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"Trot!" commanded Tom, and at the word the troop set their horses into faster motion, Andrews at their head leading them off obliquely towards a point where the road was accessible.

"Hear 'em!" ejaculated Jack, by no means dismayed, as a torrent of yells and cries came from the village and from a number of points about them. "They don't seem overpleased at our leaving."

CHAPTER X
The Great General

Marching from the building which had given them shelter, Tom and his companions struck directly for the road that led away from the hills, Andrews, in advance, standing in his stirrups so as to obtain a better view of his surroundings. Jack watched operations from the mattress placed in the cart, on which he had been placed, a most unwilling prisoner, while the jovial naval lieutenant sat up, his back propped against the side of the cart, and surveyed matters generally from the standpoint of a man who is well satisfied with all that is happening.

"Couldn't be better, couldn't," he observed to the disconsolate Jack; "and hark ye, me lad, for all your grousing I know that you feel the same. Tom's done magnificently; few would have done as well."

It was just what might have been expected of the amiable, if hot-tempered, Jack that he should acquiesce warmly.

"Grandly," he agreed. "Of course one wonders what one would have done oneself under the circumstances, and it's wretchedly unlucky being winged, and having to look on like a child."

"Better than being chopped to pieces at any rate," came the swift answer. "Besides, we're not out of the wood yet. We've to get away from these mountains, and there's still that narrow valley through which we galloped on our way to the place where the real attack was made. I shall be surprised if we get through without meeting with more of the peasants."

There was always that hazard, and as Tom looked about him, riding at the tail of the procession, he was bound to admit that matters still looked gloomy.

"There's no way out of the place but by the road," he said to Howeley, who rode beside him. "Of course we could abandon the horses and take to the hills, but then – "

"Wounded and stores, sir," came the respectful interruption. "Couldn't be done, sir."

"Out of the question, I agree – so on we have to go. To turn the other way would take us back to the village, and then there wouldn't be any reaching the church or other fort as we have done. No, on we have to go. Those peasants are following, and I see scattered groups about us."

The wretched Portuguese who had attacked the troop of horse had indeed taken many precautions to prevent their prey escaping them. Not that the idea had occurred to them that Tom and his men would have the audacity to leave a place that provided a fairly safe haven, and which in any case gave such shelter that more than once attack on the part of the peasants had failed. But, for fear of one of the troopers venturing to ride away for help, they had posted bands of their comrades round about the church, placing a number on the road, and causing others to march to that narrow part that shut in the wider portion of the valley, and through which fugitives must pass. For half an hour Andrews led the cavalcade forward at a smart pace. He turned on reaching the road, and then pushed along it, the troopers clattering behind him, and riding on either side of the carts. Suddenly his hand went up, bringing the procession to a halt, while Tom galloped up to join him.

"A hundred of the enemy in front, sir," the rifleman reported. "They seem to be blocking the road with a cart, and are stationed behind it."

"While men are racing after us from the village," observed our hero. "Looks ugly, Andrews."

"A hole, sir; but we've been in one as deep and deeper."

"True," agreed Tom; "and we'll climb out of this. Let me have a look at them for a while. We'll move along again at a trot till just out of musket shot. By then I'll have made up my mind how to treat them."

He rode on beside the rifleman, his eyes fixed upon the enemy in front. Shouts came from the latter, while a number could be seen standing behind a cart which had been upset across the narrow road. At this precise point, in fact, the rugged hills on either side, hills for which Portugal is notorious, converged abruptly, forming as it were a doorway to that end of the valley. The rocky walls ran along within thirty feet of one another for perhaps a hundred yards, and then suddenly broke away again, making the entrance to another valley. Not that one could see the latter, for there was a sharp bend in the cleft between the hills. But Tom remembered the surroundings.

"Ugly place," he told Andrews. "Looks as if the two hills were joined at one time, and then were broken apart. Once through, we have a wide valley to cross, and then another place such as this, but shorter and wider. So if we manage this job we'll do the other. Now for skirmishers."

He swung round on the troop, and with a sign drew all the men toward him. Then selecting eight men, whom he had noticed to be more active than their fellows, he spoke quickly to them, so that they and their comrades could hear.

"Listen, friends," he said. "Behind us the villagers are coming up as fast as their legs can carry them. In front there is this obstruction. Do as I order, and you will see that we shall quickly clear the peasants out. You eight men will divide, and four will go to either side. We are hardly within musket shot yet, so that I shall approach closer. When I signal, hand your reins to your comrades, take your carbines, and make off on to the hill. Clamber up and along till you outflank those fellows opposite; then shoot them down. We will do the same from the front. Understand?"

"Oui, monsieur," came in a chorus.

"Then on we go."

Tom led them forward at a foot pace, till bullets began to strike the road at his feet, and the distance was so short between the combatants that he could see the enemy easily. He came to a sudden halt and waved his hand. Then, without waiting to watch the troopers told off for special duty, he called to the man driving the store cart to come forward.

"Dismount," he ordered abruptly. "Now turn the cart and horse round. Good! Back the cart steadily towards the enemy. My lads, half a dozen of you will ride after the cart, shooting from behind its shelter. Better still, let three dismount. There will still be enough men left to lead the horses, or you can hitch the reins to the second cart. Yes, that will be better. Let the whole six dismount; then, with the cart to shelter you, you will be able to do something with these people."

A couple of minutes before, a casual glance at the troopers forming the escort to the two carts would have shown doubt on many of the sun-burnt faces; for the difficulty which confronted the fugitives both before and behind was great. That in front seemed almost insuperable, and, seeing it, more than one of the men wondered whether, after all, this was to be the end of their adventure, if here the peasants would hem them in and slaughter them. But Tom's brisk orders and the novelty of his suggestions set them smiling.

"Peste! But this Englishman has brains," grunted one of them, swinging himself swiftly out of his saddle. "These Portuguese peasants are pudding-headed beside him. One moment ago and I thought that the end was near, that I and Strasbourg would see one another no more. Now the path is easier for us – you will see these demons run."

But that had yet to be proved. Massed behind the upturned cart, and already pouring shot at the troopers, the band of peasants hooted and shouted in triumph. They hardly seemed to notice the eight troopers who broke from the ranks of the little procession; for at that moment the store cart was swung round, and the process of slowly backing it towards the enemy began. That operation attracted their whole attention, and soon bullets were thudding against the barrel of wine, tearing a way into the midst of the hams loaded on the cart, or smashing the jars of preserves which the excellent padre's housekeeper had set aside for him. Some went to either side – for the peasants were not first-class shots – while others pelted underneath, passing between the legs of the horse, splashing against the road, and sending little spurts of dust into the eyes of the troopers. The latter made excellent use of the cover. Two were bent double beneath the cart, and already their carbines were cracking sharply. A third lay on the stores, his head shielded by a wooden box which was filled with sugar, while the remainder walked on either side of the horse, leaning outward and firing whenever an opportunity occurred.

Tom called the remaining troopers about him, and bade them make ready for a charge.

"Once our fellows get on the hill above and outflank them we'll gallop forward," he said. "Ride at the upturned cart. Swing when you get near, and pass in behind. Once we have those rascals moving we'll keep them on the run. So chase them right through to the valley, and there halt till we come up. Ah! Our boys are getting to work. There go their carbines."

The attack was not one that could be made hurriedly, for a horse cannot be backed at a fast pace, and then the ground to be covered by the men sent to outflank the enemy was steep and difficult. Indeed, had the peasants but posted a few of their own men on either hand they could have at once put a stop to such a movement. But it had never crossed their minds that Tom and his men would force this natural gateway. They imagined that they would come to a halt, and that presently, on the arrival of their comrades from the village, the troopers and their English friends would be cut down to a man. That, in fact, was what would have happened had they delayed. But the flanking party scrambled rapidly into position, while the store cart advanced steadily and persistently, the shots from the troopers sheltering behind it causing havoc amongst the Portuguese. Tom allowed five minutes to elapse, and then, waving a sabre overhead, led Andrews and Howeley and the two or three troopers still remaining against the barricade. Cramming his heels into the flanks of his horse, he sent him down the road at breakneck speed. Swinging past the cart where the troopers were sheltering, he dashed at the obstruction behind which the peasants stood, and, swinging again, burst in on the far side. Andrews and Howeley followed with great dash, while the French troopers were not a yard behind them. And then began a furious struggle. Men slashed desperately at them with scythes, others attempted to unhorse the riders, while a few dived in with the intention of killing the animals. But those swinging sabres beat them off. Already the bullets of the attackers had had some effect, particularly the galling shots of the flanking party. For a moment the issue hung in the balance. Then the men who had fired from behind the cart came up at a run, and instantly the peasants bolted, the three troopers and Howeley galloping after them and keeping them on the run. Perhaps two minutes later the blare of a trumpet was heard in front, and then the clatter of drums. While Tom stared at the retreating peasants, and at the forms of his own men, some twenty or thirty gaily uniformed lancers rode into view, blocking the far end of the pass. The long lances were lifted from their rests as Tom looked. The pennons fluttered, and then down came the points. A second later an officer rode to the front of these lancers.

"Ah!" gasped Andrews, gaping at them.

"Ma foi!" growled one of the Frenchmen at Tom's elbow.

"English – hooray, they're our boys!" came in high-pitched tones from the cart in which Jack and the naval officer were accommodated, and which had been driven up to the scene of the conflict. Upright on the mattress on which he should have been lying stood Jack, wobbling badly, shrieking his delight at the top of his voice. As for Mr. Riley, perspiration covered his forehead and streamed down his face. He held out a hand as they came nearer, signalled to Tom, and gripped his with a feeling there was no misunderstanding.

"Gallantly done, lad!" he cried. "You've pulled us out of the wood. The coming of the lancers has nothing to do with the matter, though it'll help to make things comfortable. Boys, three cheers for Mr. Clifford!"

They gave them with a heartiness there was no denying. French and English joined in the shouts till the rocky walls echoed back the cheers a hundred times. And then all became of a sudden quiet and sober. For those thirty lancers were followed by a hundred perhaps, bringing the fleeing peasants to a sudden halt and causing some of them to attempt the feat of clambering away on either hand. A minute later the ranks of the lancers opened, and through the open files came a number of horsemen. Tom found himself watching their approach with something akin to fear, for mounted on a magnificent horse which led the procession was a tall officer of high rank without doubt, who rode through the muttering and beaten peasants as if they did not exist. A stern, clean-shaven face was turned in Tom's direction, while the pair of deep-set eyes that flanked a wonderfully hooked nose peered out from beneath a cocked hat at the little band which our hero had led so successfully.

It was Wellington without a doubt, the general who had led our troops so brilliantly in the Peninsula, who had seen fighting in many a place, and had won in far-off India a reputation there was no denying. It was the great Lord Wellington, and with him his chief of the staff, aides-de-camp, and other officers, a glittering throng, gold-braided and medalled, all silently observing Tom and his little party. As for the latter, our hero was almost too astounded even to think, while his followers, conscious of the rank of those who looked at them, and indeed, of the presence of Wellington himself, fell in just behind our hero, shouldered their weapons, and drew themselves up as became good soldiers. Yes, British and French, at war with one another in the Peninsula, but friends in this particular part of it, drew themselves up proudly, as men who had no cause to feel ashamed. Slowly a smile swept across the face of the general.

"I see," he said, so that all could hear. "We have here a little adventure worth hearing. Who is in command of this party?"

Mr. Riley pushed his way to the front, having clambered from the cart with difficulty. Saluting the general, he pointed to Tom.

"That gentleman, sir, is in command," he said steadily.

"And these?" asked the general instantly, indicating the French troopers, with a smile.

"We were their prisoners till a few moments ago. We were taken at sea, landed in this neighbourhood, and taken off by a troop of cavalry. The peasants attacked us suddenly, the officers were shot down, and Mr. Clifford at once took command. I wish to report that he has behaved splendidly. He and the riflemen have been the life and soul of our party. But the troopers behaved most handsomely, and obeyed orders as if they were our men. It is a good story, sir."

"And one we will hear," came the instant answer. "Er, Lieutenant – "

"Riley, sir."

"Ah, Lieutenant, I'm pleased to meet you. We shall camp in this valley, and you will give me the pleasure of dining with me to-night and of bringing your comrades. Mr. Clifford, I think you said."

The naval officer beckoned our hero forward and introduced him formally. Then he took the general to Jack's side, making him known also. As for Andrews and Howeley, they were beaming in a moment, for Wellington did them the honour of shaking their hands, while smiles broke across the countenances of the French troopers when he halted before them.

"You have an interpreter?" he asked Mr. Riley.

"Mr. Clifford, sir."

"Then repeat what I say, if you please, Mr. Clifford. Tell them I am delighted to hear that they have fought side by side instead of against us, and that they shall be well treated and their conduct reported to their own commanders. Tell them that."

Tom promptly interpreted the words, causing the Frenchmen to flush with pride.

"And now for these wretched peasants," began Wellington, turning to the spot where some fifty of the latter cowered, wondering what was to be done with them. "I presume it is much the same tale as we have had before? Reprisals attempted because of the brutality of the French. Hundreds of these poor fools against a handful of armed men. A sudden attack and a narrow escape. Well, we'll sign to them to be off. There's no interpreter with us just now."

"Pardon, sir," burst in Mr. Riley. "Mr. Clifford speaks the language."

"What? Let me hear him."

Blunt and abrupt in speech, there was something kind nevertheless in the tones of the general, and at once Tom went to the Portuguese and told them they might depart. When he returned he found Wellington looking at him with strange intensity.

"You are a civilian, sir," he asked, "and speak French and Portuguese?"

"Badly, sir, I'm afraid," smiled our hero. "Also I can get along with Spanish."

"Ah! And make yourself as well understood as in the other two languages?"

"Better, perhaps, sir. My relatives are Spanish."

"And you are a civilian and wish to remain one?"

The eyes looking Tom up and down so closely gleamed. Did they twinkle ever so little? Did this general, whose name was famous throughout many countries, guess at the martial spirit that filled Tom's breast? If he did, no one could do more than guess the fact, for the features never altered. The eyes merely twinkled, and that ever so little.

"A pity," said the general. "You would have made a – "

Flesh and blood could not endure such temptation. Here was the opportunity of his life, and Tom took it with open hands.

"I'm meant for a stool in Oporto, sir," he said. "But I'd give a heap to earn a commission."

"Come to dinner to-night," was the answer he received, while Wellington swung his horse round and rode on through the ranks of the French troopers. But he did not forget our hero, for that very evening, after dinner was over, and the remains of the somewhat frugal meal in which he was wont to indulge had been removed, Wellington called for candles with which to illuminate the headquarters tent, and then bade Mr. Riley tell the story of the adventure. Then he swung round on Tom and eyed him again in a manner that made the young man's heart sink to the depths of his boots. What wonder that the lad who had so bravely led the troopers should tremble under the gaze of Wellington. For this famous general was no ordinary man. The clean-shaven, sharply-cut features showed a determination that was extraordinary and which of itself attracted attention. His short, jerky sentences, however kindly meant, had a way of alarming his juniors, while the severity of his features, his exalted rank, the tremendous responsibilities resting on the shoulders of this man, made him almost awe inspiring. Tom had nothing to be ashamed of. Officers of senior rank out there in the Peninsula, and elsewhere, both before and after this historic conflict, trembled under the gaze of the brilliant tactician. Then why not Tom? But a smile crossing the face of the general reassured him.

"So you were meant for a stool in Oporto and found yourself a prisoner," began the general, putting down the glass from which he had just taken a sip of wine, "and seem to have fallen naturally into the life of a soldier. Let me add, too, you have done wonderfully well. That I can gather even without the tale which Lieutenant Riley has given me. You have shown discretion and sharpness, sir. The army needs officers with discretion, and, I am proud to say, has them. She needs, too, officers who are linguists. More than all she wants officers able to speak one or more of the languages essential to this campaign, and who have in addition the capacity to command men. Mr. Clifford, my greatest difficulty in this campaign is that of obtaining reliable information. Will you help me?"

Help a general! Help Wellington, the great duke who had defeated the French now on so many occasions! The bare suggestion made Tom flush. But the gallant officer addressing him was serious enough.

"Come," he said. "I want an officer for special service. He shall be posted to my staff, and his special work will be to gather an escort of the natives of Portugal or of Spain about him. He will seek for information as to the movements of the enemy. He will make sudden raids where necessary, and if occasion suggests it he shall even enter the camps of the French and gather full tidings. It is a dangerous task. It may mean wounds or death. The danger of imprisonment is very great. Also, if the duties be carried out with discretion and boldness, it means honour and promotion. Mr. Clifford, I am happy to offer you a commission as an ensign, unattached at present, to date from the day when you were taken by the French. My next dispatch home shall make mention of your name and of my wishes. To-morrow evening general orders shall confirm this offer, while the following evening shall see you promoted to lieutenant for this recent action. Afterwards you will carry out the instructions which shall be handed to you. Will you accept?"

Would he accept! Would Tom take the very thing for which he had longed, and become one of the king's officers! He jumped at the offer. His delight robbed him of the power of speech, so that he could only mumble his thanks. He retired, in fact, from the presence of the famous general with his head and brain in a whirl.

"Hearty congratulations," cried Lieutenant Riley, smacking him on the back as soon as they reached their own quarters. "We'll tell Jack now. Pity the pain in his leg sent him away from the general's before this happened. Ha! we've news, Jack."

The ensign had retired early from the dinner, the excitement and movement of the last two days having set up inflammation in his wound, though in the case of the naval officer it seemed to have actually done his injury good. Jack lay on a camp bed provided by the surgeon, blinking in the light of a candle.

"Eh?" he asked, glancing sleepily at them.

"Look out for squalls, my boy."

"Why? Don't understand, sir."

"You soon will," laughed Mr. Riley. "Tom's an awful martinet, and he's your senior."

It was all true enough, though our hero found difficulty in understanding the matter. For the very next evening found an announcement in General Orders. There was a short, flattering reference to Lieutenant Riley and Jack. And then the following words: "The commander-in-chief has pleasure in recommending that Mr. Clifford be granted a commission in His Majesty's forces, for his action when in temporary command of the French troopers attacked by Portuguese peasants. Ensign Clifford is posted to the headquarters staff."

The following evening found a second announcement. "Ensign Clifford, headquarters staff, is recommended for promotion for gallantry in a recent action."

"My uncle!" exclaimed Jack, when he read the orders, "you'll be a full-blown general, Tom, before I'm a captain. Don't forget me, that's all. I'd look awfully fine in the uniform of a staff officer."

"A general? Why not?" Tom asked himself as he rolled himself in a blanket. "I'm young, young for the rank of lieutenant. I'm in the midst of a glorious campaign. And owing to the fact that I can speak Portuguese, French, and Spanish I'm to be engaged on special service. Why not a general one of these days?"

He forgot to look on the other side. Forgot, with the usual impetuosity and carelessness of youth, to reckon the risks to be run in achieving such honours. But then Tom did not realize what was before him. To begin with, he reckoned without José de Esteros, his most unloving cousin, whom he imagined still in England.