Marching from the building which had given them shelter, Tom and his companions struck directly for the road that led away from the hills, Andrews, in advance, standing in his stirrups so as to obtain a better view of his surroundings. Jack watched operations from the mattress placed in the cart, on which he had been placed, a most unwilling prisoner, while the jovial naval lieutenant sat up, his back propped against the side of the cart, and surveyed matters generally from the standpoint of a man who is well satisfied with all that is happening.
"Couldn't be better, couldn't," he observed to the disconsolate Jack; "and hark ye, me lad, for all your grousing I know that you feel the same. Tom's done magnificently; few would have done as well."
It was just what might have been expected of the amiable, if hot-tempered, Jack that he should acquiesce warmly.
"Grandly," he agreed. "Of course one wonders what one would have done oneself under the circumstances, and it's wretchedly unlucky being winged, and having to look on like a child."
"Better than being chopped to pieces at any rate," came the swift answer. "Besides, we're not out of the wood yet. We've to get away from these mountains, and there's still that narrow valley through which we galloped on our way to the place where the real attack was made. I shall be surprised if we get through without meeting with more of the peasants."
There was always that hazard, and as Tom looked about him, riding at the tail of the procession, he was bound to admit that matters still looked gloomy.
"There's no way out of the place but by the road," he said to Howeley, who rode beside him. "Of course we could abandon the horses and take to the hills, but then——"
"Wounded and stores, sir," came the respectful interruption. "Couldn't be done, sir."
"Out of the question, I agree—so on we have to go. To turn the other way would take us back to the village, and then there wouldn't be any reaching the church or other fort as we have done. No, on we have to go. Those peasants are following, and I see scattered groups about us."
The wretched Portuguese who had attacked the troop of horse had indeed taken many precautions to prevent their prey escaping them. Not that the idea had occurred to them that Tom and his men would have the audacity to leave a place that provided a fairly safe haven, and which in any case gave such shelter that more than once attack on thepart of the peasants had failed. But, for fear of one of the troopers venturing to ride away for help, they had posted bands of their comrades round about the church, placing a number on the road, and causing others to march to that narrow part that shut in the wider portion of the valley, and through which fugitives must pass. For half an hour Andrews led the cavalcade forward at a smart pace. He turned on reaching the road, and then pushed along it, the troopers clattering behind him, and riding on either side of the carts. Suddenly his hand went up, bringing the procession to a halt, while Tom galloped up to join him.
"A hundred of the enemy in front, sir," the rifleman reported. "They seem to be blocking the road with a cart, and are stationed behind it."
"While men are racing after us from the village," observed our hero. "Looks ugly, Andrews."
"A hole, sir; but we've been in one as deep and deeper."
"True," agreed Tom; "and we'll climb out of this. Let me have a look at them for a while. We'll move along again at a trot till just out of musket shot. By then I'll have made up my mind how to treat them."
He rode on beside the rifleman, his eyes fixed upon the enemy in front. Shouts came from the latter, while a number could be seen standing behind a cart which had been upset across the narrow road. At this precise point, in fact, the rugged hills oneither side, hills for which Portugal is notorious, converged abruptly, forming as it were a doorway to that end of the valley. The rocky walls ran along within thirty feet of one another for perhaps a hundred yards, and then suddenly broke away again, making the entrance to another valley. Not that one could see the latter, for there was a sharp bend in the cleft between the hills. But Tom remembered the surroundings.
"Ugly place," he told Andrews. "Looks as if the two hills were joined at one time, and then were broken apart. Once through, we have a wide valley to cross, and then another place such as this, but shorter and wider. So if we manage this job we'll do the other. Now for skirmishers."
He swung round on the troop, and with a sign drew all the men toward him. Then selecting eight men, whom he had noticed to be more active than their fellows, he spoke quickly to them, so that they and their comrades could hear.
"Listen, friends," he said. "Behind us the villagers are coming up as fast as their legs can carry them. In front there is this obstruction. Do as I order, and you will see that we shall quickly clear the peasants out. You eight men will divide, and four will go to either side. We are hardly within musket shot yet, so that I shall approach closer. When I signal, hand your reins to your comrades, take your carbines, and make off on to the hill. Clamber up and along till you outflank those fellowsopposite; then shoot them down. We will do the same from the front. Understand?"
"Oui, monsieur," came in a chorus.
"Then on we go."
Tom led them forward at a foot pace, till bullets began to strike the road at his feet, and the distance was so short between the combatants that he could see the enemy easily. He came to a sudden halt and waved his hand. Then, without waiting to watch the troopers told off for special duty, he called to the man driving the store cart to come forward.
"Dismount," he ordered abruptly. "Now turn the cart and horse round. Good! Back the cart steadily towards the enemy. My lads, half a dozen of you will ride after the cart, shooting from behind its shelter. Better still, let three dismount. There will still be enough men left to lead the horses, or you can hitch the reins to the second cart. Yes, that will be better. Let the whole six dismount; then, with the cart to shelter you, you will be able to do something with these people."
A couple of minutes before, a casual glance at the troopers forming the escort to the two carts would have shown doubt on many of the sun-burnt faces; for the difficulty which confronted the fugitives both before and behind was great. That in front seemed almost insuperable, and, seeing it, more than one of the men wondered whether, after all, this was to be the end of their adventure, if here the peasants wouldhem them in and slaughter them. But Tom's brisk orders and the novelty of his suggestions set them smiling.
"Peste!But this Englishman has brains," grunted one of them, swinging himself swiftly out of his saddle. "These Portuguese peasants are pudding-headed beside him. One moment ago and I thought that the end was near, that I and Strasbourg would see one another no more. Now the path is easier for us—you will see these demons run."
But that had yet to be proved. Massed behind the upturned cart, and already pouring shot at the troopers, the band of peasants hooted and shouted in triumph. They hardly seemed to notice the eight troopers who broke from the ranks of the little procession; for at that moment the store cart was swung round, and the process of slowly backing it towards the enemy began. That operation attracted their whole attention, and soon bullets were thudding against the barrel of wine, tearing a way into the midst of the hams loaded on the cart, or smashing the jars of preserves which the excellent padre's housekeeper had set aside for him. Some went to either side—for the peasants were not first-class shots—while others pelted underneath, passing between the legs of the horse, splashing against the road, and sending little spurts of dust into the eyes of the troopers. The latter made excellent use of the cover. Two were bent double beneath the cart, and already their carbines were cracking sharply. A third layon the stores, his head shielded by a wooden box which was filled with sugar, while the remainder walked on either side of the horse, leaning outward and firing whenever an opportunity occurred.
Tom called the remaining troopers about him, and bade them make ready for a charge.
"Once our fellows get on the hill above and outflank them we'll gallop forward," he said. "Ride at the upturned cart. Swing when you get near, and pass in behind. Once we have those rascals moving we'll keep them on the run. So chase them right through to the valley, and there halt till we come up. Ah! Our boys are getting to work. There go their carbines."
The attack was not one that could be made hurriedly, for a horse cannot be backed at a fast pace, and then the ground to be covered by the men sent to outflank the enemy was steep and difficult. Indeed, had the peasants but posted a few of their own men on either hand they could have at once put a stop to such a movement. But it had never crossed their minds that Tom and his men would force this natural gateway. They imagined that they would come to a halt, and that presently, on the arrival of their comrades from the village, the troopers and their English friends would be cut down to a man. That, in fact, was what would have happened had they delayed. But the flanking party scrambled rapidly into position, while the store cart advanced steadily and persistently, the shots from the trooperssheltering behind it causing havoc amongst the Portuguese. Tom allowed five minutes to elapse, and then, waving a sabre overhead, led Andrews and Howeley and the two or three troopers still remaining against the barricade. Cramming his heels into the flanks of his horse, he sent him down the road at breakneck speed. Swinging past the cart where the troopers were sheltering, he dashed at the obstruction behind which the peasants stood, and, swinging again, burst in on the far side. Andrews and Howeley followed with great dash, while the French troopers were not a yard behind them. And then began a furious struggle. Men slashed desperately at them with scythes, others attempted to unhorse the riders, while a few dived in with the intention of killing the animals. But those swinging sabres beat them off. Already the bullets of the attackers had had some effect, particularly the galling shots of the flanking party. For a moment the issue hung in the balance. Then the men who had fired from behind the cart came up at a run, and instantly the peasants bolted, the three troopers and Howeley galloping after them and keeping them on the run. Perhaps two minutes later the blare of a trumpet was heard in front, and then the clatter of drums. While Tom stared at the retreating peasants, and at the forms of his own men, some twenty or thirty gaily uniformed lancers rode into view, blocking the far end of the pass. The long lances were lifted from their rests as Tom looked. The pennonsfluttered, and then down came the points. A second later an officer rode to the front of these lancers.
"Ah!" gasped Andrews, gaping at them.
"Ma foi!" growled one of the Frenchmen at Tom's elbow.
"English—hooray, they're our boys!" came in high-pitched tones from the cart in which Jack and the naval officer were accommodated, and which had been driven up to the scene of the conflict. Upright on the mattress on which he should have been lying stood Jack, wobbling badly, shrieking his delight at the top of his voice. As for Mr. Riley, perspiration covered his forehead and streamed down his face. He held out a hand as they came nearer, signalled to Tom, and gripped his with a feeling there was no misunderstanding.
"Gallantly done, lad!" he cried. "You've pulled us out of the wood. The coming of the lancers has nothing to do with the matter, though it'll help to make things comfortable. Boys, three cheers for Mr. Clifford!"
They gave them with a heartiness there was no denying. French and English joined in the shouts till the rocky walls echoed back the cheers a hundred times. And then all became of a sudden quiet and sober. For those thirty lancers were followed by a hundred perhaps, bringing the fleeing peasants to a sudden halt and causing some of them to attempt the feat of clambering away on either hand. A minute later the ranks of the lancers opened, andthrough the open files came a number of horsemen. Tom found himself watching their approach with something akin to fear, for mounted on a magnificent horse which led the procession was a tall officer of high rank without doubt, who rode through the muttering and beaten peasants as if they did not exist. A stern, clean-shaven face was turned in Tom's direction, while the pair of deep-set eyes that flanked a wonderfully hooked nose peered out from beneath a cocked hat at the little band which our hero had led so successfully.
It was Wellington without a doubt, the general who had led our troops so brilliantly in the Peninsula, who had seen fighting in many a place, and had won in far-off India a reputation there was no denying. It was the great Lord Wellington, and with him his chief of the staff, aides-de-camp, and other officers, a glittering throng, gold-braided and medalled, all silently observing Tom and his little party. As for the latter, our hero was almost too astounded even to think, while his followers, conscious of the rank of those who looked at them, and indeed, of the presence of Wellington himself, fell in just behind our hero, shouldered their weapons, and drew themselves up as became good soldiers. Yes, British and French, at war with one another in the Peninsula, but friends in this particular part of it, drew themselves up proudly, as men who had no cause to feel ashamed. Slowly a smile swept across the face of the general.
"I see," he said, so that all could hear. "We have here a little adventure worth hearing. Who is in command of this party?"
Mr. Riley pushed his way to the front, having clambered from the cart with difficulty. Saluting the general, he pointed to Tom.
"That gentleman, sir, is in command," he said steadily.
"And these?" asked the general instantly, indicating the French troopers, with a smile.
"We were their prisoners till a few moments ago. We were taken at sea, landed in this neighbourhood, and taken off by a troop of cavalry. The peasants attacked us suddenly, the officers were shot down, and Mr. Clifford at once took command. I wish to report that he has behaved splendidly. He and the riflemen have been the life and soul of our party. But the troopers behaved most handsomely, and obeyed orders as if they were our men. It is a good story, sir."
"And one we will hear," came the instant answer. "Er, Lieutenant——"
"Riley, sir."
"Ah, Lieutenant, I'm pleased to meet you. We shall camp in this valley, and you will give me the pleasure of dining with me to-night and of bringing your comrades. Mr. Clifford, I think you said."
The naval officer beckoned our hero forward and introduced him formally. Then he took the general to Jack's side, making him known also. As forAndrews and Howeley, they were beaming in a moment, for Wellington did them the honour of shaking their hands, while smiles broke across the countenances of the French troopers when he halted before them.
"You have an interpreter?" he asked Mr. Riley.
"Mr. Clifford, sir."
"Then repeat what I say, if you please, Mr. Clifford. Tell them I am delighted to hear that they have fought side by side instead of against us, and that they shall be well treated and their conduct reported to their own commanders. Tell them that."
Tom promptly interpreted the words, causing the Frenchmen to flush with pride.
"And now for these wretched peasants," began Wellington, turning to the spot where some fifty of the latter cowered, wondering what was to be done with them. "I presume it is much the same tale as we have had before? Reprisals attempted because of the brutality of the French. Hundreds of these poor fools against a handful of armed men. A sudden attack and a narrow escape. Well, we'll sign to them to be off. There's no interpreter with us just now."
"Pardon, sir," burst in Mr. Riley. "Mr. Clifford speaks the language."
"What? Let me hear him."
Blunt and abrupt in speech, there was something kind nevertheless in the tones of the general, andat once Tom went to the Portuguese and told them they might depart. When he returned he found Wellington looking at him with strange intensity.
"You are a civilian, sir," he asked, "and speak French and Portuguese?"
"Badly, sir, I'm afraid," smiled our hero. "Also I can get along with Spanish."
"Ah! And make yourself as well understood as in the other two languages?"
"Better, perhaps, sir. My relatives are Spanish."
"And you are a civilian and wish to remain one?"
The eyes looking Tom up and down so closely gleamed. Did they twinkle ever so little? Did this general, whose name was famous throughout many countries, guess at the martial spirit that filled Tom's breast? If he did, no one could do more than guess the fact, for the features never altered. The eyes merely twinkled, and that ever so little.
"A pity," said the general. "You would have made a——"
Flesh and blood could not endure such temptation. Here was the opportunity of his life, and Tom took it with open hands.
"I'm meant for a stool in Oporto, sir," he said. "But I'd give a heap to earn a commission."
"Come to dinner to-night," was the answer he received, while Wellington swung his horse round and rode on through the ranks of the French troopers. But he did not forget our hero, for that very evening, after dinner was over, and the remains of the somewhatfrugal meal in which he was wont to indulge had been removed, Wellington called for candles with which to illuminate the headquarters tent, and then bade Mr. Riley tell the story of the adventure. Then he swung round on Tom and eyed him again in a manner that made the young man's heart sink to the depths of his boots. What wonder that the lad who had so bravely led the troopers should tremble under the gaze of Wellington. For this famous general was no ordinary man. The clean-shaven, sharply-cut features showed a determination that was extraordinary and which of itself attracted attention. His short, jerky sentences, however kindly meant, had a way of alarming his juniors, while the severity of his features, his exalted rank, the tremendous responsibilities resting on the shoulders of this man, made him almost awe inspiring. Tom had nothing to be ashamed of. Officers of senior rank out there in the Peninsula, and elsewhere, both before and after this historic conflict, trembled under the gaze of the brilliant tactician. Then why not Tom? But a smile crossing the face of the general reassured him.
"So you were meant for a stool in Oporto and found yourself a prisoner," began the general, putting down the glass from which he had just taken a sip of wine, "and seem to have fallen naturally into the life of a soldier. Let me add, too, you have done wonderfully well. That I can gather even without the tale which Lieutenant Riley has given me.You have shown discretion and sharpness, sir. The army needs officers with discretion, and, I am proud to say, has them. She needs, too, officers who are linguists. More than all she wants officers able to speak one or more of the languages essential to this campaign, and who have in addition the capacity to command men. Mr. Clifford, my greatest difficulty in this campaign is that of obtaining reliable information. Will you help me?"
Help a general! Help Wellington, the great duke who had defeated the French now on so many occasions! The bare suggestion made Tom flush. But the gallant officer addressing him was serious enough.
"Come," he said. "I want an officer for special service. He shall be posted to my staff, and his special work will be to gather an escort of the natives of Portugal or of Spain about him. He will seek for information as to the movements of the enemy. He will make sudden raids where necessary, and if occasion suggests it he shall even enter the camps of the French and gather full tidings. It is a dangerous task. It may mean wounds or death. The danger of imprisonment is very great. Also, if the duties be carried out with discretion and boldness, it means honour and promotion. Mr. Clifford, I am happy to offer you a commission as an ensign, unattached at present, to date from the day when you were taken by the French. My next dispatch home shall make mention of your name and of my wishes. To-morrow evening general orders shall confirm thisoffer, while the following evening shall see you promoted to lieutenant for this recent action. Afterwards you will carry out the instructions which shall be handed to you. Will you accept?"
Would he accept! Would Tom take the very thing for which he had longed, and become one of the king's officers! He jumped at the offer. His delight robbed him of the power of speech, so that he could only mumble his thanks. He retired, in fact, from the presence of the famous general with his head and brain in a whirl.
"Hearty congratulations," cried Lieutenant Riley, smacking him on the back as soon as they reached their own quarters. "We'll tell Jack now. Pity the pain in his leg sent him away from the general's before this happened. Ha! we've news, Jack."
The ensign had retired early from the dinner, the excitement and movement of the last two days having set up inflammation in his wound, though in the case of the naval officer it seemed to have actually done his injury good. Jack lay on a camp bed provided by the surgeon, blinking in the light of a candle.
"Eh?" he asked, glancing sleepily at them.
"Look out for squalls, my boy."
"Why? Don't understand, sir."
"You soon will," laughed Mr. Riley. "Tom's an awful martinet, and he's your senior."
It was all true enough, though our hero found difficulty in understanding the matter. For the very next evening found an announcement in General Orders.There was a short, flattering reference to Lieutenant Riley and Jack. And then the following words: "The commander-in-chief has pleasure in recommending that Mr. Clifford be granted a commission in His Majesty's forces, for his action when in temporary command of the French troopers attacked by Portuguese peasants. Ensign Clifford is posted to the headquarters staff."
The following evening found a second announcement. "Ensign Clifford, headquarters staff, is recommended for promotion for gallantry in a recent action."
"My uncle!" exclaimed Jack, when he read the orders, "you'll be a full-blown general, Tom, before I'm a captain. Don't forget me, that's all. I'd look awfully fine in the uniform of a staff officer."
"A general? Why not?" Tom asked himself as he rolled himself in a blanket. "I'm young, young for the rank of lieutenant. I'm in the midst of a glorious campaign. And owing to the fact that I can speak Portuguese, French, and Spanish I'm to be engaged on special service. Why not a general one of these days?"
He forgot to look on the other side. Forgot, with the usual impetuosity and carelessness of youth, to reckon the risks to be run in achieving such honours. But then Tom did not realize what was before him. To begin with, he reckoned without José de Esteros, his most unloving cousin, whom he imagined still in England.
A crisp, cool breeze straight from the sea swept through the streets of Oporto and fanned the brows of three horsemen who were riding in from the country about ten in the morning some six weeks after the events already narrated. A brilliant autumn sun shed its rays far and wide, causing white walls and pavements to flash back shafts of light which were almost blinding in their intensity, while the russet hues of the foliage looked wonderfully bright and enchanting.
"Oporto at last!" exclaimed one of the three horsemen, a youth dressed in the uniform of a staff officer. "At last!"
"And none too soon," came from his companion, riding at his knee. "None too soon, Tom, my boy. Army rations are good enough when there's nothing else to be had, but give me the sight of a town now and again. There'll be dinners to be had, there'll be invitations galore to the houses of the big people, dances, fêtes, everything you can wish for or imagine."
Jack laughed uproariously, the happy laugh of a youth who is bent on pleasure, and who is ready to enjoy all that comes his way. For this was JackBarwood, Ensign, of the 60th Rifles, attached for special service to Lieutenant Tom Clifford's command. And the youth who looked so well in the uniform of a staff officer was none other than our hero. Respectfully in rear of them, precisely three horses' length behind, rode the rifleman Andrews, as erect as any cavalry soldier trained, his eyes glistening at the prospect of a rest in Oporto, a bed to sleep in, and all the entertainment a city promised.
"And work," interjected Tom, when Jack had finished speaking. "All play and no work makes Jack a bad soldier. Eh?"
Jack made reply by snatching at his sword and half-drawing it, while he glared at his comrade. However it was all fun, and only a symptom of good spirits. Jack was now in clover; but for that chance meeting with our hero and the adventure which had followed he would have been along with his regiment, then scattered by companies, and his lot would have been very different. Instead he was appointed for special service, than which there is nothing more eagerly sought by an officer. He was Tom's right-hand man, his adviser if you like—though Lieutenant Riley smiled satirically when that was suggested—his adjutant when engaged with irregulars.
Jack had, in fact, in spite of his want of seriousness, been of great service to our hero. For, with the help of Andrews, he had instructed him in the customary duties of an officer and had taught him more than a smattering of drill.
"Just enough to let you manœuvre the irregulars you are to command," he had assured Tom, with a laugh. "You can't expect always to carry out an adventure like that we passed through with nothing but cheek to help you. Knowledge is wanted, my boy! I'll be the one to give it to you."
One could hardly have imagined a worse instructor; but when it came to the point Jack had proved an excellent fellow, and very soon, thanks to his tuition, Tom found himself able to drill a company with ease, and to understand how a battalion could be manœuvred. It took but a short while for him to grip other points particular to an army: how it was split up into divisions, consisting of so many brigades in each case, and how those brigades were made up of battalions, each, of course, boasting of a certain number of companies. As for a command, Tom had not been long in finding one.
"You will endeavour to enlist Portuguese and Spanish irregulars," the chief of Wellington's staff had told him. "We leave it to you to suggest a plan; but, of course, your main work will be to seek out information concerning the enemy."
"I'm wondering——" began Tom that very evening, when he and Jack lay beneath the same tent.
"Eh? Don't!" came the facetious and grinning answer. "Don't, my boy; your brain'll not stand it."
"Seriously, though," Tom went on, ignoring his friend's good-natured raillery.
"Of course; you're always serious. Well, you'rewondering; and I'm wondering why you're wondering instead of getting off to sleep. It's a beast of a night, raining cats and dogs, and a chap needs to sleep to escape the blues."
"It would do you good to be out with our pickets then," cried Tom warmly, irritated by his friend. "I've a good mind to send you off with a message to——"
That brought Jack sitting upright with a jerk. After all, Tom was his senior, ridiculous though it did appear, and if he carried out such a threat, why, Jack must perforce obey, though such a thing as an order had never yet come from his friend.
"You were wondering—yes," he jerked out hurriedly.
"Whether I should ride back to that village where we had that fight with the peasants. I'm ordered to enlist irregulars. I propose having a band here in Portugal and one in Spain, close to the border. We all know that the two peoples don't agree very well. There are continual jealousies between them; but they would work together on occasions. I propose going to that village to enlist the Portuguese part of my command."
The suggestion took Jack's breath away and filled him with horror.
"What! They'd tear you to pieces," he exclaimed. "It's madness. It's——"
"I shall ride there to-morrow," said Tom, cutting him short. "You can stay behind if you're nervous."
And off they went, with Andrews their only escort. Riding into the village over the heaped-up mound which marked the spot where the peasants had dug a trench to arrest the French troopers, Tom and Jack were greeted most respectfully. None recognized in the handsome staff officer the leader of the troopers, nor in his smart brother officer the young fellow who was with him, and who had barely even now recovered from the wound inflicted. Tom rode direct to the house of the mayor, and dropped from his saddle. And then had followed an exciting incident. When he spoke, the people recognized him. Men rushed to the spot howling threats. Weapons appeared as if by magic, and for a while it looked as if, in spite of their being English, the little party would be cut to pieces. But here again Tom showed his mettle; not once did he betray concern.
"I make no excuses," he said sternly. "What we did was forced on us; but I have come back to bury old scores and to offer a favour to you."
His unconcern alone won him friends at once, while the memory of how he had treated those men who had descended to the courtyard and had been hemmed in there told in his favour. Where a minute earlier men had shrieked at him, they now smiled and lifted their caps—more than that, many were eager to do service. Thus it came about that within three days Tom had as many hundredCacadores, or Portuguese irregulars, drilling close to the British army, on ground specially allotted to them, while within sixweeks he had set off for Oporto for the special purpose of arranging for a similar party of Spaniards.
"It's work that you can look forward to, Jack," he repeated, as they came to the outskirts of Oporto. "I haven't ridden in here for the sole purpose of eating big dinners and dancing with all the fairest girls in Oporto. I'm here on business, your business, the British army's business, and don't you forget it!"
Jack screwed his face up as if he were disgusted.
"But," he began, "there'll——"
"Be time for fun—perhaps," agreed Tom. "But business first. I shall ride direct for the house of Juan de Esteros and Septimus John Clifford & Son."
"Of Oporto."
"And of London—wine merchants. Don Juan's my uncle; I'm looking forward to the meeting. Wonder if he'll have news of the folks at home?"
Men stepped aside to look at the two young officers, lifting their caps; city people raised a cheer more than once as they recognized the uniform of a staff officer; while often enough a handkerchief fluttered from some window as Tom and Jack walked their horses through the city. There was abundant evidence, in fact, of the popularity of the British; and had our heroes cared for entertainment, and possessed the time, they could have spent a year passing from one hospitable house to another. Everyone was glad to see them. Everyone!—no. There was oneexception, though he passed unnoticed amongst the crowds. A face peeped out from the window of a hovel that was squeezed in at the corner of a square which Tom and Jack were just entering, while the limbs of the owner of that face writhed and twisted incessantly. A thin, weak hand played with the corner of a weak mouth, while a scowl of hatred lined a narrow forehead. The young man—for he was but little older than Tom—stretched out a little farther, so as to obtain a better view of the officers riding before him, and then ducked back out of sight.
"Tom Clifford!" he hissed. "He in Oporto! Safe from the sea, and an officer! Ah!"
The scowl deepened, for the moment was a bitter one for José. Yes, it was José de Esteros, whom we saw last in London, the scheming vindictive nephew to whom John Clifford had given a home for many a year, and who had rewarded his uncle after such a manner. It was the sneaking youth who had procured Tom's impressment, and who had schemed and schemed so that, one of these days, he might become the head of the firm of Septimus John Clifford & Son. It was, in fact, the ruffian who hoped to break through that old tradition of the firm owned by his uncle, and deprive it of the son who, following unbroken custom, should succeed.
"Tom Clifford!" he gasped again. "An officer too! How? And in Oporto! Why?"
A guilty conscience supplied the answer promptly. It was for his arrest that Tom had come without adoubt, and here again was added injury. Let us realize the position of affairs exactly. Far from being sorry for the rascally action he had undertaken, José vented the whole of his own displeasure on Tom's unconscious head. He had always been jealous of our hero. He hated him now because of the failure of the wicked scheme which should have ruined him, and hated him still more because retribution and discovery had come so soon. Indeed, Tom had scarcely reached the ship after his impressment when Huggins, John Clifford's faithful clerk, had unravelled the conspiracy, and had compelled the ruffian who had captured him to admit the fact. And José had had a near escape of being sent to prison; for with the unravelling of the conspiracy came the knowledge that he had robbed his uncle. But this wretched youth was as crafty as he was sneaking. Swift to detect discovery, he had once more robbed his uncle and had departed. A ship sailing that very evening for Oporto took him aboard, and within a week José de Esteros had presented himself at his uncle's, at Don Juan de Estero's house, where the Portuguese branch of the famous firm of Septimus John Clifford & Son was established. And there he had remained for two months, giving it out that his cousin had run away from home, and that he, José, had been sent to take his place. Cleverly intercepting the frantic letters which John Clifford wrote, José kept up the deception till, one fine morning, the faithful Huggins landed and appeared at the office. ThenJosé ran again and hid himself in the hovels of the city. It was in one of these that he was located on the morning of Tom's entry, engaged, one may be sure, in further rascally schemes which the unexpected arrival of his cousin at once gave zest to.
"Tom Clifford here!" he again ejaculated, crouching behind the window. "Then here's a chance to go on with the matter. Because I failed once, it won't be for always; I've a splendid game before me."
The shaking fingers went to his thin lips again, while his limbs writhed and seemed to knot themselves together.
"I'll kill him!" José hissed, as Tom began to pass out of his vision. "Yes, and I'll make use of the information which Don Juan gave me. Ha, ha! It makes me smile. He took me into his confidence. Told me of his riches, of the wealth his son would have. He's my cousin too, like Tom. Why shouldn't I have their share from both sides of the family?"
The pale features of this half-Spaniard wrinkled into a smile that was more sardonic than anything. The thin, writhing fingers played about the corners of his mouth, while the pair of bright and somewhat protruding eyes which a second before had been fixed upon the stalwart form of Andrews, then the only one of the three horsemen remaining visible, lost themselves in a vacant gaze. In those few following seconds José saw himself powerful and rich, head of a prosperous old firm, a partner of the business inthe place of his cousin Tom, successor to his Uncle Juan's riches.
Let us turn from the contemplation of a youth so devoid of all that was pleasant and taking—José was born with a kink, a moral kink, if you will—let us leave him with it and follow Tom and his comrade. But in doing so let us remember that though José might be weak, he was yet a force to be reckoned with, a force, had Tom but known it, likely enough to come between him and those much-cherished ambitions. José might easily intervene between the gallant and handsome staff officer whom he called cousin and that post in the army to which youthful good spirits and assurance caused him to aspire.
"The way to the house of Septimus John Clifford & Son,señor," answered a man of whom Tom made an enquiry. "There are few in this city who do not know the name and the house. Pass directly on till you enter another square, then turn to the left, descending toward the water. The house is on the right, some little distance down."
There it was at last. Jack pulled in his horse at the sight, while his estimation of our hero went up a little. For to the high and mighty Jack trade was trade, something at which he was rather wont to turn up his nose. It was purely ignorance of the world that made him do so; for to do him but justice the young ensign was no snob. And here he found himself in front of an enormous range of buildings, with warehouses and stores running right down to thewater. Over the main building flew the flag of England, with that of Portugal close beside it, while a board of modest proportions announced the fact that this was the home of Septimus John Clifford & Son.
Tom slid from his saddle, handed his reins over to Andrews, and went striding up the steps of the building, his sword and sabretache swaying at his side. A very gallant figure he cut too as he entered the office and enquired for Don Juan de Esteros.
"What name?" he was asked.
"Say a British officer," he responded, and presently was ushered into a handsomely furnished office. A little man, bearing traces of obvious ill health, rose from a chair, and at once advanced with hand cordially outstretched.
"This is an honour," he said in broken English, mingled with a word of Portuguese. "To what do I owe the visit? What can I do for you, sir? But surely——"
As he gripped Tom's hand he peered through his spectacles into his face, while a flush suddenly suffused his own olive complexion.
"I am your nephew," said our hero abruptly, speaking Spanish and smiling at his uncle. "Very much at your service."
A shout escaped Don Juan. He went to a door leading from the back of the room and called loudly. A minute later a familiar figure burst into the room and rushed at Tom. It was Septimus John Clifford himself, fatter than ever perhaps, rosy-faced, butactive. The meeting between father and son can be imagined. They gripped hands and stood staring at one another for perhaps five seconds.
"Well!" at last John gasped, standing away from his son. "A handsome figure you cut, Tom. A soldier, eh?"
"On General Lord Wellington's staff, sir."
"And mighty well you'll do, sir," came the answer. "Mighty proud I am of you. I've heard the tale. It's barely thirty hours since I set foot in Portugal, and who should I meet but Lieutenant Riley, who was just about to embark for England. We dined together. He talked, sir. Yes, he made me feel proud. Tom, the business can still be carried on with one of its partners in the army. I'm proud of you, lad."
Septimus John Clifford had a long tale to tell his son, and it was half an hour later before our hero recollected that he had left Jack waiting outside. By then he had learned all that had happened during his absence from England. How José's cruel conspiracy had been discovered. How in course of time a report had come through the Admiralty telling of Tom's impressment, of the action at sea, and of his behaviour. And then had followed silence. The ship on which he should have reached Oporto failed to put in an appearance. Reference to the French failed to discover news, and John Clifford was reduced again to the depths of despair, imagining that Tom had gone to the bottom of the sea with his comrades.
"Then there was the case of José, your cousin," he said severely. "He acted like a hound all through, and but for Huggins would have done us further injury. Imagine the duplicity and cunning of the rascal. He presented himself to your uncle here as your successor. He wormed himself artfully into his regard, intercepted all our letters, and finally bolted, having once more stolen all that he could lay his hands on. The news of his vileness brought me out here, and contrary winds delayed me till the night before last. Then, and only then, did I hear of you, my boy, and of all that you have been doing."
He stood away from our hero again and inspected him with obvious pride, while Don Juan peered through his spectacles at the young staff officer whom he called nephew.
"A fine soldier, John," he ventured. "A good leader, by all accounts."
"And come here to let us see him. What brought you, sir?" asked John.
"Business," said Tom crisply. "But let me call in my friend and adjutant. We have business with Don Juan."
The meeting with Jack was most cordial, and presently all four were seated in the office.
"Now," said Don Juan.
"We came to ask for your help," began Tom.
"If it's money you want, lad, as is only natural, why you shall have plenty," burst in John.
"It's men," answered our hero. "I want to raisea small force of Spaniards, and I want also a leader to act under my orders, on whom I can at once rely."
It was wonderful with what enthusiasm the two older gentlemen received this information. Don Juan pulled off his glasses and then pushed them back again on to his nose. He got up from his seat and paced backwards and forwards, and later suddenly faced the two officers.
"You want a command composed of Spaniards; I can lay my hand on such a force," he said. "Alfonso, my son, is now in Spain, within easy distance of Madrid, and, were I to command him, could raise a force there. But the men of the towns are not to be relied on. For guerrillas you could have none better than the mountaineers living on the frontier between Spain and Portugal."
"Just so," agreed Tom promptly. "Hardier and braver, sir."
"Precisely," came the answer; "and with this, added to their natural feelings of patriotism, they will be led by the son of the man on whose estate they work, and will have in supreme command that son's cousin, a British officer on the staff of no less a person than General Lord Wellington himself."
The little man skipped about the room in his enthusiasm, and forgot for the moment the decorum usually expected of a sedate business man. He snapped his fingers in his glee, and winked and blinked at Tom and at the company generally through his glasses.
"Alfonso shall call them up and command them," he cried; "Tom Clifford, of the firm of Septimus John Clifford & Son, shall be in supreme command. How's that for an arrangement? No trouble about pay either, Tom. I'll see to that; I've abundance with which to pay every one of the following."
The suggestion almost took Septimus Clifford's breath away. The stout little head of the old and extremely respectable business firm looked across at the jubilant little man, who for many a year had conducted the affairs of the firm in Portugal and Spain, as if he considered him mad. He gasped for breath, polished his bald head with a huge silk handkerchief of brilliant red colour, and blew heavily, puffing out his cheeks.
"What!" he exclaimed, pointing a fat finger at Don Juan. "You will place a force at Tom's disposal. You will call up the men on your estate, and will put your only son in command."
"Why not, sir?" Don Juan flashed out the question, and then smiled at his partner. "Why not? A pretty person you are, to be sure! You ask in one breath whether I will do this thing, knowing that my country is overrun by France, yet in the previous breath you sing praises because your only son, the son who should represent the firm, is on Lord Wellington's staff. Moreover, you gloated horribly over the details of the fighting in which he took a prominent part, and which were given you by that naval officer."
A condemnatory finger was pointed at Septimus John Clifford. Don Juan regarded him severely for some moments, and then smiled and snapped his fingers.
"Come," he said; "the affairs of our business lose significance when compared with the dangers of this country and the efforts of your soldiers. Tom asks for Spanish irregulars; he shall have them. He asks for a commander; Alfonso is the lad. Eh? You don't dare deny it."
Septimus did not. In his heart he was delighted, and, like the sensible, long-headed man he was, he promptly sat down to discuss ways and means. As for Tom and Jack, they spent three days in the city, and then, accompanied by a guide, set off for the Spanish frontier.
"You will be met there by Alfonso," said Don Juan. "I have sent a man across to him, and he will be at the estate as soon as you are. Here is a letter for him, and you will find that he will give you every assistance, and will fall into this scheme with eagerness."
Some three days later found our two heroes at the estate belonging to Don Juan, where they were joined a day later by Alfonso. He rode up on a big mule, and dropped from his saddle at the porch of the house. A fine, frank young fellow he proved to be.
"Glad to meet you, señors," he cried. "Which is my cousin?"
"You speak English?" asked Tom, when the greetings were over.
"Not a word; but Portuguese, of course."
"Then Jack must hurry up with his lessons," grinned Tom; for his adjutant, with that perverseness common to many English lads, hated languages. Too full, perhaps, of insular pride, he imagined that his own tongue should carry him everywhere, and that foreigners should promptly contrive to add English to theirs, rather than that he should be bothered to master any language beyond his own. A perverseness, one may call it, a perverseness that gives the foreigner an enormous opportunity, and in these days of easy transit and of broadened interests, is telling against the Englishman. The polyglot Britisher of to-morrow will advance better and farther than will the man of to-day who is ignorant of all other languages than his own. However, Jack was not the one to be stupid, and, indeed, for quite a while had been struggling with French, Portuguese, and Spanish.
The four weeks which followed were busy ones for the three young fellows. First the men of the estate had to be called up, together with others living in the neighbourhood.
"We want three hundred, so as to match those in Portugal," said Tom. "It will be as well also to have a reserve, who can go on training in our absence. I shall do the same with the men we have raised in Portugal, and, as it seems that the two forces are at this moment separated by only some fifty miles, there will be no need to move nearer. But we must enlistthe help of men living between us. It will not be difficult to devise signals, such as fires on the hilltops, which will warn either party or will summon one to join the other."
The end of the month found Alfonso's particular command sufficiently trained for active work. No large amount of drill was given them; but they were able to perform simple movements, and, at Jack's suggestion, worked at the call of a whistle. One long call would see their bivouacs broken, their knapsacks swung over their shoulders, and each man in his place in the ranks, his musket at his shoulder. Consisting of three hundred men, they were divided into companies a hundred strong, for each of which a reliable leader was found. Moreover, Tom had no fault to find with the formation when those companies were drawn up for inspection.
"Smartness on parade is all very well, and good for discipline," he said, whereat Jack grinned his approval, "but it won't win engagements, and the engagements we are likely to be in don't require rigid lines. Try 'em with two long whistles."
Alfonso had barely given the signals when the companies broke up as if by magic and re-formed at once into small squares, with some fifty paces between them.
"For cavalry," said Jack, approval in his voice. "If they've courage, and will stand fast, cavalry will have little terror for them. If they break——"
"Every man would be cut to pieces,señor," said Alfonso. "That is a thing they know. I trust soonthat we may have an opportunity of testing their courage."
It happened that such an opportunity came almost instantly, on the very morning when Tom and Jack were to return to Portugal. A couple of French squadrons burst suddenly upon the little command when engaged at drill, and galloped down upon them. For one moment there was confusion in the ranks; then Tom's cheery voice was heard, while Alfonso sounded his whistle.
"Get to the farthest square," Tom shouted at Jack. "I'll take the centre with Andrews, while Alfonso goes to the third. Our presence will hearten the men."
Clapping spurs to their horses' flanks they galloped to their posts, and, dismounting within each square, turned to face the enemy.
"Hold your fire till I shout," commanded Tom. "Let those who are kneeling reserve their fire till the men standing above them have opened upon the enemy. Have no fear, boys—double that strength of the enemy could not harm you."
But in spite of his assurance he had some qualms. Other guerrilla forces composed of Spaniards had thought to do well, and had faced French cavalry; but they had broken at the critical moment, and had been sabred to a man. Would these fine fellows follow suit, or would they stand firm? Ah! A man at one of the corners rose from his knees and looked wildly at the enemy. He dropped his musket as ifit had stung him, and then, doubling up as if he were a hare, set off from the face of the square.
"Halt!" Tom bellowed. "You will be shot if you do not stop. Let the three men at the corner aim at him and fire if he does not return instantly."
There came a growl from many of the men. Two or three looked as if they might follow the bad example set them. Then there was a sharp report, followed by the fall of the coward who had bolted from the square, and who had been deaf to Tom's orders.
"Form up there in the corner," he commanded, severely. "You see what happens to a man who deserts his comrades. Let it be a lesson to all. Make ready to fire; stand firm. We shall beat them."
Let those who have not tested the experience imagine what nerve it must require to stand shoulder to shoulder in the open and see a horde of horse and men galloping down upon you. The animals take on a stature wonderfully enlarged—they seem even more ferocious than their riders—sabres whirl and appear to stretch far in advance, so as to reach easily an enemy. The situation brings for the instant a feeling of helplessness, one calculated to disturb the courage of the boldest. Would Tom's little command and the men massed in the other squares be proof against such an ordeal?
"Charge!" The loud command from the leader of the French squadrons sent a flood of men and horse madly down upon them.
Grouped together in three separate squares, Tom's Spanish command awaited the onset of the French horse, each man gripping the musket supplied to him by his British allies, and, in the case of those in our hero's own particular square, awaiting his orders before discharging the weapon. Nor had the lesson of the shooting of the man who had fled from the ranks been lost on his comrades. There may have been others inclined to show cowardice; but such a salutary example checked them.
"Kneeling rank make ready!" shouted Tom, when the eyes of the oncoming troopers were visible. "Fire!"
A storm of bullets sped from the square, while the company nearest opened on the enemy at the same moment.
"Reload!" bellowed Tom, peering through the smoke. "Now those who are standing take aim. Fire!"
The volleys rang out in rather quick succession, and were followed at once by the ring of ramrods. And all the while there came to the ear the thunderof horses' hoofs and the shouts of excited men. Tom saw through the billowing smoke a number of dark figures which flashed past the square as if borne on a gale. A few of these same figures seemed to struggle against the current that bore them, and then, as the smoke blew aside, and one could see better, they appeared as individual troopers or officers who had reined back their horses. Then with loud and angry shouts they dug spurs deep into the flanks of the gallant beasts they rode, and, swinging their sabres, dashed madly at the nearest face of the square.
"Ready!" shouted Tom. "Fire individually. Keep them at a distance."
Once more there was a sharp fusillade; while, to the consternation of more than one of the men, bullets from the adjacent square, aimed no doubt at the enemy, swept overhead, narrowly missing friends. As for the French, foiled in this their first attempt, they drew off and re-formed at a distance. Tom at once climbed into his saddle and rode out to Alfonso's square.
"Bravely done, men!" he called out, reining in close at hand. "I see you did some execution; but you must be careful next time with your bullets. You sent a number just over our heads. Now, Alfonso, draw off your men by squares till we reach that broken ground. If we march as we are you will lead the way; Jack will come next, and my little lot will act as rearguard."
He rode across to Jack's company and congratulated them also. Then he rejoined his own men, while Alfonso set the whole command in motion. Taking care to keep the distances between the companies, the whole force marched away from the French, till a shout and a shrill whistle from the young Spaniard commanding the force caused all to halt. Looking over his shoulder, Tom saw that the Frenchmen were advancing again, and at once drew his own men compactly together.
"Remember that you are acting as the rearguard, and bear yourselves accordingly. Obey my orders and you will come out of the conflict victoriously. Let each man wait till he gets the word to fire."
It was as well, perhaps, that the men had had some previous experience of fighting; and though this was actually the first day on which they had come in conflict with the enemy, the recent charge of the French, and the manner in which they had been driven away, had heartened them wonderfully. Even so, this second occasion proved a greater ordeal for Tom's own particular company; for the French seemed to have decided to hurl all their weight on one square, with the object of defeating the three companies in detail. Drawing in their ranks now, they set their horses at Tom's square with an impetuous dash that elsewhere had sent Spaniards fleeing. Once more Tom saw the commander stand in his stirrups, fling his sabre overhead, and yell the command to charge. Then themass came forward at speed, looking as if they would ride over the square and stamp every living man there out of existence. Crisp and cool came Tom's orders.
"Kneelers, fire!" he bellowed. "Now, those standing—reload!"
Very rapidly he had altered to a slight degree the formation of the square, throwing the corner at which the French attack was aimed farther outward, making the angle, in fact, much sharper, and so enabling more men on either face to take effective aim. The flash of the muskets was answered at once by shrieks and shouts, and by the neighing of horses. Men fell from their saddles, maddened beasts crashed to the ground, rolled over, and lay frantically plunging. Then the bulk of the enemy, hit hard by the second volley, swept past the square like a torrent, and galloped away to a distance. Tom at once stepped outside the square, and, with the help of a couple of the men, liberated a trooper who was pinned beneath his horse.
"There,mon brave," he said, with a smile, "go to your commander and tell him not to make the attempt again; these Spaniards are well able to look after themselves."
To his amazement the man clutched him by the hand and then grinned widely. Looking closely into his face, beneath its thatch of ruffled hair, Tom recognized one of the troopers who had helped to defend the church, and promptly shook his hand eagerly.