long eyelashes, and who had, in consequence, been nicknamed "Sally" by his schoolfellows. The name had stuck to him in spite of several desperate fights, and the fact that in point of strength and activity he was fully a match for any boy of his own age; but as there was nothing like derision conveyed by it, and it was indeed a term of affection rather, than of contempt, Ralph had at last ceased to struggle against it. But he longed for the time when the sprouting of whiskers would obliterate the obnoxious smoothness of his face. Mr. Penfold had smiled at his remark.

"I do not like girlish boys, Ralph; but a boy can have a girlish face and yet be a true boy all over. I fancy that's your case.

"I hope so, sir. I think I can swim or run or fight any of the chaps of my own age in the school; but I know I do look girlish about the face. I have done everything I could to make my face rough. I have sat in the sun, and wetted it with sea-water every five minutes, but it's no use."

"I should not trouble about it. Your face will get manly enough in time, you may be sure; and I like you all the better for it, my boy, because you are certainly very like your mother. And now, Ralph, I want you to enjoy yourself as much as you can while you are here. The house itself is dull, but I suppose you will be a good deal out of doors. I have hired a pony, which will be here to-day from Poole, and I have arranged with Watson, a fisherman at Swanage, that you can go out with him in his fishing-boat whenever you are disposed. It is three miles from here, but you can ride over on your pony and leave it at the little inn there till you come back. I am sorry to say I do not know any boys about here; but Mabel Withers, the daughter of my neighbor and friend the clergyman of Bilston, the village just outside the lodge, has a pony, and is a capital rider, and I am sure she will show you over the country. I suppose you have not had much to do with girls?" he added with a smile at seeing a slight expression of dismay on Ralph's face, which had expressed unmixed satisfaction at the first items of the programme.

"No, sir; not much," Ralph said. "Of course some of my schoolfellows have sisters, but one does not see much of them."

"I think you will get on very well together. She is a year or two younger than you are, and I am afraid she is considered rather a tomboy. She has been caught at the top of a tall tree examining the eggs in a nest, and in many similar ungirl-like positions; so you won't find her a dull companion. She is a great pet of mine, and though she may not be as good a companion as a boy would be for you, I am sure when you once get to know her you will find her a very good substitute. You see, not having had much to do with boys, I am not very good at devising amusement for you. I can only say that if there is anything you would like to do while you are here you have only to tell me, and if it be possible I will put you in the way of it."

"Thank you very much, sir. You are extremely kind," Ralph said heartily; for with a pony and a boat it did seem that his visit would not be nearly so dull as he had anticipated. "I am sure I shall get on capitally."

Just at his moment there was a knock at the door. It opened, and a girl entered.

"You have just come at the right moment, Mabel," Mr. Penfold said as she came in. "This is Ralph Conway, of whom I was speaking to you. Ralph, this is Mabel Withers. I asked her to come in early this morning so as to act as your guide round the place."

The boy and girl shook hands with each other. She was the first to speak.

"So you are Ralph. I have been wondering what you would be like. Uncle has been telling me you were coming. I like your looks, and I think you are nice."

Ralph was taken rather aback. This was not the way in which his schoolfellows' sisters had generally addressed him.

"I think you look jolly," he said; "and that's better than looking nice."

"I think they mean the same thing," she replied; "except that a girl says 'nice' and a boy says 'jolly.' I like the word 'jolly' best, only I get scolded when I use it. Shall we go into the garden?"

Altogether Ralph Conway had a very much pleasanter time than he had anticipated. Except at meals he saw little of the Miss Penfolds. His opinion as to these ladies, expressed confidentially to Mabel Withers, was the reverse of flattering.

"I think," he said, "that they are the two most disagreeable old cats I have ever met. They hardly ever open their lips, and when they do it is only to answer some question of their brother. I remember in a fairy story there was a girl who whenever she spoke let fall pearls and diamonds from her lips; whenever those women open their mouths I expect icicles and daggers to drop out."

"They are not so bad as that," Mabel laughed. "I generally get on with them very well, and they are very kind in the parish; and altogether they are really not bad."

"Then their looks belie them horribly," Ralph said. "I suppose they don't like me; and that would be all well enough if I had done anything to offend them, but it was just as bad the first day I came. I am sure Mr. Penfold does not like it. I can see him fidget on his chair; and he talks away with me pretty well all the time we are at table, so as to make it less awkward, I suppose. Well, I am stopping with him, and not with them, that's one thing; and it doesn't make much difference to me if they do choose to be disagreeable. I like him immensely. He is wonderfully kind; but it would be awfully stupid work if it weren't for you, Mabel. I don't think I could stand it if it were not for our rides together."

The young people had indeed got on capitally from the first. Every day they took long rides together, generally alone, although sometimes Mr. Penfold rode with them. Ralph had already confided to the latter, upon his asking him how he liked Mabel, that she was the jolliest girl that he had ever met.

"She has no nonsensical girl's ways about her, Mr. Penfold; but is almost as good as a boy to be with. The girls I have seen before have been quite different from that. Some of them always giggle when you speak to them, others have not got a word to say for themselves; and it is awfully hard work talking to them even for a single dance. Still, I like them better than the giggling ones."

"You see, Ralph, girls brought up in a town are naturally different to one like Mabel. They go to school, and are taught to sit upright and to behave discreetly, and to be general unnatural. Mabel has been brought up at home and allowed to do as she liked, and she has consequently grown up what nature intended her to be. Perhaps some day all girls will be allowed the same chance of being natural that boys have, and backboards and other contrivances for stiffening them and turning them into little wooden figures will be unknown. It will be a good thing, in my opinion, when that time arrives."

Ralph was often down at the Rectory, where he was always made welcome, Mr. Withers and his wife being anxious to learn as much of his disposition as they could. They were well satisfied with the result.

"I fancy I know what is in Penfold's mind," the rector had said to his wife a few days after Ralph came down. "I believe he has already quite settled it in his mind that some day Mabel and this lad shall make a match of it."

"How absurd, John. Why, Mabel is only a child."

"Quite so, my dear; but in another three or four years she will be a young woman. I don't mean that Penfold has any idea that they are going to take a fancy to each other at presentonly that they will do so in the future. You know he has said that he intends to leave a slice of his fortune to her, and I have no doubt that this lad will get the main bulk of his property. I have often told you about his engagement to the lad's mother, and how the breaking it off has affected his whole life. It is natural that a lonely man as he is should plan for others. He has no future of his own to look forward to, so he looks forward to some one else's. He has had no interest in life for a great many years, and I think he is making a new one for himself in the future of our girl and this lad.

"As far as I have seen of the boy I like him. He is evidently a straightforward, manly lad. I don't mean to say that he has any exceptional amount of brains, or is likely to set the Thames on fire; but if he comes into the Penfold property that will not be of much importance. He seems bright, good-tempered, and a gentleman. That is quite good enough to begin with. At any rate, there is nothing for us to trouble about. If some day the young people get to like each other the prospect is a good one for the child; if not, there's no harm done. At present there can be no objection to our yielding to Penfold's request and letting them ride about the country together. Mabel is, as you say, little more than a child, and it is evident that the lad regards her rather in the light of a boy companion than as a girl.

"She is a bit of a tomboy, you know, Mary, and has very few girlish notions or ideas. They evidently get on capitally together, and we need not trouble our heads about them but let things go their own way with a clear conscience."

At the end of the time agreed upon Ralph returned home.

"And so, Ralph, you have found it better than you expected?" his mother said to him at the conclusion of his first meal at home.

"Much better, mother. Mr. Penfold is awfully kind, and lets one do just what one likes. His sisters are hateful women, and if I had not been staying in the house I should certainly have played them some trick or other just to pay them out. I wonder why they disliked me so much. I could see it directly I arrived; but, after all, it didn't matter much, except just at meals and in the evening. But though Mr. Penfold was so kind, it would have been very stupid if it had not been for Mabel Withers. We used to ride out or go for walks together every day. She was a capital walker, and very jollyalmost as good as a boy. She said several times that she wished she had been a boy, and I wished so too. Still, of course, mother, I am very glad I am back. There is no place like home, you know; and then there are the fellows at school, and the games, and the sea, and all sorts of things; and it's a horrid nuisance to think that I have got to go down there regularly for my holidays. Still, of course, as you wish it, I will do so; and now that I know what it is like it won't be so bad another time. Anyhow, I am glad I have got another ten days before school begins."

The following morning Ralph went down to the beach. "Why, Master Conway," an old fisherman said, "you are a downright stranger. I have missed you rarely."

"I told you I was going away, Joe, and that I shouldn't get back until the holidays were nearly over."

"I know you did," the fisherman replied. "Still it does seem strange without you. Every time as I goes out I says to Bill if Master Conway was at home he would be with us to-day, Bill. It don't seem no ways natural without him.' And there's been good fishing, too, this season, first rate; and the weather has been just what it should be."

"Well, I am back now, Joe, anyhow; and I have got ten days before school begins again, and I mean to make the most of it. Are you going out to-day?"

"At four o'clock," the fisherman said. "Daylight fishing ain't much good just now; we take twice as many at night."

"No trouble with the Frenchies?"

"Lord bless you I ain't seen a French sail for months. Our cruisers are too sharp for them; though they say a good many privateers run in and out of their ports in spite of all we can do, and a lot of our ships get snapped up. But we don't trouble about them. Why, bless your heart, if one of them was to run across us they would only just take our fish, and as likely as not pay us for them with a cask or two of spirits. Fish is a treat to them Frenchies; for their fishing boats have to keep so close over to their own shores that they can't take much. Besides, all their best fishermen are away in the privateers, and the lads have to go to fight Boney's battles with the Austrians or Russians, or Spanish or our chaps, or else to go on board their ships of war and spend all their time cooped up in harbor, for they scarce show now beyond the range of the guns in their forts. Well, will you come this evening?"

"Yes, I think so, Joe. My mother doesn't much care about my being out at night, you know; but as I have been away all this time to please her, I expect she will let me do what I like for the rest of the holidays."

"Don't you come if your mother don't like it, Master Conway; there is never no good comes of boys vexing their mothers. I have known misfortune to follow it over and over again. Boys think as they know best what's good for them; but they don't, and sooner or later they are sure to own it to themselves."

"I shouldn't do it if I knew she really didn't like it, Joe; but I don't think she does mind my going out with you at any time. She knows she can trust you. Beside, what harm could come of it? You never go out in very rough weather."

"Pretty roughish sometimes, Master Conway."

"Oh, yes, pretty rough; but not in a gale, you know. Beside, the Heartsease could stand a goodish gale. She is not very fast, you know, but she is as safe as a house."

"She is fast enough," the old fisherman said in an injured tone. "But you young gentlemen is never content unless a boat is heeling over, gunnel under, and passing everything she comes across. What's the good of that ere to a fisherman? He goes out to catch fish, not to strain his craft all over by running races against another. Now an hour faster or slower makes no difference, and the Heartsease is fast enough for me, anyhow."

"No, she isn't, Joe. I have heard you use bad language enough when anything overhauls and passes her on the way back to port."

"Ay, that may be," the fisherman admitted; "and on the way home I grant you that a little more speed might be an advantage, for the first comer is sure to get the best market. No, the Heartsease ain't very fast, I own up to that; but she is safe and steady, and she has plenty of storage room and a good roomy cabin as you can stand upright in, and needn't break your back by stooping as you have to do on board some craft I could name."

"That's true enough, Joe," the boy said.

"But what's more, she's a lucky boat; for it's seldom that she goes out without getting a good catch."

"I think that's more judgment than luck, Joe; though there may be some luck in it too."

"I don't know about that, Master Conway. Of course one wants a sharp eye to see where the shoals are moving; but I believes in luck. Well, sir, shall I see you again before the afternoon?"

"I don't much expect so, Joe. I have got to call at some other places, and I don't suppose I shall have time to get down before. If I am coming I shall be sure to be punctual; so if I am not here by four, go off without me."

Mrs. Conway made no objection when Ralph proffered his request. He had sacrificed the greater part of his holidays to carrying out her wishes, and paying a visit to Mr. Penfold; and although she did not like his being out all night fishing, she could not refuse his request; and, indeed, as she knew that Joe Knight was a steady man and not fond of the bottle, there was no good reason why she should object. She, therefore, cheerfully assented, saying at the same time, "I will pack a basket for you before you start, Ralph. There is a nice piece of cold meat in the house, and I will have that and a loaf of bread and some cheese put up for you. I know what these fishing excursions are; you intend to be back at a certain time, and then the wind falls, or the tide turns, or something of that sort, and you can't make the harbor. You know what a fright you gave me the very first time you went out fishing with Joe Knight. You were to have been back at five o'clock in the afternoon, and you did not get in until three o'clock the next morning."

"I remember, mother; and there you were on the quay when we came in. I was awfully sorry about it."

"Well, I have learned better since, Ralph; and I know now that there is not necessarily any danger, even if you don't come back by the time I expect you. And of course each time I have fidgeted and you have come back safe, I have learned a certain amount of sea-knowledge, and have come to know that sailors and fishermen are not accountable for time; and that if the wind drops or tide turns they are helpless in the matter, and have only to wait till a breeze comes up again."

"I think, mother, you ought to like my going out at night better than in the daytime."

"Why, Ralph?"

"Because, mother, if I go out in the daytime and don't get back until after dark, you worry yourself, and having no one to talk to, sit here wondering and wondering until you fancy all sorts of things. Now, if I go out in the evening, and I don't come back in the morning at the hour you expect, you see that it is fine and bright, and that there is nothing to make you uneasy; or if you do feel fidgety, you can walk down to the beach and talk to the boatmen and fishermen, and of course they can tell you at once that there's nothing to worry about, and very likely point the boat out to you in the distance."

"Well, Ralph, perhaps that is so, although I own I never looked at it in that light before."

CHAPTER III.

RUN DOWN.

"There's a nice breeze," Ralph said as he joined the fisherman at the appointed hour.

"Yes, it's just right; neither too light nor too heavy. It's rather thick, and I shouldn't be surprised if we get it thicker; but that again don't matter." For in those days not one ship plowed the waters of our coast for every fifty that now make their way along it. There were no steamers, and the fear of collision was not ever in the minds of those at sea.

"Where's Bill, Joe?"

"The young scamp!" the fisherman said angrily. "Nothing will do for him but to go a-climbing up the cliffs this morning; and just after you left us, news comes that the young varmint had fallen down and twisted his foot, and doctor says it will be a fortnight afore he can put a boot on. Then the old woman began a-crying over him; while, as I told her, if any one ought to cry it would be me, who's got to hire another boy in his place to do his work. A touch of the strap would be the best thing for him, the young rascal!"

"You are not going to take another boy out to-night are you, Joe?"

"No, Master Conway, I knows you like a-doing things. You have been out enough with me to know as much about it as Bill, and after all there ain't a very great deal to do. The trawl ain't a heavy one, and as I am accustomed to work it with Bill I can do it with you."

The Heartsease was a good-sized half-decked boat of some twenty-six feet long and eight feet beam. She was very deep, and carried three tons of stone ballast in her bottom. She drew about six feet of water. She had a lot of freeboard, and carried two lug-sails and a small mizzen.

They got in the small boat and rowed off to her.

"There was no call for you to bring that basket, Master Conway. I know you are fond of a fish fried just when it is taken out of the water; and I have got bread and a keg of beer, to say nothing of a mouthful of spirits in case we get wet. Not that it looks likely we shall, for I doubts if there will be any rain to-night I think there will be more wind perhaps, and that it will get thicker; that's my view of the weather."

They sailed straight out to sea. Joe had fitted his boat to be worked with the aid of a boy only. He had a handy winch, by which he hoisted his heavy lug-sails, and when the weather was rough hauled up his trawls. Of these he carried two, each fourteen feet long, and fished with them one out on each quarter. When he reached the fishing ground six miles out, Joe lowered the mizzen lug and reefed the main, for there was plenty of wind to keep the boat going at the pace required for trawling under the reduced sail. Then the trawls were got overboard, each being fastened to the end of a stout spar lashed across the deck, and projecting some eight feet on either side, by which arrangement the trawls were kept well apart. They were hauled alternately once an hour, two hours being allowed after they were put down before the first was examined.

By the time the first net came up the sun had set. The wind had freshened a bit since they had started, but there was no sea to speak of. The night had set in thick, and the stars could only occasionally be seen. Joe had picked out two or three fine fish from the first haul, and these he took down and soon had frizzling in a frying-pan over the fire, which he had lighted as soon as the boat was under sail.

"These are for you, Master Conway," he said. "With your permission I shall stick to that ere piece of beef your mother was good enough to send. Fish ain't no treat to me, and I don't often get meat. Keep your eye lifting while I am down below. There ain't many craft about in these days, still we might tumble against one."

"I should not see a light far in this mist, Joe."

"No, you couldn't; and what's worse, many of them don't carry no lights at all."

"It would be a good thing, Joe, if there was a law to make all vessels carry lights."

"Ay, ay, lad; but you see in war times it ain't always convenient. A peaceful merchantman don't want to show her lights to any privateers that may happen to be cruising about, and you may be sure that the privateer don't want to attract the attention of peaceful traders until she is close upon them, or to come under the eye of any of our cruisers. No, no; there ain't many lights shown now, not in these waters. Folks prefer to risk the chance of running into each other rather than that of being caught by a French privateer."

Now that the trawls were out there was no occasion for any one to attend to the helm, consequently when Joe announced that the fish were ready Ralph went down and joined him in the cabin. The first hours of the night passed quietly. Once an hour a trawl was hauled in and got on board, and as the catches were satisfactory Joe was in capital spirit.

"You have brought good luck, Master Conway; and I notices I generally do well when you are out with me. I am getting more fish to-night than I have any night for weeks, and if it goes on like this till morning I shall make a good thing of it. I wants it bad enough, for I am in arrears a bit with my rent. The war has made everything so terrible dear that it is as much as a poor man can do to keep his head above water.

"What time is it now, Joe, do you think?"

"About two o'clock, I reckon. It will begin to get light in a couple of hours, and at five we will up nets and make our way back."

He had scarcely spoken when he shouted "Ship ahoy! Look out for yourself, lad!" Startled by the suddenness of the cry Ralph looked round. He saw a crest of white foam a few yards away in the darkness. A moment later something dark passed over his head and a rope brushed his cheek, and as it did so a black mass struck the boat. There was a crash, a shock, and the Heartsease, after first heeling deeply over under the pressure, suddenly sank down like a stone. Ralph had staggered under the force of the collision, and would have fallen back as the boat heeled over, but instinctively he threw up his arms and his hand came in contact with the rope that had an instant before touched his cheek. He seized it with both hands, and threw his legs round it as the boat went down from under his feet, the whole thing being so sudden that it was nearly a minute before he could realize what had happened. Then he heard voices talking close by and, as it seemed, above him.

"Hullo!" he shouted. "Help!" A few seconds later the light of a lantern was flashed down upon him. Then a figure crawled out on the spar projecting above his head, seized him by the collar, and lifted him from the bobstay to which he was clinging on to the bowsprit. A minute later he was standing on the deck.

"Thank you!" he exclaimed. "Have you seen anything of the man who was with me? There were two of us on board. If not, please look for him at once."

"I am afraid it's no use," one of the men said, with a strong foreign accent; "he has gone down and will never come up again. You come along with me to the captain."

An uneasy feeling seized Ralph as he listened. He could see nothing, for the lantern had been placed in a bucket the moment that he touched the deck. At this moment a hail came from the stern of the vessel, and Ralph's fears were at once realized, for it was in French. The reply was in the same tongue, and he was led aft. "Take him down below, Jacques, and let's see what he is like. We have suffered no damage, I hope?"

"Not as far as I could see by the light of the lantern, but the carpenter has gone below to see if she is making water."

The captain led the way down into the cabin. This was comfortably furnished and lighted by a swinging lamp. "Do you come, down Jacques, I shall want you to interpret."

The captain was surprised when he saw by the light of the lamp that the person they had rescued was a lad, well dressed, and evidently above the condition of fishermen.

"Now, young sir, who are you," he asked, "and what have you to say for yourself?" The question was translated by Jacques.

"I like that," the lad said indignantly. "What have I to say for myself! I think it's what have you to say for yourselves? We were quietly fishing when you ran over us and sank the boat and drowned my friend Joe, and haven't even stopped for a moment to see if you could pick him up. I call it shameful and inhuman!"

The French captain laughed as Jacques translated the speech, the purport of which he had, indeed, made out for himself, for although he did not speak English he understood it to some extent.

"Tell him it was his fault as much as ours. We did not see him till we struck him. And as for his companion, what chance was there of finding him on such a dark night as this? Why, by the time we had hove round and got back again we might not have hit it within a quarter of a mile. Besides, if he had been alive he would have shouted."

Ralph saw, when he understood what the captain said, that there was truth in his words, and that the chances of discovering Joe would indeed have been slight even had the vessel headed round.

"May I ask," he said, "what ship this is, and what you are going to do with me?"

"The ship is La Belle Marie of Dunkirk; as to what we are going to do with you it is not so easy to say. Of course you can jump overboard again if you like, but if not you can stay on board until we have an opportunity of putting you ashore somewhere. How did you come to be on board a fishing smack? For I suppose it was a smack that we run down."

"I live at Dover," Ralph replied, "and had only come out for a night's fishing."

"Well, you are out of luck," the captain said. "That will do, Jacques. Take him forward and sling a hammock for him. Hang up his clothes in the cook's galley, they will be dry by the time he wakes."

Ralph asked no questions, as he was taken forward, as to the character of La Belle Marie. Six guns were ranged along on each side of her decks, and this, and the appearance of the captain's cabin, was sufficient to inform him that he had fallen into the hands of a French privateer. The craft had, indeed, left Dunkirk soon after nightfall, and was making her way down channel with every sail set when she had run down the unfortunate fishing boat.

Jacques, as he hung up the hammock, explained to the sailors who crowded round the character of the passenger who had so unexpectedly come on board.

"Poor lad," one of the sailors said good-naturedly, "he will be some time before he sees his mother again. He hasn't got a very bright lookout before hima long voyage, and then a prison. I will go and see if the cook has got some water hot. A glass of spirits will do him good."

A few minutes later Ralph was wrapped up in a blanket and the warm glow produced by that and the glass of strong grog soon sufficed to send him soundly to sleep, in spite of the painful uncertainty of his position and of his sorrowful thought of his mother, who would in the morning be inquiring for him in vain. It was nearly midday before he woke. Looking round he saw that he had the forecastle to himself. His clothes were lying on a chest close by, and in a few minutes he was on deck. A sense of disappointment stole over him. He had, while he was dressing, entertained the hope that on going on deck he should see an English cruiser in pursuit; but the wind had dropped and it was still thick, and his vision was confined to a circle a quarter of a mile in diameter. Jacques nodded to him good-temperedly, for all on board the privateer were in high spirits. Their voyage had begun propitiously; the darkness of the preceding night had enabled them to ran the gantlet of the British cruisers in the narrow part of the channel, they were now well down the coast of France, and the fog reduced their chances of being seen by an enemy to a minimum.

"Where about are we?" Ralph asked.

"We are somewhere off the mouth of the Seine, and I guess some fifteen miles from land."

"Oh, we are working down the channel then," Ralph said. "And where are we going to?"

"Ah! that question is for the captain to answer if he chooses," Jacques said.

"Are we going to touch at the next French port?" Ralph asked anxiously.

"Not that I know of, unless we have the luck to pick up one of your merchantmen, and we might then escort her into port. But unless we do that we do not touch anywhere, luckily for you; because, after all, it is a good deal pleasanter cruising in the Belle Marie than kicking your heels inside a prison. I know pretty well, for I was for four years a prisoner in your English town of Dorchester. That is how I came to speak your language. It was a weary time of it; though we were not badly treated, not half so bad as I have heard that the men in some other prisons were. So I owe you English no ill-will on that account, and from what I have heard some of our prisons are worse than any of yours. I used to knit stockings and wraps for the neck. My old mother taught me when I was a boy. And as we were allowed to sell the things we made I got on pretty comfortable. Beside, what's the use of making yourself unhappy? I had neither wife nor children to be fretting about me at home, so I kept up my spirits."

"How did you get back?" Ralph asked. "Were you exchanged?"

"No," Jacques answered. "I might have waited long enough before that. I can't make out myself why the two governments don't agree to exchange prisoners more quickly. I suppose they take about an equal number. Your men-of-war ships capture more prisoners than ours, but we make up for it by the numbers our privateers bring in. At any rate they might exchange as many as they can, say once in six months. One would have thought they would be glad to do so so as to save themselves the trouble and expense of looking after and feeding such a number of useless mouths. Governments always have curious ways."

"But how did you get away from prison?" Ralph asked.

"It was a woman," the man replied. "It is always women who help men out of scrapes. It was the wife of one of the jailers. She used to bring her husband's dinner sometimes when we were exercising in the yard. When I first went there she had a child in her armsa little thing about a year old. I was always fond of children; for we had a lot at home, brothers and sisters, and I was the eldest. She saw me look at it one day, and I suppose she guessed it reminded me of home. So she stopped and let me pat its cheek and talk to it. Then I knitted it some socks and a little jacket and other things, and that made a sort of friendship between us. You can always win a woman's heart by taking notice of her child. Then she got to letting me carry it about on my shoulder while she took her husband's dinner in to him, if he did not happen to be in the yard. And when the little thing was able to totter it would hold on to my finger, and was always content to stay with me while she was away. So it went on till the child was four years old.

"One day it was running across the court to its mother as she came out from the prison. Two of the men were what you call skylarking, and running one way while the child was running the other. One of them knocked it down heavily. It was an accident, and if he had picked it up and been sorry, there would have been an end of it; but instead of that the brute burst into a loud laugh. By this time I was as fond of the child as if it had been my own, and I rushed furiously at him and knocked him down. As he sprang to his feet he drew a knife he used in wood-carving and came at me. I caught the blow on my arm and closed with him, and we fell together. The guard in the yard rushed up and pulled us apart, and we both got a fortnight's close confinement for fighting.

"The first time I came into the yard again and met the woman with her child, the little one ran to me; but the woman, a little to my surprise, said nothing. As she passed I lifted the child up, and after giving me a hug and a kiss she said: 'Mammy gave me this to give to you;' and she put a little note into my hand. I took the first opportunity to read it in a quiet corner. It was as follows: 'Dear JacquesI saw how nobly you stood up for my Carrie the other day, and how you got wounded in protecting her. You have always been good to her. I have often thought I might help you to escape, but was afraid to try. Now I will do so. It will not be easy, but I will manage it. Do not be impatient; the child will give you another note when I have quite arranged things. I shall not talk much to you in future, or else when you have got away I may be suspected; so do not be surprised at my seeming cold.'

"After that the woman only brought her child once a week or so to the prison, and only gave me a nod as she passed through the yard. Upon the third visit of the child it gave me a little packet containing two or three small steel saws and a little bottle of oil. On the paper which held them was written, 'For the bars. You shall have a rope next time.' Sure enough next time the child had hidden in its frock a hank of very thin cord, which I managed as I was playing with her to slip unobserved into my breast. 'Mammy says more next time.' And next time another hank came. There was a third, and a note, 'Twist the three ropes together and they will be strong enough to bear you. On the third night from this, saw through the bars and lower yourself into court. There will be no moon. Go to the right-hand corner of the court in the rear of the prison. Fasten a knife to one end of the cord and throw it over the wall. I shall be waiting there with a friend. Directly you feel the cord jerked climb up to the top of the wall. If you can find something to fasten your end of the rope to you can slide down it. If not, you must jump. There will be a boat ready to take you away.'

"It all turned out well. It was a pitch dark night, raining and blowing, and the sentries kept inside their boxes. I got up to the top of the wall all right, and was able to fasten the rope on to the spikes and slide down on the other side. The woman was there with a man, whom she told me was her brother. They took me to a creek two miles away and there put me on board a boat, and I was rowed out to a smuggling craft which at once set sail, and two days later was landed at Cherbourg. So that's how I came to learn English."

"Did you ever hear whether the woman who helped you was suspected?"

"I saw her brother two months afterward on one of the trips that the craft he belonged to made. He said that of course there were a great many inquiries made, and his sister had been questioned closely. She swore that she had hardly spoken to me for the last two months and that she had given me nothing; which in a way was true enough, for she had not handed them to me herself. The prisoners bore her out about her not coming near me, for it had been noticed that she was not as friendly as she had been. Some had thought her ungrateful, while others had fancied that she was angry at my interfering and making a tumult about the child. Anyhow, whatever suspicions they might have had they could prove nothing. They forbade her entering the prison in future; but she didn't mind that so long as her husband, who had been employed a good many years there, did not lose his situation. He had been kept by her in entire ignorance of the whole affair, and was very indignant at her having been suspected. I sent her a letter of thanks by her brother, and a little present for her and one for the child. The brother was to give them to her as if from himself, so that the husband should not smell a rat, but of course to make her understand who they came from."

"Well, I only hope, Jacques," Ralph said, "that when I get shut up in one of your prisons I shall find some French woman to aid me to escape, just as you found an English woman to help you; only I hope it won't be four years coming about."

"I think we look sharper after our prisoners than you do; still it may be. But it will be some time before you are in prison; and if you play your cards well and learn to speak our language, and make yourself useful, I do not think the captain is likely to hand you over to the authorities when we get back to a French port again."

"I am quite ready to do my best to learn the language and to make myself useful," Ralph said. "It is always a good thing to know French, especially as I am going into the army some day; that is if I get back again in time."

"Oh, I think you will do so," the man said. "You keep up your spirits well, and that is the great thing. There are many boys that would sit down and cry if they found themselves in such a scrape as you have got into."

"Cry!" Ralph repeated indignantly. "You don't suppose a boy of my age is going to cry like a girl! An English boy would be ashamed to cry, especially when Frenchmen were looking on."

Jacques laughed good-temperedly. "There would be nothing to be ashamed of. We are not like you cold English! A Frenchman laughs and sings when he is pleased, and cries when he is sorry. Why shouldn't he?"

"Oh, I can't tell you why," Ralph replied, "only we don't do it. I don't say I shouldn't halloo out if I were hurt very much, though I should try my best not to; but I feel sure I shouldn't cry like a great baby. Why, what would be the good of it?"

Jacques shrugged his shoulders. "People are different," he said. "A man is not a coward because he cries. I have seen two boys fighting and pulling each other's hair and crying all the time, but they fought on. They did not cry because they were afraid."

"Pulling each other's hair!" Ralph repeated contemptuously. "They ought to have been ashamed of themselves, both of them. I don't call that fighting at all. I should call it disgusting. Why, in England even girls would hardly pull each other's hair. I have seen two or three fights between fishwomen in Dover, and even they did not go on like that. If that's the way French boys fight, no wonder our soldiers and sailors" But here it struck Ralph that the remark he was about to make would be altogether out of place under present circumstances. He was therefore seized with an opportune fit of coughing, and then turned the conversation by asking Jacques at what rate he thought the vessel was slipping through the water.

A few minutes later the first mate came up and told Jacques to inform Ralph that the captain had ordered him to be supplied with clothes similar to those worn by the rest of the crew, and that he was to be told off to take his post regularly as a boy in the starboard watch. Ralph was well pleased at the news. He felt that his best chance was to make himself useful on board, and to become one of the crew as soon as possible, so that in case an English merchantman was met with and captured he should not be sent with her crew as a prisoner to a French port. As long as he was on board various opportunities of escape might present themselves. He might slip away in port, or the brig might be captured by an English cruiser or privateer; whereas, once lodged in a French prison, the chances of such good fortune as had befallen Jacques were slight indeed. He therefore at once turned to with alacrity.

That he would have a hard time of it for a bit he felt sure; for although in Jacques he had evidently found a friend, he saw by the scowling glances of several of the men as he passed near them that the national feeling told heavily against him. Nor was it surprising that it should be so. The animosity between the two nations had lasted so long that it had extended to individuals. Englishmen despised as well as disliked Frenchmen. They were ready to admit that they might be brave, but considered them as altogether wanting in personal strength. The popular belief was that they were half-starved, and existed chiefly upon frogs and hot water with a few bits of bread and scraps of vegetables in it which they called soup, and that upon the sea especially they were almost contemptible. Certainly the long succession of naval victories that our fleets had won afforded some justification for our sailors' opinion of the enemy. But in fights between detached vessels the French showed many times that in point of courage they were in no way inferior to our own men; and indeed our victories were mainly due to two causes. In the first place, the superior physique and stamina of our men, the result partly of race and partly of feeding; they were consequently able to work their guns faster and longer than could their adversaries. In the second place the British sailor went into battle with an absolute conviction that he was going to be victorious; while the Frenchman, on the other hand, although determined to do his best to win, had from the first doubts whether the British would not be as usual victorious.

It is probable that the French sailors hated us far more than our men did them. We had lowered their national prestige, had defeated them whenever we met them, had blockaded their ports, ruined their trade, inflicted immense damage upon their fisheries, and subsidized other nations against them, and were the heart and center of the coalition against which France was struggling to maintain herself. It was not therefore surprising that among the hundred and ten men on board La Belle Marie there were many who viewed Ralph with hostile eyes and who only refrained from personal violence owing to the strict order the captain had given that he should be well treated.

Toward midday the fog lifted suddenly and the wind freshened, and lookouts were stationed in the tops. There was little hope indeed of any English merchantmen having come over so far toward the French coast, but British cruisers might be anywhere. A few distant sails could be seen far out on the horizon proceeding up or down channel; but the captain of La Belle Marie had no idea of commencing operations until very much further away from the shores of England. All day the vessel ran down the French coast; and although he was a captive, and every mile reeled off the log took him further from home, Ralph could not help admiring the speed at which the brig slipped through the water, cutting the waves with her sharp bow and leaving scarcely a ripple behind her, so fine and clean was her run. Very different was this smooth, gliding motion from the quick plunge and shock of the bluff-bowed fishing boat to which he was accustomed. The sails had been scrubbed until there was not a speck upon them. The masts were lofty and tapering, the rigging neat and trim, and every stay as taut as iron.

We could fight our ships better than the French, but as far as building and rigging went they were vastly our superiors; and La Belle Marie looked to Ralph almost like a gentleman's yacht in its cleanness and order, and in these respects vied with the men-of-war that he had so often watched from the heights of Dover. He had, however, but little time for admiration; for he was kept at work rubbing and polishing the guns and brass-work, and was not idle for a minute from the time he came on deck dressed as a cabin-boy on the morning after he was picked up until sunset. There were two French boys about his own age forward, and as soon as his work was done and the evening watch set they began to torment him; for, acting as they did as servants to the officers, they did not take share in the watch.

Fortunately Jacques had gone below at the same time as Ralph; and when the boys, finding that their taunts had no effect whatever upon Ralph, began to get bolder, and one of them snatched off his cap, Jacques interfered at once. "Look here, youngsters," he said, "this young English boy is at present one of the crew of this brig, and he has just the same right to fair treatment as any one else, so I warn you if you interfere with him you will have to fight him fairly. I know enough of these English boys to know that with your hands you would not have the least chance with him. He could thrash you both at once; for even little English boys do not wrestle, tear, and kick, but hit straight out just as the men do.

"With swords it would be different, but in a row between you and him it would be just the naked hands. So I advise you to leave him alone, for if you make him fight I will see fair play. All the time I was a prisoner in England I was well treated by his people, and just as I was treated myself and saw other French prisoners treated so I will see him treated. Before this voyage is over it is not impossible the tables will be turned, and that you may find yourselves prisoners in the hands of the English; so I recommend you to behave to him in the same way you would like to be treated yourselves if you were taken prisoners. I can see the lad is good-tempered and willing. He is a stranger here among us all, he can't speak a word of our language, and he has a right to fair treatment. When he gets to know our language he will be able to shift for himself; but until he does I mean to look after him, and any one who plays tricks on him has got to talk to me."

As Jacques Clery was one of the most powerful and active men on board the brig, this assertion was sufficient to put a stop to practical joking with Ralph, and the lad had a much easier time of it than he expected. The men, finding him willing to work and anxious to oblige in every way, soon took to him; and by paying attention to their talk, and asking the French name of every object on board the ship, it was not many days before Ralph found himself able so far to understand that he could obey orders, and pull and haul on any sheet that needed handling.

Upon the second day, the wind having dropped again, more sail was set, and when the word was given to go aloft he went up with the rest; and although he was of little practical use in loosing the gaskets, he soon shook off his first feelings of discomfort and nervousness on seeing how carelessly and unconcernedly the men on each side of him did their work, and before he had been many days at sea was as quick and active aloft as any of the hands on board the brig. After running down nearly as far as Bordeaux the vessel's head was pointed west, and by nightfall the French coast was out of sight. A vigilant lookout was now kept, one man being constantly stationed aloft, and by the increased animation of the crew Ralph judged that they would soon arrive at a point where they should be on the course of homeward bound merchantmen. He had quite made up his mind that, although ready in all other matters to do his duty as one of the crew of La Belle Marie, nothing should induce him to take part in a fight against his own countrymen.

As soon as night fell sail was reduced, and in the morning when at eight bells Ralph came on deck with his watch he found that the whole of the upper sails had been taken off her and the topsails lowered on the cap, and the brig was only moving through the water at the rate of two or three knots an hour. He guessed that she must be just upon the track of ships, and that her object in thus taking off sail was to catch sight of vessels in the distance while she herself would be unobserved by them. During the course of the day several sail were seen passing, but all at a considerable distance. Either the captain did not think that it was safe to commence operations at present, or he did not like the look of some of the passing vessels; but at any rate he made no movement to close with any of them, and it was not until nightfall that sail was again hoisted and the brig proceeded on her course.

Ralph noticed that she carried no light, and that even the binnacle was carefully shaded so that its light could not be seen except by the helmsman. At midnight his watch went on deck, and Ralph perceived that while he had been below the sail had again been greatly reduced, and noticed that from time to time the officer on watch swept the horizon with his night-glass. He apparently observed nothing until about two o'clock, when he stood for some time gazing intently astern. Then he turned, gave an order to a sailor, who went below, and two or three minutes later the captain came on deck. After speaking to the officer he too gazed intently astern. Then the ship's course was suddenly changed, the sheets eased off, and for half an hour she ran at a sharp angle to the course she had before been following, then she was brought up into the eye of the wind and laid to.

Although Ralph strained his eyes in the direction in which the captain had been looking, he could see nothing; but he had no doubt a sail had been seen coming up astern, and that the object of the change of course was to let her pass them without their being seen. He rather wondered that, instead of running off the wind, the captain had not put her about so as to take her position to windward instead of to leeward of the vessel behind; but he soon arrived at the object of the maneuver. There were no stars to be seen, and the bank of clouds overhead stretched away to the east, and the horizon there was entirely obscured; but to the west the sky was lighter, and a vessel would be clearly visible to the eye. The brig, therefore, in the position she had taken up could not be seen, while she herself would obtain a full view of the other as she passed her.

In an hour the other ship came along. She was a large ship, full rigged, and the French sailors, who had all come on deck, now clustered against the bulwarks and eagerly discussed her. She was about two miles to windward, and opinions differed as to whether she was a man-of-war or an Indiaman. Ralph rather wondered that the privateer had not tried to get alongside in the darkness and take the vessel by surprise, but he understood now that there was a strong probability that the Belle Marie might have caught a tartar and have suddenly run herself under the guns of a British frigate. As soon as the vessel had passed, the braces were manned and the yards swung round, and the brig continued her course. She was brought up almost to the wind's-eye and sailed as closely as possible, so that when morning broke she should have recovered the leeway she had made and should be to windward of the vessel she was pursuing, no matter how much astern.

CHAPTER IV.

THE PRIVATEER'S RENDEZVOUS.

When morning broke the vessel that the privateer had been watching in the night was seen to be three miles directly ahead. She was a large vessel, and for some time opinions differed as to whether she was a frigate or an Indiaman; but when it became quite light a patch or two in the canvas showed that she could not be a man-of-war, and all sail was at once crowded on to the privateer. The other ship at once shook out more canvas, but half an hour sufficed to show that the privateer was much the faster vessel. The stranger took in the extra canvas she had set, and continued her course as if altogether regardless of the privateer.

"They have made up their minds to fight," Jacques said to Ralph. "Now he finds that he can't outsail us he has got on to easy working canvas. She is a big ship, and I expect carries heavier metal than we do. It may be that she has troops on board."

The brig kept eating out to windward until she gained a position about a mile upon the starboard quarter of the Indiaman, then the long pivot-gun was leveled and the first shot fired. The crew had by this time all taken their places by the guns, and Ralph and the other boys brought up powder and shot from the magazine. It was not without a struggle that Ralph brought himself to do this; but he saw that a refusal would probably cost him his life, and as some one else would bring up the cartridges in his place his refusal would not benefit his countrymen.

He had just come on deck when the gun was fired, and saw the water thrown up just under the ship's stern, and the shot was dancing away to leeward. The next shot struck the merchantman on the quarter. A moment later the vessel was brought up into the wind and a broadside of eight guns fired. Two of them struck the hull of the privateer, another wounded the mainmast, while the rest cut holes through the sails and struck the water a quarter of a mile to windward. With an oath the captain of the privateer brought his vessel up into the wind, and then payed off on the other tack.

The merchantman carried much heavier metal than he had given her credit for. As she came round too, some redcoats were seen on her deck. Apparently well satisfied with the display she had made of her strength, the ship bore off again and went quietly, on her way, while the privateer was hove to and preventer stays put to the mainmast. Ralph remained below for some time; he heard the men savagely cursing, and thought it was best for him not to attract attention at present. The sails were lowered and the brig drifted quietly all day; but about ten o'clock Ralph heard a creaking of blocks, and knew that the sails had been hoisted again. Half an hour later the watch below was ordered to come quietly on deck. Ralph went up with the rest.

For a quarter of an hour he could see nothing, and then he made out a dark mass a few hundred yards to leeward; immediately afterward the helm was put up, and the brig run down toward the stranger. Two minutes later there was a sharp hail, followed instantly by shouts and the sound of feet; but before the crew could gain the deck and prepare for defence the brig was alongside, and a moment later her crew sprang upon the decks of the stranger. A few blows were given; but the resistance offered was slight, and in a very short time the crew were disarmed or driven below, and the vessel in the possession of the privateer. She proved to be a small bark on her way out to the Mediterranean. She carried only twenty hands and four small guns, and was laden with hardware.

The privateer's crew at once set to work upon her. At first Ralph could not understand what they were about, but he was not long in discovering. The wedges round the mainmast were knocked out, the topmast lowered to the deck, the shrouds and stays slacked off, and then the mast was lifted and carried on board the brig. As soon as this was done, the second mate of the brig with eight sailors went on board as a prize crew. Everything was made taut and trim for them by the brig's crew. The English prisoners had already been disarmed and battened down in the hold, and the prize crew then hoisted sail and prepared to take her under mizzen and foremast only to a French port. This, if she had luck, she would reach in safety, but if on the way she fell in with a British privateer or cruiser she would of course fall an easy prey.

No sooner was the bark on her way than the privateersmen set to work to lift out their injured mainmast, and to replace it with that they had brought on board from the bark. When daylight broke anxious glances were cast round the horizon; but although a few distant sails were seen, none of these were following a course that would bring them near the brig, and the latter without sail and with her foremast alone standing would not be likely to be noticed. Ralph could not help admiring the energy with which the crew worked. Ordinarily they were by no means a smart crew, and did their work in a slow and slovenly manner; but each man now felt the importance of getting everything into order before an enemy appeared, and so well did they work that by midday the new mast was in its place, and before sunset the topmast with all its yards and gear was up and the sails ready for hoisting.

Ralph had been in a state of anxiety in the early part of the night lest he should be sent on board the bark and carried as a prisoner to France. But no one seemed to give a thought to him, and it was not until far on in the morning that the captain happened to notice him hard at work with the rest.

"Ah, are you there?" he said. "If I had thought of it I should have sent you into Best in the bark."

Ralph did not understand the words but he guessed at the meaning, and said, smiling, "I am quite content to remain where I am."

"Tell him, Jacques Clery, that I have noticed that he works willingly, and as long as he behaves well he shall have the same treatment as if he belonged really to the crew; but warn him that if he is caught at any time making a signal, or doing anything to warn a vessel we may be approaching, his brains will be blown out at once."

Jacques translated the warning.

"That's all right," Ralph said. "Of course I should expect nothing else."

As soon as the repairs were completed the sails were hoisted and the brig proceeded on her way. In the days that followed it seemed to Ralph that the tactics of the privateer had changed, and that there was no longer any idea of making prizes. A sharp lookout was indeed kept for any English cruisers, but no attention was paid to any sail in the distance as soon as it was determined that these were not ships of war. Four days later, instead of there being as before five or six sail in sight at one point or other of the horizon, the sea was absolutely deserted. He remarked upon this to his friend Jacques. The latter laughed.

"We are out of their course now, my lad. We passed the latitude of Cape St. Vincent yesterday evening, and we are now pretty well off the coast of Africa. Nine out of ten of the ships we have seen were either bound to the Mediterranean or on their way home. Now that we have passed the mouth of the strait we shall not run across many sail."

"Where are we going to, then?" Ralph said.

"Well, I don't think there is any harm in telling you now, that we are bound south, but how far is more than I know. I expect first we shall go west and try and pick up some prizes among the islands, and after that perhaps go round the cape and lie in wait for Indiamen on their way home. You see, one of those ships is worth a dozen of these Mediterranean traders, and one is not bothered down there as one is between the strait and the channel with your cruisers and privateers; they swarm so there that one can hardly fire a gun without bringing them down on us. I don't suppose the captain would have meddled with that Indiaman if it hadn't been that he thought the owners would be pleased by a prize being sent in so soon. As to the bark, we were obliged to take her to get a new mast. It would never have done to have started on a long cruise with a badly-injured spar."

"But I should think it would be difficult to send home prizes from the West Indies," Ralph said.

"Well, you see, although you have taken most of our islands, there are still two or three ports we can take prizes into. Beside, we can take the best goods out, and if the ship isn't worth the risk of sending to France burn her. Then, too, one can spare hands for prizes better there; because one can always ship a few fresh handsSpaniards, Mulattos, or blacksin their place."

"But you can't do that in the case of the Indiamen."

"No; but a single laden Indiaman is enough to pay us well for all our trouble. We can put a crew of thirty hands on board her and send her home. There is little risk of a recapture till we get near France. We have only to hoist the English flag if we do happen to meet anything."

Ralph was glad to hear that the ship was bound for the West Indies, as he thought opportunities for escape would be likely to present themselves among the islands. Madeira was sighted three days later, and after running south for another four or five hundred miles, the brig bore away for the west. By dint of getting Jacques Clery to translate sentences into French, and of hearing nothing but that language spoken round him, Ralph had by this time begun to make considerable progress in the language. Not only was he anxious to learn it for the sake of passing away the time and making himself understood, but his efforts were greatly stimulated by the fact that if any of the crew addressed him in French a cuff on the head was generally the penalty of a failure to comprehend him. The consequence was that when six weeks after sailing the cry of land was shouted by the lookout in the tops, Ralph was able to understand almost everything that was said, and to reply in French with some fluency. As the brig sailed along the wooded shores of the first island they fell in with, Ralph was leaning against the bulwarks watching with deep interest the objects they were passing.

"I can guess what you are thinking about," Jacques Clery said, taking his place quietly by his side. "I have been through it all myself and I can guess your feelings. You are thinking how you can escape. Now, you take my advice and don't you hurry about it. You are doing well where you are. Now you begin to talk French and understand orders it's a good deal easier for you than it was, and the men are beginning to regard you as one of themselves; but you may be sure that you will be watched for a time. You see, they daren't let you go. If you were to get to one of the English ports here we should have five or six of your men-of-war after us in no time.

"If it was not for that I don't suppose the captain would object to put you ashore. He has evidently taken a fancy to you, and is pleased with the way in which you have taken things and with your smartness and willingness. Beside, I don't think he considers you altogether as a prisoner. Running you down in the way we did in the channel wasn't like capturing you in a prize, and I think if the captain could see his way to letting you go without risk to himself he would do it. As he can't do that he will have a sharp watch kept on you, and I advise you not to be in any hurry to try to escape. You must remember if you were caught trying it they would shoot you to a certainty."

"I should be in no hurry at all, Jacques, if it were not that the brig is hunting for English vessels. You know what you would feel yourself if you were on board a ship that was capturing French craft."

"Yes, that is hard, no doubt," Jacques agreed; "and I don't say to you don't escape when you get a chance, I only say wait until the chance is a good one. Just at present we are not specially on the lookout for prizes. We are going to join two other vessels belonging to the same owners. They have been out here some time and have got a snug hiding-place somewhere, though I don't think any one on board except the captain knows where."

For three weeks the brig cruised among the islands. They had picked up no prizes in that time, as the captain did not wish to commence operations until he had joined his consorts and obtained information from them as to the British men-of-war on the station. They had overhauled one or two native craft, purchased fish and fruit, and cautiously asked questions as to the cruisers. The answers were not satisfactory. They learned that owing to the numbers of vessels that had been captured by the privateers a very vigilant lookout was being kept; that two or three French craft that had been captured by the cruisers had been bought into the service, and were constantly in search of the headquarters of the privateers. This was bad news; for although the brig with her great spread of canvas could in light winds run away from any of the ships of war, it was by no means certain she would be able to do so from the converted privateers.

One morning two vesselsa schooner and a brigwere seen coming round a headland. The captain and officers examined them with their telescopes, and a flag was run up to the masthead. Almost immediately two answering flags were hoisted by the strangers, and an exclamation of satisfaction broke from the captain:

"We are in luck," he said. "If we had not run across them we might have had to search for the rendezvous. I have got the spot marked down on the chart, but they told me before sailing that they understood it was very difficult to find the entrance, and we might pass by within a hundred yards without noticing it."

In half an hour the ships closed up together, and the captains of the other crafts came on board in their boats. A hearty greeting was exchanged between them and the captain of La Belle Marie, and the three then descended to the cabin. After a time they reappeared, and the visitors returned to their respective ships. Five minutes later the schooner got under way, and La Belle Marie followed her, leaving the other brig to continue her cruise alone. Toward evening the schooner ran in toward a precipitous cliff, the brig keeping close in her wake. Ralph had no doubt that they were now close to the spot the privateers used as their rendezvous, but he could detect no opening into the cliff ahead, and it looked as if the schooner was leading the way to destruction. Not until within a cable's length of the shore could any opening be discovered by the keenest eye. Then when the schooner was within her own length of the cliff her helm was put about. She came round, and in a moment later disappeared. An exclamation of surprise broke from all on board the brig, for they now saw that instead of the cliff stretching in an unbroken line it projected out at one point, and the precipitous headway concealed an extremely narrow passage behind it.

A moment later the brig imitated the maneuver of the schooner and passed in between two lofty cliffs, so close that there were but a few yards to spare on either side of her. Fifty yards ahead the channel made a sharp turn again, and they entered a basin of tranquil water three or four hundred yards across. At the further end the shore sloped gradually up, and here several large storehouses had been erected, and ways laid down for the convenience of hauling up and repairing the vessels.

"What do you think of that, youngster?" Jacques said exultantly. "A grand hiding-place is it not?"

"It is indeed," Ralph replied. "Why, they might cruise outside for weeks looking for the place and they wouldn't find it, unless a boat happened to row along at the foot of the cliffs."

As soon as the anchor was down the crew were at once given leave to go ashore, and ramble about to stretch their legs after their two months' confinement on board. Ralph was proceeding to take his place in one of the boats when the captain's eye fell upon him.

"Come below with me, young fellow," he said in French. "Jacques Clery, I shall want you too."

"I do not think there is much need of interpreting, captain," the sailor said, as he followed the others into the cabin. "The lad can get on very fairly in French now, and will certainly understand the sense of anything you may say to him."

"Look here, my lad," the captain began, "you have been fairly treated since you came on board this brig."

"I have been very kindly treated," Ralph said. "I have nothing whatever to complain of."

"And we saved your life did we not?"

"Yes, sir, after first nearly taking it," Ralph said with a smile.

"Ah, that was just as much your fault as ours. Little fish ought to get out of the way of great ones, and I don't consider we were in any way to blame in that matter. Still there is the fact in the first place we saved your life, and in the second we treated you kindly."

"I acknowledge that, sir," Ralph said earnestly; "and I feel very grateful. You might have sent me with the crew of that bark to prison had you chosen, and I am thankful to you that you kept me on board and have treated me as one of the crew."

"Now, what I have to say to you is this lad: I know that you are comfortable enough on board, and I have noticed that Jacques here has taken you specially under his wing. You work willingly and well and have the makings of a first-class seaman in you; still I can understand that you would much rather be with your own people, and would be rather aiding them in capturing us than in aiding us to capture them. Consequently you will if you see an opportunity probably try to escape. I shall take as good care as I can to prevent you from doing so, and shall shoot you without hesitation if I catch you at it. Still you may escape, and I cannot run the risk of having this place discovered and our trade knocked on the head. I therefore offer you an alternative. You will either give me your solemn oath not in any case to reveal the existence of this place, or I will put you on shore in charge of the party who remain here, and you will stop with them a prisoner till we sail away from this cruising ground, which may be in three months or may be in a year. What do you say? Don't answer me hastily, and do not take the oath unless you are convinced you can keep it however great the temptation held out to you to betray us."

Ralph needed but a minute to consider the proposal. The oath did not bind him in any way to abstain from making an attempt to escape, but simply to guard the secret of the privateer rendezvous. If he remained here on shore he would have no chance whatever of escape, and might moreover meet with very rough treatment from those left in charge of him. "I am quite ready to take the oath not to reveal the secret of this place, captain," he said. "I do not think that in any case after having been so kindly treated by you I should have been inclined to betray you. However as you offer me the alternative I am ready to take any oath you like of silence, and that oath I will assuredly keep whatever pressure may be laid upon me, it being understood of course that the oath in no way prevents my taking any opportunity that may present itself of making my escape."

"That is quite understood," the captain said. "That is a mere matter of business. You try to escape if you can; I shoot you if I catch you at it. But I do not think you are likely to succeed. But in justice to my employers and friends I should not be justified in running even that slight risk unless convinced that if you succeed you will keep silence as to this. Now, what oath will you take?"

"No oath can be more binding to me than my promise, sir; but at the same time I swear upon my word of honor that I will never give any information or hint that will lead any one to the discovery of this harbor."

"That will do," the captain said. "I have liked your face from the moment you came on board, and feel that I can trust your word."

"I am sure you can do that, captain," Jacques put in; "from what I have seen of the boy I am certain he will keep the promise he has made."

"Very well then," the captain said; "that is settled. You can go on shore in the next boat, and I shall advise you to take the opportunity, for I warn you that you will not get the chance of rambling on shore again until we return here next time. You need not come on board before to-morrow morning."

Half an hour later Ralph went ashore with the last batch of sailors. He soon found that a general license had been granted. A barrel of rum and several casks of wine had been broached, and the men were evidently bent upon making up for the spell of severe discipline that they had lately gone through.

Jacques Clery had gone ashore in the same boat with Ralph.

"What are you going to do, lad?"

"I am going for a walk," Ralph said. "In the first place everything is new to me and I want to see the vegetation; and in the second place I can see that in a very short time most of the hands will be drunk, and I dare say quarrelsome, and I don't want either to drink or quarrel. I think I am better away from them."

"You are right boy, and I don't care if I go too. We will take a drink of wine before we start and fill up our pockets with those biscuits. I will get the storekeeper to give us a bottle of wine to take with us, and then we shall be set up for the day. This is my first voyage in these parts; but I have heard from others of their doings, and don't care about getting a stab with a knife in a drunken brawl. I can do my share of fighting when fighting has got to be done, but I do not care for rows of this sort. Still I know the men look forward to what you call a spree on shore, and the captain might find it difficult to preserve discipline if he did not let them have their fling occasionally."

Ralph and the sailor each took a biscuit and a draught of wine, and soon afterward started on their ramble provided with food as arranged. Both were delighted with the luxuriant vegetation, and wandered for hours through the woods admiring the flowers and fruits, abstaining, however, from tasting the latter, as for aught they knew some of the species might be poisonous. Presently, however, they came upon some bananas. Neither of them had ever seen this fruit before, but Ralph had read descriptions of it in books, Jacques had heard of it from sailors who had visited the West Indies before. They therefore cut some bunches. "Now we will bring ourselves to an anchor and dine. Time must be getting on, and my appetite tells me that it must have struck eight bells." Jacques sat down on the ground, and was about to throw himself full length when Ralph observed a movement among the dead leaves; an instant later the head of a snake was raised threateningly within striking distance of Jacques Clery's neck as he sank backward. Ralph gave a short crytoo late, however, to arrest the sailor's movementsand at the same moment sprang forward and came down with both feet upon the snake.

"What on earth are you doing?" Jacques asked as he scrambled to his feet. No answer was made to his question, but he saw at once that Ralph was stamping upon the writhing folds of a snake. In a minute the motion ceased.

"That was a close shave, Jacques," Ralph said smiling, though his face was pale with the sudden excitement. "I did not see it until too late to give you warning. It was just the fraction of a second, and even as I jumped I thought he would strike your neck before my boot came on him."

"You saved my life, lad," the other said huskily, trembling from head to foot, as he saw how narrowly indeed he had escaped from death. "I have been in some hard fights in my time, but I don't know that ever I felt as I feel now. I feel cold from head to foot, and I believe that a child could knock me down. Give me your hand, lad. It was splendidly done. If you had stopped for half a moment to think I should have been a dead man. Good heavens! what an escape I had."

"I am glad to have been of service for once. You have been so kind to me since I came aboard the brig that it is fair that I should do you a good turn for once. I am not surprised you are shaken, for I feel so myself. We had better both have a drink of wine, and then we can see about our meal."

"No more lying down on the ground for me," the sailor said. "Once is enough of such a thing as that. However, hand me the bottle. I shall feel better after that."

Ralph looked about and presently discovered an open space, free from fallen leaves or any other shelter for a lurking snake, and persuaded Jacques to sit down and eat his biscuit and bananas in comfort. The sailor did so, but the manner in which his glances kept wandering round him in search of snakes showed that he had not yet recovered his equanimity. When they had finished their meal Ralph proposed that they should climb up to the highest point of ground they could find, and take a view over the island. Two hours' walking took them to the top of a lofty hill. From the summit they were enabled to obtain a distant view. The island was, they judged, some seven or eight miles across, and fully twice that length. Several small islands lay within a few miles distant, and high land rose twenty miles off.

"This must be a large island," Ralph said. "Do you know where we are, Jacques?"

"I have no idea whatever," the sailor said; "and I don't suppose any one on board, except the officers, has, any more than me. The charts are all in the captain's cabin; and I know no more of the geography of these islands than I do of the South Seas, and that's nothing. It's quite right to keep it dark; because, though I don't suppose many fellows on board any of the three craft would split upon us if he were captured, because, you see, we each have a share in the profits of the voyage as well as our regular pay, and, of course, we should lose that if those storehouses, which are pretty well choked up with goods, were to get taken, there's never any saying what some mean scamp might do if he were offered a handsome reward. So the fewer as knows the secret the better."

"Look Jacques! Look at that full-rigged ship that has just come out from behind that island. She looks to me like a frigate."

"And that she is," the sailor replied. "Carries forty guns, I should say, by her size. English, no doubt. Well, we had better go down again, lad. I must report to the captain that this craft is cruising in these waters. It will be dark before we are back, and I don't want to be in the woods after dark; there's no saying what one might tread on. I thought that we would stretch ourselves out under the trees for to-night and go aboard in the morning, but I feel different now. Bless you, I should never close an eye. So I propose as we goes down so as not to be noticed by them chaps up at the store, and then gets hold of a boat and rows on board quiet."

"I am quite willing to do that Jacques. I don't think I should get much sleep either in the woods."

"No, I guess not, lad. Come along; the sun is halfway down already, and I would not be left in these woods after dark, not for six months' pay. The thought of that snake makes me crawl all over. Who would have thought now, when I lugged you in over the bowsprit of La Belle Marie that night in the channel, that you were going to save my life some day. Well, I don't suppose, lad, I shall ever get quits with you, but if there is a chance you can count upon me. You come to me any night and say I am going to escape, Jacques, and I will help you to do it, even if they riddle me with bullets five minutes afterward."

"I shall never ask that of you, Jacques," Ralph said warmly. "I consider we are quits now, though you may not. Indeed, I can tell you that I don't consider that two months of kindness are wiped out by just taking a jump on to the back of a snake."

There were loud sounds of shouting, singing, and quarreling as they passed near the great fires that were blazing near the storehouse. They reached the waterside without notice, and taking a boat rowed off to the brig. The captain looked over the side:

"Who is that?"

"Jacques Clery and the English lad, captain."

"You got tired of the noise on shore, I suppose?" the captain said.

"Not exactly that, captain, for we have not been near the others at all. We took a long walk through the woods up to the top of the hill in the middle of the island and we came back for two reasons. The first because I have been so badly scared by a snake, who would have bit me had not this young fellow leaped on to its back just as he was about to strike me in the neck, that I would not have slept on the ground for anything; and, in the second place, we came to tell you that from the top of the hill we saw a large frigateEnglish, I should say, from the cut of her sailsfive or six miles off on the other side of the island, and I thought you ought to know about her at once."

"Thank you, Jacques; that is important. I was going to sail in the morning, but we must not stir as long as she is in the neighborhood. So this young fellow saved your life, did he?"

"That he did, captain; and it was the quickest thing you ever saw. I was just lying down at full length when he caught sight of the snake. There was no time to stop me; no time even to cry out. He just jumped on a sudden and came down on the brute as it was on the point of striking. Had he stopped for one quarter of a second I should have been a dead man hours ago."

"That was a near escape indeed, Jacques. Are they pretty quiet there on shore? I heard them shouting several times."

"They seem quarreling a bit, captain; but they are sure to do that with all that liquor on hand."

"They won't come to much harm," the captain said. "I gave the strictest orders that all weapons should be left behind before they landed, and that any man carrying even a knife would have his leave stopped during the rest of the cruise. Beside, the first mate is there to look after them. I will go ashore myself at daybreak and take a look round from the top of that hill. If that frigate is still cruising about near the island it must be because they have got some sort of an idea of the whereabouts of our hiding place. We must wait till she moves away. It won't do to risk anything."

Upon the following morning the captain and Jacques, accompanied by Ralph, landed. They passed close by the storehouse, and saw the men still asleep round the extinguished fires. The captain called out the storekeeper:

"You can serve out one pannikin of wine to each man," he said, "but no more. They will want that to pull them together. Tell the first mate to get them on board as soon as possible, and set them to work to tidy up the ship and get everything ready for setting sail at a moment's notice. Tell him an English frigate is reported as close to the island. I am going up to look after her."

Two hours' steady walking took them to the top of the hill. There were no signs of any vessel as far as they could see. The captain, who had brought his glass with him, carefully examined every island in sight. Presently he uttered an exclamation:

"There are three boats rowing together close under the cliffs there," he said, pointing to the nearest island. "No doubt the frigate is lying behind it. They must be searching for some concealed harbor like ours. Peste! this is awkward. What do you think, Jacques?"

"I should say you were right in what you said last night, captain. They must have got an idea that our rendezvous is somewhere hereabouts, though they don't know for certain where, and they are searching all the island round. If they come along here like that we shall be caught in a trap. A vessel might sail close by without suspecting there was an entrance here, however hard they might be looking for it; but if they send boats rowing along the shore they couldn't help finding it. Still, there is nothing to prevent our sailing away now, as the island is between us and them."

"That is so," the captain said. "But if they come while we are away, in the first place they would capture all the booty in the stores, and in the second place they might lie quiet in the harbor and would sink the other ships when they returned. I will go down to the port again, Jacques, and will send up two of the men from the storehouse to keep watch here, turn and turn about. Do you remain here until you are relieved. I will leave my glass with you. If there is anything fresh, leave the boy on watch and come down with the news yourself. I must talk this matter over with the mates. We have no direct interest in the stores, but we must do the best we can for our owners."

Jacques and Ralph watched the distant boats through the glass until they disappeared round the end of the island, then turned the glass seaward. Jacques was using it at the time. "See!" he exclaimed, "there are three sails together there."

"I can see them plainly enough," Ralph said. "What do you make them out to be?"

"A schooner, a brig, and a three-masted vessel. They are lying close together, and I fancy boats are passing between them. However, I couldn't swear to that. They must be fifteen miles away. I expect they are our consorts, and a merchantman they have captured."

"Can they see them from the other side of that island?" Ralph asked excitedly.

"I should say they could," Jacques replied after pausing to calculate the line of sight. "It depends how far round the frigate is lying, and how close in shore. But if they have sent any one up on the hill there, of course they can make them out as plainly as we can." Jacques handed the glass to Ralph.

"Yes, I think I can make out boats, Jacques. What do you suppose they are doing?"

"Most likely they are transferring the valuable part of her cargo on board."

"What will they do with her then?"

"I expect they will let her go; but of course that depends whether she is a new ship and worth taking the risk of carrying her to France."

"They don't burn or sink her, then?"

"No; there would be no good in that; for they wouldn't know what to do with the crew. Of course they don't want the bother of prisoners here, and they wouldn't want to turn them adrift in the boats. They might land on some island near and see us going and coming here, and carry the news to some of your cruisers. No, I expect they will take what is valuable and let them gothat is if the ship isn't worth sending home. I suppose that is so in this case; for if they were going to put a prize crew on board and send it to France, they would not be transferring the cargo. Well, we shall see in another half hour."

CHAPTER V.

THE BRITISH CRUISERS.

An hour passed. During this time the watchers on the hill saw that the brig had been lying alongside the three-masted vessel, and felt sure that the cargo was being transferred, then the merchantman's sails were hoisted, and she slowly sailed away. For another hour the other two crafts lay motionless, then they hoisted sail and headed for the island. There was a brisk, steady wind blowing, and they came along fast through the water.

"We shall soon see now whether your frigate has made them out," Jacques said; "but I will not wait any longer but will go and tell the captain what is going on. In another hour the others will be up here to relieve you, then you can bring down the latest news."

Left alone, Ralph watched anxiously the progress of the distant vessels, turning the glass frequently toward the other island, beyond the end of which he momentarily expected to see the white sails of the frigate appear. An hour passed. The schooner and the brig were now within about four miles of the nearest point of the island, and still there were no signs of the English ship. Presently he heard voices behind him, and two French sailors came up. Ralph was now free to return, but he thought he had better wait until the brig and schooner reached a point where they would be hidden by the island from the sight of any-one who might be watching on the hill six miles away.

In another half-hour they had reached this point. No signs had been seen of the frigate, and Ralph felt sure that she must have been anchored in some bay whose headland prevented her seeing the approaching craft; for had she noticed them she would assuredly have set out to intercept them before they reached the island, which lay almost dead to windward of them. He was just turning to go when one of the men gave a sudden exclamation. He turned round again and saw the frigate just appearing from behind the other island. She was close-hauled, and it was soon evident by her course that she was beating up for the point round which the other two ships had disappeared.

Ralph was puzzled at this; for if she had made out the brig and schooner, her natural course would have been to have made for the other end of the island, so as to cut them off as they sailed past it; whereas they would now, when they gained the extremity of the island, find themselves five or six miles astern of the other two craft. The French sailors were equally puzzled, and there was a hot argument between them; but they finally concluded that her appearance at that moment must be accidental, and she could not have made out the privateers. They had just told Ralph to run down with the news to the harbor when a light was thrown upon the mystery; for from the other end of the island from which the frigate had emerged a large schooner appeared. Every sail was set, and her course was directed toward this other end of the island upon which the watchers were standing. The two French sailors burst out into a torrent of oaths, expressive of surprise and alarm; for it was evident that from the course the schooner was taking she intended to intercept the two privateers, and engage them until the frigate came to her assistance.

"Run, boy! run for your life!" one of them exclaimed, "and tell the captain. But no; wait a moment," and he directed the glass upon the schooner. "A thousand curses!" he exclaimed. "It is the Cerf schooner the English captured from us six months ago. She is the fastest craft in these waters. Tell the captain that I am coming after you, but your legs will beat mine."

Ralph dashed off at full speed, but as soon as he had fairly distanced the French sailor he began to run more slowly. For the moment he had so entered into the feelings of his companions that he had identified himself with them, but now he had time to think, his sympathies swung round to the English ship. He did not particularly want La Belle Marie to be captured; for he had been so well treated on board her that he felt no ill-will toward her. But her capture meant his deliverance.

He thought over the matter as he ran, and wondered first why the frigate did not take the line to cut the privateers off, instead of going round by the other end of the island. He could only suppose that it was because the schooner was the fastest vessel, and was more likely to arrive in time at the point. Beside, if she showed there before the privateers reached the point they might double back again, and the frigate would make the other end of the island before they were halfway back. It might be, too, that the captain has suspected the truth, knowing that the privateers had a rendezvous somewhere in that neighborhood, and that his object in remaining so long behind the island was to give them time to enter their port in ignorance of his being in the neighborhood. At any rate, the great thing was, that the schooner and brig should enter the little harbor before knowing that they were pursued. Once in, it would be impossible for them to get out again and beat off shore with the wind blowing dead on the land, before both the schooner and frigate had rounded their respective ends of the island.

Therefore, although Ralph ran fast enough to keep well ahead of the sailor, he made no effort to keep up a greater rate of speed than was necessary for this. As soon as he reached the shore a boat rowed off from the brig to fetch him. He saw with satisfaction that although the men were all on board, no preparations were made for getting under way at once; and, indeed, the captain would have no anxiety for his own ship, as he would know that the privateers, if they saw the frigate coming out to meet them, would sail right away from the island, and the frigate would be sure to pursue until out of sight of land.

"What news, boy?" the captain asked as the boat came close alongside. "Is the frigate in chase of the others?"

"Yes, sir," Ralph replied; "the frigate and a schooner are both in chase."

"Which way are they bearing?"

"The privateers do not know they are chased sir. The frigate did not show round the island over there until the schooner and brig were hidden behind the end of this island. She made toward the western end, and the schooner is making for the eastern end. The sailors who came up told me to tell you that the schooner is the Cerf, one of the fastest vessels out here."

The captain uttered an exclamation of dismay, which was echoed by those standing round him.

"Row out through the entrance," he shouted to the coxswain of the boat, "and warn the others of the danger! Tell them to make straight out. If they come in here, we shall all be caught in a trap together!"

The oars dipped in the water, but before the boat was fairly in motion there was an exclamation, for the head sail of the schooner glided in past the projecting cliff. A moment later the whole vessel came into view.

"Bring the boat back alongside!" the captain shouted. "I will go on board her at once. She may get out in time yet!"

As the schooner rounded up her sails came down, and she headed straight toward the brig. The captain of the Belle Marie stood up in the stern-sheet of the boat, shouting and waving his hands and gesticulating to them to get up sail again. Those on board the schooner looked on in surprise, unable to guess his meaning.

"There are two English cruisers, one coming round each end of the island!" he shouted as he approached the schooner. "Get out again if you can, otherwise they must catch us all in here!"

The captain in the schooner at once saw the emergency, and roared out orders. The boats were all lowered at once, and the men tumbled on board. Hawsers were lowered from the bows, and they began at once to tow her head round, for there was not a breath of wind in the land-locked harbor.

"How much time have we got?" the captain asked as the schooner's head came slowly round.

"I don't know," the other captain replied. "It's a question of minutes, anyhow. Ah, here is the brig!" and the boat dashed forward and he gave similar orders to those that had been given to the schooner.

"Get them both round!" the captain shouted. "I will row out through the entrance and give you warning if these accursed cruisers are in sight."

The boat dashed through the narrow entrance, and at once felt the full force of the breeze. "Dead on shore," the captain muttered bitterly. "They will have to work right out into the arms of one or other of them."

They rowed a hundred yards out, when, beyond the furthermost point they could see to the east, the sails of the schooner were perceived.

"Take her round," the captain said sharply. "It's too late now, we have got to fight for it."

They rowed back through the entrance. The schooner slowly towed by her boats was approaching.

"It is no use," the captain said, "you are too late. The schooner has rounded the end of the island, and with this breeze will be here in half an hour. You never can work out in time. Beside, they would see you come out; and even if you got away, which you couldn't do, they would come back and capture the depot. We have got to fight for it, that's evident; and the boats of a fleet could hardly make their way in here. We had best get the three craft moored with their broadsides to the entrance. We will blow the boats to tinder if they try to come in, and then we can load up with all the most valuable goods and slip out at night-time. That is our only chance."

The captain of the schooner jumped into the boat, and they again rowed out into the entrance. He saw at once that the other's advice was the only one to be followed. It would be impossible to beat off the shore before the schooner came up and while they were talking the frigate appeared round the other end of the island. They therefore returned into the harbor. The Belle Marie's anchor was raised, and the three vessels moored head and stern across the harbor, a hundred yards from the entrance. As soon as this was done strong parties were sent ashore from each of the vessels, and six heavy ship's guns that had been landed from some captured vessel were dragged from their place near the storehouse and planted on the heights, so as to sweep the narrow channel.

It was late in the evening before this was finished, and an earthwork thrown up to shelter the men working the guns from musketry fire. In the meantime the two ships of war had met outside, and again separating cruised several times from end to end of the rocky wall, evidently searching for the entrance through which the privateers they had been pursuing had so suddenly disappeared. In the morning the French sailors were at work early, and two or three strong chains were fastened across the mouth of the passage.

"Now," the captain of the Belle Marie said exultantly, as he regained the deck of his ship, "we are ready to give them a warm reception. The boats of all the British cruisers on the station would never force their way through that gap."

Ralph had not been called upon to assist in the work of preparation, he and Jacques having done their day's work on the journey to the top of the hill and back. He saw from the exultation in the faces of the Frenchmen that they considered their position was impregnable, and he shuddered at the thought of the terrible carnage that would ensue if the boats of the English vessels should try to force an entrance. The following morning a lookout on the cliffs reported that two boats had left the ships and were rowing toward the shore. On reaching the foot of the cliffs they rowed along abreast at a distance of thirty or forty yards of the shores. They stopped rowing at the mouth of the entrance, and were suddenly hailed by the captain of the schooner, who was standing on the cliff above.

"If you try to enter," he said, "you will be destroyed at once. We don't want to harm you if you will leave us alone; but we have guns enough to blow a whole fleet out of water, and will use them if we are driven to it."

"Thank you for your warning," a voice shouted back from the boats, and then an order was given, and they rowed back to the ships.

"Well, have you found the place, Lieutenant Pearson?" the captain of the frigate asked as the young lieutenant stepped on deck.

"Yes, sir, we have found it. It is just where the boat turned and came out again."

"I can see no signs of it now," the captain said, examining the shore with his telescope.

"No, sir; you wouldn't until you were within a hundred yards of it. But rowing close in as we were we saw it some time before we got there. The rocks overlap each other, and there is a narrow channel some fifty yards long between them. Apparently this makes a sharp turn at the other end and opens out. We saw nothing of the vessels we were chasing yesterday, but on high ground facing the channel there is a battery of six guns planted so as to rake anything coming in. There are some chains across the end. While we were lying on our oars there we were hailed." And he then repeated the warning that had been given.

"Nasty place to get intoeh?" the captain said thoughtfully.

"Very nasty, sir. You see, the guns would play right down into the channel; then there are the chains to break down, and perhaps more batteries, and certainly the ships to tackle when we get inside."

"Is there width for the frigate to enter?" the captain asked.

"Just width, I should say, and no more, sir. We should certainly have to get the yards braced fore and aft, but the ship herself would go through with something to spare, I should say."

"What depth of water is there close in shore?"

"Plenty of depth sir, right up to the foot of the cliffs; but of course I can say nothing as to the depth in the channel."

"No, of course not," the captain said. "Well, it's something that we have run these pests to earth at last, but I see it is going to be no easy matter to get at them."

The captain now signaled to the captain of the schooner to come on board, and when he did so the two officers retired to the cabin together and had a long consultation. The young officer on coming on deck got into his boat, and taking Lieutenant Pearson with him rowed for the cliffs, a few hundred yards to the west of the inlet. Here they could obtain a view of the channel and its surroundings. Not a man was to be seen. The muzzles of the six guns pointed menacingly down into the passage, and the chains could be seen just above the water's edge.

"I think we will go back now, Mr. Pearson. I really think we ought to be very much obliged to those fellows for not sinking us. I wonder what was their motive in letting us off so easily?"

"I suppose they feel pretty confident that our report is not likely to encourage an attack, and they think that if they were to blow us to pieces it would only make Captain Wilson the more determined to destroy them. At least that is the conclusion I came to as I rowed back last time."

"Yes, I should think that is it," the young captain said. "It is certainly as awkward a looking place to attack in boats as I ever saw. Of course were it not for the chains my vessel could get in, and I dare say she has been in there many a time before we captured her, but it would be a very risky thing to take the frigate in without knowing anything of the depth of water either in the channel or inside."

Both returned to the frigate. "Mr. Pearson's report is fully borne out, Captain Wilson. It would be a most desperate enterprise to attack with our boats. Half of them would be sunk before they got to the chains; and even if they got past them, which I doubt, there is no saying what difficulties and obstacles may be inside."

"And now about the frigate, Captain Chambers."

"Well, sir, that is for you to decide. I am quite ready to take the schooner in; though with the plunging power of that battery raking her fore and aft I say fairly that it would be a desperate enterprise, and if she had not sufficient way upon her to carry away the chains nothing could save her. As to the frigate, it seems to me that she would run an equal risk with the schooner, with the additional danger that there may not be water enough for her."

"Well, it certainly doesn't seem to be an easy nut to crack," Captain Wilson said. "As we agreed before you started, we should not be justified in risking both our vessels in assaulting a place which is certainly extremely formidable, and where there may not be water enough for the frigate to float. Still the question remains, what is to be done? It is no use anchoring here and trying to starve them out; they may have provisions enough to last them for years, for anything we know. If the weather were to turn bad we should have to make off at once; it would never do to be caught in a hurricane with such a coast as that on our lee. I might send you to Port Royal with a letter to the admiral, asking him to send us two or three more ships; but I don't like doing that when it is a mere question of capturing two rascally privateers."

"I think the admiral would be glad to send them," the younger captain said; "for these two vessels have done a tremendous lot of damage during the last year. I believe that upward of twenty ships have reported being boarded and stripped by them."

"But if they came what could they do?" Captain Wilson asked. "You see we consider it is not worth the risk of throwing away two ships two force this passage, still less would it be to risk four."

"That is so, no doubt," Captain Chambers agreed. "I should suggest that however many of us there may be we should all draw off and keep a watch at a distance. Of course it would be necessary to approach at night, and to lie behind the island somewhere in the daytime just as we did yesterday, for from the top of that hill they can see any distance round."

"Yes, and as soon as it is dusk they will have two or three hours to get away before we can come round here. Beside, with their night-glasses from the top of the cliffs they will be sure to be able to make us out. There is only one other way that I can see of getting at them, that is to find a landing-place and attack them from on shore."

"Ah! that's much more hopeful business. As far as I saw yesterday there are cliffs all round the island; but it is hard indeed if we cannot find some place where we can manage to effect a landing.

"This is the plan we must follow out. This afternoon an hour before it gets dark you get up sail and make away as if you were bound for Port Royal. I shall keep my station here. They will think you have gone off to get some more ships. As soon as it is thoroughly dark bear round and come back to the island; bring the schooner in close to the cliffs on the other side and get into a bay if you can find one. You will then be out of sight altogether unless somebody happens to look down from the edge of the cliffs above you.

"Then search the whole of the back of the island with boats, keeping at oar's length from the cliffs. There must be some places where a man can climb up, probably gulleys worn by streams. Then to-morrow night sail round and join us again. I will be waiting for you about two miles off the land, and will show a light to seaward so that you will know where to find me. Then we can talk matters over, and you can get back to the other side again before morning."

While the captains of the two English vessels were holding consultations a similar talk was going on between the three captains of the privateers, and the conclusion they arrived at was precisely similar to that of the English officers. It was agreed that no attack was likely to be made by the ships, as they would almost certainly be sunk by the plunging fire of the battery as they came along the channel; while an assault by the boats would be sheer madness.

"We have only to wait and tire them out," the captain of the schooner said, rubbing his hands. "The first gale from the north they must run for shelter, and before they can come back to their station again we shall be gone. Of course we will load well up beforehand with all that is really worth taking away, and can let them have the pleasure of destroying the rest after we have gone."

"They will know all that as well as we do," the captain of La Belle Marie said. "They will never be fools enough to try and starve us out, but you are quite mistaken if you think we are out of danger."

"Why, what danger can there be?" the others asked. "We have agreed they cannot attack us by the channel."

"No, they cannot attack us from the channel, but they can attack us from somewhere else now they know we are here. They will find some place where they can land and take us in rear."

An exclamation of dismay broke from the other captains.

"Sapriste! I never thought of that. Of course they can. I have never examined the coast on the other side, but there must be places where they could land."

"No doubt there are; and you may be quite sure that is the course they will adopt. These English are slow, but they are not fools; and I will bet ten to one that is the next move they will be up to. If you like I will take a score of my men and cross the island this afternoon, and to-morrow will examine the whole line of shore. If there are only one or two places they can land at we may be able to defend them; but if there are four or five places far apart our force won't be sufficient to hold them all, for they could land two hundred and fifty men from those two ships, perhaps a hundred more."

"That is the best thing to be done, Vipon. Of course you will send us word across directly you see how the land lies. If we find that they can land in a good many places, there will be nothing for us to do but try and make a bolt for it. Keeping close in under the cliffs at night we may manage to give them the slip, or in any case one if not two of us may get away. Better that than to run the risk of being all caught like rats in a trap here."

An hour afterward the captain of the Belle Marie started for the other side of the island with twenty picked men, carrying with them their arms, axes, and two days' provisions. The rest of the crews were employed during the day in filling up the three vessels with the most valuable portion of the booty in the storehouses, care being taken not to fill the vessels so deeply as would interfere seriously with their sailing powers. An arrangement had been made between the captains that the Belle Marie should transfer her cargo to the first vessel worth sending to France that she captured, receiving as her share one-third of its value if it reached port safely.

The captain of the Belle Marie was well content with this arrangement, for the storehouses contained the spoils of upward of twenty ships, and his share would therefore be a considerable one, and he would only have to carry the cargo till he fell in with an English merchantman. All speculation as to the British schooner's whereabouts was put an end to the next morning, by a message from Captain Vipon saying she had been discovered lying close in under the cliffs at the back of the island, and that her boats were already examining the shore. An hour later the captain himself arrived.

"It is as I feared," he said when he joined the other captains; "there are three bays about two miles apart and at all of these a landing could be easily effected. The land slopes gradually down to the edge of the sea. They might land at any of them, and of course the guns of the schooner would cover the landing if we opposed it."

"Still we might beat them back," one of the others said. "We can muster about three hundred men between us, and they are not likely to land more than that."

"I don't think that would be a good plan," Captain Vipon said. "To begin with, we can't tell which of the three places they may choose for landing at. We certainly cannot hurry through the woods anything like so fast as they can row along the shore, so that would place us at a disadvantage. In the second place, you know very well that we can't rely upon our men defeating an equal number of these John Bulls; and in the last place, we should not gain much if we did. We should lose a tremendous lot of our men, and the schooner would go off and fetch two or three more ships of war here, so that in the end they must beat us. I think that there is no question that it will be better for us to take our chances of escape now."

"Either the schooner will come back to-night and tow the boats of the frigate round the other side of the island, or she will send a boat with the news that she has found a landing-place, and then the frigate will send all her boats. I don't think the attack will take place to-night; but it may be made. It certainly won't if the schooner comes round, for the wind is very light. She will not leave her anchorage until it is quite dark; and by the time she has got round to the frigate, and the boat's crews are ready to start, and they all get to the back of the island, it will be morning. If they send a boat it would reach the frigate after three hours' rowing; give them an hour to get ready and start, and three hours to row back, so that brings it to nearly the same thing. Beside, I don't suppose in any case they would land before morning, for they would run the risk of losing their way in the woods. So my proposal is that at about two o'clock in the morning we make a start, separate as soon as we get out of the harbor, and each shift for himself. The frigate will have more than half her crew away, and being so short-handed will not be so smart with her sails, and will not be able to work half her guns; so that at the outside two out of the three of us ought to get safely off."

"But suppose that the schooner happens to be round here, and they make up their minds to wait a day before attacking, we should have two of them after us then; and that schooner sails like a witch."

"I have thought of that," Captain Vipon said. "My idea is to put a man on the top of the cliff just above where the schooner is anchored. If she is lying there he is to light a fire a short distance back from the edge of the cliff. There should be another man on the top of the hill. When he sees the fire he shall show a lantern three times. We will return the signal to let him know that we see it. If the schooner goes away early in the evening the lookout is not to light the fire until he sees her returning, at whatever hour it may be. The moment we see the light we will set sail.'

"But how about the two signallers?" one of the other captains said. "They would be left behind and might not get the chance of rejoining us again."

"I have thought of that too," Captain Vipon, said. "I have an English lad on board whom I picked up in the channel. He is a smart lad, and has been working as one of the crew. He would of course be glad to stay behind, because it will give him the chance of rejoining his friends."

"That would do capitally. But how about the other man? You see, if he showed himself he would be made prisoner and sent to England; if he didn't show himself he might be on this island for years before he got a chance of joining a French ship. It would need a high bribe to induce anybody to run such a risk as that."

This was so evident that there was silence for two or three minutes, then Captain Vipon spoke again. "I have a man who would be more likely to do it than any one else I think, because he has taken a strong fancy to this young English boy. He is a good hand, and I don't like losing him; still the thing is so important that I should not hesitate at that. Still we must offer him something good to run the risk, or rather the certainty of imprisonment. I propose that his name shall be put down on the books of all three ships, so that if he ever gets back to France again he will have a fair certainty of a good lot of prize money, for it will be hard luck if two out of the three of us do not manage to get back safely." The other captains agreed to this.

"He will be here in half an hour," Captain Vipon said. "The men were sitting down to a meal when I came away, and I ordered them to make their way back as soon as they had done. If he refuses, the only other way I can see will be for all the men to cast lots, when, of course, whoever stays would get his three shares as we agreed."

Half an hour later the twenty men arrived from the other side of the island. As soon as they came on board Captain Vipon called Jacques into the cabin and told him that it would be necessary to leave two men behind, explaining the duties they would have to perform.

"Now Jacques," he said when he had finished, "I thought that perhaps you would be more likely than any other man on board the three ships to volunteer for this work."

"I volunteer!" Jacques said in astonishment. "What should make you think of such a thing, captain?"

"For this reason, Jacques: I have settled to leave the English lad here as one of the signallers. Of course he will gladly undertake the job, as it will enable him to join his friends when they land; and as you like him and he likes you, he might be able to make things easy for you. In the second place we have determined that the name of whoever stops shall be borne on the ship books of all three vessels to the end of their cruise, so that there would be a good bit of money coming even if only one out of the three ships gets back, and enough to set you up for life if all three get back safely. Of course you may have a spell of imprisonment; but it is likely that one at least of the ships may be caught going out to-night, and if it happened to be ours you would get the prison without the prize-money."

"That is so," Jacques agreed. "If you give me half an hour to think it over I will give you an answer. It's come upon me sudden-like. I will talk it over with the boy. I suppose I can tell him, captain?"

On regaining the deck Jacques looked about for Ralph.

"Come and sit along with me out on the bowsprit, lad, I want to have a private talk with you."

Somewhat surprised Ralph followed his friend out on to the bowsprit.

"Now, boy," he said, "I have got a bit of news to tell you that will be pleasant to you. That's the first thing; and the next is, I want your advice. You are a sensible young chap, you are, although you are but a lad, and I should like to know what you think about it."

"Well, what's the good news, Jacques?"

"The good news is this; you are likely, before this time to-morrow, to be with your friends." Ralph gave such a start of delight that he nearly slipped off the bowsprit.

"How is that Jacques? It seems too good to be true."

"This is the way of it," Jacques said. "The three vessels are all going to cut and run to-night. That schooner of yours is round the other side of the island, and we want to be sure she is stopping there, then there will only be the frigate to deal with, and in these light winds and dark nights we ought to be able to give her the slip; but the only way to be sure the schooner keeps the other side is to watch her. So one man is to be placed on the cliff above her, and at two o'clock in the morning, if she is still there, he is to light a fire well back from the cliff, so that the light will not be seen by her. Another man is to be on the top of the hill, where we were together with a lantern. You see, we can just see the top of the hill from here. When he sees the fire he is to show a light three times. If he sees it answered here he will know it's all right, and his work is done; if not, of course he shows the lights again until it's answered. Now, they are going to leave you as one of the two signallers, and of course all you will have to do will be to wait for a bit, and then come down and join your friends."

"That is capital," Ralph said. "Nothing could be better. Now, what is the other matter that you want my advice about, Jacques?"

"Well, you see, it will be awkward for the other man, for he will either have the choice of coming down and giving himself up and being carried off as a prisoner, or of stopping on this island perhaps for years till a French ship happens to come along; for once off the Marie will continue her cruise to the Indian seas, and the other two will make straight for France. Of course there is another course which might be taken. A boat might be hidden away for him, and he might go for a cruise on his own account and take the chance of being picked up.

"Well, they have offered to the man as stops to put his name down on the books of all the three craft. That means, of course, that he will get a share in the prize-money of all three ships if they get back. That's a pretty good offer, you know. You see, a fellow on board may get captured or killed in battle or wrecked, and in that case there would not be a penny of prize-money. The man who stops here is sure of prize-money if only one of the three craft get back to France. Now, they ask me if I will undertake it. I should be better off than the others; because in the first place I shall have you to talk with till I get to prison, and in the next place as I can talk English I can get on a good deal better in prison than other fellows would do. Now, what's your advice, lad?"

"I should say certainly accept the offer, Jacques. You see, I can tell them all what a good friend you have been to me, and it maybe they will let you go free; but even if they don't I could make it pleasant for you with the men, and you may be sure that if they take you to an English prison I will do all I can to get you out of it. You see, when you get back to France you would have really a good sum coming to you from these three ships. The two that have been out here have collected a tremendous lot of valuable plunder, and the Bell Marie is likely to get quite as much if, as you say, she is going to spend two years out in the Indian seas. So I really think you would be wise to take the offer. Another thing, if you like I will not show myself at all, but will stop here with you, and we will take a boat together and make for some port, where we can give out that we are shipwrecked sailors."

"No, lad, that wouldn't do; though I thank you for your offer. You might get a ship back to England, but I should have very little chance of getting one for France."

"No; but we might get one together for America, and from there you might get to France easily enough."

Jacques thought for some minutes. "No, lad; I will give myself up with you. We might get lost in a boat, seeing that neither of us know the geography of these seas; we might get short of water, or caught in a hurricane. No, I will give myself up. I know the worst that way, anyhow. Another spell in an English prison; but from that I may either get exchanged, or escape, or the war come to an end. So that's the best thing for me to do."

CHAPTER VI.

HOME AGAIN.

Having decided to stay as one of the signallers, Jacques proceeded at once to the captain's cabin.

"I am glad you have decided so, Jacques. It would have been a troublesome business to cast lots, and some of the men might have absolutely refused doing so; so I am glad it's settled. I have arranged with the other captains that you shall have an advance of twenty napoleons. You had best hide them about you; you may find them come in useful. The boy is to have ten. Of course he is glad of the chance; but at the same time he is doing us good service, and he has worked well since he came on board. It will help him to get a passage home."

"Thank you, captain. That twenty napoleons may help me to get out of an English prison. I will manage a hiding place for them. And now I think, captain, we will be off at onceat least as soon as we have had our dinner. It's a good long way across the island to where that schooner was lying, and I shall have to choose a place for my fire so that it can be seen from the top of the hill."

At dinner Jacques told his comrades that he was going to remain behind and act as signalman for them. A good deal of regret was expressed by his shipmates, many of whom came like himself from Dunkirk, and had known him from a boy. Before starting he went to the sailmaker and got him to open the soles of his shoes; he then inserted ten napoleons in each, and the sailmaker sewed them up again. Then making his clothes into a kit and getting a couple of bottles of wine from the steward, he shook hands with his messmates, and was with Ralph rowed ashore.

On landing they cut two sticks and hung their kits upon these, Ralph taking charge of the lantern, while both were provided with tinder and steel.

They walked for half a mile together, and then Jacques said:

"Here our paths separate, lad; you can't miss your way to the top of the hill. I go almost the other way, for the schooner lies but a short distance from the end of the island. If I were you I should lie up for a sleep as soon as I get there. Remember you will not see my fire till two o'clock. If you do not see it then you must keep watch till morning, for there's no saying when it may be lit. As soon as you see it you show a light three times in the direction of the creek. If you see it answered you will have nothing more to do; if not you must keep on showing the light till you do get an answer. In the morning you wait till the sun has been up an hour, then come to this spot and wait for me. I shall start at daybreak, but I have a lot further to walk than you have, so I shan't be there before you. If we find your people haven't come into the harbor we will wait till they do so; then when they find that there is no one there we can show ourselves quietly; but if we got there first they might begin to shoot directly they saw us without stopping to ask any questions."

Ralph made his way up to the top of the hill, threw himself down under some trees near the summit, and was soon fast asleep. When he awoke it was already dark. He lit his lantern, covered it up in his jacket, and took his station at the highest point. He had plenty to think about. Another twelve hours and he would be with friends! He had no reason to complain of the treatment he had received on board the privateer, but had he remained with her he might not have returned to France for a couple of years, and would then have had difficulty in crossing to England; beside, it was painful to him to be with men fighting against his country, and each prize taken instead of causing delight to him as to his comrades, would have been a source of pain.

But most of all he thought of his mother, of how she must have grieved for him as dead, and of the joy there would be at their reunion. The hours therefore passed quickly, and he could scarcely believe it to be two o'clock when he suddenly saw the light of a fire far way toward the end of the island. A glance at the stars showed him that the time was correct. He rose to his feet, and taking the lantern held it aloft, then he lowered it behind a bush and twice raised it again. He knew exactly the direction in which the harbor lay, and no sooner had he put down the lantern for the third time than three flashes of light followed in close succession.

He knew that everything would be prepared in the afternoon for the start. Orders had been issued before he left that the oars of the boats were to be muffled, that the chains at the entrance of the channel were to be removed, and the ships got in a position, with shortened cables, for a start. He could picture to himself, as he stood there gazing into the darkness, that the men would be already in the boats awaiting his signal, and as soon as it was seen they would begin to tow the vessels out of the harbor.

During the daytime the frigate cruised backward and forward under easy sail some two miles off the entrance; but the sailors believed that at night she came very much closer to the shore, the lookout with night-glasses having reported that she had been seen once or twice within a quarter of a mile of the entrance to the channel.

Half an hour passed without any sign that the frigate was aware that the ships were leaving the harbor; then Ralph heard the sound of a distant musket-shot, followed by several others, and had no doubt that one of the frigate's boats on watch near the channel had discovered them.

A few minutes later there was a flash some distance out at sea, followed after an interval by the deep boom of a gun; then came a broadside, followed by a steady fire of heavy guns. These were evidently fired on board the frigate, no answering sounds from the French ships meeting his ear. He could see by the direction of the flashes that the frigate was under way. The firing continued for two hours, becoming more and more distant, and then it ceased altogether.

When the sun rose he saw the frigate some twenty miles away. There was a smaller craft two or three miles further off, and two others were visible ten or twelve miles further away to the west. Two of the privateers had evidently made their escape, and the third seemed to be leaving her pursuer behind, for the wind was exceedingly light. Some miles nearer to the island than the frigate a schooner was visible. She was heading for the two vessels that had gone toward the west, but as these were fully fifteen miles to windward her chance of overtaking them appeared to be slight. Ralph waited an hour, and then proceeded at a leisurely pace toward the spot where he was to meet Jacques. He was but five minutes at the spot agreed upon when he saw him coming through the trees.

"I heard nothing of the landing-parties," he said as the French sailor approached.

"The reason is not far to search for," he replied. "They did not land at all, and I did not much expect that they would. The boats from the frigate arrived a few minutes before I lighted my fire. I was lying down at the edge of the cliff, looking right down upon her deck. They came up in a body, rowing with muffled oars. I could just hear the sound of their talking when they came on deck. As soon as I had the fire fairly alight I saw your signal and then went back to watch them. Everything was quiet till I heard the boom of the first gun; then I heard 'Silence!' ordered on the schooner. I suppose some one had said that he heard a gun, and other's didn't. Of course the sound did not come to them under the shelter of the cliff as it did to me. Then came the sound of another gun, and then three or four close together; then orders were given sharply, the capstan was manned and the anchor run up, and they were not a minute getting her sails set. But under the shelter of the cliff there was not enough wind to fill them, and so the boats were manned, and she went gliding away until I could no longer make her out. They guessed, of course, that our craft were making off, and went to help the frigate."

"They were too late to be of any use, Jacques."

"Ah! you have seen them from the top of the hill. I did not think of that. What is the news?"

"The frigate was in chase of one of them. It was too far for me to see which. I should say he was two or three miles ahead, certainly well out of gunshot, and as far as I could see during the hour I was watching them, was increasing her lead. Unless the wind freshens I think she is safe. The other two were on the opposite tack, ten or twelve miles away to the west. The schooner was heading after them, but was at least fifteen miles from them."

"She is very fast in a light wind like this, they say."

"Well, if she should catch them, they ought to be able to beat her off, Jacques, as they are two to one. So far I think your chance of getting your three shares is a good one."

"Maybe, lad. I have not had much luck so far. I began on the sea when I was eleven. At twenty-one I had to go into the navy, and it was seven years later when I got back to Dunkirk after that spell in the prison. I did not report myself, for I had no wish to do any more man-of-wars' work; and now I have had six years privateers' work, and have not made much by it. If I get back this time and get those three shares I will buy a fine fishing smack for myself and a snug little house on shore. There is some one I promisedif the voyage turned out wellshe should have a nice little house of her own, and she promised to wait for me. After that, no more long voyages for me. I suppose we may as well go down to the harbor now, lad. They are sure to come back sooner or later, whether they catch any of the privateers or not."

"Oh, yes! we shall be all safe now. We will be on the beach when they come in. When they see that we are alone and unarmed there's no chance of their firing. We can go up occasionally to the cliffs and watch for them."

It was not until the following evening that the frigate was seen approaching the island.

"She will take another four or five hours to work in," Jacques said, "and they are not likely to try to land till to-morrow morning. All their boats and half their men are away in the schooner. I should think she would be back to-morrow morning. Either she caught them before it got dark last nightwhich I don't think likelyor they will have given her the slip in the night. In that case she might look about for another day and then make sail to rejoin."

As Jacques predicted the schooner was seen by daylight eight or ten miles away.

"We may as well hoist a white flag, Jacques. The captain of the frigate will be savage that all the privateers have escaped him, but it may put him into a good temper if he takes possession here before the schooner arrives."

Ralph ran down to the storehouse, got hold of a sheet and an oar, and a white flag was soon hoisted on the top of the cliff. Five minutes later two gigs were seen rowing off from the frigate. Ralph and Jacques took their places on the battery. When the boats reached the mouth of the narrow entrance the order was given for the men to lay on their oars. Ralph shouted at the top of his voice:

"You can come on, sir! We are the only two here!"

The order was given to row on, and Ralph and his companion at once went down to meet them at the end of the harbor. The captain himself was in the stern of his own gig, while a young lieutenant held the lines in the other boat.

"Who are you? the captain asked, as he stepped ashore on the little wharf. You are English by your speech."

"I am English, sir. I was on board a fishing boat in the channel when we were run down by one of those privateers in the dark. I believe the fisherman with me was drowned, but I clung to the bobstay and was got on board. She was on her way out here and had no opportunity of landing me. She only arrived here two days before you came up."

"You are not a fisherman?" the captain said abruptly.

"No, sir; my mother is living at Dover, and I was at school there. I lost my father, who was an architect, some years ago."

"And who is this who is with you?"

"He is a sailor in the brig I came out in, and has been extremely kind to me during the voyage, and kept the others from persecuting me."

"How is it he is left behind?" the captain asked.

"He was round the other side of the island watching the schooner," Ralph replied, "and the others sailed away without him;" for Ralph had agreed with Jacques that it was better to say nothing about the signalling.

"Have you done any fighting since you were on board the privateer?" the captain asked sternly.

"No, sir. We have only exchanged shots with one ship since we sailed. She fired one broadside and the privateer drew off a good deal damaged. Another was surprised by night, but I took no part in it. I don't know what she was laden with or what was her name."

"Well, lad, your story sounds truthful, and will, of course, be inquired into when we get to England. As to this man, he is of course a prisoner."

"I hope not, sir," Ralph pleaded. "He has not been taken with arms in his hands, and is, in fact, a castaway mariner."

The captain's face relaxed into a smile. "I see you are a sort of sea lawyer. Well, we shall see about it. What is there in these storehouses?"

"A quantity of things, sir. They took away a great many with them, but there must be ten times as much left. I heard them say they had the cargoes of more than twenty ships here."

"That is satisfactory at any rate," the captain said. "Mr. Wylde, will you just take a look round these storehouses and see what there is worth taking away. You had better take my boat's crew as well as your own to help you to turn things over. Are you quite sure, lad, that there is no one beside yourselves on the island?"

"I can't say that, sir. The orders were for all hands to embark last night, and so far as I know none of them were left behind except Jacques Clery. We have been here for two days now and have seen no one, so I do not think any one else can have been left."

"How did you get on on board the brig?" the captain asked. "I suppose you cannot speak French?"

"I couldn't speak any French when I first was got on board, sir, but I picked up a great deal on the voyage out. Jacques speaks English very well. He was a prisoner in England for three years, and learned it there, and it was that which caused him to speak to me directly he had got me on board, for no one else understood me. So he set to work at once to help me in my French, so that I could get along. The captain was very kind too. He said that as I had been picked up in that way he should not treat me as a prisoner; but he expected me to make myself useful, and, of course, I did so. It was the only way of having a comfortable life."

"Is this the only place the privateers had on shore here?" the captain asked, looking round. "I only see one or two huts."

"The storekeepers lived in them, sir. They stopped behind to look after things when the privateers were away. The men slept on board their vessels, only landing to disembark the cargoes they had captured, and for a drunken spree when they first returned. I am sure they have no other place."

"So your brig only arrived here four days ago? I was puzzled in the morning when I saw there were two brigs and a schooner when we had only expected one brig. Of course your arrival accounts for that. What was her name, and how many guns and men did she carry?"

"She was La Belle Marie of Dunkirk," Ralph replied. "She carried fourteen guns, mostly eighteen-pounders, and a thirty-two-pounder on a pivot. She had eighty hands at first, but eight of them went away in the prize."

"Do you know whether she has gone off straight for France or whether she is going to remain here?"

"Prom what I gathered from the men, sir, I believe the other two privateers are going straight home. They loaded up from the storehouses, taking, of course, the most valuable stuff. There was a great deal of copper, but what the rest was I do not know. Our brig was loaded up too, but I believe her intention was to transfer her cargo into the first prize she took and send it to France. I do not know whether she was going to cruise about here for a time, but I should rather think that now that her consorts have gone and this place been discovered she will not stay here, for she never intended to cruise in these waters long. I know that her destination was the Indian Ocean, and she intended to capture Indiamen on their way out or home."

"In that case our expedition has been more satisfactory than I expected," the captain said. "We shall have discovered and destroyed their depot here, captured anyhow some valuable stuff, and caused the two privateers that we have been hunting for so long to leave the islands, to say nothing of this brig of yours, of which we had not heard. Well, Mr. Wylde, what is your report?"

"It will take a long time to go through the whole sir, but I should say that we have taken a most valuable prize. Part of the goods consist of produce of these partspuncheons of rum and hogsheads of sugar in any number. Then I see they have left a good many tons of copper behind them; overlooked them, I suppose, in the hurry of loading. A considerable portion of the stores consist of home producecottons, cloths, silks, furniture, musical instruments, mirrors, and, in fact, goods of all kinds."

"That is most satisfactory, Mr. Wylde, and we sha'n't have had our trouble for nothing. Ah! here come the other boats."

As he spoke the pinnaces, long-boats, and cutters of the two ships of war dashed into the harbor, and in a minute or two reached the landing-place.

"So they gave you the slip as well as me, Chambers?" Captain Wilson said.

"Confound them, yes. I was within about four miles of them at sunset, but they both gave me the slip in the dark."

"Mine fairly outsailed me," Captain Wilson said. "I am afraid we have made rather a mess of the affair; though we acted for the best, and I don't see how we could have done otherwise. However. I have learned that the brig and the schooner we have been chasing so long have made straight for France, so that we shall have no more trouble with them. The other brig, which only arrived two days before we chased the others in here, has, it is believed, also gone off. So we shan't have done so badly; for we can report that we have found out and destroyed their nest here, and I fancy from what my lieutenant says we have made a very valuable capture, enough to give us all a round sum in prize-money."

"That will be some consolation," the other laughed; "but I would give my share of it if I could but have come up with and engaged those rascally craft I have been hunting all over the islands for these last two years. Whom have we got heretwo prisoners?"

"Well, I hardly know whether they can be called prisoners. One is an English lad who was in a boat they run down in the channel, and who, I dare say, they were glad to get rid of. It seems that he is a gentleman's son, and his story is clear enough. The other belongs to the brig I chased, which it seems only arrived here two days ago. The young fellow says that he has been particularly kind to him, and has begged me to regard him in the light of a castaway sailor, seeing that he was found here unarmed and away from his ship. I think there is something in his plea; and as there is no credit or glory to be obtained from handing over one prisoner, I consider that under the circumstances we shall be justified in letting him go ashore quietly and in saying nothing about it. At one time the man was a prisoner of war in England and has picked up our language, so I dare say he will be able to manage to find his way home without difficulty."

"What are you thinking of doing with all this stuff?" Captain Chambers asked, pointing to the storehouses.

"I think we had better take it away with us. I don't like turning the Alert into a storeship; but it would be better to do that than to have the expense of chartering two or three ships to come here to fetch it away. Beside, if I did that, you would have to stop here until it is all carried away, and to burn the storehouses afterward."

"Then by all means let us load up," Captain Chambers said. "I certainly have no wish to be kept here for six weeks or a couple of months. I will go out and bring the Seagull in at once."

"The sooner the better, Chambers. I will set a couple of boats at work at once to take soundings here and in the channel. If I can get the Alert in I will; it would save a lot of trouble and time."

It was found that the channel and the harbor inside contained an abundance of water for the frigate. The width between the rocks was, however, only just sufficient to let her through; and, therefore, while the schooner sailed boldly in, the frigate was towed in by her boats. The next morning the work of shipping the contents of the storehouses commenced, but so large was the quantity of goods stored up that it took six days of hard work before all was safely on board. The sailors, however, did not grudge the trouble, for they knew that every box and bale meant so much prize-money.

"I hope we shall meet nothing we ought to chase on our way to Port Royal," Captain Wilson said, looking with some disgust at the two vessels. "It has brought the Alert nearly two feet lower in the water; while as to the Seagull she is laden down like a collier."

"Yes, her wings are clipped for the present," Captain Chambers replied. "Of course those rascals carried off the pick of their booty with them; but we may be well content with what they left behind. It will be the best haul that we have made for some years. As a rule, the most we have to hope for is the money fetched by the sale of any privateer we may catch, and they generally go for next to nothing. I retract what I saidthat I would give my share of the prize-money to come up with the privateers. I certainly never calculated on such a haul as this. I suppose they intend to have gone on storing away their booty till the war came to an end, and then to have chartered a dozen ships to carry it away."

Captain Wilson had introduced Ralph to the midshipmen, telling them he would be in their mess till he reached port. He was soon at home among them, and his clothes were replaced by some they lent him. Jacques made himself equally at home among the crew. Captain Wilson had intimated to the first lieutenant that the man was not to be considered as a prisoner, but as a castaway, picked up on the island; and from his cheery temper, his willingness to lend a hand and make himself useful in any way, and his knowledge of their language, he was soon a favorite with them.

When all the goods were on board fire was applied to the storehouses and huts. The two vessels were then towed out of the harbor, and hoisting sail made for Port Royal. The winds were light, and it was six days before they entered the harbor. A signal was at once hoisted from the flagship there for the captain to come on board.

"I have no doubt he is in a towering rage at our appearance," Captain Wilson said to the first lieutenant; "but I fancy he will change his tone pretty quickly when he learns what we have got on board. His share of the prize money will come to a pretty penny."

The next morning a number of lighters came alongside the ships, and the work of discharging the cargo commenced. After breakfast Ralph and Jacques were rowed ashore.

"You will want some money to pay for your passage, young gentleman." Captain Wilson said to Ralph before leaving the ship. "I will authorize you to tell an agent that I will be security for the payment of your passage-money."

"I am very much obliged to you, sir," Ralph replied; "but I shall work my way home if I can. I have learned to be pretty handy on board the privateer, and I would as lief be working forward as dawdling about aft all the way home. Beside, I don't want to inconvenience my mother by her being called upon suddenly to pay thirty or forty pounds directly I get home. I have caused her trouble enough as it is."

"That's, right, my lad," the captain said. "I like your spirit. Have you money enough to pay for your hotel expenses while you are waiting for a ship?"

"Yes, thank you, sir. The French captain said I had fairly earned wages, and gave me ten napoleons when he started."

"He must have been a good sort of fellow," the captain said; "though I wish we had caught him for all that. Well, good-by, and a pleasant voyage home."

Ralph put up at a quiet boarding-house, kept by a Mulatto woman. He and Jacques got a fresh rig-out of clothes at once, and went down to the port to inquire about ships. Ralph was greatly amused at the aspect of the streets crowded with chattering negroes and negresses, in gaudy colors. The outlay of a few pence purchased an almost unlimited supply of fruit, and Ralph and his companion sat down on a log of wood by the wharves and enjoyed a feast of pine apples, bananas, and custard apples. Then they set about their work. In an hour both were suited. Jacques Clery shipped as a foremast hand on board an American trading schooner, which was about to return to New York; while Ralph obtained a berth before the mast in a fine bark that would sail for England in a few days.

Next morning they said good-by to each other, for Jacques had to go on board after breakfast. They made many promises to see each other again when the war came to an end.

"I shall never forget your kindness, Jacques; and if I am still at Dover when peace is proclaimed I will run over to Dunkirk by the very first vessel that sails."

"As for the kindness, it is nothing," Jacques replied; "and beside that, you saved my life from that snake. I dream sometimes of the beast still. And it was really owing to you that I am here now, and that I shall get a round sum coming to me when I return home. If it hadn't been for you I should not have been chosen to stop behind and get three shares instead of one of the prize money. And in the next place it is your doing that I am free to start at once, and to make my way back as soon as I can, instead of spending four or five years, it may be, in an English prison. Why, my Louise will be ready to jump for joy when she sees me arrive, instead of having to wait another two years for me, with the chance of my never coming back at all; and she will hardly believe me when I tell her that I shall be able to afford to buy that fishing boat and set up in a house of our own at once; and she will be most surprised of all when I tell her that it is all owing to an English boy I fished on board on a dark night in the channel."

"Well, Jacques, we won't dispute as to which owes the other most. Anyhow, except for my mother, I am not sorry I have made the trip in the Belle Maire. I have seen a lot of life, and have had a rare adventure; and I have learned so much of sailor's work, that if I am ever driven to it I can work my way anywhere before the mast in future."

Ralph went on board his own ship as soon as he had seen Jacques off, and was soon hard at work assisting to hoist on board hogsheads of sugar and other produce. He was startled by the sound of a heavy gun. It was answered presently by all the ships of war in the harbor and by the forts on shore, and for five minutes the heavy cannonade continued. The captain, who had been on shore, crossed the gangway on to the ship as the crew were gazing in surprise at the cannonade, exchanging guesses as to its cause.

"I have great news, lads," he said. "Peace is proclaimed, and Napoleon has surrendered, and is to be shut up in the Isle of Elba in the Mediterranean. No more fear of privateers or French prisons."

The crew burst into a hearty cheer. This was indeed surprising news. It was known that Wellington was gradually driving back the French marshals in the south of France, and that the allies were marching toward Paris. But Napoleon had been so long regarded as invincible, that no one had really believed that his downfall was imminent.

Four days later the cargo was all on board, and the Fanny sailed for England. The voyage was accomplished without adventure. As soon as the vessel entered dock and the crew were discharged Ralph landed, and having purchased a suit of landsman clothes, presented his kit to a lad of about his own age, who had been his special chum on board the Fanny, and then made his way to the inn from which the coaches for Dover started. Having secured a place for next day, dined, and ordered a bed, he passed the evening strolling about the streets of London, and next morning at six o'clock took his place on the coach.

"Going back from school, I suppose, young gentleman?" a military-looking man seated next to him on the coach remarked as soon as they had left the streets behind them, and were rattling along the Old Kent Road.

"No, I am not going home from school," Ralph said with a smile. "At least not from the sort of school you mean; though I have been learning a good deal too. I arrived yesterday from the West Indies."

"Indeed!" the gentleman said, scrutinizing him closely. "I see you look sunburned and weather-beaten now that I look at you; but somehow I should not have put you down as a sailor."

"Well, I am not exactly a sailor; though I may say I have worked as one before the mast both out and home. That was my first experience; and I suppose one takes longer than that to get the regular nautical manner."

"Before the mast, were you? Then I suppose you have been getting into some scrape at home, young sir, and run away; for, from your appearance, you would hardly have been before the mast otherwise. Boys never know what is good for them. But I suppose after your experience you will be inclined to put up with any disagreeables you may have at home rather than try running away again?"

"You are mistaken!" Ralph said with a laugh. "I did not run away. I was run away with!"

"Kidnapped!" the gentleman said in surprise. "I know that merchantmen have often difficulty in getting hands owing to the need of men for the navy, but I did not know that they had taken to press-gangs on their own account."

"No, I don't know that they have come to that," Ralph replied. "The fact is, sir, I was out fishing a few miles off Dover, when the smack I was in was run down in the dark by a French privateer. I was hauled on board, and as she was bound for the West Indies I had to make the voyage whether I liked it or not."

"How long ago is it that you were run down?"

"About five months," Ralph replied.

"Why, you are not the son of Mrs. Conway of Dover, are you?"

"Yes, I am, sir. Do you know her, and can you tell me how she is?" Ralph asked eagerly.

"I believe that she is well, although of course she must have suffered very greatly at your disappearance. I haven't the pleasure of knowing her personally, but several friends of mine are acquainted with her. I heard the matter talked about at the time the boat was missing. Some portions of her were picked up by other fishing boats, and by the shattered state of some of the planks they said that she had been run down; beside, there had been no wind about the time she disappeared, so that there was little doubt some vessel or other had cut her down. I happened to hear of it from Colonel Bryant, who is a friend of your mother."

"Yes, I know him," Ralph put in.

"I have heard Colonel Bryant say that she has not altogether abandoned hope, and still clings to the idea that you may have been run down by some outward-bound ship and that you had been saved and carried away, and that she declares that she shall not give up all hope until ample time has elapsed for a ship to make the voyage to India and return."

"I am very glad of that," Ralph said. "It has been a great trouble to me that she would be thinking all this time that I was dead. I should not have minded having been carried away so much if I had had a chance of writing to her to tell her about it; but I never did have a chance, for I came home by the very first ship that left Port Royal after I arrived there."

"But how did you get away from the French privateerwas she captured?"

"Well, it is rather a long story, sir," Ralph said modestly.

"All the better," the gentleman replied. "We have got fourteen hours journey before us, and your story will help pass the time; so don't try to cut it short, but let me have it in full." Ralph thereupon told the story, which lasted until the coach reached Tunbridge, where it stopped for the passengers to dine.

"Well, that is an adventure worth going through," the officer, who had already mentioned that his name was Major Barlow, said; "and it was well for you, lad, that you possessed good spirits and courage. A man who is cheerful and willing under difficulties will always make his way in the world, while one who repines and kicks against his fate only makes it harder for him. I have no doubt that if, instead of taking matters coolly when you found yourself on board the privateer you had fretted and grumbled, you would have been made a drudge and kicked and cuffed by everyone on board. You would not have had a chance of landing at that island or of being chosen to make the signal when they went away, and you would now be leading the life of a dog on board that brig. Cheerful and willing are two of the great watchwords of success in life, and certainly you have found it so."

It was eight o'clock when the coach rattled up the streets of Dover. Major Barlow had already offered Ralph to take him to Colonel Bryant's quarters, and to ask the colonel to go with him to call on Mrs. Conway and prepare her for Ralph's coming.

CHAPTER VII.

A COMMISSION.

Colonel Bryant was just rising from dinner at the mess when Major Barlow and Ralph arrived at the barracks, and after congratulating the lad on his return he willingly agreed to accompany them to Mrs. Conway. A quarter of an hour's walk took them to her house. Ralph remained outside when the two officers entered. Colonel Bryant lost no time in opening the subject.

"I have brought my friend Major Barlow to introduce to you, Mrs. Conway, because he has happened to hear some news that may, I think, bear upon the subject that you have most at heart."

"Ralph!" Mrs. Conway exclaimed, clasping her hands.

"We think it may refer to your son, Mrs. Conway," Major Barlow said. "I have just returned from town, and happened to hear that a vessel had been spoken with that reported having picked up a lad from a smack run down in the channel some five months ago, which corresponds pretty well, I think, with the time your son was missing."

"Just the time," Mrs. Conway said. "Did they not say the name?"

"Well, yes. The name, as far as I heard it, for as I had not the pleasure of knowing you I was not of course so interested in the matter, was the same as yours."

"I think that there is no doubt about it, Mrs. Conway," Colonel Bryant said kindly. "I consider you may quite set your mind at ease, for I have no doubt whatever it is your son who has been picked up." Mrs. Conway was so much overcome that she sank into a chair and sat for a short time with her face in her hand, crying happy tears and thanking God for his mercy. Then with a great effort she aroused herself.

"You will excuse my emotion, gentlemen, and I am sure you can understand my feelings. I am thankful indeed for the news you have brought me. I have never ceased for a moment to hope that my boy would be restored to me; but the knowledge that it is so, and that God has spared him to me, is for the moment overpowering. And where was the ship met with, Major Barlow, and where was she bound for? How long do you think it is likely to be before Ralph comes home?"

"Well, Mrs. Conway," Major Barlow said, hesitating a little, "the ship was bound for India; but I understood from what was said that the vessel, that is the vessel that brought the news, had also brought home the lad who had been carried away."

"Then, in that case," Mrs. Conway cried, "he may be home in a day or two. Perhapsperhapsand she paused and looked from one to the other.

"Perhaps he is here already," Colonel Bryant said gently. "Yes, Mrs. Conway, if you feel equal to it you may see him at once." No word was needed. Major Barlow opened the door, went through the hall, and called Ralph, and in another moment the lad was clasped in his mother's arms, and the two officers without another word went quietly out and left them to themselves. It was some time before a coherent word could be spoken by mother or son, and it was not until they had knelt down together and returned thanks to God for Ralph's restoration that they were able to talk quietly of what had passed. Then Mrs. Conway poured out question after question, but Ralph refused to enter upon a narrative of his adventures.

"It's a long story, mother, and will keep very well till to-morrow. It is past nine o'clock now, and I am sure that you want a night's rest after this excitement; and after fourteen hours on a coach, I sha'n't be sorry to be in bed myself. Beside, I want you to tell me first how you have been getting on while I have been away, and all the news about everyone; but even that will keep. I think, mother, a cup of tea first and then bed will be best for us both."

The next morning Ralph related all his adventures to his mother, who was surprised indeed at his story.

"I suppose poor old Joe was never heard of, mother?"

"No, Ralph. His son has been up here a good many times to inquire if we had any news of you. He has gone into another fishing boat now, and his sister has gone out to service. Their mother died years ago, you know."

"I was afraid that he had gone straight down, mother. Nobody on board the brig heard any cry or shout for help. He must have been injured in the collision."

"I must write to-day to Mr. Penfold. He has written to me several times, and has been most kind. He has all along said that he believed you would turn up one of these days, for as the weather was fine and the sea fairly calm when you were run down, the probabilities in favor of your being picked up were great, especially as you were such a good swimmer. I am sure he will be delighted to hear of your return."

"I hope he will not be wanting me to go straight off down there again," Ralph said ruefully. "I was only back with you one day, mother, after my visit to them, and now I have been five months away it will be very hard if I am to be dragged off again."

"I am sure Mr. Penfold will not be so unreasonable as to want to take you away from me," Mrs. Conway said.

"And am I to go back to school again, mother?"

"Not now, certainly, Ralph. The holidays will be beginning in a fortnight again; beside, you know, we were talking anyhow of your leaving at the end of this half year."

"That's right, mother. It's high time I was doing something for myself. Beside, after doing a man's work for the last five months I shouldn't like to settle down to lessons again."

"Well, we must think about it, Ralph, You know I consented greatly against my will to your choosing the army for your profession, and I am not going to draw back from that. You are just sixteen now, and although that is rather young I believe that a good many lads do get their commissions somewhere about that age. In one of his letters Mr. Penfold said that as soon as you came back he would take the matter in hand, and though I have good interest in other quarters and could probably manage it, Mr. Penfold has a great deal more than I have, and as he has expressed his willingness to arrange it I shall be grateful to him for doing so."

"That will be first rate, mother," Ralph said in delight. "I thought in another year I might get my commission; but of course it would be ever so much better to get it a year earlier."

For the next few days Ralph was a hero among his boy friends, and had to tell his story so often that at last he told his mother that if it wasn't for leaving her so soon he should be quite ready to go off again for another visit to Mr. Penfold.

"You won't be called upon to do that," she said smiling; "for this letter that I have just opened is from him, and he tells me he is coming here at once to see you, for he thinks it would be too hard to ask me to spare you again so soon."

"You don't mean to say that he is coming all that way?" Ralph said in surprise. "Well, I am very glad."

"He asks me in his letter," Mrs. Conway said with a passing smile of amusement, "if I can take in a young friend of his, Miss Mabel Withers. He says she has never been from home before, and that it would be a treat for her to get away and see a little of the world. He is going to stop a few days in London, and show her the sights on his way back."

"That will be very jolly, mother. You know I told you what a nice sort of girl she was, and how well we got on together. I don't know how I should have got through my visit there if it hadn't been for her. Her father and mother were very kind too, and I was often over at their house."

Mr. Penfold had not succeeded in inducing Mr. and Mrs. Withers to allow Mabel to accompany him without much argument. "You know what I have set my mind on, Mrs. Withers," he said. "But of course such an idea doesn't enter the young people's heads, it would be very undesirable that it should do. But now Ralph has returned he will be wanting to get his commission at once, and then he may be away on foreign service for years, and I do think it would be a good thing for the young people to see as much of each other as possible before he goes. If anything happens to me before he comes back, and you know how probable it is that this will be the case, they would meet almost as strangers, and I do want to see my pet scheme at least on the way to be carried out before I go. It would be a treat for Mabel, and I am sure that Mrs. Conway will look after her well."

"How long are you thinking of stopping there, Mr. Penfold?"

"Oh, ten days or a fortnight. I shall be a day or two in town as I go through, for I want to arrange about Ralph's commission. Then, perhaps, I shall persuade Mrs. Conway to come up with Ralph to town with us, and to go about with the young people to see the sights. Now, if you and Mrs. Withers would join us there, that would complete my happiness."

The clergyman and his wife both said that this was impossible. But Mr. Penfold urged his request with so much earnestness, that at last they agreed to come up to town and stay with him at a hotel. And, indeed, when they recovered from the first surprise at the proposal, both of them thought that the trip would be an extremely pleasant one; for in those days it was quite an event in the lives of people residing at a distance from a town to pay a visit to the metropolis.

"Then everything is arranged delightfully," Mr. Penfold said. "This will be a holiday indeed for me; and however much you may all enjoy yourselves I shall enjoy myself a great deal more. Now, I suppose I may tell Mabel of our arrangement?"

"But you don't know that Mrs. Conway will take her in yet. Surely you are going to wait to hear from her?"

"Indeed I am not, Mrs. Withers. I am as impatient as a schoolboy to be off. And I am perfectly certain that Mrs. Conway will be very glad to receive her. She knows Mabel, for I have given her an idea of my fancy about that matter; and of course she will be glad to learn something of your girl."

"But she may not have a spare room," Mrs. Withers urged feebly.

"It is not likely," Mr. Penfold said decisively; "and if there should be any difficulty on that score it will be very easily managed, as Ralph can give up his room to Mabel, and come and stay at the hotel with me."

Mr. Withers laughed. "I see that it is of no use raising objections, Penfold; you are armed at all points. I scarcely know you, and have certainly never seen you possessed of such a spirit of determination."

Mr. Penfold smiled. "It would have been better for me, perhaps, if I had always been so determined, Withers. At any rate I mean to have my own way in this matter. I have not had a real holiday for years."

So Mr. Penfold had his own way, and carried off Mabel wild with delight and excitement upon the day after he had received Mrs. Conway's letter. There was no shade of embarrassment in the meeting between Mrs. Conway and the man who had once been her lover. It was like two old and dear friends who had long been separated and now come together again. Mr. Penfold's first words after introducing Mabel had reference to Ralph.

"Your boy has grown quite a man, Mary, in the last six months. I scarcely recognized the bronzed young fellow who met vis at the coach office as the lad who was down with me in the summer. Don't you see the change, Mabel?"

"Yes, he is quite different," the girl said. "Why, the first time I saw him he was as shy as shy could be. It was quite hard work getting on with him. Now he seems quite a man."

"Nothing like that yet, Mabel," Ralph protested.

"Not a man!" Mr. Penfold exclaimed. "What! after wandering about as a pirate, capturing ships, and cutting men's throats for anything I know, and taking part in all sorts of atrocities? I think he's entitled to think himself very much a man."

Ralph laughed.

"Not as bad as that, Mr. Penfold. They did take one ship, but I had nothing to do with it; and there were no throats cut. I simply made a voyage out and back as a boy before the mast; and, as far as I hare been concerned, the ship might have been a peaceful trader instead of a French privateer."

"Well, Mary, you have not changed much all these years," Mr. Penfold said turning to Mrs. Conway, while the two young people began to talk to each other. "I had thought you would be much more changed; but time has treated you much more kindly than it has me. You are thirty-seven, if I remember right, and you don't look thirty. I am forty, and look at the very least ten years older."

Mrs. Conway did not contradict him, for she could not have done so with truth.

"You are changed, Herbert; a great deal changed," she said sadly, "although I should have know you anywhere. You are so much thinner than when I saw you last; but your eyes have not changed, nor your smile. Of course your hair having got gray makes a difference, andand" and she stopped.

"I am changed altogether, Mary. I was a headstrong, impetuous young fellow then. I am a fragile and broken man now. But I am happy to meet you again. Very happy in the thought that I can benefit your son. I have an interest in life now that I wanted before; and in spite of my being anxious about Ralph while he was away, have been happier for the last six months than I have been for seventeen years past." Mrs. Conway turned away to conceal the tears that stood in her eyes, and a moment later said:

"I am a most forgetful hostess, Mabel. I have not even asked you to take off your things. Please come along and let me show you your room. Supper will be ready in a minute or two, and here are we stopping and forgetting that you and Mr. Penfold must be almost famished."

As soon as they had sat down to supper, Mr. Penfold said. "By the way, Ralph, I have a piece of news for you. We stopped a couple of days, you know, in town, and I saw my friend at the Horse Guards, and had a chat about you. He seemed to think that you would be better if you were a few months older; but as he acknowledged that many commissions had been given to lads under sixteen, and as you had just arrived at that age, and as I told him you have had no end of experience with pirates and buccaneers, and all that sort of thing, he was silenced, and your commission will appear in the next Gazette."

"Oh, Mr. Penfold!" Ralph exclaimed as he leaped from his seat in delight. "I am obliged to you. That is glorious. I hardly even hoped I could get a commission for some months to come. Don't look sad, mother," he said, running round and kissing her. "I shan't be going out of England yet, you know; and now the war is over you need have no fear of my getting killed, and a few months sooner or later cannot make much difference."

"I shall bear it in time, Ralph," his mother said, trying to smile through her tears. "But it comes as a shock just at first."

The sight of his mother's tears sobered Ralph for a time, and during supper the conversation was chiefly supported by Mr. Penfold, who joked Ralph about his coming back in a few years a general without arms or legs; and was, indeed, so cheerful and lively that Mabel could scarcely believe her ears, so wholly unlike was he to the quiet friend she had known as long as she could remember. The next fortnight was a delightful one to Mabel, and indeed to all the party. Every day they went driving-excursions through the country round. Ramsgate and Deal and Folkestone were visited, and they drove over to Canterbury and spent a night there visiting the grand cathedral and the old walls.

The weather was too cold for the water, for Christmas was close at hand; but everything that could be done was done to make the time pass happily. Mrs. Conway exerted herself to lay aside her regrets at Ralph's approaching departure, and to enter into the happiness which Mr. Penfold so evidently felt. The day before their departure for town an official letter arrived for Ralph, announcing that he was gazetted into his majesty's 28th Regiment of foot, and that he was in one month's date from that of his appointment to join his regiment at Cork.

"Now, Miss Mabel," Mr. Penfold said gayly, after the first talk over the commission was concluded, "you will have for the future to treat Mr. Ralph Conway with the respect due to an officer in his majesty's service."

"I don't see any change in him at present," the girl said, examining Ralph gravely.

The boy burst into a laugh.

"Wait till you see him in uniform, Mabel," Mr. Penfold went on. "I am afraid that respect is one of the moral qualities in which you are deficient. Still I think that when you see Ralph in his uniform, you will be struck with awe."

"I don't think so," Mabel said, shaking her head. "I don't think he will frighten me, and I feel almost sure that he won't frighten the Frenchmen."

"My dear child," Mr. Penfold said gravely, "you don't know what Ralph is going to turn out yet. When you see him come back from the wars seven or eight inches taller than he is now, with great whiskers, and perhaps three or four ornamental scars on his face, you will be quite shocked when you reflect that you once treated this warrior as a playfellow."

Upon the following day the party went up to London, and were joined next morning by Mr. and Mrs. Withers. Mabel declared that she did not think any people ever could have enjoyed themselves so much as they all did. They went to Exeter 'Change to see the animals and to the theater at Drury Lane, to the Tower and Ranelagh Gardens, to Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's, and they went down by coach to Hampton Court and to Greenwich, and they saw his majesty the king review the Guards in Hyde Park. Altogether it was a glorious fortnight. Mr. Penfold was the life and soul of the party, and had he had his way they would have seen far more than they did. But Mr. and Mrs. Withers and Mrs. Conway all said that they wanted to enjoy themselves and not to be worn out, and several times they stayed at home when Mr. Penfold and the two young people went to see sights, or to wander about the streets and look at the shops, which was as great a treat as any thing. Mr. Penfold went with Ralph to a military tailor and ordered his outfit, and to other shops, where he purchased such a stock of other garments that Mrs. Conway declared Ralph would require nothing for years. On the last day of the fortnight the uniforms and trunks and clothes all arrived at the hotel, and of course Ralph had to dress up and buckle on his sword for the first time. Mrs. Conway shed a few tears, and would have shed more had not Mr. Penfold made every one laugh so; and Mabel was seized with a fit of shyness for the first time in her life when Mr. Penfold insisted that the ladies should all kiss the young officer in honor of the occasion. And the next morning the whole party went down to the wharf below London Bridge to see Ralph on board the packet for Cork. Before leaving the hotel Mr. Penfold slipped an envelope with ten crisp five pound notes in it into Ralph's hand.

"I have paid in, my boy, two hundred pounds to the regimental agents, and in future shall make you an allowance of the same amount every year. You will see what other officers spend. My advice to you is: do not spend more than others, and do not spend less. Money will keep very well, you know, and a little reserve may always come in useful. When you once go on foreign service you will not find much occasion for money. I want you just to hold your own with others. I consider that it is quite as unfortunate for a young man to spend more than those around him as it is for him to be unable to spend as much. No, I don't want any thanks at all. I told your mother I should look after you, and I am going to, and it has given a vast pleasure to me to have such an interest. Write to me occasionally, my boy; your letters will give me great pleasure. And should you get into any scrape, tell me frankly all about it."

The evening before Mrs. Conway had had a long talk with Ralph. "I do not think I need to give you much advice, my boy. You have already been out in the world on your own account, and have shown that you can make your way. You are going into a life, Ralph, that has many temptations. Do not give way to them, my boy. Above all, set your face against what is the curse of our times: over-indulgence in wine. It is the ruin of thousands. Do not think it is manly to be vicious because you see others are. Always live, if you can, so that if you kept a true diary you could hand it to me to read without a blush on your cheek; and always bear in mind, that though I shall not be there to see you, a higher and purer eye will be upon you. You will try; won't you, Ralph?"

"I will indeed, mother."

Mr. Penfold did his best to keep up the spirits of all of the party when they parted on board the packet; but Mrs. Conway quite broke down at last. Mabel cried unrestrainedly, and his own eyes had a suspicious moisture in them as he shook hands with Ralph. Fortunately they had arrived a little late at the wharf, and the partings were consequently cut short. The bell rang, and all the visitors were hurried ashore; then the hawsers were thrown off and the sails hoisted. As long as the party remained in sight Ralph stood on the stern waving his handkerchief to them; then, having removed the traces of tears from his cheeks, he turned to look at what was going on around him.

The packet was a brig of about two hundred tons, and she carried about twenty passengers, of whom fully half Ralph judged by their appearance to be military men. Before they had reached the mouth of the river he found that one among them Captain O'Connor, belonged to his own regiment, as did another young fellow about his own age named Stapleton, who had been gazetted on the same day as himself. Captain O'Connor, who was a cheery Irishman, full of life and spirits, at once took Ralph in hand, and was not long in drawing from him the story of his adventures with the privateers.

"You will do, my lad. I can see you have got the roughness rubbed off you already, and will get on capitally with the regiment. I can't say as much for that young fellow Stapleton. He seems to be completely puffed up with the sense of his own importance, and to be an unlicked sort of cub altogether. However, I have known more unlikely subjects than he is turn out decent fellows after a course of instruction from the boys; but he will have rather a rough time of it at first I expect. You will be doing him a kindness if you take an opportunity to tell him that a newly-joined ensign is not regarded in the same light as a commander-in-chief. It is like a new boy going to school, you know. If fellows find out he is a decent sort of boy, they soon let him alone; but if he is an ass, especially a conceited ass, he has rather a rough time of it. As you are in the same cabin with him, and have had the advantage of having knocked about the world a bit, you might gently hint this to him."

"I have been chatting with him a bit," Ralph said. "He has never been to school, but has been brought up at home, and I think from what he said he is the heir to an estate. He seemed rather to look down upon schools."

"So much the worse for him," Captain O'Connor said. "There is nothing like a school for bringing a fellow to his level, unless it is a regiment; and the earlier in life the process takes place the less painful it is."

"I don't think he will turn out a bad sort of fellow," Ralph said. "He is, as you say, rather an ass at present. I will do what I can to give him a hint; but as I should say he is at least a year older than I am, I do not suppose it will be of much use."

The voyage was a pleasant one, and Ralph was quite sorry when they entered the Cove of Cork and dropped anchor. The next morning the ship sailed up the river, and the following day the party disembarked. Captain O'Connor's servant came on board as soon as the vessel reached the quay, and his master charged him to pick out his luggage and that of the two young officers; he then at once proceeded with them to the barracks. Ralph felt extremely pleased that Captain O'Connor was with them, as he felt none of the shyness and unpleasantness he would otherwise have experienced in joining a set of entire strangers.

Captain O'Connor was evidently a favorite in the regiment, for his arrival was heartily greeted. He at once introduced the two lads to their future comrades, took them to the colonel, looked after their quarters, and made them at home. In their absence he spoke warmly in favor of Ralph. "You will find Conway a first-rate young fellow. He has seen something of the world, has been carried out to the West Indies by a French privateersman, and has gone through a lot of adventures. He is a bright, pleasant, good-tempered fellow. The other is as green as grass, and has never been away from his mother's apron-string. However, I do not think you will find him a bad sort of fellow when he has got rid of his rawness. Don't be too hard upon him, you boys. Remember easy does it, and don't be pushing your jokes too far. He is not a fool and will come round in time."

CHAPTER VIII.

STARTLING NEWS.

Three weeks after Ralph's departure to join his regiment Mrs. Conway received a letter which gave her a great shook. It was from Mrs. Withers, and was as follows:

"MY DEAR MRS. CONWAY: I have very sad news to tell you. An event has happened which will, I know, be as afflicting to you as it has been to us. Our dear friend Mr. Penfold, who but three weeks ago was so bright and happy with us in London, has passed away suddenly. Up to the day before yesterday he seemed in his usual health; but yesterday morning he did not appear at breakfast, and the servant on going up to his room, found him sitting in a chair by his bedside dead. The bed had not been slept in, and it appears as if before commencing to undress he had been seized with a sudden faintness and had sunk into the chair and died without being able to summon assistance.

"His death is a terrible shock to us, as it will be to you. My husband and myself have long been aware that our dear friend suffered from disease of the heart, and that the doctor he consulted in London had told him that his death might take place at any moment. At the same time, he had been so bright and cheerful in London, as indeed with us he was at all times, that his death comes almost with as great a surprise to us as if we had not known that he was in danger. Mr. Tallboys, the solicitor of Weymouth who managed Mr. Penfold's affairs, called here last night. The funeral is to take place on Thursday, and had Ralph been in England he said that he should have written to him to come down to it, which he could have done in time had he started immediately he received the letter announcing the event; but as he is over in Ireland, of course nothing can be done.

"He said that had Ralph come he should have suggested that you also should be present at the reading of the will, but that as matters stand he did not think there was any occasion to trouble you. I should tell you that Mr. Tallboys appeared a good deal worried, and one of his reasons for calling was to ask my husband whether he knew where Mr. Penfold was in the habit of keeping his papers. It seems that upon the day after his return from London Mr. Penfold called upon him and took away his will, saying that he wanted to look over it, as he had two or three slight alterations that he wanted to make, and he would bring it back in the course of a day or two and get him to make the changes required. From that time Mr. Penfold had not been in Weymouth, and, indeed, had scarcely left the house except to come down here; for, as he said to my husband, he did not feel quite himself, and supposed it was a reaction after his late dissipations.

"Mr. Tallboys, who is one of the executors named in the will, had searched for it in the afternoon among Mr. Penfold's papers; but found that it and several other documentsleases and so onof importance were all missing. He had asked Miss Penfold if she knew where her brother was in the habit of keeping important papers; but she replied shortly that she knew nothing whatever of her brother's business matters. He had, therefore, driven over to ask my husband, knowing how intimate he had been with poor Herbert. He knew, it seems, that Mr. Penfold had some secure place for such papers, because he had one day spoken to him upon the subject, saying it would be more prudent for him to leave the leases in the strong-box in his office at Weymouth. But Herbert replied that they were stowed away in a far safer place, and that he had not the least fear in the world of their being stolen.

"Now, this is just what my husband knew also. Once when they were chatting together Herbert mentioned that the house like many other old mansions contained a secret chamber. He said: 'I can't tell you where it is, Withers; for although it is never likely to be used again, the knowledge of this hiding-place has been passed down from generation to generation as a family secret. I gave a solemn promise never to reveal it when I was first informed of its existence; and although in these days there is no occasion to hide priests or conspirators, I do not consider myself released from the promise I gave. Possibly some day the hiding-place may prove of value again. There may be a price set on the head of a Penfold, who can tell? Anyhow it is likely to remain a secret as long as the old house stands; and in the meantime I find it a useful place for keeping things that I do not want lying about.' Mr. Tallboys appeared very vexed at hearing what my husband said.

"'It is very strange.' he said, 'that sensible men will do such foolish things. It is probable enough that Herbert Penfold has placed this will in the hiding-place you speak of, and in that case I foresee that we shall have no end of trouble. I know you are both aware of the nature of Mr. Penfold's will, and you may be sure that if those sisters of his also know of itwhether they do or not I can't saythey will bitterly resent it. I know enough of the family history to know that. It was evident by Miss Penfold's answer to me to-day that either she does not know the secret of this hiding-placewhich is of course possibleor that if she does know she does not mean to say. I should imagine myself that she does know.

"'Had Herbert Penfold been of age when his father died it is likely enough that he only as head of the family would have been told by his father of its existence; but you see he was but a lad at that time, while the Miss Penfolds were women, and were therefore probably informed of the secret. It is very awkward, extremely awkward. Of course the will may turn up between this and the funeral; but if not I hardly know what steps had best be taken. If those Penfold women have made up their minds that this will shall not see the light they are likely to carry it through to the end. My husband quite agreed with Mr. Tallboys about that, and so do I. I have never been able to abide them, though, as my husband says, they are good women in many respects, and always ready to help in parish matters. Still I can't abide them, nor I am sure have you any reason to do so; for when I and my husband first came here we learned a good deal of the part they had played in a certain matter, and that of course set me altogether against them.

"Of course, my dear Mrs. Conway, I do not wish to alarm you about the will; still you ought to know how things stand, and my husband this morning asked me to tell you all there was to tell. I hope in a few days to be able to write and give you better news. Things may not be as they fear."

Mrs. Conway sat for a long time with this letter before her. She had not read it straight through, but after glancing at the first few lines that told of the death of Herbert Penfold she had laid it aside, and it was a long time before she took it up again. He had been the love of her youth; and although he had seemingly gone for so many years out of her life, she knew that when she had found how he had all this time watched over her and so delicately aided her, and that for her sake he was going to make Ralph his heir, her old feeling had been revived. Not that she had any thought that the past would ever return. His letters indeed had shown that he regarded his life as approaching its end; but since the receipt of that letter she had always thought of him with a tender affection as one who might have been her husband had not either evil fate or malice stepped in to prevent it.

The fortnight they had spent in London had brought them very close together. He had assumed the footing of a brother, but she had felt that pleasant and kind as he was to all the rest of the party it was for her sake alone that this festivity had been arranged. They had had but one talk together alone, and she had then said that she hoped the expressions he had used in his letter to her with reference to his health were not altogether justified, for he seemed so bright and well. He had shaken his head quietly and said:

"It is just as well that you should know, Mary. I have seen my physician since I came up to town, and I don't think it will last much longer. A little time ago I did not wish it to last, now I should be glad to go on until I can see my little scheme realized; but I am quite sure that it is not to be. Anyhow I am ready to go when I am summoned, and am happy in the thought that the few people I care for are all in a fair way to be happy. Don't cry, dear. I don't want a single cloud to hang over our memories of this time. I am happier than I have ever been in my life, and I want you and all of them to be very happy too. I have set my mind upon that, and if I see a cloud on your face it will spoil it all."

Still in spite of this she had hoped the doctor might have taken too gloomy a view of the case, and that Herbert Penfold's death might yet be a distant event.

And now it was all over. Herbert Penfold was dead. The heart that had beat so kindly for her was silenced forever. It was then a long time before Mrs. Conway recovered sufficiently from her emotion to take up the letter again. She did so with an air almost of indifference. She had learned the news, and doubtless all this long epistle contained many details of comparatively little interest. But as she read her air of languid grief gave way to an expression of keen interest, and she skimmed through the last page or two with anxious haste. Then she reread it more slowly and carefully, and then throwing it on the table stood up and walked up and down the little room.

So these women, who had as she believed ruined her life and Herbert's, were now going to attack her son and rob him of his rights. They should not do it if she could help it. Never! Mary Vernon had been a high-spirited girl, and, although those who had only known her through her widowhood would have taken her for a gentle and quiet woman, whose thoughts were entirely wrapped up in her boy, the old spirit was alive yet, as with head thrown back, and an angry flush on her cheeks, she declared to herself that she would defend Ralph's rights to the last. How or in what manner she did not ask; she only knew that those who would defraud him were her old enemies.

Had it been otherwise the fact that they were Herbert's sisters would have softened her toward them; now that fact only added to the hostility she bore them. They, his nearest relations of blood, had ruined his life; now they would defeat his dying wishes. It should not be if she could help it. She would fight against it to the last day of her life. There was of course nothing to be done yet. Nothing until she heard again. Nothing until she knew that the discovery of the will was given up as hopeless. Then it would be time for her to do something.

The thought barely occurred to her that the loss of this will might make material difference in her own circumstances, and that the allowance Herbert Penfold had made her, and which he had doubtless intended she should continue to receive, would cease. That was so secondary a consideration that it at present gave her no trouble. It was of Ralph she thought. Of Ralph and Herbert. Were the plans that the latter had madethe plans that had given happiness to the last year of the life of him who had known so little happinessto be shattered? This to her mind was even more than the loss that Ralph would suffer.

"They may have destroyed the will," she said at last; "but if not I will find it, if it takes me all my life to do so."

A week later two letters arrived. The one was from Mrs. Withers. The will had not been found. Mr. Tallboys had searched in vain. Every cabinet and drawer in the house had been ransacked. No signs whatever had been found of the will.

"Mr. Tallboys is perfectly convinced that it must be hidden in some altogether exceptional place. The will was not a bulky document, and might have been stowed away in a comparatively small hiding-place, such as a secret drawer in a cabinet; but the leases that are also missing are bulky, and would take up so large a space that he is convinced that had a secret hiding-place sufficiently large to hold them existed in any of the articles of furniture he has searched he should have discovered it.

"Of course, my dear Mrs. Conway, we feel this matter personally, as our Mabel was as you know made joint-heiress with your Ralph of Herbert's property. We cannot but feel, however, that the loss is greater in your case than in ours. Mabel was never informed of Herbert's intentions toward her, and although we should of course have been glad to know that our child had such brilliant prospects, the loss of them will not we may hope in any way affect her happiness. In the case of your son it is different, and his prospects in life will of course be seriously affected by the loss, and my husband begs me to express to you his very deep regret at this.

"We have talked over your letter together, and while fully sharing your indignation at the conduct of the Misses Penfold, hardly see that anything can be done to discover the will. However, should you be able to point out any manner in which a search for it can be carried on, we shall be happy to do what we can to aid in the matter, as it is clearly our duty to endeavor to obtain for Mabel the fortune Herbert Penfold willed to her. Mr. Tallboys tells us that it is clear the Misses Penfold have quite determined upon their line of conduct. Whatever they may know they have declined altogether to aid him in his search for the will, Miss Penfold saying, in reply to his request that they would do so, that they had every reason to believe from what their brother had let fall that the will was an unjust and iniquitous one; that if Providence intended it should see the light it would see it; but they at least would do nothing in the matter.

"He asked them plainly if they were aware of the existence of any place in which it was likely that their brother had placed it. To this Miss Penfold, who is, as she has always been, the spokesman of the two sisters, said shortly, that she had never seen the will, that she didn't want to see it, and that she did not know where her brother had placed it; indeed, for aught she knew, he might have torn it up. As to hiding-places, she knew of no hiding-place whose existence she could, in accordance with the dictates of her conscience divulge. So that is where we are at present, Mrs. Conway. I believe that Mr. Tallboys is going to try and get a copy of the will that he has in his possession admitted under the circumstances as proof of Herbert Penfold's intentions. But he owned to us that he thought it was very doubtful whether he should be able to do so, especially as Herbert had stated to him that he intended to make alterations; and it would be quite possible that a court might take the view that in the first place the alterations might have been so extensive as to affect the whole purport of the will, and in the second place that he might have come to the conclusion that it would be easier to make the whole will afresh, and so had destroyed the one he had by him."

Mrs. Conway laid down the letter, and after thinking for a time opened the other, which was in a handwriting unknown to her. It began:

"DEAR MADAM.: Mrs. Withers tells me that she has informed you of the singular disappearance of the will of my late client, Mr. Herbert Penfold. I beg to inform you that we shall not let this matter rest, but shall apply to the court to allow the copy of the will to be put in for probate; if that is refused, for authorization to make a closer search of the Hall than we have hitherto been able to do, supporting our demand with affidavits made by the Rev. Mr. Withers and ourselves of our knowledge that, the late Mr. Penfold was accustomed to keep documents in some secret receptacle. In the second place, we are glad to inform you that the annual sum paid by us into the Kentish bank to your credit will not be affected by the loss of the will; for at the time when that payment first commenced, Mr. Penfold signed a deed making this payment a first charge on the rents of two of his farms during your lifetime. This assignment was of a binding character, and of course continues to hold good. We shall consider it our duty to acquaint you from time to time with the course of proceedings in the matter of the late Mr. Penfold's will."

Little as Mrs. Conway had thought of herself from the time when she first heard that the will was missing, the news that her income would remain unchanged delighted her. She had formed no plans for herself, but had vaguely contemplated the necessity of giving up her house as soon as it was decided that the will could not be found, selling her furniture, and for the present taking a small lodging. She was glad that there would be no occasion for this; but very much more glad that she should be able now to make Ralph an allowance of seventy or eighty pounds a year, which would make all the difference between his living comfortably and being obliged to pinch himself in every way to subsist upon his pay. It would also enable her to carry out without difficulty any plans she might determine upon.

Upon the receipt of the letter announcing Mr. Penfold's death, she had written to Ralph telling him of it, but saying nothing about Mr. Tallboys' visit to the Withers, or his report that he was unable to find the will. She now wrote to him relating the whole circumstances. He had not previously known Mr. Penfold's intention to make him his heir, being only told that he intended to push his way in life, and had considered that the promise was carried out by his obtaining him a commission and arranging some allowance. His mother was glad of this now.

"Of course the loss of Mr. Penfold's will, my boy, will make a difference to you, as there can be no doubt that he had made some provisions in it for the regular payment of the allowance he had so kindly promised you. This, unless the will is found, you will of course lose. Having been a soldier's daughter, I know that to live comfortably in the army it is necessary to have something beyond your pay; but fortunately I can assist you a little. I have now one less to feed and clothe, and no schooling expenses; and I have been calculating things up, and find that I can allow you seventy-five pounds a year without making any difference in the manner of my living. You will be able to see that for yourself. You need, therefore, feel no hesitation in accepting this allowance."

"It is not a large one; but I know it will make a very great difference in your comfort, and it will be a great pleasure to me to know that you will be able to enter into what amusements are going on and not to look at every penny. It makes all the difference in the world whether one has four and sixpence or nine shillings a day to live upon. You wrote and told me of the handsome present Mr. Penfold made you at parting. This, my boy, I should keep if I were you as a reserve, only to be touched in case of unexpected difficulties or needs. No one can ever say when such needs may occur. I hope you will not pain me by writing to say you don't want this allowance, because nothing you can say will alter my determination to pay that allowance regularly every quarter into your agent's hands; and it will be, of course, very much more pleasant to me to know that it is as much a pleasure to you to be helped by me as it is to me to help you, I have heard several times from Mrs. Withers; they are all well, and she asked me to send their remembrances to you when I write. I do not give up all hope that the will may be found one of these days, but it is just as well that we should not build in the slightest upon it."

Ralph's reply came in due time, that is in about a fortnight afterward; for Mrs. Conway's letter had first to go by coach to London, and then a two days' journey by the mail to Liverpool, then by the sailing packet across to Dublin, and then down to Cork by coach. He had already written expressing his regret at the news of Mr. Penfold's death.

"My dear mother," he began. "It is awfully good of you to talk about making an allowance to me. After what you say, of course I cannot think of refusing it, though I would do so if I thought the payment would in the slightest way inconvenience you. But as you say that now I am away it will make something like that sum difference in your expenses, I must of course let you do as you like, and can only thank you very heartily for it. But I could really have got on very well without it. I fancy that a good many men in the regiment have nothing but their pay, and as they manage very well there is no reason I could not manage too.

"Of course in war times things are not kept up so expensively as they were before, and lots of men get commissions who would not have done so when the army was only half its present size, and was considered as a gentlemanly profession instead of a real fighting machine. However, as you say, it is a great deal more pleasant having nine shilling a day to live on instead of four and sixpence.

"I am getting on capitally here. Of course there is a lot of drill, and it is as much as I can do not to laugh sometimes, the sergeant, who is a fierce little man, gets into such wild rages over our blunders.

"I say our blunders, for of course Stapleton and I are drilled with the recruits. However, I think that in another week I shall be over that, and shall then begin to learn my work as an officer. They are a jolly set of fellows here, always up to some fun or other. I always thought when fellows got to be men they were rather serious, but it seems to me that there is ever so much more fun here among them than there was at school. Of course newcomers get worried a little just as they do at school. I got off very well; because, you see, what with school and the privateer I have learned to take things good temperedly, and when fellows see that you are as ready for fun as they are they soon give up bothering you.

"Stapleton has had a lot more trouble; because, you see, he will look at things seriously. I think he is getting a little better now; but he used to get quite mad at first, and of course that made fellows ever so much worse. He would find his door screwed up when he went back after mess; and as soon as they found that he was awfully particular about his boots, they filled them all full of water one night. Then some one got a ladder and threw a lot of crackers into his bedroom in the middle of the night, and Stapleton came rushing down in his night-shirt with his sword drawn, swearing he would kill somebody.

"Of course I have done all I can to get them to leave him alone, for he is really a good fellow, and explained to them that he had never been to school, or had a chance of learning to keep his temper. But he is getting on now, and will, I think, soon be left alone. This has been an awfully long letter, and there is only just enough candle left for me to get into bed by. Anyhow mother, I am not a bit upset about losing Mr. Penfold's allowance; so don't you worry yourself at all about that."

Some weeks passed on. Mr. Tallboys wrote that he had failed to induce the court to accept the copy of the will, the admission he was forced to make that Mr. Penfold had intended to make an alteration in it being fatal. He had, however, obtained an order authorizing him thoroughly to search the house, and to take down any wainscotting, and to pull up any floors that might appear likely to conceal a hiding-place. A fortnight later he wrote again to announce his failure.

"The Miss Penfolds," he said, "were so indignant that they left the house altogether, and you may believe that we ransacked it from top to bottom. I had four carpenters and two masons with me, and I think we tapped every square foot of wall in the house, took down the wainscotting wherever there was the slightest hollow sound, lifted lots of the flooring, and even wrenched up several of the hearthstones, but could find nothing whatever, except that there was a staircase leading from behind the wainscotting in Mr. Penfold's room to a door covered with ivy, and concealed from view by bushes to the left of the house; but the ivy had evidently been undisturbed for fifty years or so, this passage, even if known to Mr. Penfold, had certainly not been used in his time.

"I truly regret, my dear madam, that the search should have been so unsuccessful, and can only say, that all that could be done has been done. That the will is concealed somewhere I have not a shadow of doubt, unless, of course, it has been torn up before this. As to that I give no opinion; and, indeed, as it is a matter in which women are concerned, your judgment as to the probabilities is much more likely to be correct than mine. As I expected, my business connection with the family has come to an end. The Miss Penfolds have appointed another agent, who has written to me requesting me to hand over all papers connected with the property. This, of course, I shall do. I need hardly say that in no case could I have consented to act for those whom I consider to be unlawful possessors of the property. In conclusion, I can only say that my services will at all times be at your disposal."

Mrs. Conway was scarcely disappointed at the receipt of this letter, for she had quite made up her mind that the will would not be found. These women had clearly made up their minds to deprive Ralph and Mabel of their rights, and unless they had felt perfectly satisfied that no search would discover the hiding-place of the will, they would not improbably have taken it, and either destroyed it or concealed it in some fresh place where the searchers would never be likely to look for it. She did not think it likely, therefore, that the hiding-place would be discovered, and she felt assured that were it discovered it would be found empty.

"Very well," she said, in a quiet, determined voice, as she laid down the letter. "Mr. Tallboys has failed. Now, I shall take up the matter. I dare say you think that you have won, Miss Penfold; that you are now mistress beyond dispute of Herbert's property. You will see the battle has only just begun. It will last, I can tell you, all your lives or mine."

A week later an altogether unexpected event took place. When Mr. and Mrs. Withers were at breakfast a letter arrived from Mr. Littleton, now solicitor to the Miss Penfolds. Upon opening it it was found to contain an offer upon the part of the Miss Penfolds to settle the sum of a hundred a year for life upon Mabel, upon the condition only that the allowance would be stopped upon her marriage, unless that marriage received the approval, in writing, of the Miss Penfolds. The letter was addressed to Mr. Withers, and after reading it through he passed it to his wife without a word. She was too surprised to say anything for a moment, especially as Mabel was in the room, and she laid the letter beside her until breakfast was over and Mabel had gone out.

"Well, James, what do you think of it?" she asked.

"What do you think of it yourself?" he replied.

Mrs. Withers hesitated, and then said: "Well, James, it is a sort of thing that requires so much thinking about that I have scarcely had time to turn it over in my mind yet, especially with Mabel there eating her breakfast opposite, and having no idea that this letter contained anything of such importance to her. I would really rather hear what you think about it." Mr. Withers remained silent, and she went on: "Of course it would be a very nice thing for Mabel to have such a provision for life."

A slight smile passed across Mr. Withers' face, and his wife saw that that was not at all the way in which he looked at it.

"That is just like you men, James," she said a little pettishly. "You ask us what we think about things when you have perfectly made up your minds what you mean to do, whether we agree with you or not."

"I don't think that's often the case with us. Still I did want to see whether the matter would have struck you at once in the same light in which I see it, and I perceive that it has not."

"Well, James, let me hear your view of the matter. I dare say I shall agree with you when you tell me what it is."

"Well, then, Amy," Mr. Withers said seriously, "it appears to me that we cannot accept this offer for Mabel."

Mrs. Withers looked a little blank. The living was not a rich one, and assured as they had been by Mr. Penfold that he intended to provide for Mabel, they had not endeavored to lay by anything for her, and had freely dispensed their surplus income among the sick and needy of the parish. The disappearance of the will had disappointed their hopes, and raised many anxious thoughts in Mrs. Withers' mind respecting Mabel's future, and the offer contained in the letter had therefore filled her with pleasure. But she greatly valued her husband's judgment, and therefore only replied:

"Why, dear?"

"Well, you see, wife, we are both thoroughly agreed that these ladies are depriving Mabel of the fortune Herbert Penfold left her. They are concealing or have destroyed his will, and are at present in what we may call fraudulent possession of his property. Now, I do not think that under these circumstances we can accept a favor at their hands. To do so would be practically to acquiesce in what we consider the robbery of our child, and the acceptance would of course involve a renewal of friendly relations with them; a thing which, believing as we do that they are acting wickedly would be distasteful in the extreme, not to say impossible."

"Of course you are right, dear," Mrs. Withers said, rising from her seat and going over and kissing her husband tenderly. "I had not thought of it in that light at all. In fact I had hardly thought about it at all, except that it would be nice to see Mabel provided for."

"It would be nice, my dear. But we surely need not be anxious about her. We may hope that she will make a happy marriage. We may hope too that we may be spared long enough to make some provision for her, for, of course, we must now curtail our expenses and lay by as much as we can for her. Lastly, dear, we need not be anxious; because we trust that God will provide for her should we not be enabled to do so. But even were I sure that we should both be taken together, I would rather leave her in His hands than accept money wrongfully obtained and condone an abominable action. There is, too, another point from which the matter should be looked at. You see this curious condition that they propose, that the annuity shall be forfeited unless she marry with their sanction. Why should they propose such a condition?"

"I am sure I don't know, James; for of course, we should never give our sanction to her marriage unless we approved of her choice, and surely the Miss Penfolds would not disapprove of a choice that we approved of?"

"Well, they might, my dear. You know how bitterly they disliked Ralph Conway, and how they resented his being at the Hall. It is quite possible they may have had some idea of Herbert's views about him and Mabel, and are determined that he shall not benefit through Mabel by one penny of their brother's property; and this clause is specially designed so that in case the two young people ever should come together they may be able if not to stop itat any rate to stop the annuity. That is the only interpretation I can give to this condition."

"Very likely that is so James. Really these women seem to get more detestable every day."

Mr. Withers smiled at his wife's vehemence. "There is still another reason why we cannot take the money. Ralph Conway has been as much defrauded as Mabel, and his mother, as you see by her letters, is determined not to sit down quietly under the wrong. What she means to do I have not the slightest idea, nor do I think that there is the most remote probability she will ever succeed in finding the will. Tallboys appears to have made a most thorough search of the house, and do what she will she cannot have any opportunity of searching as he has done. Still she clearly has something on her mind. She intends to make some attempt or other to discover the will, which, if found, will benefit Mabel equally with her son. Therefore we cannot but regard her as our friend and ally. Now, were we to accept the money for Mabel we should in fact be acquiescing, not only in the wrong done to her but in that done to Ralph. We should, in fact, be going over to the enemy. We could not take their money and even tacitly connive in her efforts to find the will."

"I agree with you entirely, James. It would be impossible; only I do wish you had said all this before letting me be so foolish as to say that I thought we ought to take it."

"You didn't say so, dear," Mr. Withers said smiling. "You only gave expression to the first natural thought of a mother that it would be a nice thing for Mabel. You had given the matter no further consideration than that, and I was quite sure that as soon as you thought the matter over you would see it in the same light that I do. But I think that before we send off our reply we should put the matter before Mabel herself. I have no doubt whatever what her answer will be, but at the same time she ought to know of the offer which has been made to her."

CHAPTER IX.

MR. TALLBOYS' VISITOR.

Mr. Withers was fully justified in his conviction that there need be no doubt as to the view Mabel would take of the Miss Penfold's offer. The girl had hitherto been in entire ignorance both as to the will being missing, and of the interest she had in it. She was now called in from the garden, and was much surprised when her father told her to sit down, as he and her mother wished to have a serious talk with her.

"Do you know, my little Mabel," he began, "that you have had a narrow escape of being an heiress?"

"An heiress, papa! Do you mean of having a lot of money?"

"Yes, of coming in some day to a fortune. Mr. Penfold some time ago confided to your mother and me his intention of dividing his property equally between Ralph Conway and yourself."

"What! all the Penfold estates, papa, and the house and everything?"

"Yes, my dear. Everything, including the large sum of money that has accumulated during the years Mr. Penfold has not been spending a third of his income."

"Then if he meant that, papa, how is it that I am not going to be an heiress?"

"Simply, my dear, because the will by which Mr. Penfold left the property to you and Ralph is missing."

Mr. Withers then told the whole story of the loss of the will, the search that had been made for it, and the strong grounds there were for believing in the existence of some secret place in the Hall, and that this place of concealment was known to Mr. Penfold's sisters.

"But they surely could never be so wicked as that, papa. They have always seemed to like menot very much, you know, because they thought I wasn't quiet and ladylike enough. Still I don't think they really disliked me."

"No, I think in their way they liked you, Mabel; and perhaps if Mr. Penfold had half left his property to you, divided the other half between them the will would have been found. But they certainly did not like Ralph Conway. They disliked him partly no doubt for himself, but principally on account of a wrong which I believe they once did to his mother. Now, it is in human nature, Mabel, that you may forgive a wrong done to you, but it is very hard to forgive a person you have wronged. Anyhow, I am convinced that it was more to prevent Mrs. Conway's son from getting this money than to get it themselves that they have concealed this will, or rather that they refuse to point out its place of concealment."

"But it does seem hard, papa, that Mr. Penfold should have left everything to Ralph and me and nothing to his sisters."

"The Miss Penfolds have a very comfortable income of their own, Mabel, and their brother might very well have thought there was no occasion for them to have more; beside, although they lived in his house, and indeed managed it and him, Mr. Penfold had, I know, strong reason to believe that they had ruined his life. But this is a matter into which we need not go. Well, Mabel, the Miss Penfolds have just given a proof that they do not dislike you. Now I will read you this letter, because I think you ought to know it has been written, and I will then tell you the reasons why your mother and I think that the offer cannot be accepted."

Mabel listened in silence until her father had finished the arguments he had used with his wife, with the exception only of that relating to the Miss Penfolds' motives in putting in the condition concerning Mabel's marriage. When he ceased speaking she exclaimed indignantly, "Of course, papa, we could not take the money, not if it were ten times as much! Why, we could not look Mrs. Conway and Ralph in the face again! Beside, how could we speak to people one believes to have done such a wicked thing?"

"Very well, Mabel. I was quite sure that you would agree with us, but at the same time I thought it was right before we refused the offer you should know that it was made. Whatever our sentiments on the subject might be, we should not have been justified in refusing without your knowledge an offer that might, from a worldly point of view, be your interest to accept."

"Why, papa," Mabel said, "I would rather go out and weed turnips or watch sheep, like some of the girls in the village, than touch a penny of the Miss Penfolds' money."

A short time after this Mr. Tallboys' clerk brought a letter into his private office.

"A lady asked me to give you this, sir." The solicitor opened it. It contained only a card.

"Show the lady in. How are you, madam? I am glad to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance. I suppose you are staying with Mr. Withers?"

"No, Mr. Tallboys, I am at the hotel here. I only arrived an hour since by the packet from Dover."

"Dear me. I am afraid you have had a very unpleasant voyage."

"It has not been pleasant," Mrs. Conway said quietly. "But I preferred it to the long journey by coach up to London, and down here again. We were five days on the way, as the vessel put in at so many ports. Still that was quite a minor question with me. I wanted to see you and have a talk with you personally. There is no saying into whose hands letters may fall, and one talk face to face does more good than a score of letters."

Mr. Tallboys looked rather surprised, and the idea flashed across his mind that the only business Mrs. Conway could want to see him about must be some proposal for raising money upon the security of her annuity.

"I presume, Mr. Tallboys, from what I hear, that you are as thoroughly convinced as I am myself that this will of Mr. Penfold's is in existence, and is hidden somewhere about the Hall?"

"Yes, I think so, Mrs. Conway. That is, supposing it has not been destroyed."

"Do you think it likely that it has been destroyed, Mr. Tallboys?"

"Well, that I cannot say," the solicitor said gravely. "I have, of course, thought much over this matter. It is one that naturally vexed me much for several reasons. In the first place, Mr. Withers and you yourself had been good enough to place the matter in my hands, and to authorize me to act for you, and it is always a sort of vexation to a professional man when his clients lose their cause, especially when he is convinced that they are in the right. In the second place, I am much disturbed that the wishes of my late client, Mr. Penfold, should not have been carried out. Thirdly, I feel now that I myself am somewhat to blame in the matter, in that I did not represent to Mr. Penfold the imprudence of his placing valuable papers in a place where, should anything happen to him suddenly, they might not be found. Of course I could not have anticipated this hostile action on the part of the Miss Penfolds. Still, I blame myself that I did not warn Mr. Penfold of the possibility of what has in fact happened taking place. Lastly," and he smiled, "I have a personal feeling in the matter. I have lost a business that added somewhat considerably to my income."

"I don't think any of us have thought of blaming you in the matter, Mr. Tallboys. I am sure that I have not. You could not possibly have foreseen that Mr. Penfold's sisters were likely to turn out thieves."

"Well, that is rather a strong expression, Mrs. Conway; though natural enough I must admit in your position as Mr. Ralph Conway's mother. You see, there is a difference between concealing and not disclosing. Mr. Penfold himself concealed the will. The Miss Penfolds simply refuse to assist us in our search for it."

"And as the nearest heirs take possession of the property."

"Quite so, Mrs. Conway. I am not defending their conduct, which morally is dishonest in the extreme, but I doubt whether any court of law would find it to be a punishable offense."

"Well, now, Mr. Tallboys, I want you to let me know whether you suspect that they have destroyed the will; which, I suppose, would be a punishable offense."

"Certainly the destruction of the will, in order that those who destroyed might get possession of property, would be criminal. Well, I don't know; I have thought it over in every sense, and think the balance of probability is against their having destroyed it. In the first place the Miss Penfolds doubtless consider that the will is so securely hidden there is little, if any, chance of its being discovered. That this is so we know, from the fact that although I ransacked the house from top to bottom, pulled down wainscoting, lifted floors, and tried every imaginable point which either I or the men who were working with me suspected to be a likely spot for a hiding-place, we did not succeed in finding it.

"Now, I have noticed that ladies have at times somewhat peculiar ideas as to morality, and are apt to steer very close to the wind. The Miss Penfolds may consider themselves perfectly justified in declining to give us any assistance in finding the will, soothing their consciences by the reflection that by such refusal they are committing no offense of which the law takes cognizance; but while doing this they might shrink from the absolutely criminal offense of destroying the will. I do not say that now they have entered upon the path they have that they would not destroy the will if they thought there was a chance of its being discovered. I only say that, thinking it to be absolutely safe, they are unlikely to perform an act which, if discovered, would bring them under the power of the law.

"They may consider themselves free to believe, or if not actually to believe, to try and convince themselves, that for aught they know their brother may have destroyed the will, and that it is not for them to prove whether he did so or not. Upon these grounds, therefore, it seems to me probable that the will is still in existence; but I acknowledge that so far as its utility is concerned it might as well have been destroyed by Mr. Penfold himself or by his sisters."

"Well, Mr. Tallboys, no doubt you are thinking that you might as well have expressed this opinion to me on paper, and that I have troubled myself very unnecessarily in making this journey to have it from your own lips."

"Well, yes, Mrs. Conway, I do not deny that this was in my mind."

"It would have been useless for me to make the journey had this been all, Mr. Tallboys. I am very glad to have heard your opinion, which agrees exactly with that which I myself have formed, but it was scarcely with the object of eliciting it that I have made this journey. We will now proceed to that part of the subject. We agree that the will is probably still in existence, and that it is hidden somewhere about the Hall. The next question is, how is it to be found?"

"Ah! that is a very difficult question indeed, Mrs. Conway."

"Yes, it is difficult, but not, I think, impossible. You have done your best, Mr. Tallboys, and have failed. You have no further suggestion to offer, no plan that occurs to you by which you might discover it?"

"None whatever," Mr. Tallboys said decidedly. "I have done all that I could do; and have, in fact, dismissed the question altogether from my mind. I had the authority of the court to search, and I have searched very fully, and have reported my failure to the court. The power to search would certainly not be renewed unless upon some very strong grounds indeed."

"I suppose not, Mr. Tallboys; that is what I expected. Well, it seems to me that you having done all in your power for us, your clients, and having now relinquished your search, it is time for us, or some of us, to take the matter in hand."'

Mr. Tallboys looked surprised.

"I do not quite understand, Mrs. Conway, how you can take it in hand."

"No? Well, I can tell you, Mr. Tallboys, that I am going to do so. I am not going to sit down quietly and see my son robbed of his inheritance. I have quite made up my mind to devote my life to this matter, and I have come, not to ask your advicefor I dare say you would try to dissuade me, and my resolution is unalterablebut to ask you to give me what aid you can in the matter."

"I shall be glad to give you aid in any way, Mrs. Conway, if you will point out to me the direction in which my assistance can be of use. I suppose you have formed some sort of plan, for I own that I can see no direction whatever in which you can set about the matter."

"My intention is, Mr. Tallboys, to search for this hiding-place myself."

Mr. Tallboys raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"To search yourself, Mrs. Conway! But how do you propose to gain admittance to the Hall, and how, even supposing that you gain admittance, do you propose to do more than we have done, or even so much; because any fresh disturbance of the fabric of the house would be out of the question?"

"That I quite admit. Still we know there is the hiding-place, and it is morally certain that that hiding-place is opened or approached by the touching of some secret spring. It is not by pulling down wainscoting or by pulling up floors, or by force used in any way, that it is to be found. Mr. Penfold, it would seem, used it habitually as a depository for papers of value. He certainly, therefore, had not to break down or to pull up anything. He opened it as he would open any other cabinet or cupboard, by means of a key or by touching a spring. You agree with me so far, Mr. Tallboys?"

"Certainly, Mrs. Conway. There can be no doubt in my mind that this hiding-place, whether a chamber or a small closet, is opened in the way you speak of."

"Very well then; all that has to be looked for is a spring. No force is requisite; all that is to be done is to find the spring."

"Yes, but how is it to be found? I believe we tried every square foot of the building."

"I have no doubt you did, but it will be necessary to try every square inch, I will not say of the whole building, but of certain rooms and passages. I think we may assume that it is not in the upper rooms or servants' quarters. Such a hiding-place would be contrived where it could be used by the owners of the house without observation from their dependants, and would therefore be either in the drawing-room, dining-room, the principal bed-chambers, or the passages, corridors, or stairs between or adjoining these."

"I quite follow you in your reasoning, Mrs. Conway, and agree with you. Doubtless, the place is so situated as to be what I may call handy to the owners of the Hall, but I still do not see how you are going to set about finding it."

"I am going to set about it by going to live at the Hall."

"Going to live at the Hall, Mrs. Conway! But how is that possible under the circumstances? You are, I should say, the last person whom the Miss Penfolds would at present invite to take up her residence there."

"I agree with you, if they had any idea of my identity; but that is just what I intend they shall not have. My plan is to go there in the capacity of a servant. Once there I shall examine, as I say, every square inch of the rooms and places where this hiding-place is likely to exist. Every knob, knot, or inequality of any kind in the wood-work and stone-work shall be pressed, pulled, and twisted, until I find it. I am aware that the task may occupy months or even years, for, of course, my opportunities will be limited. Still, whether months or years, I intend to undertake it and to carry it through, if my life is spared until I have had time thoroughly and completely to carry it out."

Mr. Tallboys was silent from sheer astonishment.

"Do you realty mean that you think of going there as a servant, Mrs. Conway?"

"Certainly I do," she replied calmly. "I suppose the work will be no harder for me than for other women; and whereas they do it for some ten or twelve pounds a year I shall do it for a fortune. I see not the slightest difficulty or objection in that part of the business. I shall, of course, let my house at Dover, making arrangements for my son's letters there being forwarded, and for my letters to him being posted in Dover. I shall have the satisfaction that while engaged upon this work my income will be accumulating for his benefit. I own that I can see no difficulty whatever in my plan being carried out.

"Now, as to the assistance that I wish you to give me. It could, perhaps, have been more readily given by Mr. Withers, for naturally he would know personally most of the servants of the Hall, as the majority of them doubtless belong to the village. But Mr. Withers, as a clergyman, might have conscientious scruples against taking any part in a scheme which, however righteous its ends, must be conducted by what he would consider underground methods, and involving a certain amount of deceit. At any rate, I think it better that neither he nor Mrs. Withers should have any complicity whatever in my plans. I therefore come to you. What I want, in the first place, is to find out when a vacancy is likely to be caused by some servant leaving; secondly, if no such vacancy is likely to occur, for a vacancy to be manufactured by inducing some servant to leavea present of a year's wages would probably accomplish that; thirdly, the vacancy must occur in the case of some servant whose work would naturally lie in the part of the building I have to examine; finally, it must be arranged that I can be so recommended as to insure my getting the place."

Mr. Tallboys was silent for some time.

"Certainly your plan does appear feasible, Mrs. Conway," he said at length. "It does seem to me that if once installed in the way you propose at the Hall, and prepared to spend, as you say, months or even years in the search, it is possible and even probable that in the end you may light upon the spring that will open this mystery. You must be prepared to face much unpleasantness. You will have for all this time to associate with servants, to do menial work, to relinquish all the luxuries and appliances to which you have all your life been accustomed, and possibly to fail at last. Still, if you are prepared to face all this, there does appear to me to be a possibility of your enterprise being crowned with success."

"I have thought it all over, Mr. Tallboys, and am quite prepared to submit to all the sacrifices you mention, which, however, will scarcely be felt by me to be sacrifices, working, as I shall be, for the future of my son. And now, can I rely upon your assistance?"

"You shall have any assistance I can give, assuredly, Mrs. Conway. The matter is by no means a simple one, still I can see no reason why it should not be successfully carried out."

"It must take time, that I quite anticipate, Mr. Tallboys. Time, fortunately, is of no consequence."

"Well, Mrs. Conway," Mr. Tallboys said, after sitting for some minutes in thought, "it is a matter that will require careful thinking over. How long do you intend staying here?"

"Just as long as it is necessary," Mrs. Conway said, "a day or a month. I have not given my own name at the 'George,' but shall be known there as Mrs. Brown. As you saw, I sent my card in in an envelope, so that even your clerk should not be aware that Mrs. Conway was in Weymouth."

"But," the solicitor said suddenly, "surely the Miss Penfolds knew you in the old time?"

"Certainly, they did. But, to begin with, that is nearly twenty years ago; and, of course, I have changed very much since then."

"Not very much, Mrs. Conway," the lawyer said; "for I once had the pleasure of seeing you when I went to the Hall to see Mr. Penfold on business. I do not say that I should have known you anywhere, but having had your card I remembered you at once when you came into the room; and, indeed, if you will excuse my saying so, you might pass anywhere as thirty."

"So much the better for my purpose at present," Mrs. Conway replied. "Thirty will do very well for the age of a housemaid at the Hall. I should imagine the Miss Penfolds would prefer a woman of that age to a young girl; beside, you see, I must be an upper housemaid in order to have charge of the part of the house I want to examine. As to knowing me, in the first place the Miss Penfolds will not have the advantage of receiving my card, and, in the second place, it is not very difficult for a woman to alter her appearance so as to be unrecognizable by another who has not seen her for twenty years. My hair is a good deal darker now than it was then, and I wore it altogether differently. A little black dye on that and my eyebrows, a servant's cap and gown, will so alter me that you who see me now would hardly know me; certainly they will not do so. You need not trouble about that, Mr. Tallboys; I will answer for it that they shall not know me. It is possible, just possible, that Mr. and Mrs. Withers might know me if they saw me in church; but I shall, without letting them know my plans, guard against any indiscretion. Now, as we have quite settled the matter, Mr. Tallboys, I shall go back to the inn, and when you have thought the matter over and decided upon the best plan for carrying out my wishes, you will send a note to Mrs. Brown at the 'George,' making an appointment for me to meet you here."

Mr. Tallboys sat for some time in thought after Mrs. Conway had left him. It was certainly a daring scheme, requiring no little courage, resolution, and self-possession to carry out, but his client evidently possessed all these qualities. She had a clear head, and seemed to have grasped every point in the matter. There was really no reason why she should not succeed. There must be a spring somewhere, and if she was as patient as she declared herself to be, she would surely find it sooner or later; that is, if she could carry out her search without exciting suspicion.

The first difficulty was to get her settled at the Hall. What was the best way to set about that? It certainly was not as easy as she seemed to think, still there must be some way of managing it. At any rate he must act cautiously in the matter, and must not appear in it in any way personally. And so he sat thinking, until at last the clerk, who had been a good deal surprised at receiving no instruction from him as to several matters he had in hand, knocked at the door, and came in with a number of papers, and Mr. Tallboys was obliged to dismiss the matter from his mind for a time, and to attend to present business. The very next morning Mrs. Conway received the note, and again went to the office.

"Do you know, Mrs. Conway," he began, as soon as his client entered, "the more I think over the matter, the more I feel that it is extremely difficult to manage it from here. I should have to engage some one to go over in the first place. He would have to stay in the village some time before he could make the acquaintance of the servants at the Hall. He would have to get very intimate with them before he could venture to broach such a thing for if he made a mistake, and the woman told her mistress that some one had been trying to persuade her to leave in order to introduce another into the place, their suspicions would be so aroused that the scheme would become hopeless."

"Yes, I see the difficulty, Mr. Tallboys; for I thought it over in every way before I came to you. Beside I don't like the thought of this intermediate. No doubt you would choose a trustworthy man. Still I don't like the thought of any one knowing the secret, especially as the plan may take so long working out."

"What I have been thinking, Mrs. Conway is this. No doubt the servants at the Hall have taken sides on this matter. Of course from our searches there they know that Mr. Penfold's will is missing, and that it is because it is missing that the Miss Penfolds are now mistresses there. Without knowing anything myself about the feelings of the servants there, beyond what would probably be the case from the difference of character between Mr. Penfold and his sisters, I should imagine that they were fond of him, for he was the kindest and most easy-going of masters, and not very fond of his sisters, who are, as I have always observed in the course of my professional visits there, the reverse of agreeable.

"If this is the case, not improbably there may be one or other of these women with whom you might open direct negotiations. What has struck me is this. The men who were over there with me of course slept and took their meals in the village; still, going about as they did in the house, no doubt they talked with the servants. The Miss Penfolds were away, and I dare say the women had plenty of time to gossip; and it is probable the men gathered from their talk something of their sentiments toward the Miss Penfolds and their brother, and which side they would be likely to go with. I might ask the foreman about it."

"I think the idea is a capital one, Mr. Tallboys; but there is one detail I think might be improved. I imagine that if instead of asking the foreman you choose the youngest and best-looking of the men, provided he is unmarried, you are more likely to get at the women's sentiments."

Mr. Tallboys laughed. "No doubt you are right, Mrs. Conway. That shall be done. I must get the foreman first, though, for I don't know the names or addresses of the other men. I shall tell him frankly that I want to find out the opinions of the servants at the Hall about the missing will, ask him which of his men was the most given to gossip with them, and tell him to send him here to me at ten o'clock to-morrow morning; then when you see him and hear what he has to say, you can judge for yourself how far you care to trust him in the matter, or whether to trust him at all. Perhaps you will come here a few minutes before ten, and then I can tell you what the foreman has said first."

Accordingly at a quarter to ten the next day Mrs. Conway was again at the office.

"I think, Mrs. Conway, that things are going even better than we hoped. The foreman said that from what little talk he had with the servants, he thought they had all been attached to Mr. Penfold, and that his sisters were by no means popular among them. He said very often one or other of them would come into the room where they were working and make suggestions, and hunt about themselves to see if they could find anything. But the best part of it is that one of the carpenters, a steady fellow of twenty-five, took up, as he calls it, with the upper housemaid, and he believes there is a talk about their being married some day. If this is so it would be the very thing for you. You could help him to get married, and the girl could help you to get her place."

"The very thing," Mrs. Conway said. "Nothing could have turned out better."

In a few minutes the young carpenter arrived. He was a pleasant-looking young fellow, and Mrs. Conway was not surprised at the impression he had made upon the housemaid at the Hall.

"Sit down, Johnson," Mr. Tallboys began. "You know what I asked you to come here for?"

"Mr. Peters told me that it was something to do with that job we had at the Miss Penfolds', sir."

"Yes, that is it, Johnson. You know we were looking for a missing will there?"

"Yes, sir; so I understood."

"Now, what we wanted to ask you specially, Johnson, was whether you can tell us what the servants at the Hall thought about it?"

The young carpenter turned rather red in the face, and twisted his cap about in his fingers.

"Well, sir, I don't know that I can say much about that. I don't think most of them was overfond of the Miss Penfolds, and wouldn't have been sorry if the will had been found that would have given them another master or mistress."

"Just so, Johnson, that is what I thought was likely. Now, the point I want to know, Johnson, and this lady here is, I may tell you, interested in the matter of this will being found, is as to whether there is in your opinion any one of the maids at the Hall who could be trusted to aid us in this business? Of course we should make it worth her while to do so."

Again the young carpenter colored, and fidgeted on his chair, examining his cap intently.

"I suppose it would depend on what you wanted her to do," he said at last. "The Hall is a good service, though they don't like the mistresses, and of course none of them would like to do anything that might risk their place."

"That's natural enough, Johnson. But, you see, we could perhaps more than make up to her for that risk."

"Well, I don't know, sir," the man said after another pause. "It isn't only the place; but, you see, a young woman wouldn't like to risk getting into a row like and being turned away in disgrace, or perhaps even worse. I don't know what you want, you see, sir?"

Mr. Tallboys looked at Mrs. Conway, and his eyes expressed the question, How far shall we go? She replied by taking the matter in her own hands.

"We can trust you, can't we, whether you agree to help us or not?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said more decidedly than he had hitherto spoken. "You can trust me. If you tell me what you want, I will tell you straight whether I can do anything. If I don't like it, the matter shan't go beyond me."

"Very well, then, I will tell you exactly what we want. We believe that the will is still there, and we believe that if some one in the house were to make a thorough search it might be found. It is right that it should be found, and that the property should go to those to whom Mr. Penfold left it, and who are now being kept out of it by the Miss Penfolds. I am very much interested in the matter, because it is my son who is being cheated out of his rights; and I have made up my mind to find the will. Now, what I want to know is, do you think that one of the housemaids would be willing to give up her place and introduce me as her successor, if I gave her twenty-five pounds? That would be a nice little sum, you know, to begin housekeeping with."

Mrs. Conway saw at once by the expression of the young carpenter's face that she had secured him as an ally.

"I think that might be managed, ma'am," he said in a tone that showed her he was endeavoring to hide his gladness. "Yes, I think that could be managed. There is certainly a young woman at the Hall" and he stopped.

Mrs. Conway helped him. "I may tell you, Mr. Johnson, that the foreman hinted to Mr. Tallboys that he thought you and the upper housemaid were likely one of these days to come together, and that is principally why we spoke to you instead of to one of the others who were there. We thought, you see, that she might probably be leaving her place one of these days, and that perhaps this twenty-five pounds might enable you and her to marry earlier than you otherwise would have done. In that case, you see, it would suit us all. You and she would, moreover, have the satisfaction of knowing that you were aiding to right a great wrong, and to restore to those who have been defrauded the property Mr. Penfold intended for them. What do you say?"

"Well, ma'am, I think that, as you say, it would be doing the right thing; and I don't deny that Martha and I have agreed to wait a year or two, till we could save up enough between us for me to start on my own account; for as long as I am a journeyman, and liable to lose my work any day, I would not ask her to come to me. But what with what we have laid by, and this money you offer, I think we might very well venture," and his radiant face showed the happiness the prospect caused him.

"Very well, then. We may consider that as settled," Mrs. Conway said. "What I want is for you to tell your Martha that she is to give notice to leave at once, and that if she has an opportunity she is to mention to Miss Penfold that she has a friend who is out of place at present, and whom she is sure will suit. Of course as she will say that she is going to leave to be married, Miss Penfold cannot be vexed with her, as she might be otherwise, and may take her friend on her recommendation."

"But suppose she shouldn't, ma'am," and the young carpenter's face fell considerably at the thought, "where would Martha be then?"

"I shall pay the money, of course," Mrs. Conway said, "whether I get the place through her or not. I should think that Miss Penfold will very likely be glad to be saved the trouble of looking for another servant. But, if not, I must try some other way to get the place."

"What name am I to say her friend has?"

"Let me think. Ann Sibthorpe."

"But suppose she asks about where her friend has been in service, ma'am, and about her character?"

"We will settle that afterward. The first thing to do is for you to go over and see her, and ask her if she is willing to leave and do this."

"I think I can answer for that, ma'am," the young carpenter said with a quiet smile.

"Very well. Still, we had better have it settled. Will you go over to-day and see her? and then by to-morrow Mr. Tallboys and I will have talked the matter over and settled about the other points. Of course you will tell her not to give notice until she has heard from you as to what she is to say about me."

"Very well, ma'am. I will start at once."

"I can arrange about the character," Mr. Tallboys said when they were alone. "I have a cousin in London, to whom I shall write and explain the matter, and who will, I am sure, oblige me by writing to say that Ann Sibthorpe is all that can be desired as a servant: steady, quiet, industrious and capable. Well, I really congratulate you, Mrs. Conway. At first I thought your project a hopeless one; now I think you have every chance of success."

CHAPTER X.

ON DETACHMENT.

Ralph was soon at home in the regiment. He found his comrades a cheery and pleasant set of men, ready to assist the newly-joined young officers as far as they could. A few rough practical jokes were played; but Ralph took them with such perfect good temper that they were soon abandoned.

He applied himself very earnestly to mastering the mystery of drill, and it was not long before he was pronounced to be efficient, and he was then at Captain O'Connor's request appointed to his company, in which there happened to be a vacancy for an ensign. He had had the good luck to have an excellent servant assigned to him. Denis Mulligan was a thoroughly handy fellow, could turn his hand to anything, and was always good tempered and cheery.

"The fellow is rather free and easy in his ways," Captain O'Connor told Ralph when he allotted the man to him; "but you will get accustomed to that. Keep your whisky locked up, and I think you will be safe in all other respects with him. He was servant to Captain Daly, who was killed at Toulouse, and I know Daly wouldn't have parted with him on any account. His master's death almost broke Denis' heart, and I have no doubt he will get just as much attached to you in time. These fellows have their faults, and want a little humoring; but, take them as a whole, I would rather have an Irish soldier servant than one of any other nationality, provided always that he is not too fond of the bottle. About once in three months I consider reasonable, and I don't think you will find Mulligan break out more frequently than that."

Ralph never regretted the choice O'Connor had made for him, and found Denis an excellent servant; and his eccentricities and the opinions which he freely expressed afforded him a constant source of amusement.

A few days later Captain O'Connor came into his room. "Pack up your kit. The company is ordered on detached duty, and there is an end to your dancing and flirting."

"I don't know about flirting," Ralph laughed. "As far as I can see you do enough for the whole company in that way. But where are we going to?"

"We are ordered to Ballyporrit. An out of the way hole as a man could wish to be buried in. It seems that there are a lot of stills at work in the neighborhood. The gauger has applied for military aid. A nice job we have got before us. I have had my turn at it before, and know what it means. Starting at nightfall, tramping ten or fifteen miles over the hills and through bogs, and arriving at last at some wretched hut only to find a wretched old woman sitting by a peat fire, and divil a sign of still or mash tubs or anything else. We start the first thing to-morrow morning; so you had better get your kit packed and your flask filled to-night. We have nineteen miles march before us, and a pretty bad road to travel. I have just been in to Desmond's quarters, and he is tearing his hair at the thought of having to leave the gayeties of Cork."

"I think it is a nice change," Ralph said, "and shall be very glad to have done with all these parties and balls. Ballyporrit is near the sea, isn't it?"

"Yes. About a mile away, I believe. Nearly forty miles from here."

The detachment marched next morning. Ralph enjoyed the novelty of the march, but was not sorry when at the end of the second day's tramp they reached the village. The men were quartered in the houses of the villagers, and the officers took rooms at the inn. Except when engaged in expeditions to capture stillsof which they succeeded in finding nearly a scorethere was not much to do at Ballyporrit. All the gentry resident within a wide circle called upon them, and invitations to dinners and dances flowed in rapidly. As one officer was obliged to remain always in the village with the detachment, Ralph seldom availed himself of these invitations. O'Connor and Lieutenant Desmond were both fond of society; and, as Ralph very much preferred staying quietly in his quarters, he was always ready to volunteer to take duty upon these occasions.

Ballyporrit lay within a mile of the sea, and Ralph, when he had nothing else to do, frequently walked to the edge of the cliffs, and sat there hour after hour watching the sea breaking among the rocks three or four hundred feet below him, and the sea-birds flying here and there over the water, and occasionally dashing down to its surface. A few fishing boats could be seen, but it was seldom that a distant sail was visible across the water; for not one vessel in those days sailed for the west to every fifty that now cross the Atlantic. The rocks upon which he sat rose in most places almost sheer up from the edge of the sea; but occasionally they fell away, and a good climber could make his way over the rough rocks and bowlders down to the water's edge. As, however, there was nothing to be gained by it, Ralph never made the attempt.

Looking back over the land the view was a dreary one. There was not a human habitation within sight, the hills were covered with brown heather, while in the bottoms lay bogs, deep and treacherous to those who knew not the way across. It was rarely that a human figure was visible. Once or twice a day a revenue man came along the edge of the cliff, and would generally stop for a talk with Ralph.

"There was," he said, "a good deal of smuggling carried on along that part of the coast during the war; but there is not so much of it now, though no doubt a cargo is run now and then. It does not pay as it did when the French ports were all closed, and there was not a drop of brandy to be had save that which was run by the smugglers. Now that trade is open again there is only the duty to save, and I fancy a good many of the boats have gone out of the business. You see, the revenue has got its agents in the French ports, and gets news from them what craft are over there loading, and what part of the coast they come from. Along the English coast there is still a good deal of it. There lace pays well; but there is not much sale for lace in Ireland, and not much sale for brandy either, excepting in the towns. The peasants and farmers would not thank you for it when they can get home-made whisky for next to nothing."

"I suppose that there is a good deal of that going on."

"Any amount of it, sir. For every still that is captured I reckon there must be a hundred at work that no one dreams of, and will be as long as barley grows and there are bogs and hills all over the country, and safe hiding-places where no one not in the secret would dream of searching. The boys know that we are not in their line of business, and mind our own affairs. If it were not for that, I can tell you, I wouldn't go along these cliffs at night for any pay the king would give me; for I know that before a week would be out my body would be found some morning down there on the rocks, and the coroner's jury would bring in a verdict of tumbled over by accident, although there wouldn't be a man of them but would know better."

"Well, I am sure I don't want to find out anything about them. I belong to the detachment in Ballyporrit, and of course if the gauger calls upon us we must march out and aid him in seizing a still. But beyond that it's no affair of ours."

And yet although he so seldom saw any one to speak to, Ralph had sometimes a sort of uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched. Once or twice he had caught a glimpse of what he thought was a man's head among some rocks; but on walking carelessly to the spot he could see no signs of any one. Another time, looking suddenly round, he saw a boy standing at the edge of some boggy ground where the land dipped suddenly away some two hundred yards from the edge of the cliff; but directly he saw that he was observed he took to his heels, and speedily disappeared down the valley.

Ralph did not trouble himself about these matters, nor did he see any reason why any one should interest himself in his movements. Had he wandered about among the hills inland he might be taken for a spy trying to find out some of the hidden stills; but sitting here at the edge of the cliff watching the sea, surely no such absurd suspicion could fall upon him. Had he been there at night the smugglers might have suspected him of keeping watch for them; but smugglers never attempted to run their cargoes in broad daylight, and he never came down there after dark. One day a peasant came strolling along. He was a powerful-looking man and carried a heavy stick. Ralph was lying on his back looking up at the clouds and did not hear the man approach till he was close to him, then with a quick movement he sprang to his feet.

"I did not hear you coming," he said. "You have given me quite a start."

"It's a fine day, yer honor, for sleeping on the turf here," the man said civilly.

"I was not asleep," Ralph said; "though I own that I was getting on for it."

"Is yer honor expecting to meet any one here?" the man asked. "Sure, it's a mighty lonesome sort of place."

"No, I am not expecting any one. I have only come out for a look at the sea. I am never tired of looking at that."

"It's a big lot of water, surely," the man replied, looking over the sea with an air of interest as if the sight were altogether novel to him. "A powerful lot of water. And I have heard them say that you often come out here?"

"Yes, I often come out," Ralph assented.

"Don't you think now it is dangerous so near the edge of the cliff, yer honor? Just one step and over you would go, and it would be ten chances to one that the next tide would drift your body away, and divil a one know what had become of you."

"But I don't mean to take a false step," Ralph said.

"Sure, there is many a one takes a false step when he isn't dreaming about it; and if ye didn't tumble over by yourself, just a push would do it."

"Yes, but there is no one to give one a push," Ralph said.

"Maybe and maybe not," the man replied. "I don't say if I was a gentleman, and could spind me time as I liked, that I would be sitting here on the edge of these cliffs, where you might come to harm any minute."

"I have no fear of coming to harm," Ralph answered; "and I should be sorry for any one who tried. I always carry a pistol. Not that I think there is any chance of having to use it but it's always as well to be prepared."

"It is that, yer honor, always as well; but I don't think I should be always coming out here if I was you."

"Why not, my good fellow? I harm no one, and interfere with no one. Surely it is open to me to come here and look at the sea without any one taking offense at it."

"That's as it may be, yer honor. Anyhow I have told you what I think of it. Good-morning to you."

"I wonder what that fellow meant," Ralph said, looking after him. "He meant something, I feel certain, though what it is I can't imagine. I thought it was as well to let him know that I had a pistol handy, though he didn't look as if he intended mischief. I suppose after this I had better not come here so often, though I have not the remotest idea in the world why I should annoy any one more by standing here than if I was standing on the cliff in front of Dover Castle. However, it certainly is a lonely place, and I should have precious little chance if two or three men took it into their heads to attack me here."

"They are queer people these Irish peasants of yours, O'Connor," Ralph said as they sat at dinner that evening.

"What's the matter with them now, Conway?"

"One can't even go and look at the sea from their cliffs without their taking it amiss," and Ralph related the conversation he had had with the peasant, adding that he was convinced he had been watched whenever he went there.

"It is curious, certainly," the captain said when he had finished. "No doubt they think you are spying after something; but that would not trouble them unless there was something they were afraid of your finding out. Either there has been something going on, or there is some hiding-place down there on the face of the cliff, where maybe they have a still at work. Anyhow, I don't think I should neglect the warning, Conway. You might be killed and thrown over the cliff, and no one be the wiser for it. I should certainly advise you to give up mooning about."

"But there is nothing to do in this wretched village," Ralph said discontentedly.

"Not if you stop in the village, I grant; but you might do as Desmond and I do when we are off duty; go over and take lunch at the Ryans', or Burkes', or any of the other families where we have a standing invitation. They are always glad to see one, and there's plenty of fun to be had."

"That's all very well for you, O'Connor. You are a captain and a single man, and one of their countrymen, with lots to say for yourself; but it is a different thing with me altogether. I can't drop in and make myself at home as you do."

"Why, you are not shy, Conway?" O'Connor said in affected horror. "Surely such a disgrace has not fallen on his majesty's Twenty-eighth Regiment that one of its officers is shy? Such a thing is not recorded in its annals."

"I am afraid it will have to be recorded now," laughed Ralph. "For I own that I am shy; if you call shy, feeling awkward and uncomfortable with a lot of strange people, especially ladies."

"Do not let it be whispered outside," O'Connor said, "or the reputation of the regiment is gone forever among Irish girls. Desmond, this is a sad business. What are we to do with this man? You and I must consult together how this thing is to be cured."

"No, no, O'Connor," Ralph said earnestly, knowing how fond O'Connor was of practical jokes, and dreading that he and the lieutenant would be putting him in some ridiculous position or other. "You will never cure me if you set about it. I shall get over it in time; but it's the sort of thing that becomes ten times worse if you attempt to cure it."

"We must think it over, my lad," O'Connor said seriously. "This is a serious defect in your character; and as your commanding officer I consider it my bounden duty, both for your sake and that of the regiment, to take it into serious consideration and see what is to be done. You may never have such a chance again of being cured as you have here; for if a man goes away from Ireland without being cured of shyness his case is an absolutely hopeless one. Desmond, you must turn this matter seriously over in your mind, and I will do the same. And now it is time for us to be starting for the dance at the Regans'. I am sorry you can't go with us, Desmond, as you are on duty."

"I shall be very glad to take your duty, Desmond," Ralph said eagerly. "I told you so this morning, and I thought you agreed."

"As your commanding officer," O'Connor said gravely, "I cannot permit the exchange to be made, Mr. Conway. You have your duty to perform to the regiment as well as Mr. Desmond, and your duty clearly is to go out and make yourself agreeable. I am surprised after what I have just been saying that you should think of staying at home."

"Well, of course, if you want me to go I will go," Ralph said reluctantly. "But I don't know the Regans, and don't want to."

"That is very ungracious, Conway. Mr. Regan is a retired pork merchant of Cork. He has given up his business and bought an estate here, and settled down as a country gentleman. They say his father was a pig-driver in Waterford. That's why he has bought a place on this side of the county. But people have been rather shy of them; because, though he could buy three-fourths of them up, his money smells of pork. Still, as the election is coming on, they have relaxed a bit. He's got the militia band, and there will be lashings of everything; and his girls are nice girls, whether their father sold pork or not. And it would be nothing short of cruel if we, the representatives of his majesty's army, did not put in an appearance; especially as we have doubtless eaten many a barrel of his salt pork at sea. So put on your number one coatee and let's be off."

With a sign Ralph rose to carry out his orders, and he would have been still more reluctant to go had he observed the sly wink that passed between his captain and lieutenant.

"He is quite refreshing, that boy," O'Connor said as the door closed behind Ralph. "That adventure in the West Indies showed he has plenty of pluck and presence of mind; but he is as shy as a girl. Though I don't know why I should say that, for it's mighty few of them have any shyness about them. He will grow out of it. I was just the same myself when I was his age."

Lieutenant Desmond burst into a roar of laughter.

"I should have liked to have known you then, O'Connor."

O'Connor joined in the laugh.

"It's true though, Desmond. I was brought up by two maiden aunts in the town of Dundalk, and they were always bothering me about my manners; so that though I could hold my own in a slanging match down by the riverside, I was as awkward as a young bear when in genteel company. They used to have what they called tea-partiesand a fearful infliction they wereand I was expected to hand round the tea and cakes, and make myself useful. I think I might have managed well enough if the old women would have let me alone; but they were always expecting me to do something wrong, and I was conscious that whatever they were doing they had an eye upon me.

"It's trying, you know, when you hear exclamations like this: 'The saints presarve us! if he hasn't nearly poked his elbow into Mrs. Fitzgerald's eye!' or, 'See now, if he isn't standing on Miss Macrae's train!' One day I let a cup of coffee fall on to old Mrs. O'Toole's new crimson silk dress. It was the first she had had for nine years to my knowledge, and would have lasted her for the rest of her natural life. And if you could have heard the squall she made, and the exclamations of my aunts, and the general excitement over that wretched cup of coffee, you would never have forgotten it.

"It had one good result, I was never asked to hand things round again and was indeed never expected to put in an appearance until the tea-things were taken away. I suffered for months for that silk dress. My aunts got two yards of material and presented them to Mrs. O'Toole; and for weeks and weeks I got short allowance of butter to my bread and no sugar in my tea, and had to hear remarks as to the necessity for being economical. As for Mrs. O'Toole she never forgave me, and was always saying spiteful things. But I got even with her once. One evening the doctor, who was her partner at whist, was called out, and I was ordered to take his place. Now, I played a pretty good game at whist, better than the doctor did by a long chalk I flattered myself; but I didn't often play at home unless I was wanted to make up a table, and very glad I was to get out of it, for the ill-temper of those old harridans when they lost was something fearful.

"It was only penny points, but if they had been playing for five pounds they couldn't have taken it more to heart; and of course if I had the misfortune of being their partner they put it down entirely to my bad play. Well, we held good cards, and at last we only wanted the odd trick to win. I held the last trump. Mrs. O'Toole was beaming as she led the best spade, and felt that the game was won. I could not resist the temptation, but put my trump on her spade, led my small card, and the game was lost. Mrs. O'Toole gave a scream and sank back in her chair almost fainting, and when she recovered her breath and her voice went on like a maniac, and had a desperate quarrel with my aunts. I made my escape, and three days later, to my huge delight, was sent off to Dublin and entered the university. I only stayed there about six months, when a friend of my father's got me a commission; but that six months cured me of my shyness."

"I am not surprised," Desmond laughed; "it can only have been skin deep, I fancy, O'Connor."

"I will give Conway his first lesson to-night," the captain said.

Dancing had already begun when Captain O'Connor and Ralph drove up in a dog-cart to the Regans', who lived some four miles from Ballyporrit. O'Connor introduced Ralph to his host, and then hurried away. In a short time he was deep in conversation with Miss Tabitha Regan, who was some years younger than her brother, and still believed herself to be quite a girl. She was gorgeously arrayed with a plume of nodding feathers in her headdress.

"You are looking splendid to-night, Miss Regan," O'Connor said in a tone of deep admiration. "You do not give your nieces a chance."

"Ah! you are flattering me, Captain O'Connor."

"Not at all, Miss Regan; it's quite a sensation you make. My young friend Conway was tremendously struck with your appearance, and asked me who that splendid woman was." Which was true enough, except for the word "splendid;" for as they had walked through the room Ralph's eyes had fallen upon her, and he had exclaimed in astonishment, "Who on earth is that woman, O'Connor?"

"He is dying to be introduced to you. He is a little young, you know; but of good family, and may come into a lot of money one of these days. Only son, and all that. May I introduce him?"

"How you do go on, Captain O'Connor," Miss Tabitha said, much flattered. "By all means introduce him."

O'Connor made his way back to Ralph.

"Come along, Ralph; I will introduce you to our host's sister, Miss Regan. Charming creature, and lots of money. Awfully struck with your appearance. Come on, man; don't be foolish," and, hooking his arm in Ralph's, he led him across the room to the lady Ralph had before noticed.

"Miss Regan, this is my brother-officer, Mr. Conway, Ralph, this is Miss Regan, our host's sister, although you would take her for his daughter. Miss Regan, Mr. Conway is most anxious to have the pleasure of the next dance with you if you are not engaged."

Ralph murmured something in confirmation, and Miss Regan at once stood up and placed her hand in his arm. Ralph gave a reproachful glance at his captain as he moved away. Fortunately, he was not called upon to say much, for Miss Regan burst out:

"It is too bad of you not having been here before, Mr. Conwayquite rude of you. Captain O'Connor has spoken of you frequently, and we girls have been quite curious to see you. There is the music striking up. I think we had better take our places. I suppose as I am at the head of my brother's house we had better take the place at the top."

Ralph never forgot that dance. Miss Regan danced with amazing sprightliness, performing wonderful steps. Her ostrich plumes seemed to whirl round and round him, he had a painful feeling that every one was grinning, and a mad desire to rush out of the house and make straight for his quarters.

"Your aunt is going it," Captain O'Connor remarked to one of the daughters of the house with whom he was dancing. "She sets quite an example to us young people."

The girl laughed. "She is very peculiar, Captain O'Connor; but it is cruel of you to laugh at her. I do wish she wouldn't wear such wonderful headdresses; but she once went to court a good many years ago at Dublin, and somebody told her that her headdress became her, and she has worn plumes ever since."

"I am not laughing at her, Miss Regan," O'Connor said gravely; "I am admiring her. Conway is doing nobly too."

"I think he looks almost bewildered," the girl laughed. "It's a shame, Captain O'Connor. I was standing quite close by when you introduced him, and I could see by your face that you were playing a joke upon him."

"I was performing a kindly action, Miss Regan. The lad's young and a little bashful, and I ventured to insinuate to your aunt that he admired her."

"Well, you shall introduce him to me next," the girl said. "I like his looks."

"Shall I tell him that, Miss Regan?"

"If you do I will never speak to you again."

As soon as the dance was over Captain O'Connor strolled up with his partner to the spot where Miss Tabitha was fanning herself violently, Ralph standing helplessly alongside.

"That was a charming dance, Miss Regan. You surpassed yourself. Let me recommend a slight refreshment; will you allow me to offer you my arm? Miss Regan, allow me to introduce my brother-officer, Mr. Conway."

Ralph, who had not caught the name, bowed to the girl thus left suddenly beside him and offered her his arm.

"Why, you look warm already, Mr. Conway," she began.

"Warm is no word for it," Ralph said bluntly. "Did you see that wonderful old lady I have been dancing with?"

"That is my aunt, Mr. Conway; but she is rather wonderful all the same."

Ralph had thought before that he was as hot as it was possible for a man to be; but he found now that he was mistaken.

"I beg your pardon," he stammered. "I did not catch your name; but of course I oughtn't to have said anything."

"I wonder you didn't see the likeness," the girl said demurely. "My aunt considers there is a great likeness between us."

"I am sure I cannot see it the least bit in the world," Ralph said emphatically; "not the smallest. But I hope you forgive me for that unfortunate remark; but the fact is, I felt a little bewildered at the time. I am not much of a dancer, and your aunt is really so energetic that I had to exert myself to the utmost to keep up with her."

"I think you did admirably, Mr. Conway. We quite admired you both. There," she said laughing at Ralph's confusion, "you need not be afraid about my not forgiving you for the remark. Everyone knows that Aunt Tabitha and we girls never get on very well together; and she does make herself dreadfully ridiculous, and I think it was too bad of Captain O'Connor putting you up with her."

"Thank you, Miss Regan," Ralph said earnestly. "The fact is I haven't joined long, and I don't care much for parties. You see, I have only left school a few months, and haven't got accustomed to talk to ladies yet; and O'Connorwho is always up to some fun or otherdid it just to cure what he calls my shyness. However, I can quite forgive him now."

"I don't think you are so very shy, Mr. Conway," Miss Regan said with a smile. "That last sentence was very pretty, and if I had not hold of your arm I should make you a courtesy."

"No, please don't do that," Ralph said, coloring hotly. "I didn't mean anything, you know."

"Now, don't spoil it. You meant I suppose, what was quite proper you should mean, that Captain O'Connor by introducing me to you had made up for his last delinquency."

"Yes, that is what I did mean," Ralph agreed.

"Captain O'Connor tells me that you have been through all sorts of adventures, Mr. Conwaybeen carried off by a French privateer, and taken to a pirate island, and done all sorts of things."

"The 'all sorts of things' did not amount to much, Miss Regan. I made myself as useful as I could, and picked up French; and at last when the privateer sailed away I walked down to the shore and met our sailors when they landed. There was, I can assure you, nothing in any way heroic about the part I had to play."

"Still it was an adventure."

"Oh! yes, it was that; and upon the whole I think I liked it, except when there was a chance of having a fight with our own people."

"That would have been dreadful. What would you have done?"

"Well, I certainly wouldn't have fought; but what I should have done would, I suppose, have depended upon circumstances. I suppose I should have jumped overboard if I had the chance."

"And is it true what Captain O'Connor was saying, that you had to do like the other pirates on the island?"

"I don't know that there was anything particular they did, except to get drunk, and I didn't do that."

"He hinted that the rule was that each man had to take a wife from the people they captured."

"What nonsense!" Ralph exclaimed indignantly. "The idea of my taking a wife. You mustn't believe what Captain O'Connor says, Miss Regan; except, of course," he added slyly, "when he is saying pretty things to you."

"I think you will do, Mr. Conway," the girl laughed, "Six months in Ireland and you will be able to give Captain O'Connor points if you go on as well as you are doing. You have paid two very nicely-turned compliments in ten minutes. But there, our dance is finished."

"May I have another later on, Miss Regan?"

"Yes. Let me see; I am engaged for the next five. You can have the sixth if you like, if you haven't secured my aunt for that."

"You are getting on, Conway," Captain O'Connor said as they drove away from the Regans. "I have had my eye upon you. Three dances with Polly Regan, beside taking her down to supper."

"It was too bad of you putting me on to her aunt in that way."

O'Connor laughed. "It was a capital thing for you, youngster, and paved the way for you with Polly; who, by the way, is not such a respectful niece as she might be. But she is a very nice little girl. I had thought of making up in that quarter myself, but I see it's no use now."

"None at all," Ralph said seriously. "We are not actually engaged, you, know, but I think we understand each other."

"What!" Captain O'Connor exclaimed in a changed voice. "You are not such a young ass as to get engaged before you have joined three months?"

Ralph burst into a laugh. "That's good," he said. It is not often I get a rise out of you, O'Connor."

"Well, you did there fairly," the captain admitted, joining in the laugh. "I thought for a moment you were serious."

"No," Ralph said. "I may make a fool of myself in other directions; but I don't think I am likely to in that sort of way."

"Prior attachmenteh?" Captain O'Connor asked quizzically.

"Ah, that's a secret, O'Connor," Ralph laughed. "I am not going to lay my heart bare to such a mocker as you are."

When they reached the village they found a body of twenty men drawn up opposite their quarters.

"Is that you, O'Connor?" the lieutenant asked as the trap stopped. "Just after you had gone the gauger came in and requested that a party might accompany him at three o'clock this morning to hunt up a still among the hills. I am glad you are back in time, as I did not like going away without there being any one in charge here. It's a nuisance; for it is just beginning to rain. However, it can't be helped."

"I will go if you like Desmond," Ralph said, jumping down. "I should like a good tramp this morning after that hot room."

"Are you quite sure you would like it?" the lieutenant asked.

"Quite sure. Beside, it's my turn for duty this morning; so that really it's my place to go with them, if Captain O'Connor has no objection."

"Not the least in the world, Conway. I don't suppose Desmond has any fancy for tramping among the hills, and if you have, there is no reason in the world why you should not go."

A couple of minutes sufficed to exchange the full-dress regimentals for undress uniform, covered by military greatcoat, then Ralph hurried out just as the excise officer came up.

"We are going to have a damp march of it, Mr. Fitzgibbon," Ralph said.

"All the better, sir. There will be a thick mist on the hills that will hide us better even than night. There is a moon at present, and as likely as not they will have a boy on watch. Are you ready, sir?"

"Quite ready. Attention! Form fours! March!" and the little party started.

"How far are we going?" Ralph asked the revenue officer.

"About seven miles, sir. It's about half-past three now; we shall be there somewhere about six. It does not begin to be light until seven, so there is no particular hurry."

"I hope you know the way, Mr. Fitzgibbon? It is so dark here I can scarcely see my hand. And if we get into the fog you talk about it will be as black as ink."

"Oh, I know the way," the officer said confidently. "We keep along the road for two miles, then turn up a track leading up a valley, follow that for three miles; then branch to the right, cross over one or two slight rises, and then follow another slight depression till we are within a hundred yards of the place. I could find my way there with my eyes shut."

"That sounds easy enough," Ralph said; "but I know how difficult it is finding one's way in a fog. However, we must hope we shall get there all right. Sergeant, have the men got anything in their haversacks?"

"Yes, sir. Captain O'Connor ordered them to take their breakfast ration of bread, and he told me to see that their water bottles were filled; and" (and here he moved closer up to Ralph, so that he should not be heard by the men) "he gave me a couple of bottles of whisky to mix with the water, and told me to fill the bottles myself, so that the men shouldn't know what was in them till they had their breakfast; otherwise there would be none left by the time they wanted to eat their bread. He is always thoughtful the captain is."

"That's a very good plan, sergeant. I shall bear it in mind myself for the future. They will want something before they get back after a fourteen-mile march."

The fine mist continued steadily as they tramped along; but the night seemed to grow darker and darker. They turned off from the road; and as they began to ascend the track along the valley the cloud seemed to settle round them. The excise officer walked ahead, keeping upon the path. Ralph followed as closely as he could in his footsteps; but although almost touching him he could not make out his figure in the darkness.

"Tell the men to follow in single file, sergeant," he said; "keeping touch with each other. As long as we are on the beaten track we know we are right, but there may be bowlders or anything else close by on one side or the other."

Marching as closely as they could to each other the party proceeded.

"How on earth are you going to find the place where we turn off, Mr. Fitzgibbon?" Ralph asked.

"We shall find it easy enough sir. The path regularly forks, and there is a pile of stones at the junction, which makes as good a guide as you can want on a dark night. We can't miss that even on a night like this."

Ralph had struck a light with his flint and steel, and looked at his watch at the point where they turned off from the road, and he did the same thing two or three times as they went along.

"It's an hour and twenty minutes since we turned off, Mr. Fitzgibbon. Even allowing for our stoppages when we have got off the path, we ought to be near the turning now."

"Yes, I fancy we are not far off now, sir. I can feel that we are rising more sharply, and there is a rise in the last hundred yards or so before we reach the place where the road forks. We had better go a little more slowly now, sir."

Another five minutes there was a stumble and a fall in front of Ralph.

"Halt!" he exclaimed sharply. "What is it, Mr. Fitzgibbon?"

"I have fallen over the pile of stones," the officer said, "and hurt myself confoundedly."

"Don't you think we had better halt till daylight?"

"I think we can keep on, sir. The nearer we get there the better; and if we should miss the path we can halt then and wait till daybreak."

"Well, we can do that," Ralph agreed.

"I will go on ahead, sir, twenty or thirty yards at a time and then speak, and you can bring the men on to me, then I will go on again. It will be slow work, but I can keep the path better if I go at my own pace."

Ralph agreed, and they proceeded in this manner for some time.

"I don't think we are on the track now," Ralph said at last.

"Oh, yes, we are," the officer replied confidently.

Ralph stooped and felt the ground. "The grass is very short," he observed, "but it is grass."

The officer followed his example.

"Oh, it is only a track now," he said. "Just a footpath, and the grass is not worn off. I am convinced we are right."

"Well," Ralph said, "just go a little way to the right and left, and see if the grass gets longer. It seems to me all the same."

The officer did so, and was obliged to own that he could not perceive any difference. Ralph now spread his men out in a line and directed them to feel on the ground to see if they could discover the track. They failed to do so, and Ralph then ordered them together again.

"We will halt here, sergeant, till daylight. It's no use groping about in the dark. For anything we know we may be going exactly in the wrong direction. The men can of course sit down if they like; and they may as well eat a piece of bread and try their water-bottles. But tell them not to eat more than half their ration. We may be longer before we get out of this than we expect."

The order was given, the men piled their arms and seated themselves on the short turf. Presently Ralph heard a sudden exclamation of surprise and satisfaction as one of the men tasted the contents of his water-bottle, and in a minute there was a buzz of talk. Before scarce a word had been spoken; the men had been marching in a sort of sulky silence, disgusted at being taken from their beds for work they disliked, and at their long march through the damp night air; but their satisfaction at this unexpected comfort loosened their tongues.

Pipes were produced and lighted, and the discomfort of the situation altogether forgotten. Desmond had handed to Ralph the flask and packet of sandwiches he had prepared for himself, and he, too, felt less strongly the chilling effects of the damp and darkness after partaking of them. The excise officer had also made his preparations.

"We should be more certain as to our whereabouts if we had stopped at that heap of stones as I proposed, Mr. Fitzgibbon."

"I don't deny, sir, you were right as it has turned out; only I wouldn't have believed that I could have missed the path, and I did want to get close to the place before we were observed. I knew that we couldn't actually surprise them till morning; for the hut lies some distance in a bog, and there would be no crossing it unless we could see. Still if we could have got to the edge without the alarm being given, they would not have time to hide the things before we reached them. I have ridden across this place many a time after dark, and never missed my way."

"That was the sagacity of your horse more than your own, I expect," Ralph said. "A horse can find his way along a path he has once traveled better than any man can do. In the first place, I think he can see better in the night; and in the second, he has some sort of instinct to guide him. However, I don't suppose it much matters; we shall find the path easily enough in the morning. And, as you said, the mist will hide our movements quite as effectually as the darkness would do."

At last the morning began to break in a dim misty light, and as it grew stronger they were able to perceive how dense was the fog that surrounded them. At three paces distant they were invisible to each other.

"It does not seem to me that we are much better off than we were before, so far as finding the path lies. What do you think?"

"It looks bad, certainly," the officer admitted reluctantly. "I am awfully sorry I have led you into this mess."

"It can't be helped," Ralph said. "We must make the best of matters. At any rate it's better than it was, and the mist is not nearly as heavy as when we were marching up that valley."

CHAPTER XI.

STILL-HUNTING.

"Now, sergeant, the men may as well fall in," Ralph said cheerfully, "and then we will set about finding this path. On which side do you think it is most likely to lie, Mr. Fitzgibbon?"

"I really can't give an opinion, sir. You see there is not a breath of wind to help us, and in this sort of light there is no telling where the sun is, so I don't know at the present moment which way we are facing."

"Well, we will try to the right first, sergeant," Ralph said. "I will lead the way. Let the men follow at a distance of about ten paces apart. I will keep on speaking. Do you stand at the left of the file, and when the last man has gone ten paces from you pass the word along. By that time I shall be about two hundred yards away. If I have not found the path then we will come back to you and do the same thing on the left. If we don't light upon the path itself we may come upon some rise or bog or something that will enable Mr. Fitzgibbon to form an idea as to where we are."

This was done, but beyond finding that the ground on the right was higher than that on the left no index as to their position was discovered.

"You see, Mr. Fitzgibbon, we are on sloping ground rising to the right. Now, does that help you at all?"

"Not much sir. The country here is all undulating."

"Very well, then, we must try a march forward. Now, sergeant, place the men five paces apart. Do you put yourself in the center. I will move on three yards ahead of you. I shall go as straight forward as I can, but if you think I am inclining either to the right or left you say so. The fact that the ground is sloping ought to be a help to us to keep straight. I wish it sloped a little more, then one would be able to tell directly whether one was keeping straight. Let the men speak to each other every few paces so as to keep the right distances apart."

Mr. Fitzgibbon placed himself by Ralph's side, and they started. For half an hour they kept on, then Ralph cried, "Halt. I am certain I am going downhill, it may be because I have changed my direction, or it may be because there is a change in the lay of the ground. What do you think?"

"It's impossible to say," Mr. Fitzgibbon replied. "It seems to me that we have been going straight, but when one can't see a yard before one one may have turned any direction."

"How long do you think that this rascally fog is likely to last?"

"It may clear up as the sun gets high, sir, but I must acknowledge that it may last for days. There is never any saying among these hills."

"Well, at any rate you must give up all idea of making a raid on this still, Mr. Fitzgibbon. That has become a secondary object altogether now. What we have to do is to find our way out of this. Hitherto I have tried what we could do in silence. Now I shall give that up. Now, sergeant, get the men together again. I will go ahead, and shall, if I can, keep on descending. If one does that one must get out of these hills at last. When I get about fifty yards I will shout. Then you send a man on to me. When he reaches me I will shout again and go on another fifty yards. When I shout send another man forward. When he gets to the first man the first man is to shout and then come on to me, and you send off another. In that way we shall make a regular line fifty yards apart, and I don't think any one can get lost. Should any one get confused and stray, which he can't do if he keeps his head, he must shout till he hears his shouts answered. After a time if he doesn't hear any answer he must fire his gun, and we must answer till he rejoins us. But if my orders are observed I do not see how any one can miss their way, as there will be posts stationed every fifty yards. You remain till the last and see them all before you. You quite understand? When each man comes up to the one in front of him he is to stop until the next man joins him, and then move on to the man ahead."

"I understand, sir."

"They must not be in a hurry, sergeant; because moving ahead as I shall, I shall have to move to the right or left sometimes so as to make as sure as I can that I am still going down. Now, Mr. Fitzgibbon, if you keep with me, between us we ought to find the road."

The plan seemed a good one, but it was difficult to follow. The fall of the ground was so slight that Ralph and the officer often differed as to whether they were going up or down, and it was only by separating and taking short runs right and left, forward or backward, that they arrived at any conclusion, and even then often doubted whether they were right. The shouting as the long line proceeded was prodigious, and must have astonished any stray animals that might have been grazing among the hills. So bewildering was the fog that the men sometimes went back to the men behind them instead of forward to the men in front, and long pauses were necessitated before they got right again. Ralph, finding the cause of the delays, passed the word down for the first man to keep on shouting "number one," the second "number two," and so on, and this facilitated matters. The line of shouting men had at least the advantage that it enabled Ralph to keep a fairly straight course, as the sound of voices told him if he was deviating much to the right or left.

"We may not be going right," he said to his companion, "but at least we have the satisfaction of knowing that we are not moving in a circle."

After some hours' marching Ralph, to his great delight, came upon a hill rill of water.

"Thank goodness," he said, "we have got a guide at last. If we follow this we must get somewhere. We need not go on in this tedious way, but will halt here till all the men come up."

It was half an hour before the sergeant arrived.

"We have got a guide now, sergeant, and can push on. I suppose you have no idea what stream this is, Mr. Fitzgibbon?"

"Not at present," the officer admitted. "There are scores of these little rills about. They make their way down from the bogs at the top of the hills, and there is nothing to distinguish one from the other."

They now tramped on briskly, keeping close to the little stream. Sometimes the ground became soft and marshy, and it was difficult to follow its course; but they went straight on and after three more hours' marching came upon a road that crossed the stream over a little culvert. There was a cheer from the tired men as they stood on hard ground again.

"Now, the question is shall we turn to the right or the left, for we have not the faintest idea as to the points of the compass. What do you say, Mr. Fitzgibbon?"

"I should say that it is an even chance; but at any rate whichever way we go we are sure to come in time upon a hut or village, and be able to find out where we are."

"Very well, then; we will take the right," Ralph said. "Form fours, sergeant. We shall get on better by keeping in step. Now, sergeant, if any of the men can sing let him strike up a tune with a chorus. That will help us along."

There was a little hesitation, and then one of the men struck up a song, and with renewed life and energy they all marched along. It was nearly an hour before they heard the welcome sound of voices close by. Ralph halted his men and proceeded toward this sound, and then discovered what the fog had prevented them from seeing before, that they were passing through a village, the voices being those of some women who were brought to their doors by the sound of music, and who were somewhat puzzled at the, to them, mysterious sounds."

"What place is this?" Ralph asked.

"It is Kilmaknocket."

"Bless me!" Mr. Fitzgibbon exclaimed, "we are twenty miles away from Ballyporrit if we are an inch."

"Then it's evident we can't get there to-day," Ralph said. "We must have come more than that distance since we halted in the night. Now, my good woman, I have a party of twenty men here, and we have lost our way in the hills, and must stop here for the night. How many houses are there in the village?"

"There are ten or twelve, sir."

"That is all right, then. We must quarter two men on each. I will pay every one for the trouble it will give, and for something to eat, which we want badly enough, for we have come at least twenty-five or twenty-six miles, and probably ten more than that, and have had nothing but a bit of bread since we started."

"It's heartily welcome you will be, sir," the woman said, "and we will all do the best we can for you."

The men were now ordered to fall out. The sergeant proceeded with them through the village, quartering two men on each house, while Ralph went round to see what provisions were obtainable. Potatoes and black bread were to be had everywhere, and he also was able to buy a good-sized pig, which, in a very few minutes, was killed and cut up.

"We have reason to consider ourselves lucky indeed," Ralph said, as he sat down with the excise officer half an hour later to a meal of boiled potatoes and pork chops roasted over a peat fire. "It's half-past four now, and will be pitch dark in another half-hour. If we had not struck upon that stream we should have had another night out among the hills."

Ralph's first measure after seeing his men quartered in the village was to inquire for a boy who would carry a message to Ballyporrit, and the offer of half a crown produced four or five lads willing to undertake it. Ralph chose one of them, an active-looking lad of about fifteen, tore out a leaf from his pocketbook, and wrote an account of what had happened, and said that the detachment would be in by two o'clock on the following day. Then directing it to Captain O'Connor or Lieutenant Desmond, whichever might be in the village, he gave it to the lad, who at once started at a trot along the road in the direction from which they had come.

"He will be there in four hours," Mr. Fitzgibbon said. "It's a regular road all the way, and he can't miss it even in the dark. It's lucky we turned the way we did, for although it was taking us further from home it was but two miles along the road here, while, if we had gone the right way, it would have been six or seven before we arrived at the next village."

"I think we are lucky all round," Ralph said. "An hour ago if any one told us we were going to sit down at half-past four to a hot dinner of pork and potatoes we should have slain him as a scoffer. It would have seemed altogether too good to be true."

Ralph had no difficulty in purchasing whisky, and be ordered the sergeant to serve out a tot to each man with his dinner and another half an hour later, and by seven o'clock there was scarcely one of the tired men who was not already asleep. The next morning they started at eight o'clock, having had a breakfast of potatoes before they fell in. Ralph rewarded the peasants generously for their hospitality, and the men set off in high spirits for their tramp, and reached Ballyporrit at half-past two in the afternoon.

"You gave us a nice scare yesterday, Conway," was Captain O'Connor's greeting as they marched in. "When twelve o'clock came and you didn't come back I began to think you must have lost yourselves; and a nice time we had of it till your messenger arrived at eight. It was no use sending out to look for you on the hills. But I went out with a party, with two or three men to guide us, to the end of a valley, up which a path went; beyond that there was no going, for one couldn't see one's hand. I stayed there an hour, firing off guns once a minute, and as there was no reply was sure that you must be a good distance off, wherever you were; so there was nothing to do but to come back and hope you had found shelter somewhere. Come in, lad; I have got some hot lunch waiting for you. Come in, Mr. Fitzgibbon. It's lucky I didn't catch you yesterday, or I should have considered it my duty to have hung you forthwith for decoying his majesty's troops among the hills."

"Well, Conway, you didn't bargain for all this when you offered to change places with me," Lieutenant Desmond said when they were seated at table.

"No; but now it's all over I am glad I did change, in spite of the tramp we had. It has been an adventure, and beside, it was a good thing to learn how best to get out of a fog."

"How did you manage, Conway?" Captain O'Connor asked; "for once lost in such a fog as that on those hills there really does not seem anything to be done."

Ralph related the various steps he had taken, and how, eventually, they had come upon running water and followed it down to a road.

"Well, I really think you have done remarkably well, youngster. I shouldn't be surprised if we have some more tramps before us, for I had a letter this morning from the colonel saying that the fellow known as the red Captain, a notorious scoundrel who has been with his gang committing all sorts of atrocities in Galway, has made the place too hot for him at last, and is reported to have made his way down to the south coast, somewhere in this direction; and we are ordered to keep a sharp lookout for him. He is an unmitigated ruffian, and a desperate one. He has shot several constables who have tried to capture him, and as he has three or four men with him nearly as bad as himself I expect we shall have some trouble with him. There has been a reward of a hundred pounds for his capture for a long time, but so far without success. One man, whom he suspected rightly or wrongly of intending to betray him, he killed by fastening the door of his cottage and then setting the thatch alight; and the man, his wife, and four children were burned to death."

That evening, just as dinner was over, the sergeant came in and said that a woman wished to speak to the captain.

"What does she want, sergeant?"

"She won't say what she wants, sir; only that she wishes to speak to you privately."

"Show her in then, sergeant."

The sergeant brought in the woman and then retired. As soon as the door closed behind him the woman threw back the shawl which had hitherto almost covered her face. She was about twenty-five years old, and strikingly pretty.

"What can I do for you?" Captain O'Connor asked. "The sergeant says you wish to speak to me on some particular business."

"Yes, sir; sure, and it is very particular business."

"You don't wish to speak to me quite alone, I suppose?" O'Connor asked, seeing that she hesitated.

"No, your honor; seeing that these gentlemen are all officers there is no reason in life why they should not hear what I have to say. But, sure, sir, it's little my life would be worth if it were known outside these walls that I had been here. My name is Bridget Moore, sir, and I belong to County Galway. Well, your honor, there was a desperate villain, they call the Red Captain, there. He was hiding in the hills for some time near the little farm my husband holds. We did not know who he washow should we? but thought he was hiding because the revenue officers were after him on account of a bit of a still or something of that kind; but we found out one day, when he had been taking too much of the cratur and was talking big like, that he was the Red Captain.

"My Denis was troubled in his mind over it. Av coorse he was not one to inform, but he had heard so much of the Red Captain and his doings that he was onaisy at the thought of having him as a neighbor. He wasn't one to pretind to be frindly when he wasn't, and the captain noticed it and took offince, and there were mighty high words between them. One night, your honor, he and his gang came down and broke in the door, and tould Denis he was a black-hearted informer, Denis said it was a lie, and they were nigh shooting him, but at last they said he should have the choice either of joining them or of being shot; and Denis, being druv to it, and seeing no other way to save his life, was forced to agree. Then the villains made him kneel down and take a great oath to be faithful and secret.

"I was away off; for I had caught up the child and run out by the back door when they came in, but I crept round to a broken window there was, so that I could hear what was said. When they took him away wid them and went off, I followed at a distance, for I wasn't sure whether after all they didn't mean to murther him. But they went up to the hut where they lived at the edge of the bog, and as they seemed more friendly like I went back to see after the child, who was left all alone. The next morning I took it over to a neighbor and asked her to keep it till I came back. Then I went up to the hut again and found it was empty.

"A day or two after that I found out from a man who run a still, and knew the Red Captain well, that he had made up his mind to lave Galway and come down south, where he had some friends; so I just shut up the house and walked down here. Now you know, your honor, that I don't come here for the sake of the reward. Not a penny of it would I touch if I were dying of hunger, and sooner than be pointed at as an informer I would throw myself over them big rocks. But they have got Denis, and either they will make him as bad as themselveswhich I don't thinkor they will shoot him; and if they don't shoot him he will be shot one of these days by the soldiers. What I want you to promise, your honor, is, that if I point out where you can lay your hands on the villains, you won't say who tould you, and that you will tell your soldiers not to shoot Denis.

"You will know him aisy enough, your honor, for he is a dacent-looking boy; and when the time comes you will find he will do what he can to help you. I found out who the people were that the Red Captain had come down to, and I watched and watched their place, till one day I saw him come there. Then I followed him and found out whereabout they were hiding. I kept about till, that evening, I had a chance of spaking to Denis for a minute. He is broken-hearted, your honor, but he daren't lave them. He said they had sworn if he ever tried to run away they would hunt him down; and the Red Captain said that he would send information to the poliss that it was Denis who helped him fire the hut when those poor cratures were burned, and would say, he had been in the thick of it all along; and how could he prove the differ? So he daren't for the life of him move, your honor; and tould me to keep away and go home, for I could do him no good, and if they caught me spaking to him they would kill the two of us."

"I promise you willingly," Captain O'Connor said, "I will not say who pointed out their hiding-place, and if your husband does not join in the resistance he certainly shall receive no hurt. If he is caught with them I am afraid that I shall be exceeding my duty in letting him go; but surely he would have no difficulty in proving that he had only accompanied them in consequence of their threats."

"That's what he couldn't prove, sir. That's just what they tould him: if they were caught themselves they knew there was no chance for them, and they would all swear together that he had been with them all along; and how could the boy prove that he wasn't?"

"Well, Mrs. Moore, I will try and strain a point," Captain O'Connor said. "You see, people sometimes escape after they are taken, and I think we shall be able to manage somehow that Denis shan't appear at the bar with the others; and if it should turn out that cannot be managed I will engage to make such representations to the authorities that your husband shall get off free."

"Very well, sir; then I will tell you where they are to be found. I can't take you there, your honor, but I can tell you whereabout it is. There is a footpath turns oft from the road at the end of the village, and goes straight down to the top of them big rocks that come out of the sea. Well, sir, a few hundred yards to the right of that there is a sort of break in the rocks, and there is a track goes down there. You won't see it onless you look close for it, and it gets lost a little way down, becase the rocks are all broken about and heaped on each other. It's down there they go. There's always a man on watch not far from the top; and there is generally a gossoon from their friends here somewhere at the edge of the bog behind, who would run forward and tell the man on watch if he saw any soldiers coming from here. So you will have to be mighty careful; but they are down there, sure enough, somewhere.

"Denis tould me there was no chance of their being taken, for they have got a little boat hid away down among the rocks by the water, and if the alarm was given they would make off in that. I can't tell you any more than that, you honor; but I should think that may be enough to help you to find them."

"I should think so too, Mrs. Moore. And what do you propose doing yourself?"

"I shall go off, sir, at once. Folk have been wondering at me, and asking where I came from and what I was doing here, and I want to get away. If it came to the Red Captain's ears there was a woman about he might guess it was me, and if he did he would like enough shoot Denis and make away. I can't see as I can do any good by stopping, and I may do harm; so I will go over to Dunmanway and stop there till I hear what your honor has done. If I find Denis has got hurted I shall come back, if not I shall go home to the farm. Maybe your honor will tell him I shall be expecting him there."

Captain O'Connor accompanied her outside to see that no one spoke to her, and when he saw her disappear in the darkness he returned to the room.

"I think you have had a lucky escape, Conway," he said as he entered. "The matter is explained now about your being watched and questioned, and it is very lucky that they did not quite make up their minds you were a spy; for if they had you may be sure they would have had no more hesitation in putting an ounce of lead into you, and throwing you over the cliff, than they would in shooting a sparrow. Well, this is an important piece of news. The authorities have for a long time been trying to lay their hands on this scoundrel and his gang, and if we can catch him it will be a feather in our caps, for he has defied all their efforts for the last three years. Now, we must arrange the line of battle, how it is to come off, and when.

"In the first place we must arrange with the coast-guard to have a well-manned boat somewhere along the coast to cut the scoundrels off if they try to escape by sea. The attack must be made by daylight, that is evident, for half the men would break either their legs or their necks if they tried to get down in the dark. I think it will be best to place half the company along the top of the cliffs, posting two or three men at every point where it looks possible that they may ascend, then with the other half we will go down on this track she speaks of and search the whole place thoroughly. If they are there we must find them sooner or later; and find them we will, if the search takes us a week."

"Who is this Red Captain?"

"I believe his real name is Dan Egan. He was mixed up in some brutal outrage on an inoffensive farmer, had to leave the county, went to Dublin, and enlisted. He went out to Spain with his regiment, was flogged twice for thieving, then he shot an officer who came upon him when he was ill-treating a Portuguese peasant; he got away at the time, and it was months before he was heard of again. It was thought that he had deserted to the French, but I suppose he got down to a port somewhere in disguise and shipped on board a vessel for England. The next thing heard of him was that he was back again at his native place. The police here were of course ignorant as to what had become of him from the time he disappeared; but the fellow made no secret of what he had been doing, and boasted of having shot the officer.

"The regiment was communicated with, and by a comparison of the date of enlistment and the personal description there was no doubt that the man who had enlisted as Mark Kelly was Dan Egan. Of course every effort was made to capture him, but in vain. I believe the peasants would have informed against him, for he was hated for his violence and overbearing way, but he soon established a sort of terror in the district. He was joined by three or four of the greatest ruffians in County Galway, and unless the whole of these had been captured at one swoop, vengeance would be sure to fall upon whoever had betrayed him.

"He has killed four or five police officers at various times, and I should say twice as many peasants who have ventured to offend him. He and his band levied a sort of blackmail in the district, and woe betide the small farmer who refused to send in a sheep or a bag of meal once a month. Their cattle were killed and their ricks set on fire; and so in a short time he had the whole neighborhood under his thumb. Whenever a party went in pursuit of him he was sure to obtain early information. Not from love, but from fear; for it was a well understood thing that any one seeing a body of police and failing to send instant word would suffer for it.

"Just as we left I heard that a company of foot and a troop of cavalry were to be sent from Galway to search every hut and hiding-place in the district, and I suppose that it was this that drove him down here. He has red hair and beard; and it is this partly, and partly no doubt the fellow's murderous character, that has gained him the name of the Red Captain. He is a prize worth taking, and if we can lay hands on him and his band together we shall have done better work than if we had unearthed a hundred illicit stills. At any rate we will lose no time. I will write a letter at once to the revenue officer at the coast-guard station. I shall mention no names, but say that we hope to make an important capture to-morrow morning on the cliffs here, and asking him to send a well-armed boat at daylight, with instructions to stop and arrest any boat that may put out from the shore. If the revenue cutter happens to be lying off his station, or within reach of a messenger, I will tell him to have her off the shore if possible."

Captain O'Connor at once wrote the letter. "Sergeant Morris," he said, when the non-commissioned officer came in, "I want you to take this letter yourself to Lieutenant Adcock at the coast-guard station in the cove three miles along to the east. It is of the highest importance. I want you to see the officer yourself and obtain an answer from him. Take a man with you, and carry your side-arms. Don't go along the cliff, but keep to the road till you come to the lane that leads direct to the village in the cove. Just tell the landlord to come here, will you?"

"Landlord," he said, when the host appeared, "I want you to lend a couple of long greatcoats and two hats or caps of any kind. I am sending two of my men off on a mission, and I don't want them to be noticed. It does not matter how old the coats are so that they are long."

"I will get them your honor. I have one that will do, and will borrow the other for you in no time."

"You see, sergeant, I don't want your presence in the village to be noticed. You know how these fellows hang together. The sight of two soldiers in uniform there would be sure to attract attention. Choose a man you can rely on to play his part cleverly. I tell you to take your side-arms, because I happen to know that there are men about who, if they suspected your mission, would not have the least hesitation in knocking you on the head. This is no question of finding a still, sergeant, but of making the capture of one of the most desperate bands in the country; and it is well worth taking the utmost pains and precaution to insure everything going well."

"I understand, sir. I will take Pat Hogan with me; he has plenty of the brogue, and can talk the language too. So if any one should speak to us as we go along he can do the talking, and no one will suspect that we are not a couple of countrymen."

"That will do very well, sergeant. It is just seven o'clock now. If Lieutenant Adcock is in when you get there you ought to be back, well, before ten. It's about four miles by road. I would borrow a couple of heavy sticks if I were you. I don't think it at all likely there will be any occasion to use them, but it is just as well to be prepared. If, when you get near the village, or on your way back, you come across any one who questions you inquisitively, and seems to you to be a suspicious character, I authorize you to make him prisoner and bring him over with you. Knock him down if he attempt resistance. You may as well take a pair of handcuffs with you and a short coil of rope. The object of the rope is, that if you capture any one on your way to the village you had better handcuff him, gag him, and tie him up securely to a tree or some other object at a distance from the road, and pick him up as you come back. I need hardly say that you are not to go into any house in the village, not to speak to any one beyond what is absolutely necessary."

"I understand, sir, and you can rely upon me to carry out your orders."

"You had better fetch Hogan in here, sergeant. Tell him what he has to do before you bring him in, then we can see the disguises on you both; and it's better for you to start from an inn, where people are going in and out, than from one of the houses where you are quartered."

The landlord returned with the disguises almost immediately after the sergeant had gone out, and in a few minutes the latter came in with Hogan. The greatcoats were put on, the hats substituted for military caps, and with the collars of the coats turned up and the addition of two heavy sticks, the disguise was complete, and the two smart soldiers would pass anywhere as peasants.

"You had better take your gaiters off, sergeant. You look too neat about the feet; although that would not be noticed unless you went into the light. Here is the letter, put it carefully inside your jacket. There, now, I think you will do."

It was nearly ten when the two soldiers returned. "Here's a letter sir, from the revenue officer. He quite understands what is wanted, and will have a boat off the cliffs at daybreak with a well-armed crew. He does not know where the cutter is at present. She touched there two days ago, sailing west."

"You met no suspicious characters, sergeant?"

"No, sir. We spoke to no one until we got to the village, beyond asking a woman which was the turning from the main road. There didn't seem to be a soul about in the village, and we had to wait about some time before I could get hold of a boy to tell me which was the revenue officer's cottage. I left Hogan outside when I went in; but he saw no one, nor did any one speak to us on our return beyond one or two men we met passing the time of night, which Hogan answered."

"All the better, sergeant. The great object is secrecy. Now, leave these things here and put on your caps again. If you go to the bar the landlord has orders to give you a glass of grog each. Don't say a word as to where you have been, Hogan, but get back to your quarters. When you have had your grog, sergeant, look in again before you go."

When the men had gone out Captain O'Connor opened the letter, which merely confirmed what the sergeant said. When Sergeant Morris returned Captain O'Connor told him that the company were to parade an hour before daylight.

"Don't give the order to-night, sergeant; but go round from house to house yourself in the morning, rouse the men, and tell them to fall in quietly without beat of drum.

"Everything is going on well, boys," he said when the sergeant had left, "and I think we have a good chance of laying these scoundrels by the heels to-morrow. However, we must insure that word is not sent from the village, when the troops begin to get up. A stir an hour before the usual time is sure to excite remark, and as it is certain these fellows will have arranged with some one in the village for early news of any unusual movement, we must take steps to prevent a messenger passing. I propose that you two shall be astir half an hour before the troops; and that you shall, before any one else is moving, go along the path leading to the cliffs, stop a couple of hundred yards beyond the village, and arrest any one who may come along."

"Yes, I think that will be a very good plan," Lieutenant Desmond said. "No one shall pass us, I warrant."

"Don't forget to take your pistols; it is likely enough you may have to use them before the day is over. These scoundrels know they fight with ropes round their necks, and are almost sure to resist desperately. Now we will have one glass more, and then be off to bed. The day will begin to break about seven, and I will impress upon the landlord the urgent necessity of calling you both by five."

"I suppose we are to stay where we take up our station till you come along with the company, O'Connor, whether we take any prisoners or not?"

"Yes, that will be the best way, Desmond. If you have caught any one I will send them back with a guard to the village. No, it would not do for you to move before we come up, for there is no saying what time a messenger will go along. They may not take the alarm until just as we are starting, or even until they see which road we are taking. By the way, you may as well take that pair of handcuffs the sergeant has left on the table with you, otherwise if you do get a prisoner you would have to keep your hands on his collar, or he might make a bolt any moment. There is nothing like being on the safe side.

"You had better take up your post at some place where your figures will not be seen by any one coming along the road till he is close to you, or instead of coming straight along he might make a bolt round; and some of these fellows can run like hares. We must not let the smallest chance escape us. If we succeed in the affair we shall get no end of credit, beside the satisfaction of freeing the country of as desperate a band of ruffians as any that infest it, and that's saying a good deal. Now, here's success to our work to-morrow." O'Connor drained his glass and placed it on the table, and then rising and taking up his sword made his way to his room, his companions at once following his example.

CHAPTER XII.

THE CAVE AMONG THE ROCKS.

At five o'clock on the following morning Ralph was roused by the landlord, who brought him a candle; he lost no time in dressing, buckled on his sword, looked to the priming of the double-barreled pistols Mr. Penfold had given him, and placed them in his belt. Then he went downstairs and put the handcuffs into the pocket of his great coat. He then went to the bar, where the landlord was kindling a fire.

"I want a bottle of whisky, landlord, a loaf of bread, and a big lump of cheese." As he was waiting for these, Lieutenant Desmond joined him.

"That's right, Conway, there is nothing like laying in a stock of creature comforts when you have the chance. Look here, landlord, get an empty bottle and put half the whisky in, and then fill them both up with water. Cut that loaf of bread in halves; in that way we can get it in our pockets. That's right; now do the same with the cheese. You and I may not be together, Conway, so it's just as well to divide the commissariat; to say nothing of the convenience of carriage. Now, have you got the handcuffs? That's right, we will be off at once."

The landlord went to the door with them and looked after them, somewhat surprised at seeing no soldiers about.

"What can they be up to by themselves at this hour of the morning?" he said to himself. "Well, they are two nice young fellows anyway, and I hope that they are not going to get into mischief. Now I will just make up the fire, and then sit down for an hour's snooze in my arm-chair. The captain said he was to be called at six. I suppose they are going out still-hunting somewhere. Well, I wish them luck; for when the boys can get their whisky for next to nothing they don't care about coming here, and small blame to them, for I shouldn't myself."

Not a soul was astir in the village as the two young officers passed along. They turned off at the lane leading to the sea, and after proceeding a quarter of a mile came to a point where the roadway ended, the path beyond this being merely a track. Here there was a gate across the lane, and a wall running right and left.

"We can't find a better spot than this, Conway," Lieutenant Desmond said. "If we sit down one on each side against the wall, a hundred men might pass along without noticing us."

"Which side shall we sit, Desmond?"

"We will sit this side," the lieutenant replied. "If we were the other side a man might possibly wrench himself way from our grasp, and might outrun us, but on this side of the gate he couldn't do so; for even if he did break away he would have to run back toward the village, the gate would stop his going the other way."

Accordingly the young officers took their posts against the wall, one on either side of the gate, and with their swords drawn awaited the coming of a messenger to the Red Captain.

"There is no chance of any one being here for another twenty minutes," Desmond said. "The sergeant will not rouse the men up till a quarter to six, therefore no one is likely to come along until within a few minutes of the hour. It's precious cold here, though the wall does shelter us from the wind a bit; still it's not a lively job having to wait here half an hour, with the thermometer somewhere below freezing point."

The time passed slowly. Occasionally they exchanged a few words in low tones, but as the time approached when they knew that the sergeant would be going his rounds to call the men they spoke less.

"It must be nearly six o'clock now," Desmond said at last. "The men would be called at a quarter to, so if any one is coming he will most likely be here in a few minutes. Hush! I think I can hear footsteps."

A few seconds later they dimly saw a figure running toward them at full speed. As it dashed up to the gate they sprang out and seized it. There was a sharp frightened cry.

"Don't make a noise," Desmond said sternly, "or it will be the worse for you. Where were you going?"

It was a girl of about twelve years old whom they had captured. She was silent a moment.

"Sure, your honor," she said in a whimper, "I was doing no harm. I was only running to tell Mike Brenan that his ould mother is taken bad with the cramps, and wanted to see him bad."

"Where do you expect to go to, you little liar?" Desmond asked. "We know what you are up to. You were running to tell some one that the soldiers were getting up. Now, if you are quiet and keep still no harm will come to you; but if you try to scream or to get away we shall hand you over to the police, and there's no saying whether they may not make it a hanging matter for aiding the king's enemies."

"I suppose we needn't fasten her?" Ralph said.

"Not fasten her! Why, she is as slippery as a young eel, and if you take your hand off her for a moment she would be off like a hare. No, no, we must make her safe. Beside," he whispered in Ralph's ear, "she would scream to a certainty if she saw any one else coming, then they might strike off and get round us. No, no, we can't run any risks; there is too much depends on it. Now just sit down there, young woman, by the wall. We are not going to hurt you, but you have got to keep quiet. Now put your feet together." Desmond took out his pocket handkerchief and folded it, and tied the girl's ankles firmly together. "Now then, Ralph, do the same with her wrists. That's right now. Wrap that shawl of hers three or four times tightly round her mouth. That's it; let her breathe through her nose. Now you keep a sharp watch over her, and see she doesn't wriggle out of these things. If you see any one coming clap your hand over her mouth, and see she doesn't make a sound. When he comes up you can let go and help me if necessary; it won't matter her giving a bit of a scream then."

"Now," he went on, this time speaking aloud, "if that girl makes the least noise, run her through with your sword at once. Don't hesitate a moment."

"Very well," Ralph said in the same tones. "I will silence her, never fear."

Ralph sat down close to the girl and watched her sharply. They had fixed the shawl as well as they could, but he felt sure that by a sudden effort she could free her mouth sufficiently to scream. She sat perfectly still; but in about three minutes he saw her suddenly throw her head back, and in an instant he clapped his hand over her mouth. She struggled violently in spite of her bonds, and tried to bite; but with the other arm he held her head firmly, and succeeded in preventing the slightest sound escaping her. Then he glanced up the path. As he had expected the girl's quick ear had heard approaching footsteps that were inaudible to him. A figure was bounding rapidly toward them. As it reached the gate Desmond sprang upon it. There was a sharp scuffle for a moment.

"All right, Conway. I have got him."

It was a lad of some fifteen years old this time. He struggled furiously till Desmond placed a pistol against his head, and told him that he would blow his brains out if he was not quiet, and taking out the handcuffs fastened them on to his ankles.

"There is no fear of his doing any running now. Just come and sit down by this wall, my lad, and remember if you make the slightest sound I will run my sword through your body."

The lad shuffled to the wall and sat down. Ralph released his grasp of the girl.

"This is a regular young wildcat, Desmond. She very nearly got my hand in her mouth, and if she had she would have bitten a piece out. Well, I shouldn't think there will be any more of them."

"No, I should think not. They would scarcely send off more than two messengers. However, we must still keep a sharp lookout."

But no one else came along, and in a quarter of an hour they heard the deep tramp of a body of men approaching, and Captain O'Connor soon came up at the head of the company.

"Well, any news, gentlemen?" he asked as the two young officers stepped out.

"Yes, Captain O'Connor. We have two prisonersa girl and a boy. They came along about ten minutes apart, both running at full speed and evidently going with messages. We put the handcuffs on the boy's ankles, and tied the girl's with our handkerchiefs."

"Sergeant, tell off two men and let them take these prisoners back to the village, and guard them carefully till we return. They may as well keep the handcuffs on the boy's ankles, and untie the girl's; but let one of them keep a tight hold of her arm, and be sure that she doesn't slip away."

Two men were told off for the duty, and the march was then resumed. Daylight was faintly breaking when they reached the edge of the cliff. Ralph, with ten men, was posted at the spot where a slight track was visible going down into a sort of gulley. Captain O'Connor then proceeded with half the company to the right, Desmond taking the remainder to the left; each posting men at intervals along the edge of the cliff, and placing parties of four at every point where there appeared the smallest probability of an ascent being practicable.

All were ordered to load at once. They were to make prisoner any one coming up the cliff, and in case of resistance to fire without hesitation. The two officers then returned to the spot where they had left Ralph. It was now nearly broad daylight. Leaving the soldiers they went a short distance to a point where the rocks fell away precipitately, and from here had a clear view of the face of the cliffs.

"We had better wait here for a time," the captain said. "The chances are that before long one of them will look out from their hiding-place, and perhaps make his way up to the top to look round. If he does, that will give us an index as to the direction at any rate of their hiding-place. Now, I will take the ground in front; do you watch to the left, Conway, and you to the right, Desmond. We had better lie down, or on this jutting point we may catch the eye of any one down there before we can see him. Keep a sharp lookout lads; it will save us a world of trouble if we can see one of them."

For half an hour they lay quiet, then Desmond suddenly exclaimed:

"There is a man among those fallen rocks halfway up the side. There! he is gone. Perhaps we shall see him again in a moment."

For five minutes they lay with their eyes fixed on the rocks that Desmond pointed out, but there were no signs of life.

"Are you sure you were not mistaken, Desmond?" O'Connor asked.

"Quite certain. He suddenly appeared by the side of that gray bowlder, stood there for a moment, and sunk down again. I expect he must have got a view of one of the men somewhere along the top."

"We will wait another ten minutes," O'Connor said, "and then we will take a party to the spot and search it thoroughly. There is the coast-guard boat, so there is no fear of their getting away by water."

Another quarter of an hour passed.

"It is no use waiting any longer. Go along the line, one each way, and bring ten men from points where they can be spared. We will leave them at the top of the path and take the party there down with us. There are only four or five of them, and ten men beside ourselves are ample for the business."

The arrangements were soon made. Before starting on the descent O'Connor said to the men: "We wish to take the fellows who are hiding down there alive if possible. They are the gang of the fellow known as the 'Red Captain,' and have committed a score of murders; but if it is absolutely necessary you will of course fire. There is one man among them who is there on compulsion, and is less guilty than the rest. He is a fair-haired man, and I should think you would notice the difference between him and the rest. Whatever resistance they make it is not probable that he will join in it. At any rate, do not fire at him unless it is absolutely necessary to save life. Now see to your priming before we start, and fix bayonets. Mind how you climb over these rocks, because if any of you fall your muskets may go off and shoot some one in front of you. Wherever it is possible scatter out abreast of each other, so as to prevent the possibility of accident. Now, then, march!"

Leading the way, Captain O'Connor descended the little track. It extended but a short distance. Beyond that a chaos of fallen rocksthe remains of a landslip many years previouslystretched away to the shore.

"There is no working along these sideways, Desmond," Captain O'Connor said after they had climbed along for some little distance. "We had better make straight down to the shore, follow that for a bit, and then mount again to the spot where you saw the man."

It was difficult work, but at last the party reached the shore. Lieutenant Adcock, who was himself in command of the boat, had watched the party making their way down the rocks, and now rowed in to within a few yards.

"Good-morning, lieutenant," Captain O'Connor said. "I think we have got them fairly trapped; but doubtless they would have made off if they hadn't seen you on the watch outside. It's that notorious scoundrel the Red Captain of Galway who is, I hear, hiding here with his gang."

"Indeed!" the revenue officer said; "that will be a capture worth making. Shall I come ashore with four of my men? I expect they are more accustomed to climbing about among the rocks than yours are, and I should like to lend a hand."

"Do, by all means," Captain O'Connor replied. "I see you have got ten, and six will be quite enough in the boat, even if they do manage to get down and embark, which I don't think they will. Your men are all armed, I suppose?"

"Yes; they have all carbines and cutlasses. Now, coxswain, I leave you in charge. Row out a quarter of a mile, and if any boat pushes off you are to stop it and arrest all on board. They will almost certainly resist, and in that case you must use your arms. Now, the four bow oars get out and step ashore."

When the lieutenant and his four men had landed, the boat again pushed off, and the party on shore made their way along over the rocks at the edge of the water until they were opposite the rock where Lieutenant Desmond had seen the man appear. Then the ascent was commenced. The four officers went first, the men following in a line.

"Bear a little to the left," Captain O'Connor said; "it is likely to lie somewhere in that direction. The man we saw would have been making toward the path and not from it. Keep a sharp lookout between these great rocks; there is no saying where the entrance to their hiding-place may be."

Almost as he spoke there was a sharp crack of a rifle, and the bullet struck the rock on which he was standing.

"Come on, lads!" he shouted, "the sooner we are there the less time they have got to fire;" and with a cheer the men hurried forward, scrambling recklessly over the rocks. Again and again puffs of smoke darted out from the rocks in front; and one of the soldiers fell, shot through the heart.

"Don't stop to fire!" Captain O'Connor shouted as a yell of rage broke from the men; "you will do no good, and it will only give them more time."

A dozen more shots were fired. One of the coast-guard men was shot through the shoulder; but this was the only casualty, for the quick movements of the men as they scrambled over the bowlders disconcerted the aim of those above. Breathless and panting the four officers gained the spot from which the shots had been fired, the men close up behind them; but not a soul was to be seen.

"Wait a moment till you get breath, lads," their leader said. "They can't be far from here. We will find their hiding-place presently, never fear."

As they stood panting there was a shout from above. The soldiers were standing along the edge of the cliff, looking down upon the fight. Sergeant Morris waved his arm.

"They have made away to your left, sir!" he shouted at the top of his voice. "We have just caught sight of them among the rocks!"

In two or three minutes Captain O'Connor led the way in that direction.

"Keep your eyes sharply about, lads. No doubt the place is cunningly hidden. Search among every clump of bushes between the rocks."

Presently the sergeant shouted down again from above:

"I think you are far enough now, sir! We did not catch sight of them beyond that!"

For an hour the search continued, but without avail.

"They must be here somewhere, lads!" Captain O'Connor said. "We will find them if we have to stop here a week, and have provisions brought down from the village. It's pretty evident there is no opening between the great rocks or we must have found it. We must examine the smaller bowlders. They may have one so placed that it can be dropped down over the entrance. That flat slab is a likely-looking place, for instance. Three or four of you get hold of it and heave it up."

The men gathered round to lift it. Ralph stooped down and peeped under as they did so.

"Hurrah!" he shouted, "there is an opening here."

Several of the others now got hold of the stone. It was up-ended and thrown backward, and the entrance to a passage some three feet high and two feet wide was revealed.

"I can smell a peat fire!" one of the men exclaimed.

"This is the entrance, no doubt," Captain O'Connor said. "See, the bottom is evidently worn by feet. The passage must have been used for a long time; but it's an awkward place to follow desperate men into."

"It is, indeed," Lieutenant Adcock agreed. "They could shoot us down one after one as we go in. They would see us against the light, while we should be able to make out nothing."

"Surrender in there!" Captain O'Connor shouted. "You can't get away; and I promise you all a fair trial."

His summons was followed by a taunting laugh; and a moment later there was a sharp sound within, and a rifle bullet struck the side of the entrance and flew out.

"It would be throwing away one's life to go in there," Captain O'Connor said. "At any rate we have got them secure, and they must come out in time. But it would be madness to crawl in there on one's hands and feet to be picked off by those scoundrels at their ease. Now, lads, two of you stand by this entrance. Keep out of the line of fire, and be ready with your bayonets to run any one through who comes out. Let the rest scatter and search round this place. They may have another entrance. If so, we must find it. In the first place, it may be easier of entry; in the second they might escape from it after dark."

Again the search began.

"Do you think it is likely to be higher up or lower down, O'Connor?" Lieutenant Desmond asked.

"There is no saying, Desmond; the passage seems to go straight in. I should fancy above rather than below."

For a long time they searched without success; then Ralph, who had gone higher up the rocks than the rest, came upon a clump of low bushes growing between some large bowlders. There was nothing suspicious about them, and he was just turning away when he perceived a slight odor of peat smoke.

Silently he made his way down to the captain.

"I have found another entrance," he said. "At any rate I think so; for I certainly smelled smoke. If we go quietly we may take them unawares."

Captain O'Connor passed the word along for the men to gather silently, and Ralph then led the way up to the clump of bushes.

"Yes, I can smell the peat plainly enough. Now, Conway, do you search among the bushes. Carefully, lad, we don't know what the place is like."

Cautiously Ralph pushed the bushes aside. He saw at once that these had been carefully trained to cover a large hole. This was about three feet wide; and descended at a sharp angle, forming a sloping passage of sufficient height for a man to stand upright. Captain O'Connor knelt down and looked in.

"This looks more possible," he said; "but it's very steep. I should say it is not used by them, but acts as a sort of chimney to ventilate the cavern and let the smoke out. At any rate we will try it; but we must take our boots off so as to get a better hold on the rocks, beside we shall make less noise. Blunt and Jervis, do you go down to the other entrance again. It is likely enough that they may try to make a bolt that way if they hear us coming. Keep a sharp lookout down there, and be sure no one escapes."

"Don't you think, Captain O'Connor, that it will be a good thing to enter from there also the moment a row is heard going on within. Their attention will be taken up with your attack, and we may get in without being noticed."

"That's a very good idea, Conway; and you shall carry it out. Take two more men with you, and make your way in as soon as you hear us engaged. But remember that it is quite possible we may not be able to get down. This passage may get almost perpendicular presently; and though I mean to go if possible, even if I have a straight drop for it, it may close up and be altogether impracticable. So don't you try to enter till you are quite sure they are engaged with us, otherwise you will be only throwing away your life."

"I understand, sir," Ralph said as he turned to go off. "If you get in you can reckon on our assistance immediately; if not, we shall make no move."

Ralph now took up his station at the mouth of the cavern with his six men, and lay down just in front of the opening listening attentively. He could hear a continued murmur as of many voices.

"Get ready, lads, to follow me the instant you see me dive in," he said. "I am sure by the sound there are more than four men in there, and Captain O'Connor may want help badly."

Grasping a pistol in his left hand, and his sword in his right, Ralph listened attentively. Suddenly he heard a shout, followed by a volley of imprecations, and then the discharge of a gun or a pistol.

In an instant he threw himself forward along the low narrow passage. He had not gone more than three or four yards when he found that it heightened, and he was able to stand upright. He rushed on, keeping his bead low in case the roof should lower again, and after a few paces entered a large cabin. It was dimly illuminated by two torches stuck against the wall. In a moment a number of figures rushed toward him with loud shouts; but before they reached him two of the soldiers stood by his side.

"Fire!" he shouted as he discharged his pistol, and at the same moment the soldiers beside him discharged their muskets.

A moment later he was engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand conflict. Several firearms had flashed off almost in his face. One of the soldiers fell with a sharp cry, but those who were following rushed forward. Ralph narrowly escaped having his brains dashed out by a clubbed rifle, but springing back just in time he ran his opponent through before he could recover his guard.

Just at this moment a big man with a shock of red hair and a huge beard leveled a blunderbuss at him. It flashed across him that his last moment had come, when a man behind leaped suddenly upon the ruffian's back and they fell to the ground together, the blunderbuss going off in the fall and riddling a soldier standing next to Ralph with slugs.

For two or three minutes a desperate struggle went on between Ralph and his six men and those who attempted to break through them. Sturdily as the soldiers fought they had been driven back toward the entrance by the assailants, armed with pikes and clubbed guns. There was no sound of conflict at the other end of the cave, and Ralph felt that the attack there had for some reason failed.

"Shoulder to shoulder, lads!" he shouted. "We shall have help in a minute or two."

He had emptied both his double-barrelled pistols. His sword had just broken short in his hand while guarding his head from a heavy blow. He himself had been almost struck to the ground, when there was a rush of men from behind, and the rest of the soldiers poured in.

"Give them a volley, lads!" he shouted; "and then charged them with the bayonets!"

The muskets rang out, and then there was a shout of "We surrender! we surrender!"

A minute later the men were disarmed. There was still a desperate struggle going on on the ground.

"Here, lads," Ralph said to two of his men. "Secure this red fellow, he is their leader. One of you bring a torch here."

The light was brought. It was seen that the man who had sprung upon the Red Captain's back had pinioned his arms to his sides, and held them there in spite of the efforts of the ruffian to free himself. Two of the soldiers took off their belts and fastened them together, passed them between the back of the man and his captor, and then strapped his arms firmly to his side. The man who held them then released his grip.

"Stand over him with fixed bayonets, and if he moves run him through. Now, where's Captain O'Connor?"

"I don't know, sir. He and Mr. Desmond and the naval officer went down the hole in front of us. We were following when the naval officer shouted up to us to run round to this entrance and make our way in there, for he could go no further."

"I am here, Conway," a faint voice said from the other end of the cabin; "but I have broken my leg I think, and Desmond has knocked all the wind out of my body."

Ralph hastened to the spot whence the voice came and found Captain O'Connor lying on the ground, and Lieutenant Desmond insensible beside him.

"What has happened?" Ralph exclaimed. "Have they shot you?"

"No. Hold the torch up and you will see the way we came."

The soldier did so, and Ralph looking up saw a hole in the top of the cave twenty feet above.

"You don't mean to say you came through there, O'Connor?"

"I did, worse luck to it!" O'Connor said. "The passage got steeper and steeper, and at last my foot slipped, and I shot down and came plump into the middle of a peat fire; and a moment later Desmond shot down on to the top of me. We scattered the fire all over the place, as you can imagine; but I burned my hands and face, and I believe the leg of my breeches is on firesomething is hurting me confoundedly."

"Yes, it is all smoldering!" Ralph exclaimed, putting it out with his hands.

"Have you got them all?" Captain O'Connor asked.

"Everyone; not one has made his escape. It would have fared badly with us, though, if Lieutenant Adcock had not sent down the men to our assistance. Where is your leg broken, O'Connor?"

"Above the knee," the captain said.

"Here is some whisky and water," Ralph said, handing him his bottle. "Now, I will see what has happened to Desmond," and he stooped over the insensible officer.

"He has got a nasty gash on his forehead, and I think his right arm is broken," he said. "I will pour a little spirits between his lips, and then he had better be carried out into the air."

This was done; and then Ralph went outside, and shouted to Sergeant Morris to bring down another twenty men.

"If you please, sir," one of the coast-guard men said, touching his hat, "I don't see any signs of our officer. Have you seen him?"

"No," Ralph said. "Perhaps he is still in that passage. You had better run up to the top and see."

Two minutes later the man returned:

"He's down there, sir; but he says he can't get up or down."

"You had better run down to the boat at once," Ralph said. "I see she is close inshore. Bring a couple more of your men up with you and a rope. If you tie that round your body you can go down and bring him up."

Ralph then returned to the cavern, where the men were still guarding the prisoners.

"You can march them outside now," he said. "Then make them sit down, and stand over them with fixed bayonets till Sergeant Morris arrives. Now let us look to the wounded."

An examination showed that two of the soldiers were dead, and three others badly wounded. Seven of the party in the cave lay on the ground. One only was alive; the rest had fallen either from bullet or bayonet wounds. Seeing that nothing could be done here Ralph looked round the cavern. He soon saw that just where Captain O'Connor had fallen there was an entrance into another cave. He reloaded his pistols before he entered this, but found it deserted.

It contained two large stills, with mash tubs and every appliance, two or three hundred kegs of whisky, and some thirty sacks of barley. This at once accounted for the cave being known, and for the number of men found in it; for in addition to the seven that had fallen six prisoners had been taken. The walls of the cave were deeply smoke-stained, showing that it had been used as a distillery for a great number of years.

"That is satisfactory," Captain O'Connor said when Ralph reported to him the discovery he had made. "That place where I came down is of course the chimney. Peat does not give much smoke, and making its way out through that screen of bushes it would be so light that it would not be noticed by any one on the cliffs. Well, it's been a good morning's worka band of notorious scoundrels captured and an illicit still discovered in full work. It was a cleverly contrived place. Of course it is a natural cavern, and was likely enough known before the fall of rocks from above so completely concealed the entrance. I wish those fellows would come, though, for my leg is hurting me amazingly, and these burns on my hands and face are smarting horribly. Shout out to them on the cliff, Conway, and tell them to send at once to fetch Dr. Doran from the village. The wounded ought to be seen to as soon as possible, and it is likely enough that some of them cannot be taken up over the rocks to the top of the cliff. I dread the business myself."

In a quarter of an hour Sergeant Morris arrived with his party. By this time Lieutenant Desmond had recovered consciousness, and although in great pain from his broken arm was consoled upon hearing of the complete success of the expedition. The soldiers were furious on hearing that three of their comrades had been killed, and two of their officers badly injured.

"Sergeant," Ralph said, "bring four of your men into the cave with me. Now," he continued when they entered, "there is a pile of blankets in that corner; take one of them and fasten it across two of the men's muskets, so as to make a litter. Then we must lift Captain O'Connor carefully and put him on it and get him outside. It will be a difficult business getting him through the narrow entrance, but we must manage it as well as we can. But first let us thoroughly examine the caves; there may be another entrance somewhere."

Searching carefully they found a passage behind the stack of kegs. It was some eight feet high and as much wide. They followed it for a short distance, and then saw daylight. Their way was, however, speedily blocked by a number of rocks piled over the entrance.

"This was evidently the original entrance to these caves," Ralph said, "but it was covered up when the rocks came down from above. That would account for the place not being known to the coast-guards. I thought the passage we came in by looked as if it had been enlarged by the hand of man. No doubt it was originally a small hole, and when the entrance was blocked the men who made up their minds to establish a still here thought that it would be the best way to enlarge that and to leave the original entrance blocked.

"Well, it's evident we must take Captain O'Connor and the wounded out by the small entrance. It would be a tremendous business to clear those great rocks away."

Captain O'Connor and the two wounded men were with great difficulty taken through the narrow passage. The soldier who was alive was the one who had received the charge of the blunderbuss in his legs; he was terribly injured below the knee, and Ralph had little doubt that amputation would be necessary. The other man lived but a short time after being brought into the air.

Ralph now turned to the peasant who had saved his life by grappling with the Red Captain at the moment he was about to discharge his blunderbuss, and who had by his orders been left unbound. He was sitting a short distance from the other prisoners.

"Your name is Denis Moore?" he said.

"It is, your honor," the man replied in surprise; "though how you came to know it beats me entirely."

"I heard it from your wife last night," Ralph said.

"From Bridget?" the man exclaimed. "Why, I thought she was a hundred miles away!"

"She came down here like a brave woman to try and save you," Ralph said, "and gave us information that brought us to this hiding-place; but her name is not to appear, and no one will know how we heard of it. We promised her that no harm should come to you if we could help it, and, thanks to the act by which you saved my life, you have escaped, for being down on the ground you were out of the line of the fire of our bullets. Of course at present we shall treat you as a prisoner, as you were captured with the others; but I think we shall manage to let you slip away. Your wife is to remain at Dunmanway till she hears the news of this affair and that you are safe, and she bade me tell you that you would find her at home, so no one will dream that either she or you had any hand in this affair. Now, point me out which are the four men that belong to this gang that brought you down here."

"The man who has just died was one of them," Denis replied. "None of the other three are here, so I expect they fell in the cabin. They were in the front of the fight. I saw one go down just as I grappled with our captain."

"So much the better," Ralph said. "As to their leader, there will be no difficulty in getting evidence about him. The regiment he belonged to is in Dublin, and they can prove the shooting of his officer; beside, they can get any amount of evidence from Galway."

"Ay; they will be ready enough to speak out now the whole gang are down," Denis Moore said. "They would not have dared to open their lips otherwise. The other prisoners all belong about here. One of their party is the captain's brother. That's how it is they came to take us in. But I think they would have been glad to get rid of us, for the Red Captain's lot were too bad for anything; and it isn't because men are ready to cheat the king's revenue that they are fond of such villains and murderers as these."

In a short time the doctor arrived. He had brought a case of instruments with him.

"There's nothing for it but amputation here," he said when he examined the wounded soldier. "His legs are just splintered. The sooner I do it the better."

Sergeant Morris and three of the men held the poor fellow while the operation was performed. As soon as it was over the doctor applied splints and bandages to Captain O'Connor's leg and Lieutenant Desmond's arm, and dressed the wounds of three of the other men, who had suffered more or less severely.

CHAPTER XIII.

STARTLING NEWS.

"What do you think is the best thing to be done now doctor?" Ralph asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "I don't see how on earth we are going to get them over these rocks and up to the top. A slip or a fall would cost either of your friends their limbs, and that poor fellow his life. I don't see how it is to be managed. It's hard work for a man to climb those rocks, and how a litter is to be carried I can't see. If it were anywhere else I should say build a hut for them; but it would be a tremendous business getting the materials down, and I don't think it could possibly be managed by night."

"I am sure it couldn't," Ralph said, shaking his head. "I think, though, if we got two long poles and slung a piece of canvas like a hammock between them we may possibly get them down to the shore. You see we have plenty of strength to get them over rough places."

"We could manage that easy enough," Lieutenant Adcock, who had some time before joined the party, said. "There are some sixteen-feet oars in the boat and some sails. We could easily rig up the hammock. I suppose you mean to take them off in the boat, Mr. Conway?"

"Yes; that's what I meant," Ralph said. "Then you can land them in your cove, and they might stop in the village till they are fit to be moved."

"That would be an excellent plan," the doctor said. "Let us set about it at once."

In half an hour the sailors brought up the hammock.

"I will go first," Captain O'Connor said, "as I am the heaviest. You will see how you manage to get me down. If it's done pretty easily you can bring down the two others; if not, they had better stop in the cave for to-night, and we will get a hut for them to-morrow. By the way, Conway, you had better get the dead carried out and taken down to the seashore. Have them laid down out of reach of the tide. Some of them belong about here, and their friends will wish to give them a decent burial. Our own dead had better be put in the boat, if Mr. Adcock will allow it, and taken to the village with us. Then they can be carried over to Ballyporrit for burial. A corporal with four men must be left for to-night in charge of the caves."

"I shall want my men to row the boat," Lieutenant Adcock said. "In the morning I will send over a warrant officer and four men to take charge of the cave till I can take its contents round to our stores."

Captain O'Connor was now lifted into the hammock, and six sailors carried him down to the water. They managed it excellently, easing him down with the greatest care over the rocks, and succeeded in getting him down to the sea without a single jerk. Lieutenant Desmond and the wounded soldiers were then taken down in the same way, while the men carried down the dead bodies of their three comrades and of the peasants who had fallen.

"I will take charge of the wounded," Lieutenant Adcock said, "and see them comfortably housed and cared for. I suppose Dr. Doran will go with us."

"Certainly," the doctor said, stepping into the boat. I shall not give up charge of them until I see them all safely in bed."

"I shall come over and see you O'Connor," Ralph said, "as soon as I get the company back to the village. Shall I write a report of this business, or do you feel equal to doing so?"

"I will manage it, Conway. I can dictate it if I don't feel up to writing it. But you had better not come over to-day. There will be a good deal of excitement over this capture, and no doubt several of the killed and prisoners belong to Ballyporrit; so it wouldn't do for you to leave the detachment without an officer. Be sure you have a strict guard put over the prisoners, and keep an eye upon them yourself. You can send over to inquire about us, but till you have got them off your hands you had better not leave the village. If a party are wanted for still-hunting send Sergeant Morris with them. I shall dispatch my report to-night, and no doubt the colonel will send an officer out to help you as soon as he gets it."

The boat now pushed off. A corporal and four men were told off to occupy the cave until relieved by the revenue men, and then, with the prisoners in their center, the party climbed the cliff, and again, having been joined at the top by the rest of the company, marched to Ballyporrit. They found the village in a state of excitement. The soldier who had gone to fetch the doctor had brought the news that a fight had take place down on the face of the cliff, but he could not say whether any had been killed. As soon as the detachment returned with the prisoners in their midst many women flocked round with cries and lamentations, and exchanged greetings with the prisoners.

Ralph at once took possession of the stables at the inn, and saw that the prisoners were all handcuffed, the Red ruffian's legs being also securely bound. Then he placed two sentries inside and two out. The news that some of the men had been killed soon spread, and many of the villagers who did not see their relations among the prisoners hurried off toward the scene of action. Ralph informed the landlord that the dead had all been placed together on the seashore, and that their friends were at liberty to remove and bury them without any questions being asked. He then sent a corporal over to bring back news how the wounded men had borne the journey, and how they were disposed. But before his return the doctor drove up in a trap that he had borrowed.

"Adcock has put up the two officers in his own house," he said, "and his wife will look after them, so you need not worry about them. The other poor fellows are in the cottage next door. It belongs to the coxswain of the boat, who is also a married man. So you need be under no uneasiness about any of them. As far as I can see, they are all likely to do well. I shall go over the first thing in the morning, and will bring you news of them as soon as I get back."

Ralph had given orders that Denis Moore was not to be treated as a prisoner; and he now told the sergeant to send him in to him.

"I have been thinking it over, Moore," he said; "and it seems to me the best plan will be to allow you to go quietly away. Your conduct in the fight in the cave in itself showed that you were not voluntarily with the others; and I do not think, therefore, that it is necessary to report you among the prisoners. I suppose the Red Captain's gang have not done any unlawful act beyond taking part in the still business since they took you away from home?"

"No, your honor. We just came straight down here, traveling at night and hiding away by day."

"Very well. In that case you can give no special evidence against them. It is probable that at the trial evidence may be required from Galway as to the deeds that that red-bearded scoundrel committed there; and it is possible that you may be summoned with others, but I should think that the evidence of the constabulary will be sufficient. So, if you will give me your address there I will take it upon myself to let you go at once. In that case you can join your wife this evening and travel back with her."

"Thank you, sir," Denis replied. "I have no objection at all to give evidence as to what I know, so that it does not come out it was Bridget who tould you where they were hiding."

"You need not be afraid of that, Denis. Captain O'Connor gave her his word that her name should not be mentioned. At the same time I have no doubt he will claim for her the hundred pounds reward that was offered; and if he obtains it he will send it to you, so that nobody will be any the wiser."

"I should not like to take informer's money," Denis said.

"Not in ordinary cases," Ralph replied. "But you see she spoke out, not for the sake of money, but to get you out of their hands. And considering how much mischief those fellows have done, and how much more they would have done had we not laid hands on them, it is a very different case from that of an ordinary informer. None of your neighbors will know that she has had anything to do with the capture of these men, therefore no one will be any the wiser, and no doubt a hundred pounds will be very useful to you. I am sure you deserve some sort of compensation for being dragged away from home, and for the risk you ran in that fight; for a bullet might just as well have struck you as any of the others. I know that if I were in your place I should accept it without the least hesitation. And now, as I don't suppose they have left any money on you, and as your wife is not likely to be very well provided, I will give you five pounds on account; and remember that I shall always feel your debtor for the manner in which you saved my life by springing upon that ruffian just at the critical moment."

"You will deduct it from the other money, your honor?" Denis said, hesitating.

"Certainly I will, Denis. I should not think of offering you money for such a service as you rendered me. Now, if you will just give me your address in Galway I will make a note of it; though I don't think it at all likely you will be wanted at the trial. They will most likely proceed against him on the charge of shooting his officer and deserting; for they will have no difficulty in proving that, as the regiment he belonged to is in Dublin."

Denis started at once to rejoin his wife, highly pleased to have got away so quickly. Two days later Captain Morrison and Mr. Stapleton arrived from headquarters.

"I congratulate you, Conway," the latter said heartily. "We all pitied your being ordered away to this dreary place; and now you have been getting no end of honor and credit. O'Connor's report speaks in the strongest terms of you, and says it was entirely owing to your promptness and courage that the band was captured, and his life and that of Desmond saved. The Cork papers are full of the affair; and the capture of that notorious scoundrel, the Red Captain, created quite an excitement, I can tell you. The only bad part of the affair is that we have had to come out here, for I am afraid there is no chance whatever of another adventure like yours."

"Oh, I fancy there are plenty more stills to be captured, Stapleton; and that's good fun in its way, though it involves a good deal of marching and hard work."

"And how are O'Connor and Desmond getting on?" Captain Morrison asked.

"I had a very good report of them this morning from the doctor, and now that you have come I shall take a trap and drive over and see them at once. I had O'Connor's orders not to leave here till you arrived."

"You are to go back yourself to-morrow morning, Conway," Captain Morrison said. "You are to take the prisoners in with an escort of a corporal and ten men, and to hand them over to the civil authorities; which means, I suppose, that you are to take them to the prison."

"I suppose I shall come straight out again?" Ralph asked.

"I should think so; for with all this still-hunting business three officers are wanted here. But of course you will report yourself to the colonel and get orders. Here are the orders he gave me to give you. You are to start early, make a twenty-mile march, halt for the night, and go on again the first thing in the morning. You are to hire a cart for the wounded prisoners, and to exercise the utmost vigilance on the way. The men are to carry loaded muskets. It is not likely there will be any attempt at a rescue; but such things have happened before now. If anything of the sort should take place, and you find that you are likely to get worsted, your orders are that you are not to let the Red Captain be carried off alive. Put a man specially over him, with instructions to shoot him rather than let him be taken away from him. The colonel will hold you harmless. The scoundrel has committed too many murders to be allowed to go free."

"I understand," Ralph said, "and will carry out the orders; and now I will be off at once, for it will be dark in an hour."

Ralph was glad to find that the two officers were going on better than he had expected. Lieutenant Desmond was already up, with his arm in splints and a great patch of plaster across his forehead. O'Connor was still in bed, and was likely to remain so for some time. The regimental surgeon was with him, having left the other two officers at the turn of the road leading to the village.

"I am glad to see you, Conway," Captain O'Connor said cheerfully. "I was expecting you. The doctor said Morrison and Stapleton had gone on to Ballyporrit. None the worse for your brush, I hope?"

"Not a bit," Ralph said. "The bump on my head caused by that musket blow hurt me a bit the first day or two, but it's going down now. I am glad to see you and Desmond looking so well."

"Oh, we shall soon be all right; though I am afraid I shall be kept on my back for some little time. Desmond is rather in despair, because he is afraid his beauty is spoiled; for the doctor says that cut on his forehead is likely to leave a nasty scar. He would not have minded it if it had been done by a French dragoon saber; but to have got it from tumbling down a chimney troubles him sorely. It will be very painful to him when a partner at a ball asks him sympathizingly in what battle he was wounded, to have to explain that he tumbled head foremost into a peat fire."

Desmond laughed. "Well, it is rather a nuisance; and you see Conway, the ashes have got so ground up in the place that the doctor is afraid it will be a black scar. O'Connor chaffs me about it, but I am sure he wouldn't like it himself."

"Why, my dear fellow, it's a most honorable wound. You will be able to dilate upon the desperate capture of the noted ruffian the Red Captain, and how you and that noble officer Captain O'Connor dashed alone into the cavern, tenanted by thirteen notorious desperadoes. Why, properly worked up, man, there is no end of capital to be made out of it. I foresee that I shall be quite a hero at tea-fights. A battle is nothing to such an affair as this. Of course it will not be necessary to say that you shot down into the middle of them like a sack of wheat because you could not help it. You must speak of your reckless spring of twenty feet from that upper passage into the middle of them. Why, properly told, the dangers of the breach at Badajos would pale before it."

"I am glad to see that you are in such high spirits," Ralph said when the laugh had subsided. "There's no fear of your being lame after it, I hope?"

"No, Dr. Doran says it is a clean snap of the bone, and it will, he thinks, mend all right; and as Macpherson, who has been examining it, says the same, I hope it is all right. It is very good of the colonel sending the doctor over to us; but I think Doran understands his business well, and has made a capital job of both of us."

"How is Rawlinson going on?"

"Oh, I think he will do very well," the surgeon said. "Of course he's a little down in the mouth about himself. It is not a pleasant prospect for a man to have to go about on two wooden legs all his life. Still it's been done in the service; and as the fight was a sharp one, and such an important capture was made, he will get his full pension, and I shall strongly recommend him for Chelsea Hospital if he likes to take it. But he tells me he was by trade a carpenter before he enlisted, and I expect he would rather go down to live among his own people. His wooden legs won't prevent him earning a living at his trade; and as he is rather a good-looking fellow I dare say he won't have much difficulty in getting a wife. Maimed heroes are irresistible to the female mind."

"That's a comfort for you, Desmond, anyhow," O'Connor laughed. "That black patch on your forehead ought to add a thousand a year to your marketable value."

The next morning Ralph marched with his detachment, and arrived at Cork without adventure. Here he handed his prisoners over to the civil authorities of the jail, and then marched up to the barracks. He at once reported himself to the colonel, who congratulated him warmly upon the success that had attended the capture, and upon his own conduct in the affair.

"I will not keep you now," the colonel said, "for the mess-bugle sounded five minutes ago. I shall see you again in the morning."

As Ralph entered the messroom the officers had just taken their seats. He was greeted with a boisterous outburst of welcome. His comrades got up and shook his hand warmly, and he had to answer many inquiries as to how O'Connor and Desmond were going on.

"Sit down, gentlemen!" the major who was president of the mess shouted. "Conway has had a twenty-mile march, and is, I have no doubt, as hungry as a hunter. Let him eat his dinner in peace, and then when the wine is on the table he shall relate his adventures in detail. By the way, Conway, I hope you have lodged that ruffian safely in jail?"

"Yes, sir, I have handed him over, and glad I was to get him off my hands; for though I had him handcuffed and his feet tied, and brought him along in a cart, I never felt comfortable all the way. The fellow is as strong as a bull, and as he knows what is before him he was capable of anything desperate to effect his escape."

"I remember the man well," one of the officers said; "for, as you know, I was in his regiment before I exchanged into the Twenty-eighth. He was a notorious character. He had the strength of two ordinary men, and once or twice when he was drunk it took eight men to bring him into barracks. I am heartily glad he is caught, for the poor fellow he killed was one of the most popular men in the regimentwith the soldiers as well as with usand if they could have laid hands on this fellow I believe they would have hung him up without a trial. I shall have real pleasure in giving evidence against the scoundrel for I was present at the time he shot poor Forrest. I wasn't five yards away, but it was all over and the villain was off before I had time to lift a hand."

After dinner was over Ralph gave the full history of the capture in the cavern, of which Captain O'Connor had sent but an outline.

"It was a sharp fight indeed," the major said when he had finished; "for, for a time you were greatly outnumbered, and in the dark discipline is not of much avail. I think on the whole you got very well out of it, and O'Connor and Desmond were lucky in having got off with a broken limb each."

Ralph was detained some days in Cork, as he had to be present at the courthouse when the prisoners were brought up before the magistrates. After giving his evidence as to the capture, his attendance was no further required. All with the exception of the Red Captain were committed at once upon the charges of working an illicit still, and of offering a forcible resistance with arms to the authority of the king's officers. The Red Captain was charged with several murders, and was remanded in order that evidence might be obtained from the regiment to which he belonged in Dublin, and of the constabulary and other people in County Galway. Ralph then returned to Ballyporrit.

A fortnight later the detachment was recalled, the colonel having received the news that the regiment would be shortly under orders for America. Lieutenant Desmond was able to travel to Cork at once, although still unfit for duty; and the surgeon reported that in another fortnight Captain O'Connor would be also fit to be removed.

Ten days later definite orders were received for the regiment to be ready for embarkation, as soon as the two transports which had been ordered round from Plymouth arrived. Soldiers are always fond of change; and although there were few more pleasant quarters than Cork, there was a general feeling of animation and excitement at the thought of service at the other side of the Atlantic. All officers and men on furlough were at once recalled. The friends of many of the officers came across from England, to be with them till they sailed upon what was then considered a long and perilous voyage. Balls and dinners were given to and by the regiment. Officers overhauled their kits and belongings, getting what new things were required, bargaining with brokers for their furniture, and making all preparations for a prolonged absence from England.

"Ah, Stapleton," Ralph said, as the young ensign came into his quarters one day in high spirits, "there will be a sad change come over you before long. You almost wished you might die on your way round here from London. What will be your feelings when you have to face the waves of the Atlantic?"

"Don't talk about it, Conway. The very thought makes me feel queer. However, I expect I shall get on better now than I did last time. What an ass I was, to be sure, on that voyage!"

"Well, I do think your four months with the regiment have done you a world of good, Stapleton. You certainly were a stuck-up sort of personage when you came on board in the Thames. I think it is an awful mistake for a fellow to be educated at home, instead of being sent to school; they are sure to have to suffer for it afterward."

"Well, I have suffered for it to some extent," Stapleton said. "The lessons I got at first were sharp ones; but they certainly did me good."

"There is no doubt about that," Ralph agreed; "and I think there is a good deal of credit due to you, Stapleton, for having taken things in the right way. I wonder where we shall be stationed in America, and whether we shall have any fighting? Upon the whole we have no very great reason to be proud of our feats of arms in America; but I hope we shall do better next time. You see, in the last struggle we knew nothing of their tactics, and were at a great disadvantage; but after fighting its way through the Peninsular, I don't think there is any fear of the regiment not giving a good account of itself, if it is called upon to do so, out there."

The next day an orderly came into the room just after mess-dinner had commenced. He whispered to the adjutant, who at once rose.

"Mr. President," he said to the major who was at the head of the table, "I must ask you to excuse me leaving the table. The colonel wishes to see me immediately at his quarters."

"What can be the matter now?" one of the officers said. "It must be something of importance or the colonel would never hare called Hallowes out in that way."

"Heard of some still away among the hills, I suppose. That means a night's tramp for some of us. Too bad to be put to this sort of work within a week of sailing on foreign service," grumbled another.

Various guesses were made as to the nature of the business, and several wagers were laid on the subject. In ten minutes the adjutant returned. He was evidently excited, and all listened with great interest as, instead of resuming his seat, he remained standing.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I have great news for you. A vessel has just come in from Plymouth with dispatches. Napoleon has escaped from Elba. He has landed in France, and been received with enthusiasm. The troops have joined him, and he is already close to Paris, which he is expected to enter without opposition. The King of France has fled."

For a moment there was silence, then the major leaped to his feet.

"Three cheers, gentlemen!" and all of those present joined in a hearty cheer.

Then a sudden silence fell upon them. The first idea that had struck each man was that the news meant their again taking the field for another stirring campaign. Then the dismal thought occurred to them that the regiment was under orders for America. It soon found expression in words.

"Why, major, they surely won't be sending us across the Atlantic now this news has arrived. The Powers will never permit all their work to be undone, and Napoleon to mount the throne of France again. Why, in a short time all Europe will be in a blaze, and how is England to take the field again? The greater portion of Wellington's army are scattered over the worldin America, India, and the Colonies. I don't believe there are half a dozen of the old fighting regiments available, and even their ranks are half-filled with raw recruits. Almost all the regiments at home are mere skeletons. Surely they will never be sending us away at such a moment?"

"That I can say nothing about," the adjutant replied. "Certainly no counter orders have reached the colonel this evening. I don't suppose anything will be decided upon for some time. The Powers will all exchange notes and hold councils and spend weeks in talk before they make up their mind whether anything is to be done, and if so what; and long before they come to any decision on the subject we shall be on the other side of the Atlantic, and then, possibly, after all the trials and monotony of perhaps a two months' voyage, we may land there only to be fetched back again. I quite agree with you that England can put nothing worth calling an army in the field, and that it would be madness to send a fine regiment out of the country at the present moment. But everyone knows the lack of wisdom with which we are governed, and the miserable slowness of our military authorities. It is not likely even to occur to any one to countermand our orders, but it will certainly be disgusting in the extreme to have to start just at the present moment."

"Beside," another officer said, "it will be maddening to be two months at sea without news, and to know that perhaps all Europe is in arms and tremendous events going on and we out of it altogether."

"I should think nothing will be done just at present," the major said. "Every country in Europe has been disbanding its armies just as we have since peace was proclaimed, and it will be a long time before any of them are ready to take the field in anything like force. Even Napoleon himself, great organizer as he is, will take some time to put all France under arms again. An army is a machine that cannot be created in a day. The soldiers have to clothed, arms to be manufactured, the cavalry to be mounted, the artillery to be organized, and a field train got together. No, I should say that at least four months must elapse before fighting begins in earnest. With anything like a favorable wind we should be across in America in a month. If orders are sent out a month after we start we may be back in time for the opening ball. Judging from the past, it is likely to be a long business unseating Napoleon again, and if we are not in for the first of it we may be in plenty of time for a fair share of the fighting, always supposing that the authorities are sufficiently awake to the merits of the regiment to recall us."

"How is the wind this evening?" one of the officers asked.

"It was westerly when we came in," Lieutenant Desmond said. "Why do you ask?"

"Why, as long as it blows from the west there is not much chance of the transports getting in here."

"That is so," the major agreed. "The question for us to consider is whether we ought to pray for a fair wind or a foul. A fair wind will take us quickly across the Atlantic and will give us a chance of getting back in time. A foul wind may possibly give them time to make up their minds at the Horse Guards, and to stop us before we start. It is a nice question."

"There is no hope whatever, major, that our government will make up their minds before the wind changes, not if it blew in one quarter longer than it has ever been known to do since the beginning of the world. Especially, as not only they, but all the governments of Europe have to come to a decision."

"Oh, if we had to wait for that it would be hopeless; but at the same time, as it must be evident to any individual of the meanest capacity that something or other for which troops will be required will have to be done, surely a month ought to be sufficient for the idea to occur to some one in authority that it would be as well not to be sending soldiers abroad until matters are finally settled."

"I agree with you," the adjutant said. "Therefore I think we had best decide that our hopes and wishes shall be unanimous in favor of a continuance of westerly winds."

Never were the weathercocks watched more anxiously than they were by the officers and men of the Twenty-eighth for the next fortnight. The elements certainly appeared favorable to their wishes, and the wind blew steadily from the desired quarter, so that it was not until ten days after they were expected that the two transports which were to convey the Twenty-eighth to America dropped anchor in Cork harbor.

Captain O'Connor rejoined the regiment on the evening before the transports arrived. He walked with two sticks, but this was a measure of precaution rather than of necessity.

"I feel like an impostor," he said, laughing, as he replied to the welcome of his comrades. "I believe I could safely throw away these sticks and dance a jig; but the doctor has laid his commands on me, and my man, who has been ruling me with a rod of iron, will not permit the slightest infringement of them. He seems to consider that he is responsible for me in all respects, and if he had been master and I man he could not have behaved with grosser despotism."

"I am glad to see you looking so well, O'Connor," Ralph said, shaking his captain warmly by the hand.

"I don't know whether I do right in shaking hands with you, Conway," O'Connor said. "I have been thinking it over while I have been lying there, and I have come to the conclusion that it's you I have to thank for this affair altogether."

There was a general laugh. "How do you make that out?" Ralph asked.

"It's clear enough, now my eyes are opened. It was you who discovered that passage, and when you did so you said at once to yourself, now, I will get O'Connor and Desmond to go down this place, they are safe to break their necks, and then I shall get all the honor and glory of the affair. And so it came about. There were Desmond and I lying on the top of each other with the breath knocked clean out of our bodies, while you were doing all the fighting and getting the credit of the affair. I appeal to all friends here if it is not a most suspicious affair."

There was a chorus of agreement. "We did not think it of you, Conway;" "A most disgraceful trick;" "Ought to be sent to Coventry;" "Ought to be drummed out of the regiment;" mingled with shouts of laughter.

"By the way, the trial of those fellows comes on next week," one of the officers said when the laughter subsided; "so if the transports don't come in you will be able to see the last of them, O'Connor."

"I shall have no objection to see that red rascal hung; but as to the other poor devils, I should be glad enough for them to get off. An Irish peasant sees no harm in making whisky, and it's only human nature to resist when you are attacked; beside it was the Red Captain's gang that set them to fighting, no doubt. If it hadn't been for them I don't suppose there would have been a shot fired. I hope that's the view the authorities will take of it."

As it turned out this was the view taken by the prosecuting counsel at the trial. The Red Captain was tried for the murder of his officer and for the shooting of two constables in Galway, was found guilty, and hung. The others were put on trial together for armed resistance to his majesty's forces, and for killing and slaying three soldiers. Their counsel pleaded that they were acting under the compulsion of the gang of desperadoes with them, that it was these and these only who had fired upon the soldiers as they ascended the rocks, and that the peasants themselves had no firearms; indeed, it was proved that only five guns were found in the cave. He admitted that in their desperation at the last moment the men had defended themselves with pikes and bludgeons; but this he urged was but an effort of despair, and not with any premeditated idea of resisting the troops. He pointed out that as all the soldiers had fallen by gunshot wounds, none of the prisoners at the bar had any hand in their death. The counsel for the crown did not press for capital sentences. Two of the men, who had before suffered terms of imprisonment for being concerned in running illicit stills, were sentenced to transportation. The others escaped with terms of imprisonment.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE NEW HOUSEMAID.

"What do you think of the new housemaid, Charlotte?"

"As she has only been here twenty-four hours," Miss Penfold replied, "I don't think I can say anything about it, Eleanor. All servants behave decently for the first week or two, then their faults begin to come out. However, she seems quiet in her way of going about, and that is something. My room was carefully dusted this morning. These are the only two points on which I can at present say anything."

"I met her in the passage this morning," Eleanor Penfold said, "and it seemed to me that her face reminded me of some one. Did that strike you?"

"Not at all," the elder sister replied decidedly. "I am not given to fancies about such things. I saw no likeness to any one, and if I had done so I should not have given it a second thought. The one point with us is whether the woman is clean, quiet, steady, and thoroughly up to her work. Her reference said she was all these things, and I hope she will prove so. She is older than I like servants to be, that is, when they first come to us. A young girl is teachable, but when a servant has once got into certain ways there is never any altering them. However, if she knows her work it does not matter; and there's one comfort, at her age she is less likely to be coming to us one day or other soon and saying that she wants to leave us to get married."

The new servant, Anna, as she was called in the house soon settled down to her duty. Miss Penfold allowed that she knew her work and did it carefully. The servants did not quite understand the newcomer. She was pleasant and friendly, but somehow "she was not," as one of them said, "of their sort." This they put down partly to the fact that she had been in service in London, and was not accustomed to country ways. However, she was evidently obliging and quiet, and smoothed away any slight feeling of hostility with which the under housemaid was at first disposed to feel against her for coming in as a stranger over her head, by saying that as she had no acquaintances in the village she had no desire to go out, and that whenever her turn came to do so the other might take her place. As Jane was keeping company with the blacksmith's son, this concession greatly pleased her; and although at first she had been disappointed that she had not on Martha's leaving succeeded to her place, the fact that she was but twenty-one, while the newcomer was a good many years her senior, went far to reconcile her to being passed over.

Mrs. Conway had not been twenty-four hours in the house before she discovered there was an obstacle in the way of her search that she had not foreseen. She had dusted the drawing-room and dining-room, and then went to the door of the room which she supposed to be the library. She found it locked. At dinner she asked the other housemaid what the room opposite the dining-room was, and where was the key.

"That was master's library," the girl said. "Miss Penfold always keeps it locked, and no one is allowed to go in. It's just as he left it; at least Martha said so, for I have never been inside since. On the first day of each month it is opened and dusted. Miss Penfold always used to go in with Martha and stay there while she did the work. She said it was to see that nothing was moved, but Martha used to think there was another reason."

"What is that?" Mrs. Conway asked.

Jane shook her head and glanced at the butler, as much as to say she did not care about speaking before him; but presently when she had an opportunity of talking alone with the newcomer she said: "I didn't want to say anything before James, he holds with the Miss Penfolds. He only came a month or two before master's death and did not know much about him, and he will have it they have been ill treated, and that the lawyer and all of them ought to be punished for going on as if the Miss Penfolds had done something wrong about the will. Cook, she doesn't give no opinion; but Martha and me both thought they knew something about it, and were keeping Miss Withers and young Conway out of their rights. But I forgot that you were a stranger, and didn't know nothing about the will."

Then she told Mrs. Conway all about the will being missing, and how Mr. Tallboys, who had made it for Mr. Penfold, said that all the property had been left to Mabel Withers, who was the daughter of the clergyman and a great pet of the master's, and to a boy who had been staying there some months before, and whose name was Conway.

"Well, Martha and me believed that they," and she nodded toward the drawing-room, "must know something about it; for Mr. Tallboys would have it that it was stowed away in some secret hiding place, and has been looking for it here and pulling down the wainscotting and all sorts. And, of course, if there was a secret hiding-place the Miss Penfolds would know of it as well as their brother. Martha used to think that the reason why the Miss Penfolds had the room shut up, and would never let her go into it without one of them being there to look after her, was that the hiding-place was somewhere in the library, and that they were afraid that when she was dusting and doing up she might come upon the will."

The same conclusion had flashed across Mrs. Conway's mind as soon as she heard that the room was kept locked.

"If the will is really hidden away," she said, "it's likely enough to be as you say; but I shouldn't think two ladies would do such a thing as that."

"Oh, you don't know them," Jane said sharply. "They are two regular old cats they are, and hunt one about all over the house as if they thought one was going to steal something. They was fond of their brother in their way, but, bless you, they treated him like a child, and he das'ent call his soul his own; and you may be sure they didn't like the thought that he had left his money away from them, and that some one else would become master and missis of the Hall while they were living. Martha and me was both of one mind that the old women were likely enough to do it if they had a chance. I would give a good deal if I could find the will myself just to see their faces; interfering old things. It was only two Sundays ago they told me after I came out of church that they didn't approve of the ribbons in my bonnet; just as if a girl was to go about as if she was a convict."

"But you say there were men searching here, Jane. How was it they didn't find it if it's in the library, and how was it the Miss Penfolds allowed them to search?"

"They couldn't help it," Jane replied. "There was an order from the court in London, or a judge or some one, and they couldn't stop it. They went away when the men came and didn't come back till it was all over. I don't know how it was that they didn't find it in the library, for they searched it regular. I was in there two or three times while they were at work, and they took out all the books from the shelves and pulled down a lot of the wood-work and turned it all upside down, but they couldn't find anything. Still, you see, it ain't a likely tale of theirs as they keeps the door locked because they want it to be just as he left it, when it's all been turned topsy-turvy and everything put out of its place.

"That's what Martha and me couldn't get over, though Martha told me they done their best to have it put just as it was; and there's paper and pens on the table, just to pretend it is exactly as it used to be and that no one hadn't been in. As if they cared so much about him. I call it sickening, that's what I calls it. The Withers don't come here now. They used to be often here in the master's time, but they are not friends with them now. Last Sunday the parson he made it hot for them, and preached a sermon about secrets being known and undiscovered things coming to light. Of course he didn't say nothing special about wills, but they felt it, I could see. Our pew's on the opposite side of the church, and I could see their faces. Miss Penfold she got white, and pinched up her lips, and if she could have given a piece of her mind to the parson she would have done so; and Eleanor she got red and looked as if she was going to cry.

"She is a lot better than her sister, she is; and if any wrong's been done it's the old one that's done it, I am sure, and Martha always said so too. I could put up with the younger one very well, but I can't abide Miss Penfold."

"I am quite anxious to see the room, Jane, after what you have been telling me about it."

"Well, you will see it in about a week. It's always on the first of the month that it is done up; and you will see the old woman will go in with you, and watch you all the time like a cat watches a mouse. Martha used to say so, But thereas you are not from this part of the country, and she won't think as you know nothing about the will or care nothing about it, she won't keep such a sharp lookout after you as she did with Martha."

Upon the following Sunday Mrs. Withers, on the way home from church, asked her husband with some anxiety whether he was not well. "I noticed you were quite pale in church, James, and you lost your place once or twice, and seemed as if you really weren't attending to what you were doing?"

"Then I am afraid, my dear, I seemed what I was, for I was tremendously surprised; and though I tried hard to keep my thoughts from wandering I am afraid I succeeded very badly."

"Surprised, James! What was it?"

"I will tell you, my dear. You know that letter we had a fortnight ago from Mrs. Conway, and that we puzzled over it a good deal. After talking as usual about her being determined to find the will and set matters straight, she said that we might possibly see her before long, and begged us not to show any surprise or to seem to recognize her. Well, you know, we talked it over, and could make nothing of it. Now I know what she means."

"What! Did you see her in church to-day, James?"

"I did, Amy; and where do you think she was?"

"I can't guess, James. Why, where could she be, and where can she be staying if not with us? I didn't see her. Are you sure you are not mistaken?"

"She was sitting behind you, Amy, which will account for your not seeing her. She was sitting in the Penfolds servants' pew, in a plain straw bonnet and quiet clothes like the others."

"Among the Penfolds' servants, James! Are you dreaming?"

"Not at all, my dear; there she was, sure enough. I could not possibly be mistaken."

Mrs. Withers was silent for some time with surprise.

"But what can she be doing there, James? Do you mean to say that you think that she has really gone to service at the Hall?"

"That is what I do think," the clergyman replied. "You know how she said over and over again that she was determined somehow to find the will. Well, I believe that she has in some way in pursuance of that purpose gone as a servant to the Penfolds. Now, my dear, you will not be surprised that I found it somewhat difficult to keep my thoughts from wandering."

"No, indeed, James. I am sure if I had been in your place I should have stopped altogether. Well, if that is so, it explains what she said in her letter about our not recognizing her; but how could she do such a thing, and what will come of it?"

"I have no idea how she managed to get there, Amy; but certainly she must have managed very cleverly somehow. What she is there to do is clear enough. She is going to search herself for the will. Whether she will ever find it or not is another matter; but I can hardly believe she can succeed after the thorough search Tallboys said he made of the house. Still that is what she means, I have not a shadow of doubt about it."

"I should never have thought for a moment she was the sort of woman to undertake such a thing," Mrs. Withers said. "Why, she will have to do servant's work, and to run all sorts of risks of being found out, and then I don't know what they mightn't do to her!"

"I don't see that they could do much, my dear, unless perhaps they prosecuted her for obtaining the place with a false character, which I suppose she must have done. Still it required no ordinary pluck for a woman to undertake such a scheme, and it will require patience and nerve to carry it through; but I don't know that I agree with you that she is not the sort of woman I should have thought capable of undertaking such a business. She was quiet enough when we met her in the town; but I believe from what I have heard that she was a high-spirited girl, and when we saw her, you know, she was on the eve of parting with her son. As she was evidently wrapped up in him, that would of course make her more quiet and silent than usual. I thought she bore up remarkably well, and admired the effort she made to prevent any display of her feeling marring the pleasant time we were having in London."

"But how about Mabel, James? Had we better tell her about this? You see, if she happens to meet Mrs. Conway she might betray her secretmight run up and address her by her name."

"That is certainly a difficulty, my dear; and I don't quite know what to do about it. What do you think yourself?"

"I think we had better postpone the matter, James, by sending Mabel away for a bit. You know my sister has asked her several times to go and stay with her on a visit at Bath. We have never cared to let her go away from us; but I do think now that it will be a good thing for me to write to Harriet, and tell her that if it will be convenient for her to take Mabel, we shall be glad to send her to her for a few months in order that she may take lessons in French and music. There are, of course, plenty of good masters there. In that way we shall get rid of the necessity for speaking to Mabel about it at all, and I should think it likely that Mrs. Conway would have left the Hall long before she returns."

"Perhaps she will, my dear, though I would not count upon that too much. I imagine that as Mrs. Conway has had nerve and courage enough to propose and so far carry out this singular plan of hers, she will have resolution enough to continue to play her part till she either finds the will, or becomes thoroughly convinced that it is absolutely not to be found."

And so Mrs. Withers wrote to her sister, and ten days later Mr. Withers started with Mabel for Bath.

Mrs. Conway had some difficulty in restraining all show of excitement, and in assuming a passive and indifferent air as upon the first of the month Miss Penfold unlocked the door of the library and led the way into the room.

"This was my brother's library. You will understand, Anna, that I wish everything to remain exactly as it is. You will therefore be careful to place everything as you find iteach article of furniture, and the books and papers on the table. You will just sweep the floor and dust everything. Beyond that we wish nothing done to the room."

Mrs. Conway began her work quietly. Miss Penfold watched her for some little time, and then said:

"You will leave the door open, Anna; it is better to let the air circulate as much as possible. When the weather gets warmer you will also leave the windows open while you are at work; but the air is too damp at present."

"Would you like me to light a fire to air the room, Miss Penfold?"

"Certainly not," Miss Penfold said decidedly, "there is no occasion whatever for it. If I have not returned by the time you have finished the room, come and tell me when you have done. I always make a point of locking the door myself."

So saying Miss Penfold went out, leaving the door wide open behind her.

"Have you left her alone there?" Eleanor asked her sister as she entered the sitting-room.

"Certainly I have," Miss Penfold said coldly. "I do wish you would not be so nervous, Eleanor. The woman can have no interest in this matter. She may have heard of it from the other servants, but it can be nothing to her. You know as well as I do that there is no chance of her stumbling upon it by accident. It was different with the last girl. Of course they were always talking about the will, and she might have tried, as a matter of curiosity, to find it, or she might have been bribed by those Withers or by that man Tallboys; but it is different now. This woman can have no interest in it, and will only want to get her work done as soon as possible. My being always in the room with her as I was with Martha might excite comment. I should never have done it in Martha's case if you had not been so absurdly nervous; for you know very well there was no real danger of her ever finding the place however closely she looked for it. But now there's a change it is quite time to drop it, or a rumor will be getting about that we are afraid of any of our servants remaining for a moment alone in the library."

"I wish we had never done it. I do wish we had never done it," Eleanor murmured pitifully.

"I am ashamed of you, Eleanor," Miss Penfold said coldly. "You are worse than a child with your laments and complainings. What have we done? Nothing. We have no certainty that there is a will in existence; and if we had, it's not our business to assist to carry out a monstrous wrong against ourselves, and to put that woman's son as master here. How many times have we talked this over, and it's always the same. You keep on trembling at shadows."

"I should not care if it was not for the night, Charlotte. I am always dreaming that Herbert is coming to my bedside and looking so stern and angry, and saying, 'Let justice be done.'"

"Bah!" Miss Penfold said contemptuously. "You must eat less supper, Eleanor. If you were not such a coward you would not dream such things. I have no patience with your folly."

"I know it is foolish, Charlotte, but I can't help it; my nerves were never as strong as yours. I quite agreed with you from the first about it. I think it was infamous that Herbert should have passed us over, and that it is not to be expected we should aid in the discovery of such a wicked will. Still I can't help being unhappy about it, and lying awake at night and dreaming. No one can help their dreams."

"Your dreams are a mere repetition of your thoughts," Miss Penfold said scornfully. "If you worry while you are awake, you will worry while you are asleep. We have done nothing criminal. We have meddled with no will, nor hidden one. We simply refuse to aid in the discovery of an unjust document, and by so doing prevent a great wrong being done to ourselves. To my mind the thing is perfectly simple, and my conscience wholly acquits me of any wrong-doing."

Left to herself, Mrs. Conway took an earnest look round the room. Somewhere no doubt within its limits lay the key of the secret that would give wealth to Ralph. Where was it? The walls were completely covered by bookshelves. These were handsomely carved, and dark with age. One of the Penfolds had evidently been a bookworm, and had spared no pains and expense in carrying out his hobby. The housemaid had said that all the books had been removed, and that nothing had been found behind them. Still there might well be some spring that had escaped their notice. At any rate the ground must be gone over again.

Then the spring might lie among the carved work of the bookcases themselves. This must be gone over inch by inch. That was evidently the first work to be done. The mantel and its supports were of richly carved woodwork. These, too, must be searched. In the first place, however, she had to carry out her work; and laying aside determinately all thought of the missing will, she began to dust and sweep. At the end of an hour, when she happened to turn round, she saw Miss Penfold standing in the doorway. She had not heard her footstep, and at once decided in her mind that it would be necessary to be extremely careful in her search, as at any moment Miss Penfold might look in upon her without warning.

"Have you nearly finished, Anna?" Miss Penfold asked.

"It will take me another hour at least to dust the woodwork properly, Miss Penfold. I have done the carpet and furniture."

Miss Penfold made no remark but went away again.

"She is not likely to come back for a few minutes," Mrs. Conway said to herself. "I think I can safely carry out one of my plans."

She took from her pocket a ball of thin string, one end of which was attached to a tiny brad awl. Going into one corner of the room she fixed the brad awl into the woodwork; then, unwinding the ball, proceeded to the other end of the room, straining the string tightly, and tied a knot to mark the length. Then she went back and crossed the room, and again make a knot to mark the width. Then she hastily gathered up the string, pulled the brad awl from the woodwork, and put them in her pocket. While she had been carrying this out she retained a duster in one hand, and dusted the wood work as she moved along, trusting that if Miss Penfold should look in, the string, which was of a dark color, would be unnoticed by her. However she gave a sigh of relief when the operation was complete, and the string and brad awl hidden away. She then continued her work until in about three-quarters of an hour Miss Penfold again appeared.

"I think that will do very well, Anna; it is quite impossible to get all the dust out of the carving. It would take you all day to go over it, and you would need steps for the upper part. That need only be done occasionally." She gave an approving glance round as she noticed that the new housemaid had carefully placed every article in the exact place in which she had found it. Mrs. Conway gathered up the brooms and dusters and left the room, Miss Penfold carefully locking the door after her.

"That is something done," Mrs. Conway said to herself; "and will, I think, save me an immense deal of trouble. To-morrow I will measure the rooms next to it. The passage runs along the side and it is hardly possible that there can be any receptacle there; the wall is not thick enough for a place of any size. It must be at one end or the other, or else under the floor."

The following morning she measured the dining-room, and what was now known as the housekeeper's room, but which in years gone by had been called the still room; and the following day slipped out of doors as soon as she came downstairs and took the outside measurement of the side of the house, marking on the string the position and width of each window. She had only now to make a plan and compare the figures. She found that between the back of the bookcasefor she had taken out a few books to ascertain its depthand the panel of the dining-room there was a thickness of two feet; but between the library and the housekeeper's room there were fully five feet unaccounted for.

In both were deep old-fashioned fireplaces back to back; and even allowing but six inches between these, the depth there would be accounted for, but on either side of the fireplaces there would be a wide space. There were certainly no cupboards visible in the library, for the bookcases extended from the fireplace to the wall on each side. In the housekeeper's room there were cupboards on each side of the chimney-piece, but these were shallow, not being above nine inches in depth; therefore behind these there was a considerable space unaccounted for. It was evident to Mrs. Conway that her first search must lie in this direction. Here might lie two chambers each three feet wide by eight feet long.

Mrs. Conway's spirits rose at this discovery, and she sighed impatiently at the thought that another month must elapse before she could even commence the search. Brooding over the matter continually, there was one point that did not escape her. These old hiding-places were made either to conceal proscribed priests or hunted fugitives, and were constructed with the greatest care. As she had so easily discovered the spot where a hidden room might be situated, it would be discovered with the same ease by those who were on the search for fugitives, and who would naturally be well acquainted with the positions where hiding-places would be likely to be situated. The moment they looked into the cupboard, its shallowness would suggest to them that there must be a wide empty space behind it, and by setting to work with axes, picks, and crowbars, they would soon discover by force the secret she was trying to penetrate by stratagem.

This reflection considerably damped her hopes; but she thought that possibly from this easily-discoverable hiding-place there might be some access, much more difficult to trace, to another lying below. At any rate she determined that if she did find the secret entrance to these little rooms, and found that they were empty she would not be disheartened, but would search further until she found either some secret closet where the will might be placed, or an entrance to some perhaps larger hiding-place below. Her subsequent search outside showed her that there existed several small iron gratings about six inches long and three deep, close down to the soil of the border. No doubt these were intended to give ventilation underneath the floors, which were some two feet above the outside level, but one of them might also afford ventilation to an underground chamber.

Three months passed, and on the occasion of each of her visits to the room she devoted some time to the examination of the carved woodwork round the fireplace and that of the bookcases, but without making any discovery whatever; and it became evident to her that a far closer search would be needed than the short and hasty examination that was all she dared to make, with the possibility that at any moment Miss Penfold might appear at the door. Accordingly she wrote to Mr. Tallboys, and told him that it would be necessary for her to obtain a cake of very soft wax, four inches long and two inches wide, and asked him to procure it for her, and to send it in a wooden box to her by the carrier's cart that once a week journeyed from Weymouth to the villages in the neighborhood of the Hall.

Ten days later she received the wax, and the next time the day for cleaning the library arrived she quietly withdrew the key from the door as soon as Miss Penfold had left her, laid it on the wax, and pressed it steadily until a deep impression was made upon its surface. Then she carefully examined the key to see that no particle of wax had stuck between the wards, replaced it in the door, closed the lid of the little box in which the wax lay, and put it in her pocket, and then set to at her work of cleaning.

Upon this occasion she spent no time in trying to find the spring. There was danger now as always of Miss Penfold's coming, and as she would soon have the means of entering the room at her will she would run no risk. A few days later she asked for a day to go to Weymouth to purchase some things of which she had need, and when there she called upon Mr. Tallboys.

"How are you, Mrs. Conway?" the lawyer said when the door had closed behind her. "Have you come to tell me that you give up the search as hopeless?"

"Not at all," she replied with decision. "I told you in my letter that I had discovered the probable position of the hiding-place, and told you of the difficulties there were in making a thorough search for it owing to the room being always kept locked. I have come now to ask you to get a key made from this," and she produced the wax. "It would be suspicious if I were to go to a locksmith here and ask for such a thing; he would think at once that I was a servant who wanted to rob my mistress. But of course it will be different with you. Beside, I thought that if you did not like to get it done here, you might send the wax up to London and get the key made there."

"This is becoming more and more serious, Mrs. Conway," Mr. Tallboys said gravely. "Nothing very terrible could happen to you beyond being turned out of the house even were it discovered who you really are; but if you were found at night, and I suppose your intention is to work at night, in the library, with a false key in your possession, you might be arrested for an attempt at theft, and could only clear yourself by explaining before the magistrates who you were, and with what motive you were acting, which would give rise to much unpleasant talk, would render any pursuance of your plan impossible, and might not improbably induce these women to destroy the will, if they have not already done so."

"I am quite convinced they have not done that, Mr. Tallboys. The anxiety they have about any one entering the room, and the manner in which Miss Penfold pops in occasionally to see what I am doing, is quite proof in my mind that the will is still in existence; for if they had destroyed it, they would have no further anxiety on the subject. No, I have thought it all over, and must run the risk. There is no other way of making a complete search; and in one night there by myself I could do far more than in a twelvemonths' visits as at present. There are two or three more things I wish you would procure for me. I want a man's coat and cap, rough ones, such as a burglar might wear. You see, if by any chance I am met by those women going downstairs, or returning to my room, I must give them a start. Dressed up like that, and with a piece of crape over my face, I should be taken for a burglar. I don't think Miss Penfold is very easily frightened; but at the same time I fancy I might alarm her into returning to her room, and should be able to get back to mine before the house was roused. I shall always unfasten a window on the ground floor and lift it a little, so that it would be supposed that the intruder entered and escaped that way."

Mr. Tallboys smiled a little, but said, "It is a very risky business, Mrs. Conway. Miss Penfold is just the sort of woman to keep pistols in her bedroom."

"One must risk something when one is fighting for a fortune," Mrs. Conway said quietly. "I hope that I shall not be heard. There are always creakings and noises in an old house like that. The doors are thick and well fitting, and there is little chance of my footsteps being heard. It is only by an accident, such as one of them being unable to sleep and getting up and walking over the house, that they are likely to run against me, and it is not probable she would have a pistol in her hand then. No, I do not think there is the least fear of anything of that sort. The only fear I have is of being detected in some other way before I have done what I have to do, and the risk of that grows less and less every day.

"I have been there over four months now, and am perfectly at home. I was at first afraid of a sudden meeting with Mr. Withers, or his wife, or Mabel; but that has passed away now. I saw he recognized me the first Sunday in church, and I wrote to him; of course sending the letter to Dover to be sent back from there. He answered me praying me to give up what he called my mad-brained attempt, and saying it made him and his wife quite unhappy to think of my being at the Hall. He told me that at present they had not told Mabel that I was there, but had sent her away to school at Bath. She is with an aunt, and will not be home again for some months; so I am safe from her. No, I am not in the least anxious about myself. I cannot say as much about Ralph. His regiment has just gone out to Belgium, and I suppose there will be fighting presently. I think of that more now than I do of this will, Mr. Tallboys. If I had known what was coming, I would not have begun this search until it was all over. What use would it be for me to find the will if anything happened to him."

"It is clearly of no use my trying to dissuade you from carrying out your plans, Mrs. Conway; and although I cannot altogether approve of them, I will do my best to help you as far as lies in my power, and you shall have the key down very shortly. How shall I send it over?"

"I have ordered a dress and some other things at Wilson's in the High Street. The dress has to be made up, and will not be ready for a week. I have told them there will be three or four other parcels, which they are to put in the box and send it on by the carrier. I have ordered a pair of boots to be made for me and one or two other things, and told them not to close the box until this day fortnight, by which time all the other things I have ordered will be sent in to them. I hope you will have got the key before that."

"Oh, yes, I should think it would be done in a week at latest. You certainly deserve success, Mrs. Conway, for you seem to provide for every contingency."

CHAPTER XV.

IN BELGIUM.

There was a general feeling of depression in the regiment when it was known that the transports had arrived in harbor. As a rule regiments embarking for service abroad start in high spirits, and whatever private regrets are felt at parting from friends, the troops march gayly down to the point of embarkation. But this was not the case as the Twenty-eighth with the band at its head playing "The girl I left behind me," passed through the streets of Cork on its march down to the spot ten miles away where the transports were lying. There was not one from the colonel down to the youngest drummer-boy but felt that he had been deprived of the chance of taking part in a stirring campaign, and that he was going into a sort of exile. The baggage had been sent on the previous day, and the regiment on arriving at the harbor was speedily transferred in large lighters to the two transports.

"They are two fine ships, anyhow," Captain O'Connor said to Ralph as the barge carrying his company approached the side of one of them. "Rather different craft to that in which we made our last voyage together. We shall have comfortable quarters on board her, and ought to make a pleasant passage if we have but decent weather."

"Yes, if anything could make our voyage pleasant under the circumstances," Ralph replied dismally.

"Oh, it's no use thinking any more about that," O'Connor said cheerfully. "We must make the best of matters, and hope that we shall soon be on our way back again; if not, I dare say we shall have a pleasant time in Canada. With your knowledge of French, Conway, you will make a great hit among the fair Canadians."

"I didn't think of that," Ralph laughed. "Yes, the prospect is a cheering one. I promise you, O'Connor, that I will do the best I can for you. Well, here we are alongside."

"Good afternoon, captain. When are we going to sail?" O'Connor asked the master of the vessel as he stepped on deck.

"You must ask the clerk of the weather," the skipper replied. "At present there is not a breath of wind stirring, and from the look of the sky I see no chance of a change at present."

Day after day passed, and still the vessels remained at anchor. Not a breath of wind stirred the water, and the troops had nothing to do but to lounge idly about the decks and whistle for a breeze. Whenever a vessel came in from England boats were lowered and rowed alongside to get the latest news. This was little enough. It was, however, known that all the powers had determined to refuse to recognize Napoleon as Emperor of France, and that a great coalition against him was being arranged. There were rumors that Belgium was likely to be the scene of operations.

Already, by the terms of the late treaty, several English regiments were stationed on the Belgian frontier, and three or four more were already under orders to embark for that country. It was reported that Russia, Austria, and Prussia were taking steps to arm. The militia had been called out at home, and high bounties were offered for volunteers from these regiments into the line. Recruiting was going on vigorously all over the country. Horses were being bought up, and efforts made to place the attenuated regiments on a war footing. All this was tantalizing news to the Twenty-eighth. The colonel was known to have written to influential friends in London, begging them to urge upon the authorities the folly of allowing a fine regiment like his to leave the country at such a moment. But little was hoped from this, for at any moment a change in the weather might place them beyond the possibility of a recall.

Three weeks passed and then the barometer fell, and there were signs of a change. There was bustle and movement on board the ships, and even the soldiers were glad that the monotony of their imprisonment on board was about to come to an end, and their voyage to commence. The sails were loosed from their gaskets, and the sounds of the drum and fifes struck up as the capstans were manned, the soldiers lending a hand at the bars, and the chains came clanking in at the hawse-holes.

"There is a vessel coming in round the point," O'Connor said. "But we shall hardly get the last news; we shall be under way before she anchors."

"She is signaling to the fort on the hill," Ralph said, as he watched the flags run up on the signal-staff on the summit of Spike Island; "and they are answering down below there at the station in front of the commandant's house."

A moment later a gun was fired.

"That's to call our attention, I think," the skipper said, taking up his glass and directing it to the shore. "Yes, there is our number flying. Get the signal-book, boy. Mr. Smith, run up the answering pennant."

As soon as this ascended the flags on shore were lowered, and a fresh set run up.

3. 5. 0. 4.

"Give me the book. 'The vessels are not to sail until further orders,'" he read aloud.

"Hooray, lads!" Captain O'Connor shouted at the top of his voice. "We are stopped until further orders."

A loud cheer broke from the troops, which was echoed by a roar from the other vessel; and for a few minutes the greatest excitement reigned. The men threw their caps into the air, and shouted until they were hoarse. The officers shook each other by the hand, and all were frantic with delight at the narrow escape they had had.

As soon as the brig had dropped anchor boats rowed off to her, but nothing further was learned. Just as she was leaving Plymouth an officer had come on board with dispatches, and instructions to the captain to signal immediately he arrived at Cork that if the Twenty-eighth had not already sailed they were to be stopped. Owing to the lightness of the wind the brig had been eight days on her passage from Plymouth.

For another fortnight the regiment remained on board ship. The imprisonment was borne more patiently, now they felt sure that they were not at any rate to be sent across the Atlantic. Then a vessel arrived with orders that the Twenty-eighth were at once to proceed to Ostend, and two hours afterward the transports set sail.

Belgium was hardly the spot which the troops in general would have approved of as the scene of operations, for the disastrous expedition to Walcheren was still fresh in mens' minds. They would, moreover, have preferred a campaign in which they would have fought without being compelled to act with a foreign army, and would have had all the honor and glory to themselves. Still Belgium recalled the triumphs of Marlborough, and although every mail brought news of the tremendous efforts Napoleon was making to reorganize the fighting power of France, and of the manner in which the veterans of his former wars had responded to the call, there was not a doubt of success in the minds of the Twenty-eighth, from the colonel down to the youngest drummer-boy.

Ralph was sorry that he had not been able to pay a flying visit to his mother before his departure on active and dangerous service.

He had been somewhat puzzled by her letters ever since he had been away. They had been almost entirely devoted to his doings, and had said very little about herself beyond the fact that she was in excellent health. She had answered his questions as to his various friends and acquaintances in Dover; but these references had been short, and she had said nothing about the details of her daily life, the visits she paid, and the coming in of old friends to see her. She had evidently been staying a good deal, he thought, with the Withers, and she kept him fully informed about them, although she did not mention when she went there or when she had returned.

She frequently spoke about the missing will, and of her hopes it would some day be recovered; and had mentioned that the search for it was still being maintained, and that she felt confident that sooner or later it would come to light. But even as to this she gave him no specific details; and he felt that, even apart from his desire to see his mother, he should greatly enjoy a long talk with her, to find out about everything that had been going on during his absence.

Mrs. Conway had indeed abstained from giving her son the slightest inkling of the work upon which she was engaged; for she was sure he would be altogether opposed to her plan, and would be greatly disturbed and grieved at the thought of her being in any menial position. Whether if, when he returned, and she had not attained the object of her search she would let him know what she was doing she had not decided; but she was determined that at any rate until he came home on leave he should know nothing about it.

"So we are going to fight Bony at last, Mister Conway," Ralph's servant said to him. "We've never had that luck before. He has always sent his generals against us, but, by jabbers, he will find that he has not got Roosians and Proosians this time."

"It will be hot work, Denis; for we shall have the best troops of France against us, and Napoleon himself in command."

"It's little we care for the French, your honor. Didn't we meet them in Spain and bate them? Sure, they are are hardly worth counting."

"You will find them fight very much better now they have their emperor with them. You know, Wellington had all his work to beat them."

"Yes, but he did bate them, your honor."

"That's true enough, Denis; but his troops now are old soldiers, most of whom have been fighting for years, while a great part of our force will be no better than militia."

"They won't fight any the worse for that, your honor," Denis said confidently. "We will bate them whenever we meet them. You see if we don't."

"We will try anyhow, Denis; and if all the regiments were as good as our own I should feel very sure about it. I wish, though, we were going to fight by ourselves; we know what we can do, but we do not know how the Belgians and Dutch and Germans who will be with us can be depended upon."

"If I were the duke I wouldn't dipend on them at all, at all, your honor. I would just put them all in the rare, and lave our fellows to do the work. They are miserable, half-starved cratures all them foreigners, they tells me; and if a man is not fed, sure you can't expect him to fight. I couldn't do it myself. And I hope the duke ain't going to put us on short rations, because it would be murther entirely on the boys to make them fight with impty stomachs."

"I fancy we shall be all right as to that, Denis. I expect that we shall wait quiet till the French attack us, and waiting quiet means getting plenty of food."

"And dacent food, I hope, your honor; not the sort of thing they say them foreigners lives on. Denis Mulligan could live on frogs and snails as well as another, no doubt; but it would go sorely against me, your honor."

"I don't think there's much chance of your having to live on that Denis. You will get rations there just the same as you did in Spain."

"What! beef and mutton, your honor? I suppose they will bring them across from England?"

"They may bring some across, Denis; but I suppose they will be able to buy plenty for the supply of the army out there."

"What! have they got cattle and sheep there, your honor?" Denis asked incredulously.

"Of course they have, Denis; just the same as we have."

"The hathens!" Denis exclaimed. "To think that men who can get beef and mutton should feed upon such craturs as snails and such like. It's downright flying in the face of Providence, your honor."

"Nonsense, Denis; they eat beef and mutton just the same as we do. As to the frogs and snails, these are expensive luxuries, just as game is with us. There is nothing more nasty about snails after all than there is about oysters; and as to frogs they were regarded as great dainties by the Romans, who certainly knew what good eating was."

"Sure, I am a Roman myself, your honorso are most of the men of the regimentbut I never heard tell of sich a thing."

"Not that sort of Roman, Denis," Ralph laughed. "The old Romanspeople who lived long before there were any popesa people who could fight as well as any that ever lived, and who were as fond of good living as they were of fighting."

"Well, your honor, there is no accounting for tastes. There was Bridget Maloney, whom I courted before I entered the regiment. Well, your honor, if you would believe it, she threw over a dacent boy like myself, and married a little omadoun of a man about five feet high, and with one shoulder higher than the other. That was why I took to soldiering, your honor. No, there is no accounting for tastes anyhow. There's the mess-bugle, your honor. Next time we hear it, it will be at say, and maybe there won't be many ready to attind to it."

Denis' prediction was verified. The vessel sailed at two o'clock in the afternoon, and by six was rolling heavily, and a brisk wind was blowing. The Twenty-eighth had not long before made the voyage from the south of France, but they had been favored by exceptionally fine weather, and had experienced nothing like the tossing they were now undergoing. The consequence was that only about half a dozen officers obeyed the bugle call to mess.

There was a general feeling of satisfaction when the low coast round Ostend was sighted, for the voyage throughout had been a rough one. Under certain circumstances a sea voyage is delightful, but confinement in a crowded transport in rough weather is the reverse of a pleasant experience. The space below decks was too small to accommodate the whole of the troops, and a third of their number had to be constantly on deck; and this for a ten days' voyage in a heavy sea, with occasional rain-showers, is not, under ordinary circumstances, calculated to raise the spirits of troops. But men bound on active and dangerous service are always in the highest spirits, and make light of disagreeables and hardships of all kinds.

They had expected to find Ostend full of troops, for several regiments had landed before them; but they soon found they were to be marched inland. As soon as the regiment had landed they marched to a spot where a standing camp had been erected for the use of troops on their passage through. Their baggage was at once sent forward, and the men had therefore nothing to do but to clean up their arms and accoutrements, and to wander as they pleased through the town. They started early next morning, and after two days' marching arrived at Ghent, where several regiments were quartered, either in the town itself or in the villages round it. Ralph's company had billets allotted to them in a village a mile from the town, a cottage being placed at the disposal of the captain and his two subalterns. The next morning, after the parade of the regiment was over, most of the officers and many of the men paid a visit to the town, where the fugitive King of France had now established his court.

Ralph, who years before had read the history of Ghent, was greatly interested in the quaint old town; though it was difficult to imagine from the appearance of its quiet streets that its inhabitants had once been the most turbulent in Europe. Here Von Artevelde was killed, and the streets often ran with the blood of contending factions. Was it possible that the fathers of these quiet workmen in blouses, armed with axes and pikes, had defeated the chivalry of France, and all but annihilated the force of the Duke of Anjou? What a number of convents there were! The monks seemed a full third of the population, and it was curious to hear everyone talking in French when the French were the enemy they were going to meet. The populace were quite as interested in their English visitors as the latter were with them. The English scarlet was altogether strange to them, and the dress of the men of the Highland regiment, who were encamped next to the Twenty-eighth, filled them with astonishment.

For a fortnight the regiment remained at Ghent, then they with some others of the same division marched to Brussels, and took up their quarters in villages round the town. The Twenty-eighth belonged to Picton's division, which formed part of the reserve concentrated round Brussels. The first army corps, consisting of the second and third divisions of Dutch and Belgians, and the first and third of the British, extended from Enghien on the right to Quatre Bras on the left. The first British division were at the former town, the third between Soignies and Rulx, while the Belgians and Dutch lay between Nivelles and Quatre Bras.

The second army corps held the ground on the right of the first, and extended to Oudenarde on the Scheldt. The cavalry, with the exception of the Brunswick brigade, were posted at Grammont, Mons, and Rulx, their outposts being thrown forward as far as Maubeuge and Beaumont. The Prussians were on the left of Wellington's force, and extended from Ligny through Namur toward Liege, their advanced posts being at Charleroi, where Zieten's division had their headquarters. But although the allied armies thus formed together the arc of a large circle covering Brussels, they were entirely distinct. The British drew their supplies from Ostend, on the right of their position, while Liege on the extreme left was the base of the Prussians.

Napoleon's movements were uncertain. He might either advance upon Namur and cut off the Prussians from their base, or between Grammont and Oudenarde, by which measure he would similarly cut the British off from Ostend; or he might advance from Charleroi direct upon Brussels, breaking through at the point where Wellington's left joined the Prussian right. The Duke of Wellington believed that he would attempt the second of these alternatives, as in that case he would fall upon the British before the Prussians could come up to their assistance, and if successful would not only cut them off from the base of supplies, but would be able to march straight upon Brussels. It was to defeat this plan that the duke posted the largest proportion of his British troops along the frontier, holding, however, two British divisions and the Brunswick and Nassau troops in and round Brussels, where they were nearly equidistant from any point that could be attacked, and could be moved forward as soon as the enemy's intentions became manifest.

By the time that the whole of the forces were assembled Wellington had ninety thousand men under his orders; Blucher, the Prussian general, had one hundred and sixteen thousand; while Napoleon had one hundred and twenty-five thousand with which to encounter this vastly superior force. Upon the other hand, Napoleon's were all veteran troops, and the French had for a long time been accustomed to victory over the Prussians. Of Wellington's force fully a half were of mixed nationalities: Belgians, Dutch, Brunswickers, and Hessians; while his British division consisted chiefly of young troops, so hastily raised that a great number of them absolutely fought at Waterloo in the uniforms of the militia regiments from which they had been drafted.

It seemed, however, a well-nigh desperate enterprise for Napoleon to attack so greatly superior a force. But he had, in fact, no choice but to do so; for Russia and Austria were arming, and their forces would soon be advancing upon France, and it was therefore necessary if possible to defeat the British and Prussians before they could arrive. Could he succeed in doing this the enthusiasm that would be excited in France would enable him vastly to increase his army. In the meantime his confidence in his own military genius was unbounded, and the history of his past was contained many triumphs won under circumstances far less favorable than the present.

During the weeks that elapsed while the three great armies were assembling and taking up their positions, the troops stationed round Brussels had a pleasant time of it. The city itself was crowded with visitors. Here were a number of the wives and friends of the officers of the various armies. Here were many of the French nobility, who had abandoned France upon the landing of Napoleon. Here were numbers of people attracted by curiosity, or the desire of being present at the theater of great events, together with a crowd of simple pleasure-seekers; for Europe had for many years been closed to Englishmen, and as soon as peace had been proclaimed great numbers had crossed the Channel to visit Paris, and had traveled in Germany, Italy, and Switzerland.

The news of Napoleon's return to France had occasioned a great scare among the tourists. A very few days sufficed for the desertion of Paris and other French towns, and so great was the crowd that the packet-boats between Calais and Dover were insufficient to carry them. Many of the visitors to Paris instead of leaving for England made for Belgium, and were joined there by travelers hurrying back from Austria, Germany, and other parts of Europe; for none could say what course the events that would follow Napoleon's return from Elba might take. At Brussels, however, they felt safe; the distance to England was short, and they could, if necessary, leave at any time. Beside, between Belgium and France twelve thousand British troops had been stationed in the strong places, in accordance with the terms of the treaty of Fontainebleau and an agreement made with her allies after the fall of Napoleon.

The streets of Brussels were ablaze with bright colors. Staff-officers in the uniforms of a number of nationalities dashed through the streets, followed by their orderlies. Now and then two or three general officers, riding at a slower pace and engaged in earnest talk, passed along, while the pavements were occupied by crowds of men and officers in all the varieties of British, Dutch, Belgian, Brunswick, Hanoverian, Hessian, and Prussian uniforms. Although Belgium had cast in her lot with the allies the people were by no means unanimous in their sympathies; and, indeed, the majority, from their similarity both in religion and tongue to the French, sympathized with them rather than with the allies, who were for the most part both Protestant and foreigners.

Those who entertained these sentiments, however, kept them to themselves, while the rest fraternized to the best of their power with the troops, many of whom were quartered in the town. As for amusements, there were for the officers the theaters and an opera, while many of the ladies staying in Brussels kept almost open houses; races and athletic sports were got up for the men. The weather at the latter end of May and during the early days of June was delightful; and although all knew that the storm might at any moment burst, it was difficult to believe while so enjoying themselves that to-morrow they might be called upon to meet the enemy in deadly conflict. Even Denis Mulligan had nothing to complain about in his rations, and allowed to Ralph that the Belgians were much more decent people than he had expected to find them.

The months of April and May had passed quietly on the frontier. The cavalry of the allied army on one side, and the French mounted gendarmerie on the other, maintained a vigilant watch over each others' movements, and each endeavored to prevent the passing out of persons who might carry news of the intentions and position of their armies. But the line was far too long to be strictly watched, and French loyalists on the one side and Belgian sympathizers with France on the other, managed to pass with sufficient regularity to keep the generals informed of the movements of their opponents.

Wellington, then, was perfectly aware of the gathering of Napoleon's forces upon the other side of the frontier; but they, like his own troops were scattered over a long front, and yet there was no indication whatever as to the point where Napoleon was likely to break through. During the past three months large bodies of men had labored to restore the ruined fortifications of the frontier towns. The moats had been cleared out and deepened, the walls repaired, and the sluices restored, so that in case of necessity a wide tract of country could be laid under water.

These precautions had been specially taken on the right of the British position where Wellington expected Napoleon's attack, and the general calculated that with the aid of the obstacles so interposed to Napoleon's advance, the troops stationed there would be able to check the tide of invasion until the whole army arrived to their assistance. The country between Brussels and the frontier was reconnoitered, and engineer officers were employed in making sketches of all the positions that appeared likely to offer special advantages as battlefields for an army standing on the defense.

Among others the fields lying in front of the village of Waterloo were mapped, and the spot was specially marked by the duke as one to be occupied in case the enemy forced a way between the British and Prussian armies. On the 12th of June the Duke of Wellington learned that Napoleon and the guards had left Paris for the North, and the next day the officer in command of the cavalry outposts reported that the pickets of French cavalry which had so long faced him had disappeared, and that he had learned from some French custom-house officers that hostilities were about to commence.

On the 15th of June, Ralph Conway had gone with Stapleton into Brussels as usual. Everything was going on with its accustomed regularity. A military band was playing in the park. Numbers of well-appointed carriages, filled with well-dressed ladies, drove to and fro, and crowds of officers and civilians strolled under the trees, greeting their acquaintances and discussing the latest gossip of the town. As to the coming of the French, the topic was so threadbare that no one alluded to it; and no stranger could have imagined from the aspect of the scene that three great armies were lying thirty or forty miles away in readiness to engage at any moment in a desperate struggle. The great subject of talk was the ball that was to be given that evening by the Duchess of Richmond; this was expected altogether to outshine any of the other festivities that had taken place in Brussels during that gay season. It was about half-past four in the afternoon that the young men saw Captain O'Connor approaching.

"Can you young fellows keep a secret?" he asked.

"I think so," Ralph laughed.

"I suppose you are both going to the ball?"

"Of course we are. We are both off duty, and Stapleton here is quite absorbed in the thought of the conquests he intends to make."

"Well, the secret is this. It is quite probable you will not go to the ball at all."

"Why! How it that?" the young officers exclaimed simultaneously. "Is the regiment ordered away?"

"Not yet, lads; but it may be. I have just seen the colonel. He dined with the duke at three o'clock. There were a lot of officers there, and the Prince of Orange, who had just come in from the outposts for the ball, told him that the Prussians at Thuin were attacked this morning, and that a heavy cannonade was going on when he left. Orders were issued half an hour ago for the whole of the troops to be in readiness to march at a moment's notice. There's no saying yet which way the French may come, and this attack upon the Prussians may be only a feint; so not a soldier can be moved till more is known. The first division is ordered to collect at Ath to-night, the third at Braine-le-Comte, and the fourth at Grammont. The fifththat is ourswith the Eighty-first and the Hanoverian brigade, and the sixth division, of course collect here. All are to be in readiness to march at a moment's notice. The Prince of Orange is to gather the second and third Dutch divisions at Nivelles. Of course this first skirmish may only be intended to feel our force and positions; but at any rate, it is a sign that the game is going to begin."

"But if the orders are issued, and the troops are to collect to-night, the secret cannot be kept long."

"No; by this time the divisional orders will be published, and everyone will know it in an hour or two. There is really no secret about it, lads. If there had been the colonel wouldn't have told me, and I shouldn't have told you. See, the news is circulating already."

A change was indeed taking place in the position of the scene. The loungers were gathering in little groups, talking eagerly and excitedly. The orders for the concentration of the divisions had become known, though as yet all were in ignorance as to the reason for their issue. The three officers joined some of the groups and listened to the talk. The general idea was that the duke had heard that the French were gathering for an attack, and these measures were merely precautionary. It might be days yet before the affair really began. Still it was important news; and there were pale faces among the ladies at this sudden reminder that the assembly at Brussels was not a mere holiday gathering, but that war, grim, earnest, and terrible, was impending.

"We had better be getting back to our quarters," Captain O'Connor said. "Everything will have to be packed up this evening."

"But does this mean that the troops are to be under arms all night?" Stapleton asked.

"That it does, Stapleton. Of course they won't be kept standing in line; but when troops are ordered to be in readiness to march at a moment's notice, on such a business as this, it means that they will all be assembled. Then probably they will be allowed to lie down, and perhaps will light bivouac fires. But it means business, I can tell you."

"Then I for one shan't go to the ball," Ralph said. "No doubt it will be a pretty sight; but there have been lots of balls, and this bivouac will be a new experience altogether."

"I don't know that you are wrong, Conway," Captain O'Connor said. "Beside, you will probably find the colonel will issue orders that only a certain number of officers may go. I shall look in for an hour or two just to see the scene. But I don't know many people, and with a room full of generals and colonels, and three or four men to each lady, there won't be much chance of getting partners."

When they reached the village Stapleton said good-by to them, as his company lay half a mile further on; and Captain O'Connor and Ralph entered their quarters. They found their servants busy packing up the baggage.

"What is this all about, O'Connor?" Lieutenant Desmond asked.

"It is in orders that the whole division is to assemble to-night in readiness to march at a moment's notice. News has come that the French have attacked the Prussian outposts, and the duke is not to be caught napping. Of course it may be nothing but an outpost skirmish; still it may be the beginning of operations on a grand scale."

"And there is an order," Desmond said dolefully, "that only one officer in each company is to go to the ball."

"You want to goeh, Desmond?"

"Well, of course I should like to go, and so would everyone I suppose, however, it can't be helped; for of course you will go yourself."

"Well, I have made up my mind to look in for an hour or two. Conway doesn't wish to go. I'll tell you how we will arrange, Desmond. What the order means is that two officers must stop with their company. It doesn't matter in the least who they are; so that there are two out of the three with the men. Dancing will begin about eight o'clock. I will look in there at nine. An hour will be enough for me; so I will come back to the company, and you can slip away and stop there till it's over."

"Thank you very much," Desmond said gratefully.

"And look here, Desmond. You had better arrange with your man to leave your undress uniform out; so that when you get back from the ball you can slip into it and have the other packed up. That's what I am going to do. I can't afford to have my best uniform spoiled by having to sleep in it in the mud. A captain's pay doesn't run to such extravagance as that."

"What will be done with the baggage if we have to march?"

"Oh, I don't suppose we shall march to-night. But if we do, the quartermaster will detail a party to collect all the baggage left behind and put it in store. We needn't bother about that; especially when, for aught we know, we may never come back to claim it."

But although O'Connor did not know it, the duke had by this time received news indicating that the attack upon the Prussian outpost was the beginning of a great movement, and that the whole French army were pressing forward by the road where the Prussian and British army joined hands.

At daybreak the French had advanced in three columnsthe right upon Chatelet, five miles below Charleroi, on the Sambre; the center on Charleroi itself; the left on Marchienne. Zieten, who was in command of the Prussian corps d'armée, defended the bridges at these three points stoutly, and then contested every foot of the ground, his cavalry making frequent charges; so that at the end of the day the French had only advanced five miles. This stout resistance enabled Blucher to bring up two out of his other three corps, Bulow, whose corps was at Liege, forty miles away, receiving his orders too late to march that day. The rest of the Prussian army concentrated round the villages of Fleurs and Ligny.

Accordingly at ten o'clock in the evening orders were issued by Wellington for the third division to march at once from Braine-le-Comte to Nivelles, for the first to move from Enghien to Braine-le-Comte, and for the second and fourth divisions to march from Ath and Grammont on Enghien. No fresh orders were issued to the troops round Brussels; and although it was known at the ball that the troops were in readiness to march at a moment's notice, there were none except the generals and a few members of the staff who had an idea that the moment was so near at hand. The regiments stationed at a distance from Brussels were assembled in the park by ten o'clock in the evening; then arms were piled, and the men permitted to fall out.

Only a few lighted fires, for the night was warm. The artillery, however, who had all along been bivouacked in the park, had their fires going as usual, and round these many of the troops gathered, but the greater part wrapped themselves in their cloaks and went quietly to sleep. Ralph strolled about for an hour or two, chatting with other officers and looking at the groups of sleepers, and listening to the talk of the soldiers gathered round the fires. Among them were many old Peninsular men, whose experience now rendered them authorities among the younger soldiers, who listened eagerly to the details of the desperate struggle at Albuera, the terrible storming of the fortresses, and lighter tales of life and adventure in Spain. Many of the men whose quarters lay near the scene of assembly had been permitted to return to them, with strict orders to be ready to join the ranks should the bugle sound.

CHAPTER XVI.

FOUND AT LAST.

As soon as Mrs. Conway received the box she set to work in earnest. Directly the house was still and a sufficient time had elapsed for the Miss Penfolds to have fallen asleep, she rose from the bed on which she had lain down without undressing, put on the coat and hat, and made her way noiselessly down to the library. As she kept the lock well oiled she entered noiselessly, and then locking the door behind her lighted a candle and commenced her search. On the fifth night she was rewarded by finding that the center of what looked like a solidly carved flower in the ornamentation of the mantelpiece gave way under the pressure of her finger, and at the same moment she heard a slight click. Beyond this nothing was apparent; and after trying everything within reach she came to the conclusion that it needed a second spring to be touched to reveal the entrance.

It took her another three weeks before she found this. It was a slight projection, about as large as a button, in the inside of the chimney behind the mantel. Pressing this and the other spring simultaneously, the bookcase on the left of the fireplace suddenly swung open three or four inches. For a moment she stood breathless with excitement, hesitating before she entered; then she swung the bookcase open. There, as she had expected, was a little room seven feet long by four deep; but, to her bitter disappointment, it was bare and empty. A few scraps of paper lay on the ground, but there was no furniture, chest, or boxes in the room. The revulsion was so great that Mrs. Conway returned into the library, threw herself into a chair, and had a long cry. Then she went back into the room and carefully examined the pieces of paper lying on the ground. One of them was a portion of a letter, and she recognized at once the handwriting of Mr. Tallboys.

It contained only the words: "My dear Mr. Penfold—In accordance with your request— I send you the—" But above was the date, which was ten days only anterior to Mr. Penfold's death. Mrs. Conway had no doubt that the word that should have followed the fragment was "will," and that this was the letter that Mr. Tallboys had sent over with that document. It was important evidence, as it showed that Mr. Penfold had been in the habit of using this place during his lifetime, and that he had entered it after he had received the will from his solicitor a few days before his death. Why should he have entered it except to put the will in a place of security? Where that place was she did not know, but she felt certain that it was somewhere within reach of her hand.

"If it is here it must be found," she said resolutely; "but I won't begin to look for it to-night. It must be three o'clock already, and I will think the matter over thoroughly before I begin again. It is something to have found out as much as I have. I ought to be encouraged instead of being disappointed."

That day she wrote to Mr. Tallboys, giving him a full account of the discovery which she had made, and inclosing the fragment of his letter. She did not renew her search for the next two nights; for her long watchfulness and excitement had told upon her, and she felt that she needed rest before she set about the second part of the search. She received a letter from Mr. Tallboys in reply to that she had sent him:

"MY DEAR MRS. CONWAY: I congratulate you most heartily upon the great success you have met with. I own that I have never been very hopeful, for after the thorough search we made of the room I hardly thought it likely that you would succeed when we had failed; however, you have done so, and I cannot doubt that a similar success will attend your further efforts. In a small bare room such as you describe the difficulties in the way of finding the hidden receptacle cannot be so great as those you have already overcome. You are perfectly correct in your supposition that the fragment you sent me was part of the letter that I sent over with the will to Mr. Penfold by my clerk. I have compared it with the copy in my letter book, and find that it is the same. As you say, this letter proves conclusively that Mr. Penfold was in this secret room after he received the will, and one can assign no reason for his going there unless to put the will away in what he considered a secure hiding-place. That it is still somewhere there I have no doubt whatever, and I shall await with much anxiety news as to your further progress."

Thinking the matter over, Mrs. Conway had come to the conclusion that the hiding-place could only be under one of the stone flags of the floor or in the wall against the fireplace, or rather in that part of it above the fireplace. There would not be thickness enough in the walls separating the secret chamber from the passage or the rooms on either side of it; but the chimney would not be of the same width as the open fireplace below, and there might well be a space there sufficient for a good-sized closet. It was here, therefore, that she determined to begin her search. The next night, then, after touching the springs and entering the secret chamber, she began carefully to examine each stone in the wall next the fireplace at a distance about four feet above the ground.

In five minutes she uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. One of the stones, above eighteen inches square, although like the rest fitting closely to those adjoining it, was not, like the others, bedded in cement. So close was the join that it needed a close inspection to see that it was different from those around it. Still, upon close examination, it was evident that it was not cemented in. Taking out a penknife from her pocket, she found that the joint was too close even to allow this to be inserted for any distance. There was no keyhole or any other visible means of opening it, and she searched the walls in vain for any hidden spring.

For a whole week she continued the search, but without the slightest success, and at last began almost to despair; for at the end of that time she was convinced that she had passed her fingers again and again over every square inch of the floor and walls within her reach. Completely worn out with her sleepless nights, she determined to take a little rest, and to abstain altogether for a few nights from the search. On the third night, however, an idea suddenly occurred to her. She rose at once, dressed herself, and was about to go downstairs, when she thought that she heard a noise below. She returned at once to her room, hid away her hat and coat, and again went to the top of the stairs and listened.

Yes, she had not been mistaken; she distinctly heard sounds below, and, she thought, the murmur of men's voices. After a moment's thought she returned again to her room, took off her dress and threw a shawl round her shoulders, and then stole quietly down the stairs to the next floor and knocked gently at Miss Penfold's door. She repeated the knock two or three times, and then heard Miss Penfold's voice asking who was there. She did not speak, but knocked again. This time the voice came from the other side of the door.

"It is me, Miss PenfoldAnna Sibthorpe."

The door was unlocked and opened.

"What is it, Anna?"

"There is some one in the house, ma'am; I can hear them moving about down below, and I think I can hear men's voices."

Miss Penfold came out and listened.

"Yes, there is some one there," she said. "Go and call the butler and the others. I shall be ready by the time you come down."

In two or three minutes the servants, headed by the butler, who had armed himself with a blunderbuss that always hung in his room ready for action, came downstairs. Miss Penfold came out to meet them half-dressed. She had a pistol in her hand. The maids had armed themselves with pokers and brooms.

"Have you looked to the priming of your blunderbuss?" Miss Penfold asked quietly.

"No, ma'am."

"Well, then, look now," she said sharply. "What's the use of having a weapon if you don't see that it's in order?"

"It's all right, ma'am," the butler said, examining the priming.

"Well, then, come along and don't make a noise."

They went downstairs noiselessly, and paused when they reached the hall. The sounds came from the drawing-room. Miss Penfold led the way to the door, turned the handle, and flung it open. Three men were seen in the act of packing up some of the valuables. They started up with an exclamation. Miss Penfold fired, and there was a cry of pain. A moment later there was a roar as the blunderbuss went off, the contents lodging in the ceiling. "Without hesitating for a moment the three men made a rush to the open window, and were gone.

"John Wilton," Miss Penfold said sternly, "you are a fool! I give you a month's notice from to-day. Fasten up the shutters again and all go off to bed." And without another word she turned and went upstairs. As she reached the landing her sister ran out of her room in great alarm.

"What is the matter, Charlotte? I heard two explosions."

"It is nothing, Eleanor. Some men broke into the house, and we have gone down and frightened them away. I did not think it was worth while disturbing you, as you are so easily alarmed; but it is all over now, and the servants are shutting up the house again. I will tell you all about it in the morning. Go to bed again at once, or you will catch cold. Good-night."

Directly Miss Penfold had gone upstairs a hubbub of talk burst out from the female servants.

"It's disgraceful, John! With that great gun you ought to have shot them all dead."

"It went off by itself," John said, "just as I was going to level it."

"Went off by itself!" the cook said scornfully. "It never went off of itself when it was hanging above your bed. Guns never go off by themselves, no more than girls do. I am surprised at you, John. Why, I have heard you talk a score of times of what you would do if burglars came; and now here you have been and knocked a big hole in the ceiling. Why missus has twenty times as much courage as you have. She shot straight, she did, for I heard one of the men give a squalk. Oh, you men are pitiful creatures, after all!"

"You wouldn't have been so mighty brave, cook, if Miss Penfold and me hadn't been in front of you."

"A lot of use you were!" the cook retorted. "Six feet one of flesh, and no heart in it! Why, I would have knocked him down with a broom if I had been within reach of him."

"Yes, that we would, cook," the under-housemaid said. "I had got my poker ready, and I would have given it them nicely if I could have got within reach. Miss Penfold was just as cool as if she had been eating her breakfast, and so was we all except John."

John had by this time fastened up the shutter again, and feeling that his persecutors were too many for him he slunk off at once to his room; and the others, beginning to feel that their garments were scarcely fitted for the cold night air postponed their discussion of the affair until the following morning. The next morning after breakfast the servants were called into the dining-room, and Miss Penfold interrogated them closely as to whether any of them had seen strange men about, or had been questioned by any one they knew as to valuables at the Hall.

"If it had not been for Anna," she said, when she had finished without eliciting any information, "the house would have been robbed, and not any of us would have been any the wiser. It was most fortunate that, as she says, she happened to be awake and heard the sounds; and she acted very properly in coming quietly down to wake me. If the one man in the house," and she looked scornfully at the unfortunate butler, "had been possessed of the courage of a man the whole of them would have been shot; for they were standing close together, and he could hardly have missed them if he had tried.

"If that weapon had been in the hands of Anna, instead of those of John Wilton, the results would have been very different. However, John Wilton, you have been a, good servant generally, and I suppose it is not your fault if you have not the courage of a mouse, therefore I shall withdraw my notice for you to leave. I shall make arrangements for the gardener to sleep in the house in future, and you will hand that blunderbuss over to him. I shall write to-day to the ironmonger at Weymouth to come over and fix bells to all the shutters, and to arrange wires for a bell from my room to that which the gardener will occupy."

At breakfast Miss Penfold informed her sister of what had taken place the night before.

"I shall write, of course, to the head constable at Weymouth to send over to inquire about it, but I have very little hope that he will discover anything, Eleanor."

"Why do you think that, Charlotte? You said that you were convinced you had wounded one of the men; so they ought to be able to trace him."

"I dare say they would if this had been an ordinary theft; but I am convinced that it was not."

"Not an ordinary theft! What do you mean?"

"I have no doubt in my mind, Eleanor, that it was another attempt to discover the will."

"Do you think so?" Eleanor said in an awed voice. "That is terrible. But you said the men were engaged in packing up the candlesticks and ornaments."

"Oh, I believe that was a mere blind. Of course they would wish us to believe they were simply burglars, and therefore they acted as such to begin with. But there has never been any attempt on the house during the forty years we have lived here. Why should there be so now? If Anna had not fortunately heard those men I believe that when they had packed up a few things to give the idea that they were burglars, they would have gone to the library and set to to ransack it and find the will."

"But they would never have found it, Charlotte. It is too well hidden for that."

"There is no knowing," Miss Penfold said gloomily. So long as it is in existence we shall never feel comfortable. It will be much better to destroy it."

"No, no!" Eleanor exclaimed. "We agreed, Charlotte, that there was no reason why we should assist them to find it; but that is altogether a different thing from destroying it. I should never feel happy again if we did."

"As for that," Miss Penfold said somewhat scornfully, "you don't seem very happy now. You are always fretting and fidgeting over it."

"It is not I who am fancying that these burglars came after the will," Eleanor answered in an aggrieved voice.

"No; that is the way with timid people," Miss Penfold said. "They are often afraid of shadows, and see no danger where danger really exists. At any rate, I am determined to see whether the will really is where we suppose it to be. If it is I shall take it out and hide it in the mattress of my bed. We know that it will be safe there at any rate as long as I live, though I think it wiser to destroy it."

"No, no," Eleanor exclaimed; "anything but that. I sleep badly enough now, and am always dreaming that Herbert is standing by my bedside with a reproachful look upon his face. I should never dare sleep at all if we were to destroy it."

"I have no patience with such childish fancies, as I told you over and over again," Miss Penfold said sharply. "If I am ready to take the risk of doing it, I do not see that you need fret about it. However, I am ready to give in to your prejudices, and indeed would rather not destroy it myself if it can be safely kept elsewhere. At any rate I shall move it from its hiding-place. We know that it is there and nowhere else that it will be searched for, and with it in my room we need have no more uneasiness. I can unsew the straw pailliasse at the bottom of my bed, and when it is safely in there I shall have no fear whatever."

"Of course you can do as you like, Charlotte," Eleanor said feebly; "but for my part I would much rather go on as we are. We don't know now that the will really exists, and I would much rather go on thinking that there is a doubt about it."

"Very well, then; go on so, Eleanor. You need ask no questions of me, and I shall tell you nothing. Only remember, if I die before you don't part with the pailliasse on my bed."

Mrs. Conway thought a good deal during the day about the events of the night before, and determined to be more cautious than ever in her operations; for she thought it probable that Miss Penfold would be even more wakeful and suspicious than before. She would have left the search alone for a few days had it not been for the idea that had taken her from her bed the night before. It had struck her then as possible that the spring opening the secret closet might be in the chimney behind it, and that it was necessary to touch this from the outside before opening the door of the secret room.

She was convinced that had there been a spring in the room itself she must have discovered it, but it never before struck her that it might be at the back of the closet. She felt that she must satisfy herself on this point whatever the risk of discovery. Accordingly at the usual hour she made her way downstairs. She had put the key in the door, and was in the act of turning it when she heard a noise upstairs. She opened the door and stood looking up the stairs. In a moment she saw a light, and directly afterward Miss Penfold appeared at the top holding a candle in her hand. Knowing she was as yet unseen, Mrs. Conway entered the library and closed the door behind her. Then she hurried to the fireplace, touched the two springs, pulled the bookcase open and entered the secret chamber, and closed the bookcase behind her.

She had often examined the lock, thinking that the secret spring of the closet might be concealed here. It was a large old-fashioned one, and moved two bolts, one at the top of the door and one at the bottom. These she had already discovered could be easily opened from the inside. She imagined that Miss Penfold was merely going round the house to see that all was secure, and she had, contrary to her practice, taken the key from the door of the library in order that Miss Penfold might enter it if she chose. But the thought now flashed across her that possibly she might intend to open the secret room; and to prevent this she now thrust the barrel of the pistol she carried in between the back of the bolt and the piece of iron against which it shot, so that the action of the springs could not throw it out of its place.

Breathlessly she listened. Presently she heard a sharp click in the wall behind her. She had scarcely time to wonder what this meant when she heard a sound in the lock close to her. It was repeated again and again. Then she felt a slight tremor of the door as if somebody was trying to shake it. Her heart almost stood still. Miss Penfold was evidently trying to open the chamber; and, though she knew the lock could not open so long as she held the pistol in the place, she felt her breath coming fast and her heart beating. For five minutes the attempts to open the door continued. Then all was still again.

For half an hour she remained without moving; then, as all continued quiet, she guessed that Miss Penfold, finding the springs did not act, had returned to her room. She now rose to her feet, drew out her dark lantern, and turned to the wall by her side. She gave an exclamation of joythe stone that she had so long vainly endeavored to move was swung open. Miss Penfold who of course had the secret, had touched the spring outside before attempting to open the chamber, and the stone, which was set in iron, had swung open on a hinge. In a moment Mrs. Conway explored the contents. The closet was about two feet square by nine inches in depth, and contained two shelves. There were several papers in it, and the very first upon which she placed her hand was marked "The Last Will and Testament of Herbert Penfold."

So overwhelmed was Mrs. Conway at this termination to her long search that she sank on the ground, and it was some time before she could collect herself sufficiently to consider what was her best course. It was evident that for some reason Miss Penfold had been about to visit the secret room to see that the will was still in safety. The failure of the springs to act had, of course, disconcerted her; but she might try again in the morning, and would then be able to enter the room, and would discover that the will was missing.

It was clearly the best course to make off at once. She remembered now that she had noticed a tiny hole no bigger than a nail-hole in the door, and had found that upon the other side it was just above a row of books in the shelves somewhat lower in height than the rest, and was evidently intended to enable the occupant of the chamber to obtain a view of the library, and see whether that room was occupied. She applied her eye to it at once, and saw that all was dark. Concealing the lantern again beneath her coat, she drew back the bolts gently and stepped out. Then she went to one of the windows, took down the bell, carefully unbarred the shutters, threw up the window and stepped out.

She sped cross the garden, down the drive, and through the gate, and then hurried at the top of her speed toward the village. She had gone about half the distance when she heard a horse's footsteps approaching. The road ran between two high hedges and there was no place for concealment. She therefore walked along by the edge of the road close to the hedge, hoping that the horseman would pass without noticing her. His eyes, however, were too much accustomed to the darkness. He reined in his horse when he came to her, and a moment later the light of a small lantern fell on her face.

"Who are you?" a voice asked, "and where are you going?"

"I am going to the vicarage," she said, "to see Mr. Withers."

"A likely story that," he said. "What is this? A woman with a man's hat and coat! There is something wrong here," and leaning down he caught her by the collar. She saw by the light of his lantern that he was a mounted patrol.

"It is quite true, constable," she said. "I have put these things on in a hurry, but I am going to see Mr. Withers on a question of life and death. Take me to the vicarage, and if when you get there you find my story is not true you can lock me up if you like."

The constable was puzzled. The voice was apparently that of a lady, and yet her attire, and her presence abroad at two o'clock in the morning, was suspicious in the extreme. He paused irresolute.

"I don't like to disturb the vicar at this time of night," he said. "I will take you to the village lockup and go up to him in the morning."

"Please don't do that," she said. "I am a lady, and have a very good reason for what I am doing. I can promise you that Mr. Withers will not be angry at being called up; indeed he will be greatly pleased. Come, constable," she went on, seeing that he hesitated, "I will give you a couple of guineas to take me direct to the vicarage."

"Well, ma'am," the constable said, "if you are sure Mr. Withers will not be angry at being called up at such an hour I will take you; but you know he is a magistrate, and it would never do to play tricks upon him."

"There are no tricks, constable. He knows me very well, and will be pleased to see me even at this hour."

Greatly puzzled over the whole proceeding the constable turned, and still keeping a firm hold of her collar walked his horse back toward the village.

"You really need not hold me so tightly," Mrs. Conway said. "If I wanted to get away I could have done so in a moment; for I have a pistol in my pocket, and could have shot you the moment you turned your lantern away from me."

Somewhat startled at this information the constable released his hold, satisfied that his prisoner could not escape by speed. As a measure of precaution he made her walk a pace or two ahead, and kept the light of his lantern upon her while he held his pistol ready for action in his hand in case she should suddenly turn upon him. They went through the village, and five minutes afterward entered the gate of the vicarage. On reaching the door Mrs. Conway rang the bell. A moment later a window above opened.

"What is it?" a man's voice asked. "Am I wanted anywhere?"

"I am the mounted patrol, sir," the constable said, "and I have met a suspicious sort of person in the road. She said she was coming to you, and you knew her; and though it didn't seem a likely sort of story, I thought it better to run the risk of disturbing you instead of taking her to the lockup."

"It is I, Mr. Withers," Mrs. Conway said, taking off her hat and stepping out so that the light of the policeman's lantern fell upon her. "Please let me in, I have got it."

"Good heavens!" Mr. Withers exclaimed, startled out of his usual tranquillity. "It is all right, constable, I will be down in a minute."

"There, constable, you see I spoke truly," Mrs. Conway said, and taking her purse from her pocket she extracted by the light of the lantern two guineas and handed them to the man.

"Oh, I don't want to take your money, ma'am," he said apologetically. "You must excuse my not believing you, but it did seem a rum start."

"You are quite right, constable," she replied. "The circumstances were suspicious, and you only did your duty. However, you might have made it very unpleasant for me if you had chosen to take me to the lockup instead of bringing me here, and I am very willing to give you what I promised you. I can afford it very well," she said cheerfully, as he still hesitated, "and I dare say it will be useful to you."

The man took the money and touched his hat, and sat quiet until the door opened, and Mr. Withers in a dressing-gown and holding a candle appeared.

"You have done quite right in bringing the lady up here," Mr. Withers said; "but you need not go talking about it in the village."

"Very well, sir; I will say nothing about it. Good-night, sir. Good-night ma'am."

"My dear Mrs. Conway, what has happened to bring you here at this hour of the night?" Mr. Withers asked as he closed the door behind. "Did I understand you to say that you have got it? Is it possible that you have found the will?"

"Quite possible, Mr. Withers. Here it is in its envelope, with the seals unbroken."

"You astound me!" Mr. Withers exclaimed. At this moment Mrs. Withers made her appearance at the top of the stairs, her husband having briefly said as he hurried out of the room that it was Mrs. Conway.

"Amy," he said, "here is Mrs. Conway. And, what do you think? she has brought the missing will with her."

With an exclamation Mrs. Withers ran downstairs and threw her arms round Mrs. Conway. "You dear brave creature," she said, "I have been longing to speak to you for the last six months. It seems so unnatural your being close to us, and my not being able to see you, And you have really found the will? I can hardly believe it. How has it all come about?"

"Don't bother her, Amy," Mr. Withers said; for now that the excitement was past Mrs. Conway was trembling all over, and was scarcely able to keep her feet. "She is overtired and overexcited. Take her straight up to the spare room and get her to bed. I will make her a tumbler of hot port wine and water. The water is sure to be warm in the kitchen, and a stick or two will make it boil by the time she is ready for it. We will hear all about it in the morning. We have got the will safe, and we have got her; that is quite enough for us for to-night, all the rest will keep very well until to-morrow."

In a few minutes Mrs. Conway was in bed, and after drinking the tumbler of hot negus Mr. Withers had prepared for her she soon fell asleep.

Mrs. Withers came into the room early in the morning. "My husband says you are not to think of getting up unless you feel quite equal to it, and I agree with him; so if you like I will bring breakfast up to you, and then you can go off to sleep again for a bit."

"Oh, no, thank you," Mrs. Conway replied. "Now that I am fairly awake and realize where I am, I am perfectly ready to get up. I could not think the first moment I opened my eyes where I had got to, and fancied I had overslept myself and should get a nice scolding."

"You must wear one of my dresses, my dear," the vicar's wife said. "You have done with that servant's gown for good. I will bring you one in a few minutes."

In half an hour Mrs. Conway came down in a pretty morning dress of Mrs. Withers'. Mabel had that moment made her appearance in the breakfast-room. She had returned only a week before from her stay at Bath, having positively mutinied against the proposal that she should stay there for another six months. She started at the entry of a stranger.

"Don't you know me, Mabel?" Mrs. Conway said, holding out her hand.

"Whywhy" Mabel exclaimed, "it's Mrs. Conway. When did you come, and what have you been doing to yourself? Why, your hair is quite a different color! What does it all mean, mamma?" she asked in bewilderment.

"Mrs. Conway came last night, Mabel, after you were in bed."

"But you didn't tell me she was coming, mamma."

"We didn't know ourselves, dear; she arrived quite unexpectedly."

"And" and Mabel stopped.

"And I have got on one of your mamma's dresses," Mrs. Conway laughed, interpreting Mabel's look of surprise. "Yes, dear, and as you say, I have dyed my hair."

"But why, Mrs. Conway? It was such a pretty color before."

"And it will be again some day, I hope, for I am not going to dye it any more."

"I am glad of that," Mabel said frankly; "for you look quite different somehow. But why did you do it? and whyIs there anything the matter, Mrs. Conway," she broke off suddenly, "that you come here without being expected, and are wearing one of mamma's dresses, and have dyed your hair, and look so different altogether? Have you heard anything about Ralph?"

"You will hear all about it presently, Mabel," Mr. Withers, who had just come into the room, said. "You owe a great debt of gratitude to Mrs. Conway, as you will hear presently; for she has for six months been working in the interest of Ralph and you. Now, don't open your eyes so wide, but sit down to the table. After we have had breakfast Mrs. Conway will tell us all about it."

"By the way, Mrs. Conway, have you heard the news?"

"What news, Mrs. Withers?"

"In the newspaper I got yesterday evening it was said that a despatch had just been received from the Duke of Wellington saying he had news that Bonaparte was advancing, and that he had just issued orders for the troops to march forward to support the Prussians, who were likely to be first attacked."

"No, I had heard nothing about it," Mrs. Conway said, turning pale. "Then there is going to be a battle, and Ralph will be engaged."

"You must not alarm yourself," the vicar said. "You know the troops are very widely scattered, and his regiment may not be up in time; beside, you see, the Prussians are likely to be first attacked, and they may beat the French before the English get up to join in the battle."

"Now, Mrs. Conway," Mr. Withers said when they had finished breakfast, "please take pity on us and tell us all about it."

"Is Mabel to go away, or is she to hear it all, James?" Mrs. Withers asked.

"What do you think, Mrs. Conway?"

"I see no reason whatever against her hearing. Mabel is fast growing up. You are past fifteen now, are you not, Mabel?"

"Yes, Mrs. Conway."

"Then I think she has a right to hear all about it. She is, after all, the party most interested."

"Thank you, Mrs. Conway," the girl said. "Please let us go out into the garden and sit in the chairs under the shade of that tree. I can see it is going to be a long story, and it will be delightful out there; and then papa can smoke his after-breakfast cigar."

"Very well, Mabel; if your mamma has no objection, I am quite willing."

The chairs were taken out into the shade of the tree and the party sat down, Mabel all excitement, for as yet she knew nothing whatever of what had happened, and was puzzling herself in vain as to how Mrs. Conway could have been working in her interest.

"In the first place, Mabel," Mrs. Conway began, "I suppose you have no idea why you were sent away to Bath?"

Mabel opened her eyes in surprise.

"I thought I went there to get lessons in music and French and dancing."

"Well, you did go for that purpose, but for something else also. You were sent away in order that you might not see me."

"Not see you, Mrs. Conway! Why, you must be joking. Why, papa, what reason could there possibly be why I should not see Mrs. Conway? And beside, you never told me in your letter that she had been here."

"I have not been hereat least not in this house; but I was in the church every Sunday. I was there before you went away, although you did not see me. I was sitting in the pew with the Hall servants."

"With the Hall servants!" Mabel repeated in astonishment. "What did you sit with them for? and where were you staying? and why did you come to the church every Sunday and not come here?"

"That's just the story you are going to hear, Mabel. You heard of course, that it was Mr. Penfold's intention to leave you half his estates?"

"Yes, I heard that; and then there was no will found so of course I didn't get it."

"No, my dear; but as we all believed that there was such a will, we were naturally unwilling to let the matter rest. Still, the chance of finding it seemed very remote. You remember we spoke to you about it when they offered you that hundred a year."

"Yes, papa, you told me then that you thought they were keeping me out of my rights, and that was why I ought to refuse to take it. Yes, you did say they were keeping Ralph out too, and that was partly why you thought I ought not to agree to take the money; and of course I thought so too, because that would seem as if we had deserted Ralph."

"Well, Mabel, at that time the chance of our ever hearing anything of the will was so remote that I think both your mother and myself had entirely given up hope, and I am sure we should never have taken any more steps in the matter. Fortunately Mrs. Conway possesses a great deal more energy and perseverance than we have, and when she found that we gave it up, and that Mr. Tallboys gave it up, she determined to take the matter in her own hands. Now she will tell us how she has succeeded, and you must listen quietly and not ask more questions than you can help till she has finished."

"Well, my dear," Mrs. Conway went on, "Mr. Tallboys, Mr. Penfold's lawyer, did everything he possibly could to find the will, but he could not do so; and as my son was with you the person that had been robbed, I thought it was my duty to undertake the search myself."

Mrs. Conway then related step by step the measures she had taken to obtain a situation as servant at the Hall, and then went on to tell the manner in which she had carried on the search, and how success had finally crowned her efforts, her story being frequently interrupted by exclamations and questions from her hearers.

"What do you mean to do next?" Mr. Withers asked when she concluded.

"I will ask you to drive me over at once to Weymouth. I shall not feel comfortable until I have placed the will in Mr. Tallboys' hands; and directly I have done that I shall go over to Brussels. I may perhaps get there before any great battle is fought; and I should like to see Ralph before that, if possible, and at any rate be there to nurse him if he was wounded. I shall ask Mr. Tallboys if he can spare time to go across with me to Brussels. I should not want him to stop there, but only to take me over. I should think there would be no difficulty in hiring a small vessel at Weymouth to take me to Ostend, especially as money is no object now. If Mr. Tallboys cannot spare time himself, he can send a clerk with me or get somebody who will take me in charge; but at any rate I intend to go by myself if necessary. I do not suppose it will cause any delay about the will, Mr. Withers; for of course there must be some trouble in having it proved."

"It can make no difference, Mrs. Conway. I do not give that the least thought. I will go round at once and tell William to put in the horses."

"Mabel and I will go over too, James," Mrs. Withers said; "we cannot sit quiet all day after this excitement. Beside, I want to hear what Mr. Tallboys says."

Mr. Withers returned in a few minutes, looking grave.

"William has just come up from the village, and says that half an hour ago a man rode up from the Hall with word that the doctor was to go over at once, for that Eleanor Penfold had just had a stroke or fit of some sort and was terribly bad. I am sorry this new trouble has befallen them; but they have brought it entirely upon themselves, poor ladies. However, justice must be done; but I am sure you will agree with me, Mrs. Conway, that if the matter can possibly be arranged without exposure and publicity it shall be done so."

CHAPTER XVII.

QUATRE BRAS.

At ten o'clock Captain O'Connor returned and Lieutenant Desmond hurried off.

"Were you sorry to leave, O'Connor?" Ralph asked that officer.

"No; I was glad to get away," he replied. "Knowing as I do that in another twenty-four hours we may be engaged, and that in forty-eight the greatest battle of the age may take place, it was horribly sad to look on at the scene and wonder how many of the men laughing and flirting and dancing so gayly there would be so soon lying stark and cold, how many broken hearts there would be among the women. I felt heartily glad that I had neither wife nor sweetheart there. It is not often I feel in low spirits, but for once one could not help thinking. Here it is a different thing; we are all soldiers, and whatever comes we must do our duty and take our chance. But the gayety of that scene jarred upon me, and I could see there were many, especially the older men, who were thinking as I did. I dare say if I had found any partners and gone in for dancing I should have thought but little about it; but standing looking on the thoughts came. I think you were right, Conway, not to go."

"Have you heard any news of what has taken place to-day?"

"Yes. I was standing by the colonel when Picton came up to him and said:

"'There's been sharp fighting on the frontier. Zieten gave the French a deal of trouble, and only fell back about six miles. The other corps, except Bulow's, will all join them to-night.

"'It is a thousand pities that Zieten did not send off a mounted messenger to us directly he became engaged. If he had done so we might have started at one o'clock to-day, and should have been in line with the Prussians to-morrow. I suppose he thought Blucher would send, and Blucher thought he had sent; and so between them nothing was done, and we only got the news at seven o'clock this evening. Nine precious hours thrown away. It is just a blunder of this sort that makes all the difference between failure and success in war. Had the message been sent, we and the Dutch divisions and the troops from Braine le-Comte might all have been up by the morning. As it is, Blucher, with only three out of his four army corps, has the whole of the French army facing him, and must either fall back without fighting or fight against superior numbersthat is, if Napoleon throws his whole force upon him, as I suppose he will. It is enough to provoke a saint."

"'Which will Blucher do, do you think, general?" the colonel asked.

"'He sends word that he shall fight where he is; and in that case, if Napoleon throws his whole force on him, he is nearly certain to be beaten, and then we shall have Napoleon on us the next day."

"And now, Conway, I think it better to get a few hours' sleep if we can; for to-morrow will be a heavy day for us, unless I am mistaken."

It was some time before Ralph slept, but when he did so he slept soundly, waking up with a start as the sound of a bugle rang out in the night air. It was taken up by the bugles of the whole division, and Brussels, which had but an hour before echoed with the sound of the carriages returning from the ball, woke with a start.

With the sound of the bugle was mingled that of the Highland pipes, and in a few minutes the streets swarmed with the soldiers; for there was scarce a house but had either officers or men quartered in it. The upper windows were thrown up and the inhabitants inquired the cause of the uproar, and soon the whole population were in the streets. There was no delay. The soldiers had packed their knapsacks before lying down to sleep, and in a quarter of an hour from the sound of a bugle the regiments were forming up in the park. They were surrounded by an anxious crowd. Weeping women were embracing their husbands and lovers; the inhabitants looked pale and scared, and the wildest rumors were already circulating among them; mounted officers dashed to and fro, bugles kept on sounding the assembly; and the heavy rumble of guns was heard as the artillery came up and took up their appointed position.

In half an hour from the sound of the first warning bugle the head of the column began to move, just as daylight was breaking. Comparatively few of the officers of Ralph's regiment were married men, and there were therefore fewer of those agonizing partings that wrung the hearts of many belonging to regiments that had been quartered for some time at home; but Ralph saw enough to convince him that the soldier should remain a single man at any rate during such times as he is likely to be called upon for serious service in the field. It was a relief when the bands of the regiment struck up, and with a light step the troops marched away from the city where they had spent so many pleasant weeks.

As the troops marched on their spirits roseand indeed the British soldier is always at his gayest when there is a prospect of fightingthe hum of voices rose along the column, jokes were exchanged, and there was laughter and merriment. The pace was not rapid, and there were frequent stoppages, for a long column cannot march at the same pace as a single regiment; and it was ten o'clock when they halted at Mount St. Jean, fourteen miles from Brussels. Here the men sat down by the roadside, opened their haversacks, and partook of a hasty meal. Suddenly there was a cheer from the rear of the column. Nearer and nearer it grew, and the regiment leaped to their feet and joined in the shout, as the Duke of Wellington, with a brilliant staff, rode forward on his way to the front.

Already a booming of guns in the distance told that the troops were engaged, and there was another cheer when the order ran along the line to fall in again.

Fighting had indeed begun soon after daylight. Prince Bernhard who commanded the division of Dutch troops at Quatre Bras, had commenced hostilities as soon as it was light by attacking the French in front of him; and the Prince of Orange, who had ridden to Nivelles, directly the ball was over, brought on the Dutch troops from that town, and joining Prince Bernhard drove back the French to within a mile of Frasnes.

The Duke of Wellington reached Quatre Bras soon after eleven, and finding that there was no immediate danger there, galloped away to communicate with Blucher.

He found that the latter had gathered three of his corps, and occupied a chain of low hills extending from Bry to Tongres. The rivulet of Ligny wound in front of it, and the villages of St. Armand and Ligny at the foot of the slope were occupied as outposts. These villages were some distance in front of the hills, and were too far off for the troops there to be readily reinforced from the army on the heights. The Duke of Wellington was of opinion that the position was not a good one, and he is said to have remarked to Blucher: "Everyman knows his own people best, but I can only say that with a British army I should not occupy this ground as you do."

Had the duke been able to concentrate his force round Quatre Bras in time, he intended to aid the Prussians by taking the offensive; but the unfortunate delay that had taken place in sending the news of the French advance on the previous morning rendered it now impossible that he should do so, and he therefore rode back to Quatre Bras to arrange for its defence against the French corps that was evidently gathering to attack it.

It was well for the allies that Napoleon was not in a position to attack in force at daybreak. His troops, instead of being concentrated the night before at Fleurus, were scattered over a considerable extent of country, and many of them were still beyond the Sambre. Marshal Ney, who had been appointed to the command of the corps, intended to push through Quatre Bras and march straight on Brussels, had only arrived the evening before, and was ignorant of the position of the various divisions under his command. Therefore it was not until two o'clock in the afternoon that Napoleon advanced with sixty thousand men to attack the Prussians at Ligny, while at about the same hour the column under Ney advanced from Frasnes against Quatre Bras. The delay was fatal to Napoleon's plans.

Had the battles commenced at daybreak, Ney could have brushed aside the defenders of Quatre Bras, and would have been at Mount St. Jean by the time the English came up. The Prussians would have been beaten by noon instead of at dusk, and before nightfall their retreat would have been converted into a rout, and on the following day Napoleon's whole army would have been in a position to have fallen upon the only British divisions that Wellington could by that time have collected to oppose him, and would probably have been in possession of Brussels before night.

Thus, while the delay in sending news to Wellington prevented the allies combining against the French on the 16th of June, the delay of Napoleon in attacking that morning more than counterbalanced the error. There was the less excuse for that delay, inasmuch as he had himself chosen his time for fighting, and should not have advanced until he had his whole force well up and ready for action; and as the advance during the first day's fighting had been so slow, the whole army might well have been gathered at nightfall round Fleurus ready to give battle at the first dawn of day.

Fighting as he did against vastly superior forces, Napoleon's one hope of success lay in crushing the Prussians before the Englishwho, as he well knew, were scattered over a large extent of countrycould come up, and his failure to do this cost him his empire.

The artillery fire ceased in front before the column continued its march for Mount St. Jean. The Prince of Orange had paused in his advance when he saw how strong was the French force round Frasnes, and Ney was not yet ready to attack. Therefore from eleven until two there was a cessation of operations, and the ardor of the troops flagged somewhat as they tramped along the dusty road between Mount St. Jean and Genappe.

The Prince of Orange was having an anxious time while the British column was pressing forward to his assistance. As the hours went by he saw the enemy's forces in front of him accumulating, while he knew that his own supports must be still some distance away Nevertheless, he prepared to defend Quatre Bras to the last. He had with him six thousand eight hundred and thirty-two infantry and sixteen cannon, while Ney had gathered seventeen thousand men and thirty-eight guns to attack him. The latter should have had with him D'Erlon's corps of twenty thousand men, and forty-six guns, but these were suddenly withdrawn by Napoleon when the latter found that the Prussian force was stronger than he had expected. They had just reached the field of Ligny when an order from Ney again caused them to retrace their steps to Quatre Bras, where they arrived just after the fighting there had come to an end. Thus twenty thousand men with forty-six guns were absolutely thrown away, while their presence with either Napoleon or Ney would have been invaluable.

Soon after two o'clock Picton's division, which headed the column, heard several cannon shots fired in rapid succession, and in another minute a perfect roar of artillery broke out. The battle had evidently begun; and the weary men, who had already marched over twenty miles, straightened themselves up, the pace quickened, and the division pressed eagerly forward. A few minutes later an even heavier and more continuous roar of cannon broke out away to the left. Napoleon was attacking the Prussians. The talking and laughing ceased now. Even the oldest soldiers were awed by that roar of lire, and the younger ones glanced in each others, faces to see whether others felt the same vague feeling of discomfort they themselves experienced; and yet terrible as was evidently the conflict raging in front, each man longed to take his part in it.

The officers' orders to the men to step out briskly were given in cheerful and confident voices, and the men themselveswith their fingers tightening on their muskets, and their eyes looking intently forward as if they could pierce the distance and realize the scene enacting therepressed on doggedly and determinedly. Messenger after messenger rode up to General Picton, who was marching at the head of the column, begging him to hurry on, for that the Prince of Orange was step by step being driven back. But the troops were already doing their best.

The Dutch and Belgian troops had fought with considerable bravery, and had held the village of Piermont and a farm near it for some time before they fell back to the wood of Bossu. Here they make a stout stand again, but were at length driven out and were beginning to lose heart, and in a few minutes would have given way when they saw on the long straight road behind them the red line of Picton's column. The glad news that help was at hand ran quickly through the wood, and the Belgians met their foes with fresh courage.

Picton's force consisted of the Eighth and Ninth British Brigades, the former under General Sir James Kempt, the latter under Sir Denis Pack. With them were the Fourth Brigade of Hanoverians, with two batteries of artillerythe one Hanoverian, the other British. The excitement of the troops increased as they neared Quatre Bras, and a loud cheer ran along the line as they neared the wood, and took their place by the side of the hardly pressed Dutch and Belgians. Pack's brigade consisted of the first battalion Forty-second, second Forty-fourth, first Ninety-second, and first Ninety-fifth, while Kempt had under him the first Twenty-eighth, first Thirty-second, first Seventy-ninth, and Third Royals.

The aspect of the fight was speedily changed now. The French, who had been advancing with shouts of triumph, were at once hurled back, and the defenders a few minutes later were strengthened by the arrival of the greater part of the Duke of Brunswick's corps. In point of numbers the combatants were now nearly equal, as the allies had eighteen thousand infantry, two thousand cavalry, and twenty-eight guns on the field. Of these, however, but eight thousand at most were British. Picton at once sent forward the first battalion of the Ninety-fifth, and these cleared a little wood in the front of Piermont of the French light troops, and restored the communication between Quatre Bras and Ligny.

Ney, however, was preparing to advance again in force. His front was covered with a double hedgerow, which afforded admirable shelter to his skirmishers, while his artillery were so placed on rising ground in the rear of his position as to sweep the whole country over which his column would advance to the attack. At this moment the duke returned from his conference with Blucher. He at once saw that the enemy had gathered a heavy column behind the wood of Bossu, and directed the Prince of Orange to withdraw the guns that were too far advanced, and to gather the Dutch and Belgian troops to oppose the advance, at the same time he sent forward the Twenty-eighth to their assistance.

They arrived, however, too late; for the French swept the Belgians before them and advanced steadily, while their artillery from the high ground opened a furious cannonade upon Picton's division. One of the Brunswick regiments now joined the Belgians, but in spite of this reinforcement the latter were driven from the wood of Bossu, which they had occupied when the British first came up. The British troops were suffering heavily from the artillery fire to which their own guns could make no effectual reply.

"Pretty hot this, Conway," Captain O'Connor said to Ralph. "It's not pleasant standing here being made a target of."

"That it's not," Ralph said heartily. "I call it horribly unpleasant. I shouldn't mind it so much if we were doing something."

It was indeed trying for young soldiers under fire for the first time. The French had got the range accurately, and every moment gaps were made in the line as the round shot plowed through them. The officers walked backward and forward in front of their men with exhortations to stand steady.

"It will be our turn presently, lads," Captain O'Connor said assuringly. "We will turn the tables on them by and by, never fear."

There was not long to wait. Clouds of French skirmishers were seen advancing through the hedgerows, and stealing behind the thickets and woods that skirted the road, and a moment later the orders came for the light companies of all the regiments of Picton's division to advance.

"Forward, lads!" Captain O'Connor said. "It's our turn now. Keep cool and don't waste your ammunition."

With a cheer his company followed him. Every hedge, bank, and tree that could afford shelter was seized upon, and a sharp crackling fire at once replied to that of the French skirmishers. The light companies were then armed with far better weapons than those in use by the rest of the troops, and a soldier could have told at once by the sharp crackling sound along the front of the British line that it was the light companies that were engaged. But now a heavy column of troops was seen advancing from the village held by the French; and this, as it approached the part of the line held by the Brunswickers, broke up into several columns. The Germans were falling back, when the duke sent Picton's two brigades to meet the enemy halfway. The Ninety-second were left behind in reserve on the road, the light companies were called in, Picton placed himself in front of the long line, and with a tremendous cheer this advanced to meet the heavy French columns.

It was thus through the wars of the period that the English and French always fought: the French in massive column, the English in long line. Once again, as at Albuera and in many a stricken field, the line proved the conqueror. Overlapping the columns opposed to it, pouring scathing volleys upon each flank, and then charging on the shaken mass with the bayonet, the British regiments drove the enemy back beyond the hedgerows, and were with difficulty restrained from following them up the face of the opposite hill.

On the right, however, the Brunswickers were suffering heavily from the cannonade of the French, and were only prevented from breaking by the coolness of their chief. The Duke of Brunswick rode backward and forward in front of them, smoking his pipe and chatting cheerfully with his officers, seemingly unconscious of the storm of fire: and even the most nervous of his young troops felt ashamed to show signs of faltering when their commander and chief set them such an example. Four guns, which at his request Wellington had sent to him, came up and opened fire; but so completely were they overmatched that in five minutes two were disabled and the other two silenced.

As soon as this was done two French columns of infantry, preceded by a battalion in line, advanced along the edge of the wood, while a heavy mass of cavalry advanced along the Ghent road, and threatened the Brunswickers with destruction. The Brunswick, Dutch, and Belgian skirmishers fell back before those of the French. The Duke of Brunswick placed himself before a regiment of lancers and charged the French infantry; but these stood steady, and received the lancers with so heavy a fire that they retreated in confusion on Quatre Bras. The duke now ordered the infantry to fall back in good order, but by this time they were too shaken to do so. The French artillery smote them with terrible effect; the infantry swept them with bullets; the cavalry were preparing to charge. No wonder then that the young troops lost their self-possession, broke, and fled in utter confusion, some through Quatre Bras others through the English regiments on the left of the village.

At this moment the gallant Duke of Brunswick, while striving to rally one of his regiments, received a mortar wound. He died a few minutes later, as his father had died on the field of Jena. The Brunswick hussars were now ordered to advance and cover the retreat of the infantry; but as they moved toward the enemy they lost heart, turned, and fled from the field, the French lancers charging hotly among them. So closely were the two bodies mixed together that the Forty-second and Forty-fourth which were posted on the left of the road, could not distinguish friend from foe.

Before the former regiment had time to form square the French were upon them, and for two or three minutes a desperate hand-to-hand conflict took place between bayonet and lance. The Forty-fourth did not attempt to form a square. Its colonel faced the rear rank about, and these poured so tremendous a volley into the French cavalry that they reeled back in confusion. Two companies of the Forty-second which had been cut off from the rest were almost annihilated; but the rest of the square closed in around French cavalry who had pierced them and destroyed them to a man. The Twenty-eighth also repulsed the enemy.

"What do you think of it now, Conway?" Captain O'Connor asked as the French retreated.

"I feel all right now," Ralph said; "though I thought just now that it was all over with me. A big Frenchman was just dealing a sweeping cut at me when a musket shot struck him. Still this is a thousand times better than standing still and being pounded by their artillery. I confess I felt horribly uncomfortable while that was going on."

"I dare say you did, lad."

The Duke of Wellington had, upon the fall of their commander, in vain endeavored to rally the flying Brunswickers. As he was so engaged the cavalry column swept down upon him. He put spurs to his horse and galloped to the spot where the Ninety-second were lying behind a ditch bordering the road. The French were close to his heels. He shouted to the men of the Ninety-second in front of him to throw themselves down, and setting spurs to his horse leaped the ditch and the men behind it, and instantly the Highlanders poured so terrible a volley into the French cavalry that a hundred saddles were emptied.

The cavalry recoiled for a moment in confusion, but then reformed and retired in good order. Some of the leading squadrons, however, had galloped on into the village, and cut down some stragglers there; but the Highlanders closed round them, and, being pent up in a farmyard from which there was but one outlet, scarce a man who had entered escaped.

The French had now received heavy reinforcementKellermann's heavy horse having come upon the fieldand as neither the Dutch nor Belgian cavalry would face the French troopers they were free to employ their whole cavalry force against the British infantry.

Again and again they charged down upon the Twenty-eighth, Forty-second, Forty-fourth, and First Royals. The Twenty-eighth and the Royals did not indeed wait to be attacked, but led by Picton and Kempt in person resolutely advanced to charge the French cavalry. This feat, seldom exampled in military history, was rendered necessary in order to cover the flank of the Forty-second and Forty-fourth, now, by the flight of the Brunswickers, Dutch, and Belgians, open to the attacks of the French cavalry. The fields here were covered with a growth of tall rye, that concealed the approach of the French cavalry till they were within a few yards of the infantry, and it was only by the tramp of the horses as they rushed through the corn that the British square knew when their foes would be upon them.

Picton in the center of the Twenty-eighth encouraged them by his presence, and they stood firm, although the cavalry again and again charged down until their horse's chests touched the close line of bayonets. They were every time repulsed with heavy loss. The Thirty-second, Seventy-ninth, and Ninety-fifth were also exposed to similar attacks; but everywhere the British soldiers stood firmly shoulder to shoulder, and nowhere did the French succeed in breaking their ranks.

At five o'clock fresh guns and cavalry reinforced Ney, and his infantry again advanced in great force through the wood of Bossu. The British squares were decimated by the fire of the artillery, and several batteries were advanced to comparatively short range, and opened with destructive effect.

Stoutly as the eight thousand British had foughtdeserted though they were by their alliesagainst Ney's overpowering numbers, they could not much longer have stood their ground, when at the critical moment General Alten's division came up by the Nivelles road to their aid. Halket's British brigade advanced between the wood of Bossu and the Charleroi road; while the Hanoverian brigade took up ground to the left, and gave their support to the hardly-pressed British.

Ney now pushed forward every man at his disposal. His masses of cavalry charged down, and falling upon the Sixty-ninth, one of the regiments just arrived, cut it up terribly, and carried off one of its colors. The Thirty-second, however, belonging to the same brigade, repulsed a similar attempt with terrible slaughter. The French infantry, supported by a column of cuirassiers, advanced against the Hanoverians, and driving them back approached the spot where the Ninety-second were lying. Major-General Barnes rode up to the Highlanders taking off his hat, and shouted: "Now, Ninety-second, follow me!"

The Highlanders sprang from the ditch in which they were lying, the bagpipes struck up the slogan of the regiment, and with leveled bayonets they threw themselves upon the French column. In vain its leading companies attempted to make a stand. The Highlanders drove them back in confusion, and they broke and fled to the shelter of the hedgerows, where they tried to resist the advance, but the Highlanders burst through without a pause. Their colonel, John Cameron, fell dead; but his men, more furious than before, flung themselves on the French, and drove them back in confusion into the wood.

Ney still thought of renewing the attack; but D'Erlon's corps had not yet arrived, while at this moment two light battalions of Brunswickers, with two batteries of artillery, came up, and almost immediately afterward General Cooke's division, comprising two brigades of the guards, reached the spot. The latter at once advanced against the French skirmishers, just as they were issuing afresh from the wood of Bossu. The guards had undergone a tremendous march; but all thought of fatigue was lost in their excitement, and they swept the French before them and pressed forward. As they did so the whole British line advanced, Halket's brigade on the one flank the guards on the other.

In vain the French cavalry charged again and again. In vain the French infantry strove to stem the tide. One after another the positions they had so hardly won were wrested from them. Picton's division retook the village; Piermont was carried by the Ninety-fifth and the German legion; while the guards drove the enemy entirely out of the wood of Bossu. Night was now falling, and Ney fell back under cover of darkness to his original position in Frasnes; while the British lighted their fires, and bivouacked on the ground they had so bravely held.

As soon as the order came for the troops to bivouac where they were standing, arms were piled and the men set to work. Parties chopped down hedges and broke up fences, and fires were soon blazing. Owing to the late hour at which the fight terminated, and the confusion among the baggage wagons that were now beginning to arrive from the rear, no regular distribution of rations could be made. Most of the men, however, had filled their haversacks before leaving their quarters on the previous evening, and a party sent down the road obtained a sufficient supply of bread for the rest from a commissariat wagon. While the fires were being lighted the light company were ordered to aid in the work of collecting the wounded. The other regiments had also sent out parties, and for hours the work went on. Owing to the frequent movements of the troops, and the darkness of the night, it was difficult to discover the wounded, and there were no materials at hand from which torches could be made.

No distinction was made between friend and foe. The bodies found to be cold and stiff were left where they lay; the rest were lifted and carried to one or other of the spots where the surgeons of the force were hard at work giving a first dressing to the wounds, or, where absolutely necessary, performing amputations. After an hour's work the light company was relieved by the grenadiers, and these in turn by the other companies, so that all might have a chance of obtaining as much sleep as possible.

The troops were indeed terribly fatigued, for they had had a thirty miles' march, and nearly six hours continuous fighting; but they were in high spirits at their success, although suffering severely from want of water. They had started in the morning with full canteens, but the dusty march had produced such thirst that most of these were emptied long before they reached the field of battle; and no water was to be found near the spot where the Twenty-eighth were bivouacked, and indeed with the exception of the regiments in the village, who obtained water from the wells, the whole army lay down without a drink. Water had, however, been fetched for the wounded, whose first cry as their comrades reached them had always been for it; and even when the search had ceased for the night, there were numbers still lying in agony scattered over the field. Ralph had before starting filled a canteen with brandy and water at the suggestion of Captain O'Connor.

"The less you drink, lad, while on the march the better; but the chances are you will find by night that every drop is worth its weight in gold. If you have the bad luck to be wounded yourself, the contents of the canteen may save your life; and if you don't want it yourself, you may be sure that there will be scores of poor fellows to whom a mouthful will be a blessing indeed."

So Ralph had found it. He had drunk very sparingly on the way, scarcely permitting himself to do more than to wet his lips; but when he set about the work of collecting the wounded, he felt more than amply rewarded for his little self-sacrifice by the grateful thanks of the poor fellows to whom he was able to give a mouthful of his hoarded store. It was not until his return to the bivouac, after his hour's turn of duty, that he learned the extent of the loss of the regiment. He knew by the smallness of the number who mustered for the search how much his own company had suffered, and in the brief intervals in the struggle he had heard something of what was doing elsewhere. Lieutenant Desmond had fallen early in the fight, shot through the heart as the light companies went out to oppose the French skirmishers. Captain O'Connor had received a lance wound through his arm; but had made a sling of his sash, and had kept his place at the head of his company.

The officers were all gathered round a fire when Ralph returned to the bivouac.

"I see you have your arm in a sling, O'Connor," he said. "Nothing serious, I hope?"

"No, I think not; but it's confoundedly painful. It was a French lancer did it. Fortunately one of the men bayoneted him at the very instant he struck me, and it was only the head of the lance that went through my arm. Still, it made a hole big enough to be uncommonly painful; the more so because it gave it a frightful wrench as the man dropped the lance. However, there is nothing to grumble at; and I may consider myself lucky indeed to have got off with a flesh wound when so many good fellows have fallen."

"Yes, considering the number engaged, the losses have been terribly heavy," the major said. "It looked very bad for a time."

"That it did," O'Connor agreed. "That's what comes of fighting with little mongrels by the side of you. It's always been the case when we get mixed up with other nationalities. Look at Fontenoy, look at Talavera. If I were a general I would simply fight my battles in my own way with my own men. If any allies I had liked to come up and fight on their own account, all the better; but I wouldn't rely upon them in the very slightest."

"The Belgians and Dutch fought very fairly at the beginning, O'Connor."

"Yes, I will admit that. But what's the good of fighting at the beginning if you are going to bolt in the middle of a battle? If we had had two or three regiments of our own cavalry, it would have made all the difference in the world; but when they went off, horse and foot and left our division alone to face the whole force of the enemy, I hardly even hoped we should hold our ground till Alten came up."

"Yes, he was just in the nick of time; but even with him we should have had to fall back if Cooke had not arrived with the guards. By the way, has any one heard what has taken place on our left?"

"We have heard nothing; but I think there is no doubt the Prussians must have been thrashed. One could hear the roar of fire over there occasionally, and I am sure it got farther off at the end of the day; beside, if Blucher had beaten Napoleon, our friends over there would be falling back, and you can see by their long lines of fire they have not done so. I dare say we shall hear all about it to-morrow. Anyhow, I think we had better lie down and get as much sleep as we can, we may have another hard day's work before us."

CHAPTER XVIII.

WATERLOO.

The Prussians indeed had been beaten at Ligny. Their three corps, numbering eighty thousand men, with two hundred and twenty-four guns, had been attacked by Napoleon with sixty thousand men, with two hundred and four guns. The battle was contested with extraordinary obstinacy on both sides. The villages of Ligny and St. Armand were taken and retaken over and over again, and for hours the desperate strife in and around them continued without cessation. Both parties continued to send down reinforcements to these points, but neither could succeed in obtaining entire possession of them.

The faults which Wellington had perceived in the Prussian position told against Blucher. The villages were too far in advance of the heights on which the army was posted, and his reinforcements were therefore a long time in reaching the spot where they were required to act. They were, too, as they descended the hill, under the observation of Napoleon, who was able to anticipate their arrival by moving up supports on his side, and who noted the time when Blucher's last reserves behind Ligny had come into action. At this critical moment General Lobau arrived from Charleroi with twelve thousand fresh men and thirty-eight guns, and at seven o'clock in the evening Napoleon launched this force with his division of guards, twenty thousand strong, who had hitherto been kept in reserve, against the enemy.

Ligny was captured and the victory won. The Prussians throughout the day had fought with great bravery. They had a long score to wipe out against the French, and were inspired as much by national hatred as by military ardor; and they owed their defeat rather to the disadvantages of the position they held than to the, superior fighting qualities of the French. Their cavalry had several times made desperate charges; sometimes against the French horse, at others upon columns of infantry. In one of these Blucher himself was with them; and as they were in turn driven back by a charge of the French cuirassiers his horse was shot, bringing him to the ground. His aid-de-camp leaped off and threw his cloak over him as the cuirassiers came thundering past, intent upon overtaking the Prussian cavalry. They paid no attention to the solitary dismounted man, and a few minutes later again passed the spot, this time in retreat, a fresh party of Prussian cavalry having met them. Again they passed by the fallen general, little dreaming that one of their most formidable and determined enemies lay there at their mercy. As soon as the Prussians came up the dead horse was moved, and Blucher, who was insensible, carried to the rear, when he soon recovered and resumed the command.

But though beaten the Prussians were by no means routed. They had lost the key of their position; but night came on before the combat terminated, and under cover of the darkness they fell back quietly and in good order. General Thielmann's corps on the extreme Prussian left had taken but little part in the fighting; and as the center and right of the Prussian army retreated he advanced, fell upon the French in the darkness, and for some time forced them back, thus giving time to the rest of the army to reform its ranks and recover its discipline. After having rendered great service by thus occupying the enemy Thielmann took up a position on the heights, and remained facing the French, while the other corps d'armé took post in his rear.

The French were too weary to follow up the advantage they had gained; the night passed without any attack being made, and at daybreak the Prussians started on their march to Wavre, the cavalry remaining behind to cover the movement, check pursuit, and conceal if possible from the French the line by which the army was falling back. Had the pursuit been taken up at daybreak by the French, they would soon have driven in the cavalry and ascertained the route taken by the infantry; but it was not until many hours had elapsed that the French got into motion, and by that time the Prussian cavalry had disappeared from their front, and nothing remained to inform them of the line by which the enemy had retreated.

There was a general feeling of disappointment among the gallant defenders of Quatre Bras when on the following morning orders were issued for them to abandon the ground they had so stoutly held. They had been astir at daylight, firearms were cleaned, fresh ammunition served out from the reserve wagons, and the men fell into the ranks, expecting that in a short time they would again be engaged; but no movement could be seen on the part of the enemy, and arms were again piled. The commissariat wagons had come up in the night, and rations were served out to the troops and breakfast prepared. As soon as this was over strong parties were again sent over the battlefield to collect any wounded who had escaped the search of the night before. As soon as these were collected the whole of the wounded were placed in ambulance wagons and country carts, and despatched to Brussels.

Presently a general movement of the great baggage trains was observed by the troops to be taking place, and the long column moved along the road to the north. The duke had sent off a staff-officer at daybreak to ascertain the state of things at Ligny; he returned with the report that the Prussians had left the field. He then sent out a small party of cavalry under Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Alexander Gordon. This officer pushed forward until he encountered General Zieten, who was still at Sombreuf, but a mile distant from the battlefield. The general informed him of the whole events of the preceding day, and gave him the important intelligence that Blucher had retreated to Wavre, and would join hands with Wellington at Mount St. Jean, which the English general had previously fixed upon as the scene of the battle for the defense of Brussels.

The news relieved Wellington of all anxiety. It had been before arranged that Blucher if defeated, should if possible fall back to Wavre; but it was by no means certain that he would be able to do this, and had he been compelled by the events of the conflict to retire upon his base at Namur he would have been unable to effect a junction for some days with Wellington, and the latter would have been obliged single-handed to bear the whole brunt of Napoleon's attack. The latter's plans had indeed been entirely based on the supposition that Blucher would retreat upon Namur; and in order to force him to do so he had abstained from all attack upon the Prussian left, and employed his whole strength against the right and center, so as to swing him round, and force him to retire by way of Namur.

As soon as Wellington learned that Blucher had carried out the arrangement agreed upon his mind was at ease. Orders were sent off at once to the troops advancing from various directions that they should move upon Mount St. Jean. All the baggage was sent back to Brussels, while provisions for the troops were to be left at Mount St. Jean, where also the whole of the ammunition wagons were to be concentrated. Horsemen were sent along the road to keep the baggage train moving, and they had orders that if the troops at Quatre Bras fell back upon them they were at once to clear the road of all vehicles.

Having issued all these orders, and seen that everything was in train, Wellington allowed the troops at Quatre Bras to rest themselves, and ordered their dinners, to be cooked. No movement was yet to be seen on the part of the French; there was, therefore, no occasion to hurry. Those, therefore, of the men who were not out on patrol stretched themselves on the ground and rested till noon. Dinner over the infantry marched off in two columns, the cavalry remaining until four o'clock in the afternoon, when upon the advance of Ney in front and Napoleon on the left they fell back, and after some sharp skirmishes with the enemy's light cavalry joined the infantry before nightfall in their position near Mount St. Jean and Waterloo. Rain had fallen for a time during the afternoon of the battle, and now at four o'clock it again began to come down heavily, soaking the troops to the skin.

"This is miserable, Stapleton," Ralph said to his friend, after the regiment had piled arms on the ground pointed out to them by the officers of the quartermaster's department.

"I am rather glad to hear you say it is miserable, Ralph. I was certainly thinking so myself; but you always accuse me of being a grumbler, so I thought I would hold my tongue."

Ralph laughed. "I don't think any one could deny that it is miserable, Stapleton; but some people keep up their spirits under miserable circumstances and others don't. This is one of the occasions on which it is really very hard to feel cheerful. There is not a dry thing in the regiment; the rain is coming down steadily and looks as if it meant to keep it up all night. The ground is fast turning into soft mud, and we have got to sleep upon it, or rather in it; for by the time we are ready to lie down it will be soft enough to let us sink right in. I think the best plan will be to try to get hold of a small bundle of rushes or straw, or something of that sort, to keep our heads above it, otherwise we shall risk suffocation."

"It is beastly," Stapleton said emphatically. "Look at the men; what a change in them since we marched along this road yesterday. Then they were full of fun and spirits, now they look washed out and miserable. Were the French to attack us now you wouldn't see our men fight as you did yesterday."

"But you must remember, Stapleton, the French are just as wet as we are. This is not a little private rain of our own, you know, got up for our special annoyance; but it extends right over the country."

"What nonsense you talk, Conway; as if I didn't know that."

"Well, you spoke as if you didn't, Stapleton; but you will see the fellows will fight when they are called upon. Just at present they are not only wet but they are disgusted. And I own it is disgusting after fighting as hard as we did yesterday to find it's all been of no use, and that instead of marching against the enemy we are marching away from them. Of course it can't be helped; and if we had waited another half-hour we should have had all the French army on us, and yesterday's work would have been mere child's play to it. Still I can quite enter into the soldier's feelings. Of course they do not understand the position, and regard it as simply a retreat instead of a mere shifting of ground to take up better position and fight again to-morrow.

"Still this is a nice position, isn't it? You see there's room enough along on the top of this slope for our whole army, and our guns will sweep the dip between us and the opposite rise, and if they attack they will have to experience the same sensations we did yesterday, of being pounded and pounded without the satisfaction of being able to return their fire.

"They must cross that dip to get at usat least if they attack, which I suppose they will, as they will be the strongest partyand our artillery will be able to play upon them splendidly from this road. Then, too, there are two or three farmhouses nearer our side than theirs, and I suppose they will be held in force.

"That looks rather a nice old place among the trees there on our right. It has a wall and inclosure, and they will have hard work to turn us out of it. Yes, I call this a fine place for a battle; and we shall have the advantage here of being able to see all over the field and of knowing what is going on in other places, while yesterday one couldn't see three yards before one. During the whole time one was fighting, one felt that it might be of no use after all, for we might be getting smashed up in some other part of the field."

"I never thought anything about it," Stapleton said. "My only idea was that I must look as if I wasn't afraid, and must set a good example to the men, and that it was all very unpleasant, and that probably my turn might come next, and that I would give a good deal for something like a gallon of beer. As far as I can remember those were my leading ideas yesterday."

"Well, Denis, what is it?" Ralph asked his servant, who approached with a long face.

"Have you any dry tinder about you, your honor? I have been trying to strike a light for the last half-hour till the tinder box is full of water, and I have knocked all the skin off my knuckles."

"That's bad, Denis; but I don't think you will get a fire anyhow. The wood must be all too soaked to burn."

"I think it will go, sor, if I can once get it to light. I have pulled up some pea-sticks from an old woman's garden; and the ould witch came out and began at me as if I was robbing her of her eldest daughter. It was lucky I had a shilling about me, or be jabbers she would have brought down the provost's guard upon me, and then maybe I would have had my back warmed the least taste in the world more than was pleasant. I hid the sticks under a wagon to keep them dry, and Mike Doolan is standing sentry over them. I promised him a stick or two for his own kindling. The weather is too bad entirely, your honor, and the boys are well-nigh broken-hearted at turning their backs to the Frenchmen."

"Ah, well, they will turn their faces to-morrow, Denis; and as for the weather, I guess you have got wet before now digging praties in the old country."

"I have that, your honor, many and many a time; and it's little I cared for it. But then there was a place to go into, and dry clothes to put on, and a warm male to look forward to, with perhaps a drop of the crater afterward; and that makes all the difference in the world. What we are going to do to-night, sorra of me knows."

"You will have to lie down in the mud, Denis."

"Is it lie down, your honor? And when shall I get the mud off my uniform? and what will the duke say in the morning if he comes round and sees me look like a hog that has been rowling in his sty?"

"You won't be worse than any one else, Denis; you see we shall all be in the same boat. Well, here's the tinder. I should recommend you to break up a cartridge, and sprinkle the powder in among the leaves that you light your fire with."

"That's the difficulty, your honor; I have got some wood, but divil a dry leaf can I find."

"Look here, Denis. Open your knapsack under the wagon, and take out a shirt and tear it into strips. You will soon get a fire with that, and we can easily replace the shirt afterward."

"That's a grand idea, your honor. That will do it, sure enough. Faith, and when the boys see how I do it, there will be many a shirt burned this evening."

"But how about wood, Denis?"

"There's plenty of wood, your honor. The commissaries have had two or three score of woodcutters at work on the edge of the forest all day, and there's timber felled and split enough for all of us and to spare. The pioneers of all the regiments have gone off with their axes to help, and I will warrant there will be a blaze all along the line presently. Now I will be off, your honor; for the cooks are ready to boil the kettles as soon as we can get a fire."

Great masses of the enemy could now be seen arriving on the crest of the opposite rise. Presently, these broke up into regiments, and then moved along the crest, halted, and fell out. It was evident that nothing would be done till next morning, for it was already beginning to get dusk.

In a few minutes smoke rose in the rear of the regiment, and ere long half a dozen great fires were blazing. Men came from the regiments near to borrow brands. The news soon spread along the line of the means by which the Twenty-eighth had kindled their fires and, as Denis had foretold, the number of shirts sacrificed for this purpose was large. Strong parties from each regiment were told off to go to the woodpiles and bring up logs, and in spite of the continued downfall of rain the men's spirits rose, and merry laughs were heard among the groups gathered round the fires. The officers had one to themselves; and a kettle was soon boiling, and tin cups of strong grog handed round. Of food, however, there was little beyond what scraps remained in the haversacks; for the commissariat wagons had retired from Quatre Bras to leave room for those carrying the ammunition, and were now so far in the rear that it was impossible to get at their contents, and distribute them among the troops. For an hour or two they chatted round the fire, and discussed the probabilities of the struggle that would begin in the morning.

Just as night fell there was a sharp artillery fight between two batteries of Picton's division and the same number of the French. The latter commenced the fight by opening fire upon the infantry position, but were too far away to do much harm. Picton's guns got the range of a column of infantry, and created great havoc among them. Darkness put a stop to the fight, but until late at night skirmishes took place between the outposts. A troop of the Seventh Hussars charged and drove back a body of light cavalry, who kept on disturbing the videttes; and the Second Light Dragoons of the king's German legion, posted in front of Hougoumont, charged and drove back a column of the enemy's cavalry that approached too close.

Gradually the fires burned lowthe incessant downpour of rain so drenching the logs that it was impossible to keep them alightand the troops lay down, with their knapsacks under their heads, turned the capes of the greatcoats over their faces, and in spite of the deep soft mud below them, and the pouring rain above, soon sank to sleep. All night long a deep sound filled the air, telling of the heavy trains of artillery and ammunition wagons arriving from the rear to both armies. But nothing short of a heavy cannonade would have aroused the weary soldiers from their deep sleep.

At twelve o'clock Ralph was called up, as his company had to relieve that which furnished the posts in front of the position of the regiment. The orders were not to fire unless fired upon. A third of the men were thrown out as sentries; the others lay upon the ground, fifty yards in rear, ready to move forward to their support if necessary. Captain O'Connor left Ralph with the reserve, and himself paced up and down along the line of sentries, who were relieved every hour until morning broke, when the company rejoined the regiment.

The troops could now obtain a view of the ground upon which they were to fight. Their line extended some two miles in length, along the brow of a gradually sloping rise, the two extremities of which projected somewhat beyond the center. The ground was open, without woods or hedgerows. About halfway down the slope lay four farms. On the right was Hougoumont; a chateau with farm buildings attached to it and a chapel. In front of this lay a thick wood with a close hedge, and the house and farm buildings were surrounded by a strong wall. In front of the center of the line lay the farm and inclosures of La Haye Sainte, abutting on the main Charleroi road, which, as it passed the farm, ran between two deep banks. In front of the left of the line were the hamlets of Papelotte and La Haye. At the top of the ridge the ground sloped backward, and the infantry were posted a little in rear of the crest, which hid them from the sight of the enemy, and protected them from artillery fire. The whole of the slope, and the valley beyond it was covered with waving corn or high grass, now ready for cutting.

Upon the opposite side of the valley there was a similar rise, and on this was the French position. Nearly in the center of this stood the farm called La Belle Alliance, close to which Napoleon took up his stand during the battle. Behind the British position the ground fell away and then rose again gently to a crest, on which stood the villages of Waterloo and Mount St. Jean. The great forest of Soignies extended to this point, so that if obliged to fall back Wellington had in his rear a position as defensible as that which he now occupied.

The allies were arranged in the following order: On the extreme left were Vandeleur's and Vivian's light cavalry brigades. Then came Picton's division, the first line being composed of Hanoverians, Dutch, and Belgians, with Pack's British brigade, which had suffered so severely in Quatre Bras, in its rear, and Kempt's brigade extending to the Charleroi road. Alten's division was on the right of Picton's. Its second brigade, close to the road, consisted of the First and Second light battalions of the German legion, and the Sixth and Eighth battalions of the line. The Second German battalion was stationed in the farm of La Haye Sainte. Next to these came a Hanoverian brigade, on the right of whom were Halket's British brigade. On the extreme right was Cooke's division, consisting of two brigades of the guards, having with them a Nassau regiment, and two companies of Hanoverian riflemen.

Behind the infantry line lay the cavalry. In reserve were a brigade of the fourth division, the whole of the second division, and the Brunswickers, Dutch, and Belgians. The artillery were placed at intervals between the infantry, and on various commanding points along the ridge.

The duke had expected to be attacked early, as it was of the utmost importance to Napoleon to crush the British before the Prussians could come up; but the rain, which began to hold up as daylight appeared, had so soddened the deep soil that Napoleon thought that his cavalry, upon whom he greatly depended, would not be able to act, and he therefore lost many precious hours before he set his troops in motion.

From the British position the heavy masses of French troops could be seen moving on the opposite heights to get into the position assigned to them; for it was scarcely a mile from the crest of one slope to that of the other.

In point of numbers the armies were not ill-matched. Wellington had forty-nine thousand six hundred and eight infantry twelve thousand four hundred and two cavalry, five thousand six hundred and forty-five artillerymen, and one hundred and fifty-six guns. Napoleon, who had detached Grouchy with his division in pursuit of the Prussians, had with him forty-eight thousand nine hundred and fifty infantry, fifteen thousand seven hundred and sixty-five cavalry, seven thousand two hundred and thirty-two artillerymen, and two hundred and forty-six guns. He had, therefore, four thousand three hundred men and ninety guns more than Wellington. But this does not represent the full disparity of strength, for Wellington had but eighteen thousand five hundred British infantry including the German legionwho having fought through the Peninsular were excellent troopsseven thousand eight hundred cavalry and three thousand five hundred artillery. The remainder of his force consisted of troops of Hanover, Brunswick, Nassau, Holland, and Belgium, upon whom comparatively little reliance could be placed. The British infantry consisted almost entirely of young soldiers; while the whole of Napoleon's force were veterans.

As early as six o'clock in the morning both armies had taken up the positions in which they were intended to fight. The British infantry were lying down, the cavalry dismounted in their rear, and so completely were they hidden from the sight of the French that Napoleon believed they had retreated, and was greatly enraged at their having, as he supposed, escaped him. While he was expressing his annoyance, General Foy, who had served against the duke in the Peninsula, rode up and said:

"Your majesty is distressing yourself without just reason, Wellington never shows his troops until they are needed. A patrol of horse will soon find out whether he is before us or not, and if he be I warn your majesty that the British infantry are the very devil to fight."

The emperor soon discovered that the British were still in front of him; for the English regiments were directed to clean their arms by firing them off, and the heavy fusillade reached Napoleon's ears. At eight o'clock Wellington, who was anxiously looking over in the direction from which he expected the Prussians to appear, saw a body of mounted men in the distance, and soon afterward a Prussian orderly rode in and informed him that they were on the march to his assistance, and would soon be on the field.

Grouchy had, in fact, altogether failed to intercept them. Napoleon had made up his mind that after Ligny the Prussians would retreat toward Namur, and sent Grouchy in pursuit of them along that road. That officer had gone many miles before he discovered the route they had really taken, and only came up with the rear of their column at Wavre on the morning of Waterloo. Blucher left one division to oppose him, and marched with the other three to join Wellington.

It was not until nearly ten o'clock that the French attack began; then a column moved down from the heights of La Belle Alliance against the wood of Hougoumont, and as it approached the leading companies broke up into skirmishing order. As these arrived within musketry range a scattering fire broke out from the hedges in front of the wood, and the battle of Waterloo had begun.

Soon from the high ground behind Hougoumont the batteries of artillery opened fire on the French column. Its skirmishers advanced bravely, and constantly reinforced, drove back the Hanoverian and Nassau riflemen in front of the wood. Then Bull's battery of howitzers opened with shell upon them; and so well were these served that the French skirmishers fell back, hotly pressed by the First and Second brigade of guards issuing from the chateau. The roar of cannon speedily extended along both crests; the British aiming at the French columns, the French, who could see no foes with the exception of the lines of skirmishers, firing upon the British batteries. The French therefore suffered severely, while the allies, sheltered behind the crest, were only exposed to the fire of the shot which grazed the ground in front, and then came plunging in among them.

Prince Jerome, who commanded on Napoleon's left, sent strong columns of support to his skirmishers acting against the right of the wood of Hougoumont, while Foy's division moved to attack it in front. In spite of a terrific fire of artillery poured upon them these brave troops moved on, supported by the concentrated fire of their powerful artillery against the British position. The light companies of the guards, after an obstinate resistance, were forced back through the wood. The French pushed on through the trees until they reached the hedge, which seemed to them to be the only defense of the buildings. But thirty yards in the rear was the orchard wall, flanked on the right by the low brick terraces of the garden. The whole of these had been carefully loopholed, and so terrible a storm of fire opened upon the French that they recoiled and sought shelter among the trees and ditches in the rear.

Jerome, seeing that his skirmishers had won the wood, and knowing nothing of the formidable defenses that arrested their advance, poured fresh masses of men down to their assistance. Although they suffered terribly from the British artillery fire, they gathered in the wood in such numbers that they gradually drove back the defenders into the buildings and yard, and completely surrounded the chateau. The defenders had not even time properly to barricade the gate. This was burst open and dense masses rushed in. The guards met them with the bayonet, and after fierce fighting drove thorn out and closed the gate again, and with their musketry fire compelled them to fall back from the buildings. Some of the French, however, advanced higher up the slope, and opened fire upon one of the batteries with such effect that it had to withdraw. Four fresh companies of the guards advanced against them, cleared them away, and reinforced the defenders of the chateau.

A desperate fight raged round the buildings, and one of the enemy's shells falling upon the chateau set it on fire. But the defense still continued, until Lord Saltoun, repulsing a desperate attack, and reinforced by two companies which came down the hill to his assistance, drove the enemy back and recaptured the orchard. This desperate conflict had lasted for three hours.

While it was going on Ney led twenty thousand men against the center and left of the British position, advancing as usual in heavy column. Just as they were setting out at one o'clock Napoleon discovered the Prussians advancing.

He sent off a despatch to Grouchy ordering him to move straight upon the field of battle; but that general did not receive it until seven in the evening, when the fight was nearly over. It was just two when the columns poured down the hill, their attack heralded by a terrific fire upon the British line opposed to them. The slaughter among Picton's division was great; but although the Dutch and Hanoverians were shaken by the iron hail, they stood their ground. When the columns reached the dip of the valley and began to ascend the slopes toward the British division they threw out clouds of skirmishers and between these and the light troops of the allies firing at once began, and increased in volume as the French neared the advanced posts of La Haye Sainte, Papelotte, and La Haye.

The division of Durette drove out the Nassau troops from Papelotte; but reinforcements arrived from the British line, and the French in turn were expelled. The other three French columns advanced steadily, with thirty light guns in the intervals between them. Donzelat's brigade attacked La Haye Sainte, and, in spite of a gallant resistance by the Germans, made its way into the orchard and surrounded the inclosures. Another brigade, pushing along on the other side of the Charleroi road, were met by the fire of two companies of the rifle brigade who occupied a sandpit there, and by their heavy and accurate fire checked the French advance. The other two divisions moved straight against that part of the crest held by Picton's division.

The men of the Dutch-Belgian brigade, as soon as fire was opened upon them, lost all order and took to their heels, amid the yells and execrations of the brigades of Kempt and Pack behind them, and it was with difficulty that the British soldiers were kept from firing into the fugitives. The Dutch artillery behind them tried to arrest the mob; but nothing could stop themthey fairly ran over guns, men, and horses, rushed down the valley and through the village of Mount St. Jean, and were not seen again in the field during the rest of the day. Picton's division was now left alone to bear the brunt of the Frenoh attack. The battle at Quatre Bras had terribly thinned its ranks, and the two brigades together did not muster more than three thousand men. Picton formed the whole in line, and prepared to resist the charge of thirteen thousand infantry, beside heavy masses of cavalry, who were pressing forward, having in spite of a stout resistance driven in the riflemen from the sandpit and the road above it. As the columns neared the British line the fire from the French batteries suddenly ceased, their own troops now serving as a screen to the British. The heads of the columns halted and began to deploy into line; Picton seized the moment, and shouted "A volley, and then charge!"

The French were but thirty yards away. A tremendous volley was poured into them, and then the British with a shout rushed forward, scrambled through a double hedgerow that separated them from the French, and fell upon them with the bayonet. The charge was irresistible. Taken in the act of deploying, the very numbers of the French told against them, and they were borne down the slope in confusion. Picton, struck by a musket ball in the head, fell dead, and Kempt assumed the command, and his brigade followed up the attack and continued to drive the enemy down the hill. In the meantime the French cavalry were approaching. The cuirassiers had passed La Haye Sainte, and almost cut to pieces a Hanoverian battalion which was advancing to reinforce the defenders.

At this moment Lord Edward Somerset led the house-hold brigade of cavalry against the cuirassiers, and the élite of the cavalry of the two nations met with a tremendous shock; but the weight and impetus of the heavy British horsemen, aided by the fact that they were descending the hill, while their opponents had hardly recovered their formation after cutting up the Hanoverians, proved irresistible, and the cuirassiers were driven down the hill. A desperate hand-to-hand conflict took place; and it was here that Shaw, who had been a prize-fighter before he enlisted in the Second Life Guards, killed no less than seven Frenchmen with his own hand, receiving, however, so many wounds, that on the return of the regiment from its charge he could no longer sit his horse, and crawling behind a house died there from loss of blood.

While the Second Life Guards and First Dragoon Guards pursued the cuirassiers down the slope, the Royals, Scots Greys, and Inniskillens rode to the assistance of Pack's brigade, which had been assailed by four strong brigades of the enemy. Pack rode along at the front of his line calling upon his men to stand steady The enemy crossed a hedge within forty yards of the Ninety-second, and delivered their fire. The Highlanders waited till they approached within half the distance, and then pouring in a volley, changed with leveled bayonets. The French stood firm, and the Ninety-second, numbering less than two hundred and fifty men, burst in among them; a mere handful among their foes. But just at this moment Ponsonby's heavy cavalry came up, and passing through the intervals of the companies and battalions, fell upon the French infantry. In vain the enemy endeavored to keep their formation; their front was burst in, their center penetrated, and their rear dispersed, and in five minutes the great column was a mass of fugitives. Great numbers were killed, and two thousand prisoners taken.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE ROUT.

While Pack's brigade secured the prisoners taken by the cavalry and sent them to the rear, the cavalry themselves continued their charge. In vain Ponsonby ordered the trumpeters to sound the halt. Carried away by the excitement of their successan excitement in which the horses sharedthe three regiments galloped on. The Royals on the right fell upon two French regiments advancing in column, broke them, and cut them up terribly. The Inniskillens also fell on two French line regiments, shattered them with their charge, and took great numbers of prisoners, whole companies running up the hill and surrendering to the infantry in order to escape from the terrible horsemen.

The cavalry were now terribly scattered; the three regiments of Ponsonby's brigade were far down in the valley, as were the Second Life Guards and First Dragoon Guards. The First Life Guards and the Blues were still engaged with the cuirassiers opposed to them; for these, although driven back, were fighting doggedly. The Greys, who should have been in reserve, galloped ahead and joined Ponsonby's squadrons, and the two brigades of heavy cavalry were far away from all support. When they reached the bottom of the hill a tremendous fire was poured from a compact corps of infantry and some pieces of cannon on the right into the Royals, Inniskillens, and Second Life Guards, and a fresh column of cuirassiers advanced against them. They wheeled about and fell back in great confusion and with heavy loss, their horses being completely blown with their long gallop across the heavy ground.

These regiments had fared, however, better than the Greys, Royals, and Inniskillens on the left, for they, having encountered no infantry fire, had charged up the hill until level with the French guns, when, turning sharp to the left, they swept along the line cutting up the artillerymen, until suddenly they were charged by a brigade of lancers, while a large body of infantry threatened their line of retreat. Fortunately at this moment the light cavalry came up to their assistance.

Riding right through the infantry column the light cavalry fell upon the French lancers and rolled them over with the fury of their charge, and then charged another regiment of lancers and checked their advance. Light and heavy horse were now mixed up together, and a fresh body of French cavalry coming up, drove them down the hill with great lossthey being saved, indeed, from total destruction by the Eleventh Hussars, who, coming up last, had kept their formation. Covered by these the remnants of the cavalry regained their own crest on the hill, and reformed under cover of the infantry. General Ponsonby was killed, and his brother, the colonel of the Twelfth, severely wounded and left on the field.

While this desperate fight had been raging on the center and left, fresh columns had advanced from Jerome's and Foy's divisions against Hougoumont, and had again, after obstinate fighting, captured the orchard and surrounded the chateau, but were once more repulsed by a fresh battalion of guards who moved down the slope to the assistance of their hardly-pressed comrades. Then for a while the fighting slackened, but the artillery duel raged as fiercely as ever. The gunners on both sides had now got the exact range, and the carnage was terrible. The French shells again set Hougoumont on fire, and all the badly wounded who had been carried inside perished in the flames.

At the end of an hour fresh columns of attack moved against the chateau, while at the same moment forty squadrons of cavalry advanced across the valley toward the English position.

The English batteries played upon them with round shot, and, as they came near, with grape and canister; but the horsemen rode on, and at a steady trot arrived within forty yards of the English squares, when with a shout they galloped forward, and in a moment the whole of the advanced batteries of the allies were in their possession; for Wellington's orders had been that the artillerymen should stand to their guns till the last moment, and then run for shelter behind the squares. The French cavalry paused for a moment in astonishment at the sight that met their eyes. They had believed that the British were broken and disorganized, but no sooner had they passed over the slope than they saw the British and German squares bristling with bayonets and standing calm and immovable.

The artillery on both sides had ceased their fire, and a dead silence had succeeded the terrible din that had raged but a moment before. Then with a shout the cavalry again charged, but in no case did they dash against the hedges of bayonets, from which a storm of fire was now pouring. Breaking into squadrons they rode through the intervals between the squares and completely enveloped them; but Lord Uxbridge gathered the remains of the British cavalry together, charged them, and drove them back through the squares and down the hill. Receiving reinforcements the French again advanced, again enveloped the squares, and were again hurled back.

While this was going on the battle was still raging round Hougoumont and La Haye Sainte, against which a portion of Reille's division had advanced; but the Germans resisted as obstinately as did the guards, and as the French cavalry retired for the second time the infantry fell back, and for a time the slope of the English position was again clear of the enemy.

For a time the battle languished, and then Napoleon brought up thirty-seven fresh squadrons of cavalry, and these, with the remains of those who had before charged, rode up the slope. But although they swept on and passed the British squares, they could not succeed in shaking them. A body of horse, however, sweeping down toward the Dutch and Belgians at the end of the line, these at once marched off the field without firing a musket, and the brigade of cavalry with them galloped away at full speed.

The position was a singular one; and had Napoleon ordered his infantry to advance in the rear of the cavalry, the issue of the day might have been changed. In appearance the French were masters of the position. Their masses of cavalry hid the British squares from sight. The British cavalry were too weak to charge, and most of the guns were in the possession of the French; but the latter's infantry were far away, and after sustaining the fire of the squares for a long time, the cavalry began to draw off. Lord Uxbridge now endeavored to persuade the Cumberland Hanoverian Hussars, who had not so far been engaged, to charge; but instead of obeying orders they turned and rode off, and never drew bridle until they reached Brussels, where they reported that the British army had been destroyed.

Adams' brigade were now brought up from the reserve, and drove back the French infantry and cavalry who had come up to the top of the crest beyond Hougoumont. On the other side Ney sent a column against La Haye Sainte. The Germans made a gallant stand; but they were cut off from all assistance, outnumbered, and were altogether without ammunition; and although they defended themselves with their bayonets to the end, they were slain almost to a man, and La Haye Sainte was captured at last. But beyond this the French could not advance; and though column after column moved forward to the attack on the crest, they were each and all beaten back.

It was now nearly seven o'clock in the evening, and the Prussians were engaged at St. Lambert, Napoleon having detached Lobau's corps to arrest their progress. Their march had been a terrible one. They had to traverse country roads softened by the rain; the men were up to their ankles in mud, guns and carriages stuck fast, and it was not until after tremendous efforts that the leading squadron of their cavalry passed through the wood of Wavre and came in view of the battle that was raging. It was then past four o'clock, and another hour passed before any considerable number of infantry arrived. It was at this time Napoleon sent Lobau against them. He was able for a time to resist their advance; but as fresh troops came up from the rear the Prussians began to win their way forward, and Napoleon was obliged to send two more divisions of the Young Guard to check them.

He now saw that all was lost unless he could, before the whole of the Prussian army arrived, break down the resistance of the British. He therefore prepared for a final effort. Ney was to collect all his infantry, and, advancing past La Haye Sainte, to fall upon the center of the British line. The guard, who had hitherto been held in reserve, was to pass Hougoumont and attack the left center. The cavalry were to follow in support.

A cannonade even more heavy and terrible than before, for the guns of the reserve had been brought up, opened upon the British, and the squares were now melting away fast. But no reinforcements could be sent to them, for the whole of the British troops were now in action, and their allies had for the most part long before left the field.

Every gun was brought to the front, the remains of the cavalry gathered together as a reserve; and some of the Prussians now approaching the left, the cavalry there were brought to the center to aid in the defense of the threatened point. Just as these arrangements were completed the enemy advanced in tremendous force from the inclosure of La Haye Sainte, and with their fire so completely mastered that of the remnants of the infantry, that their light guns were brought up to within a hundred yards of the British line and opened with grape upon the squares. Two Hanoverian battalions were almost annihilated, the brigade of the German legion almost ceased to exist.

A Brunswick cavalry regiment that had hitherto fought gallantly lost heart and would have fled had not the British cavalry behind them prevented them from doing so.

In the meantime the Imperial Guard in two heavy columns, led by Ney himself, were advancing, the guards being followed by every available man of the infantry and cavalry. One of these columns skirted the inclosure of the Hougoumont, the other moved against the center. They pressed forward until they reached the top of the slope, and a hundred cannon were brought up and unlimbered, while the artillery on the opposite slope rained round shot and shell upon the British squares and artillery. The English guns tried in vain to answer them: they were wholly overmatched. Gun after gun was dismounted, horses and men destroyed; but as soon as the leading column of the guards reached the point when their own guns had to cease fire, the English artillery opened again, and terrible was the havoc they made in the dense columns. Still the guard pressed on until they reached the top of the crest; and then the British guards leaped to their feet and poured in a tremendous volley at close quarters, fell on the flank of the column, broke it, and hurled it down the hill.

The guards were recalled and prepared to oppose the second column, but their aid was not needed; the Fifty-second threw themselves upon its flank, the Seventy-first and Ninety-fifth swept its head with their volleys, and as the column broke and retired the Duke of Wellington gave the orders the men had been longing for since the fight began. The squares broke into lines, and the British, cheering wildly, descended the crest. The French retreat became a rout, cavalry and infantry fell upon them, the artillery plied them with their fire, the Prussians poured down upon their flank. By eight o'clock the splendid army of Napoleon was a mass of disorganized fugitives.

For ten hours the battle had raged. To the men in the squares it seemed a lifetime. "When shall we get at them? when shall we get at them?" was their constant cry as the round shot swept their ranks, although from their position behind the crest they could see nothing of their enemies. Nothing is harder than to suffer in inactivity, and the efforts of the officers were principally directed to appeasing the impatience of their men, "Our turn will come presently, lads." "Yes, but who will be alive when it does come?" a query which was very hard to answer, as hour by hour the ranks melted away. Although they kept a cheerful countenance and spoke hopefully to the men, it seemed to the officers themselves that the prospect was well-nigh hopeless. Picton's brigade mustered scarce half their strength when the battle began. They were to have fought in the second line this day; but the defection of their allies in front of them had placed them in the front, and upon them and upon the defenders of Hougoumont the brunt of the battle had fallen, and as the squares grew smaller and smaller it seemed even to the officers that the end must come before long.

"This cannot last," Captain O'Connor said to Ralph when the day was but half over. "They will never beat us, but by the time they get here there will be nobody left to beat. I don't think we are more than two hundred strong now, and every minute the force is diminishing. I don't wonder the men are impatient. We bargained for fighting, but I never reckoned on standing for hours to be shot at without even a chance to reply."

It was just after this that the French cavalry burst upon the squares; but this cheered rather than depressed the spirits of the men. For a time they were free from the artillery fire, and now had a chance of active work. Thus as the fire flashed from the faces of the square the men laughed and joked, and it was with regret that they saw the cuirassiers fall back before the charge of Lord Uxbridge's cavalry, for they knew that the moment this screen was removed the French artillery would open again.

Ralph's chief sensation was that of wonder that he was alive; so overwhelming was the din, so incessant the rain of shot, it seemed to him a marvel how any one could remain alive within its range.

Almost mechanically he repeated the orders, "Close up, close up!" as the square dwindled and dwindled. He longed as impatiently as the men for the advance, and would have gladly charged against impossible odds rather than remain immovable under fire. When the order at length came he did not hear it. Just after the storm of fire that heralded the advance of the guards broke out, a round shot struck him high up on the left arm. He was conscious only of a dull, numbing sensation, and after that knew no more of what was taking place.

It was pitch dark before he became conscious. Fires were burning at various points along the ridge; for when the victory was complete the British retired to the position they had held so long, and the Prussian cavalry took up the pursuit. Fires had been lighted with broken gun carriages and shattered artillery wagons, and parties with torches were collecting the wounded. Ralph found that his head was being supported, and that a hand was pouring spirits and water down his throat. The hand was a shaky one, and its owner was crying loudly. As he opened his eyes the man broke into a torrent of thankful exclamations.

"The Lord be praised, Mr. Conway. Sure, I thought you were dead and kilt entirely."

"Is that you, Denis?"

"Sure and it's no one else, your honor."

"Is the battle over?"

"It is that. The French are miles away, and the Proosians at their heels."

"What has happened to me, Denis?"

"Well, your honor's hurt a bit in the arm, but it will all come right presently."

It was well for Ralph that he had been struck before the order came for the advance, for as he fell the one surviving surgeon of the regiment had at once attended to him, had fixed a tourniquet on the stump of his arm, tied the arteries, and roughly bandaged it. Had he not been instantly seen to he would have bled to death in a few minutes.

Denis now called to one of the parties who were moving about with stretchers. Ralph was lifted on to it and carried to the village of Waterloo where he was placed in an ambulance wagon which, as soon as it was full, started for Brussels.

The fighting was now over, and Denis asked leave to accompany his master. The rout of the enemy had been so thorough and complete that it was not thought probable any serious resistance could be offered to the advance of the allied armies to Paris, and he therefore obtained leave without difficulty to remain with his master. Ralph suffered from exhaustion rather than pain on the journey to Brussels, and several times became almost unconscious. At four o'clock in the morning the ambulance stopped at a handsome house that its owner had placed at the disposal of the authorities for the use of wounded officers. He was carried upstairs and placed in bed in a room on the second story. Denis at once proceeded to install himself there. He brought down a mattress from a room above, laid it in the corner, throwing his greatcoat over it, then as soon as he thought the shops were open he hurried out and bought a kettle and saucepan, two cups and tumblers, a small basin, and several other articles.

"There, your honor," he said as he returned. "Now we have got iverything we need, and I can make soups and drinks for your honor, and boil myself a tater widout having to go hunting all over the house for the things to do it with."

A few minutes later two surgeons entered the room and examined Ralph's arm. They agreed at once that it was necessary to amputate it three inches higher up, Ralph winced when he heard the news.

"It won't hurt you very much," one of the surgeons said. "The nerves are all numbed with the shock they have had, but it is absolutely necessary in order that a neat stump may be made of it. The bone is all projecting now; and even if the wound healed over, which I don't think it would, you would have trouble with it all your life."

"Of course if it must be done, it must," Ralph said. "There isn't much left of it now."

"There is not enough to be of much use," the surgeon agreed; "but even a shorter stump that you can fit appliances on to will be a great deal more handy than one with which nothing can be done."

The operation was performed at once, and although Ralph had to press his lips hard together to prevent himself from crying out, he did find it less painful than he had expected.

"There, you will do now," the surgeon said. "Here, my man, take that basin and a tumbler and run downstairs to the kitchen. They will give you some broth there and some weak spirits and water. Bring them up at once."

Ralph took a spoonful or two of the broth, and a sip of the spirits, and then lay back and presently dozed off to sleep. Denis had followed the surgeons out of the room.

"What instructions is there, your honor?"

"Your master is just to be kept quiet. If he is thirsty give him some lemonade. You can obtain that or anything else you require below."

"And about myself, sir. I wouldn't speak about it but I have had nothing to eat since yesterday morning, and I don't like leaving Mr. Conway alone even to buy myself a mouthful."

"You will not have regular rations, but all officers' servants and orderlies will obtain food below. Meals will be served out at eight in the morning, one, and six. You take down your pannikin, and can either eat your food there or bring it up here as you choose. Breakfast will not be ready for two hours yet; but there are several others in the same plight as yourself, and you will find plenty to eat below."

Denis took his place by his master's bedside until he saw that he was sound asleep, then taking the pannikin from the top of the knapsack he stole noiselessly out, and in two or three minutes later he returned with the pannikin full of soup, a small loaf, and a ration of wine.

"By jabers," he said to himself as he sat down to eat them, "these are good quarters entirely. I should wish for nothing better if it wasn't for the master lying there. Lashings to eat and drink, and a room fit for a king. Nothing to do but to wait upon his honor. I suppose after to-day I shall be able to stale out for a few minutes sometimes for a draw of me pipe. It would never do to be smoking here. The master wouldn't mind it; but I expect them doctors would be for sending me back to my regiment if they were to come in and smell it."

After he had finished his meal, Denis took his seat by Ralph's bedside; but he was thoroughly exhausted. He had not slept a wink since the night before the battle, and after the fatigue of the day had been tramping all night by the side of the ambulance, which was constantly stopped by the numerous vehicles that had broken down or been overturned by the way. After waking up suddenly with a jerk once or twice, he muttered to himself, "I will just take five minutes on the bed, then I shall be all right again," and threw himself down on his mattress with his greatcoat for a pillow, and slept for several hours. So heavy was his slumber that he was not even roused when the surgeons came round at ten o'clock to see how Ralph was. He had just woke.

"How do you feel, Mr. Conway?"

"I feel quite comfortable," Ralph said, "but shall be glad of a drink. Where is my man?"

"He is asleep there in the corner," the surgeon said. "I will give you a drink of lemonade. The poor fellow is worn out, no doubt."

"Oh, yes; please don't wake him," Ralph said. "I am glad he is asleep; for he had all that terrible day yesterday, and was on his feet all night. I shan't want anything but this lemonade; and I have no doubt I shall go straight off to sleep again as soon as you have gone."

It was not until just one o'clock that Denis woke. He at once got up and went to Ralph's side. The latter opened his eyes.

"How do you feel now, your honor?"

"Oh, I am getting on very well, Denis. My arm hardly hurts me at all at present. I expect it will ache worse presently."

"I have been having a few minutes' sleep your honor. And now, if you don't want me for a minute, I will run down and see about breakfast. I should think it must be nearly ready."

"See about dinner, you mean, Denis. Why, it's just one o'clock."

"One o'clock! Your honor must be dreaming."

"I don't think so, Denis. There is my watch on the table."

"Why, your honor does not mean to say," Denis said in great astonishment, "that I have been sleeping for five hours? The watch must have gone wrong."

"The watch is right enough, Denis. I heard it strike twelve by the church clocks before I dozed off last time. Why, the surgeons came in at ten o'clock and gave me some lemonade."

"And me to know nothing about it! Denis Mulligan, you ought to be ashamed of yourselfslaping like a pig in a stye, with your master laying wounded there beside you, and no one to look after him. I just laid down for five minutes' nap, your honor, seeing that you had gone off into a beautiful sleep, and never dreamed of more than that."

"It was the best thing you could do, Denis. You had been twenty-four hours on your feet, and you would have been fit for nothing if you hadn't had a good rest. Now go downstairs and get your dinner, and when you come back again you can bring me up a basin of broth and a piece of bread. I begin to feel hungry; and that's a capital sign, I believe."

When Ralph had finished his broth he said to Denis, "I shan't want anything now for some time, Denis. You can put a glass of lemonade within reach of my hand, and then I shall do very well for an hour or two. I am quite sure you must be dying for a pipe; so go out and take a turn. It will freshen you up; and you can bring me back what news you can gather as to the losses yesterday, and whether the army started in pursuit of the French."

It was some time before Denis would consent to leave the room; but at last, seeing that Ralph really wished it, he went out for an hour, and returned full of the rumors he had picked up of the terrible losses of the British, and the utter rout of the French army. The next morning Ralph had a great surprise; for just as he had finished his breakfast there was a tap at the door, and a lady entered. Ralph could hardly believe his eyes as his mother ran forward to the bed. But the pressure of her arms and her kisses soon showed him that it was a reality.

"Why, mother darling!" he exclaimed, "how on earth did you get here?"

"I came across in a smack to Ostend, Ralph, and then came on by carriage. I got here last night, and learned at the quartermaster-general's office that you were wounded and were somewhere in Brussels, at least they believed you were here somewhere, but they could not say where. They let me have a copy of the list of the houses that had been allotted for the use of wounded officers. It was too late to begin the search last night, but I have been three hours going round this morning. I saw the surgeon downstairs and he told me" and her lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears.

"That I had lost my left arm, mother. Well, that is nothing to fret about when thousands have been killed. One can do very well without a left arm; and I think, on the whole, that I have been wonderfully lucky. Denis!" But Denis was not in the room, having, as soon as he had discovered who Ralph's visitor was, gone out to leave them alone. "And have you made this journey all by yourself, mother?"

"No, my dear. Mr. Tallboys was good enough to come over to take care of me by the way."

"Mr. Tallboys, mother! How did he know that you were coming?"

"Well, I told him, Ralph. But that is a long story, and you shall hear it another day. The doctor said you had better not do much talking now. Mr. Tallboys will stay here a day or two and then go home. I intend to take a room somewhere close by and install myself here as your head nurse."

"I shan't want much nursing, mother; but I shall be delighted to have you with me. I have a capital servant. The man I told you about in my letters. He is a most amusing fellow and very much attached to me. Do you know, he got leave directly the battle was over, and was all night walking by the side of the ambulance wagon. He is a capital fellow. By the way, mother, I suppose the will has not turned up yet? You said in your last letter you had great hopes of its being found."

"It has been found, Ralph; and it is all just as we supposed. But how it was found, or anything about it, you mustn't ask at present. It is a long story, and I must insist now that you lie quiet and go to sleep."

"Well, I will try, mother. Will you just look outside the door and see if Denis is there? Denis, this is my mother," he said as the soldier came in. "She has come over to help nurse me; and as she will be principally with me in the daytime, you will be at liberty to be out whenever you like."

"Sure, and I am glad the lady has come, Mr. Conway; though I would have done the best I could for you. Still, a man is but a poor crater in a sick-room. Can I get you anything ma'am?"

"Well, I have had nothing this morning, Denis; and if you could get me a cup of tea and some bread and butter, if it is not against the rules, I should be very glad."

"Sure, I will do that, ma'am, with the greatest pleasure in life," Denis said; and presently returned bringing up a tray with tea, bread and butter, and a plate of cold meat.

"Is there anything else, ma'am?"

"Well, Denis, I should be very much obliged if you will take a note from me to a gentleman named Tallboys, whom you will find at the Hotel de L'Europe. Give it to him yourself if you can. He will be glad to hear from you about my son, how he is going on and so on."

For the next few days Ralph's arm was exceedingly painful, attended by a certain amount of fever. At the end of that time he began to improve, and his wound made steady progress toward recovery. After staying for four days at Brussels, Mr. Tallboys had returned home. Mrs. Conway and Denis divided the nursing between them, sitting up on alternate nights.

A fortnight after Mrs. Conway's arrival Ralph said, "Now, mother, I shall be up to-morrow and can therefore be considered as fairly convalescent, so there can be no reason now why you should not tell the story about the finding of the will. You told me in one of your letters before Christmas that Mr. Tallboys had failed altogether. So how did it come to be found?"

Mrs. Conway thereupon told the story. When she came to the point where she had gone as a servant to the Hall, Ralph interrupted her with a loud protest. "I don't like that, mother; I don't like the idea of your having gone as a servant, whatever the stake was. If I had been at home and had known it, I certainly would not have let you go, not if there had been ten fortunes to be gained by it. The idea of your having to go and live as a servant, and work for people like that is horrid!"

"There was nothing very unpleasant about it, Ralph. I had plenty to do and to think about, and the time passed a great deal more rapidly than it would have done if I had been staying at home all by myself. It would have been very lonely and dull then; and I can assure you that I considered it no hardship at all being at the Hall. But you must not interrupt me in my story. If you do I shall tell you nothing more about it until you get home to England."

This threat effectually sealed Ralph's lips, and beyond occasional exclamations he said nothing until the story was ended.

"Well, it's all very wonderful, mother," he said; "and I should never have thought for a moment that you were so brave, and could have put things together like that, and could have carried out such a scheme. But I am awfully glad you have succeeded; because you had set your mind on it, and the money will I hope make you quite comfortable. How much was it after all mother? You never told me that."

"It is half of Mr. Penfold's estates, and of the money he had invested, which is a very large sum, Ralph; although I do not know how much."

"Half the estate! Why, it will make me quite a rich man. I never dreamed it was anything like that. I thought most likely it was enough to continue the allowance that he said he should make me. Why, mother, it is tremendous! And what becomes of the other half?"

"That is left to Mabel Withers, Ralph. You two divide everything that he left."

"Well, that certainly is rather hard upon his sisters," Ralph said; "and I don't blame them for being against it. Though, of course, it was not right to keep the will hidden."

"Mr. Penfold did not leave anything to them, because they are both very well provided for. Their father left them a handsome sum at his death; and as they have been living at the Hall ever since, and can have spent nothing, they must be very amply provided for. Their brother, therefore, naturally considered he was perfectly at liberty to leave his property as he chose. I do not think the Miss Penfolds have the slightest reason to grumble, after living as they have done for the last twenty years at their brother's expense."

"Of course that makes a difference," Ralph agreed; "it certainly didn't seem nice that Mabel and I, who are no relation by blood to Mr. Penfold, should come into the property that his sisters expected would be theirs. But, of course, now you explain it, it is different."

"I do not think in any case, Ralph, Mr. Penfold would have left his fortune to his sisters. He was a man very averse to exerting his own will, and I am sure that he submitted to, rather than liked, his sisters' residence at the Hall. I know that he considered, and justly, that they had once committed a cruel wrong upon him, and had in a way spoiled his life. I question whether he really ever forgave them."

"I see, mother," Ralph said. "Well, now, about myself; I should think there can be no occasion for me to continue in the army unless I like?"

"I hope you won't like, Ralph. In the first place I want to have you with me; and in the second, you will be a large landowner, and property has its duties."

"Well, there is no necessity to decide about that at present. The doctor said yesterday I should certainly get three months' sick leave before I rejoined. By all we hear the fighting is at an end, and there is no fear whatever that Napoleon will have it in his power to cause trouble in the future. They will take care of that, whatever they do with him. If there is going to be peace everywhere, I do not know that I should care very much about staying in the army; but, as I said, we need not decide at present."

Ten days later, Ralph was so far recovered that he was able to return home with his mother. As soon as she informed him of her arrival at Dover, Mr. Tallboys wrote to tell her that he had had an interview in London with the Miss Penfolds' lawyer, who informed him that he had instructions from his clients to examine the will, and if satisfied of its genuineness, to offer no opposition whatever to its being proved. Mr. Tallboys had thereupon shown him the will, and had no difficulty in convincing him that it was the document he himself had drawn up, and Mr. Penfold had signed in his presence.

The lawyer has placed all the deeds and documents relating to Mr. Penfold's property in my hands, and, as I was of course before well aware, my late client died worth a very considerable property in addition to his large estates in this country. For the last twenty years his income has exceeded his expenditure by an average of three thousand a year, and as the surpluses have been judiciously invested, and as the prices of all funds and stocks now stand vastly higher than they did during the course of the long war, their total value now amounts to something over a hundred and thirty thousand pounds.

"The property in this country was valued, at the time Mr. Penfold drew up his will, at eighty thousand pounds; these estates he left to your son, and the sum of eighty-thousand pounds, in various investments, to Miss Withers, and directed that the residue, whatever it might be at his death, should be equally divided between them. Your son's share, therefore, will amount to about twenty-five thousand pounds. I may say that the outlying farms, which were settled by deed as a security for the four hundred pounds annually paid to you, are not included in the above valuation, but are ordered to revert to the main estate upon your decease.

"The formalities will all be completed in the course of a short time. I may say that from the totals to be divided must be deducted the legacy duties, which, as your son and Miss Withers are strangers by blood to the testator, will be heavy." Mr. Tallboys added that he heard the younger Miss Penfold was now recovering from her serious illness, but it was not probable she would ever be again herself. He had received, he said, a letter that morning from their solicitor, saying that as soon as Miss Eleanor Penfold could be moved, which it was hoped would be in the course of another week, the ladies would vacate possession of the Hall.

A fortnight later Mrs. Conway and Ralph left Dover for London, leaving orders with an agent to sell the furniture of their house. All Ralph's old friends on the shore had been made happy with handsome presents. After a short stay in London they went down, and Ralph took possession of the Hall. He soon found there was abundance of occupation for his time on the estate, and that this would be increased when, as would doubtless be the case, he was placed on the Commission of Peace for the county, as Herbert Penfold had been before him.

As soon as Ralph had completely recovered his health and strength he told his mother that she must spare him for a week, as he had promised that he would on the first opportunity go over to Dunkirk to see his friend Jacques.

He crossed by the packet from Dover to Calais, and thence by coach to Dunkirk. Here he inquired among the fishermen for Jacques, and found that he had returned before Napoleon broke out from Elba, and that he was owner of a fishing smack which was now at sea. The next day Jacques returned, and his delight at meeting Ralph was unbounded. He took him home to his neat cottage where his pretty young wife was already installed. Ralph remained two days with him, and obtained a promise from him that he would once a year sail over to Weymouth and pay him a visit.

"I am a rich man, Jacques, now. At present I see you want nothing, but should any accident befall your fishing boat, or you have need for money for any other cause, write to me, and the money for a new boat or for any other purpose shall be yours at once. I could afford to give you a hundred boats without hurting myself, so do not hesitate for a moment in letting me know if I can help you. It will be a real pleasure to me to do so."

Jacques kept his promise, and never missed coming over once year to pay Ralph a visit, and as his five sons one after another grew up to be able to manage boats for themselves, they were each presented one by Ralph. Jacques himself prospered as a fisherman, and never required the assistance Ralph would have been glad to give him.

Neither Ralph nor Mabel Withers was informed of the expression of Mr. Penfold's hopes in his will that they would some day be married, the two mothers agreeing cordially that nothing was so likely to defeat the carrying out of Mr. Penfold's wishes as for the young people to have any suspicions of them. They were still but boy and girl, and were now perfectly happy in their unrestrained intercourse, for not a day passed that the two families did not see something of each other; but had they had a suspicion of the truth it would have rendered them shy and awkward with each other, and have thrown them much more widely apart.

"We both hope that it will come about, Mrs. Conway," Mrs. Withers said one day; "and I certainly think there is every prospect of it. Let us leave well alone, and allow it to come about naturally and without interference."

As soon as Ralph left the army he purchased Denis Mulligan's discharge, and the Irishman was installed as butler and Ralph's special servant at the Hall, and remained in his service to the end of his life. In due time the natural change in the relations between the two young people came about, and their youthful friendship ripened into love. When Ralph was twenty-three, and Mabel had just come of age, she changed her name and took up her place at the Hall, Mrs. Conway gladly handing over the reins of government to her. She herself lived with her children, for she was almost as fond of Mabel as of Ralph, to the end of a long life; and deep was the regret among her children and grandchildren when she was at last laid in Bilston Church, close to the resting-place of Herbert Penfold.

Table of Contents

At Aboukir and Acre

With Moore at Corunna

The Young Buglers

Under Wellington's Command

Through Russian Snows

One of the 28th