CHAPTER III
Aboard a British Frigate
"Below there! You can come along up on deck, me hearties!"
An age seemed to have passed since Tom and his six companions were driven from the deck of the big ship to which they had been brought by the pressgang, and though the former had slept for many hours—for he had been exhausted after such a trying experience—yet the few hours he had been awake had dragged on leaden wheels. Meanwhile the rattle of blocks and ropes overhead had been replaced by the gentle surge of water alongside, and by a thousand strange groanings and squeakings common to all sailing vessels. Indeed, placed where he was, with his head close to the foot of one of the masts, that penetrated the deck of the ship and passed through the dark prison in which he and his comrades were confined, Tom could by the vibrations and the groanings of the latter tell exactly when the wind freshened and the sails dragged more strongly. But now, when he had begun to imagine that he would never again see the light of day, there was a banging overhead, then a square of light appeared, with faces framed in it, while a hoarse voice bellowed a command. Tom rose briskly to his feet, and, seeing the ladder, ran up it.
"Here!" he reported, standing erect and cheerful. For Tom was, in his youthful way, quite a philosopher. "What can't be cured must be endured," was one of his maxims. "I'm impressed, by some error I suppose, and soon will be able to get the matter set right; but for the moment it's just as well to appear pleasant. Here, sir!" he reported to a short, stumpy individual with a decided flavour of the sea about him, and with a nautical appearance that would have passed him as a sailor in any port in the world.
"And ready fer duty too, eh, me hearty?" asked this bluff fellow, eyeing him critically, and taking Tom's measure very thoroughly. Looking back at him our hero could not help but see that this sailor had a grim expression. His face appeared to say: "Well, now, you can work if you like. If you don't you'll be hammered." There was a threat in his eyes, and a jaunty manner about him which told that he was prepared for the most refractory conduct.
"Ready fer duty, eh?" he repeated gruffly.
"Yes, sir," responded Tom promptly.
"Then jest you don't sir me, young feller-me-lad, else I'll think you're saucing. But I like yer looks—get up on deck with you. Mr. Riley, above there," he hailed, throwing his head back and staring up through an open hatch, "here's a lubber as is willing and ready fer duty!"
Tom caught a glimpse of an individual dressed in white breeches and stockings, and a blue tail coat with some gilt braid about it, and, realizing that this must be an officer, promptly mounted the steps. In a moment or two he was on deck, standing beneath an expanse of white canvas, and upon boards which were as white as any tablecloth. Bluejackets were moving barefoot about the deck, while right aft an officer stood at the rail of the poop, a speaking-trumpet in one hand, his eye fixed on a dozen active figures scrambling amongst the rigging. Tom gave a gasp of pleasure as the sun's rays fell upon him, braced himself erect, and then looked the officer in the face. He was a young man of twenty-six, perhaps, with clean-shaven, keen features, his skin tanned brown by exposure, and the corners of his eyes wrinkled and puckered as is the case with many sailors. For the rest, Mr. Riley was decidedly a pleasant, jovial-looking officer, and won Tom's confidence at once.
"Well, my lad?" he asked pleasantly.
"Ready for duty, sir," reported Tom again, having nothing better to say. "And hungry, sir," he added, feeling a decided sinking sensation.
That brought a smile to the lips of the officer. He looked our hero up and down, just as the man down below had done, and then smiled again.
"What trade before you joined?" he asked, referring to a notebook, and producing a pencil with which to take notes.
"None, sir; I am the son of Mr. Septimus John Clifford, of London Bridge, wine merchant. My impressment must be a mistake."
"All impressments are mistakes," came the curt answer. "You are ready to serve His Majesty?"
"Yes, sir," answered Tom. "Ready for the moment. Later on, when I am able to prove that a mistake has been made, no doubt I shall be released. I'm ready for any duty, only I'd like a feed first."
"No trade; says he is the son of a wine merchant at London Bridge. Obviously a gentleman," Mr. Riley entered in his notebook. "A likely fellow, and cheerful. Will start duty at once, and willingly. Pass the call there for the master messman."
He stood before Tom, his neat figure swaying as the ship lurched here and there, his eyes now fixed on the swelling canvas, now on the officer at the rail, and often, when Tom's attention was attracted elsewhere, at that young fellow himself.
"Undoubtedly a gentleman," he told himself. "Of course in the case of nearly every man who is impressed there is a complaint that the thing is a mistake, that he ought never to have been impressed. In any case the whole thing is disgraceful. Better pay and better conditions would attract the right stamp of man to the navy. But we're here to carry out regulations, not to frame them. I'll keep my eye on the lad. Name again?" he asked, making Tom jump.
"Tom Clifford."
"That the full name?" asked the officer, beginning to make another note.
"Septimus John Esteros Thomas Clifford," responded our hero, with a grimace. "Rather a lot of 'em, sir, I'm afraid."
"Enough even for an admiral," laughed the officer. "Ah, here's the messman! Waters, just take this young fellow with you and see that he gets a good meal. Report here to me, Clifford, when you have eaten."
He swung round to stare down into the depths of the ship, for sounds were coming from the prison in which Tom and his companions had been confined. There was the noise of a scuffle, while a glance below showed the burly, stumpy salt who had hailed the impressed men swarming down into the depths. Some of the men were, in fact, loath to come up. Unlike Tom, they were disposed to be sulky, and, lest trouble should follow, three sailors were swarming down after the old salt, one bearing a lantern.
"Below there!" called out Mr. Riley, anxious to avoid a struggle. "You men must understand that you have been impressed into His Majesty's Navy, and any disobedience of orders now, or violence, will be treated as mutiny. Send them up, me lad!"
The lamp shining upon the face of the old salt who had led the way below, and the fierce expression he wore quelled any thought of mutiny there may have been, and within five minutes the other six men brought aboard with Tom were ranged on the deck, pale and dishevelled for the most part, sulky and anything but cheerful in appearance. Mr. Riley gave them the same searching examination that he had bestowed on Tom, and then entered their names and notes concerning each one in his book.
"Take them down to the messman and see that they have a good meal," he commanded, when he had finished. "They'll feel better when they've had it; and, mind this, my lads, a sulky face'll do nothing for you aboard this frigate. It'll bring kicks and cuffs and short rations; so look at the matter from the right point of view and take to the life cheerfully."
He dispatched them with a pleasant smile, for this Mr. Riley was a kind individual, and one well accustomed to dealing with men. He had the wisdom to see that hunger may produce easily enough a fit of sulkiness, and seeing that all the impressed men must be in want of a meal, and were undoubtedly sulky, he sent them off for that meal, hoping that with appetites satiated they would take to their duties with the same readiness as our hero had shown. Nor was he disappointed. When, half an hour later, the six men ascended to the deck again, they looked far happier, and from that moment fell into the ways of the ship with a cheerfulness that was commendable. As for Tom, he was up before them, and scrambling over the deck as best he could—for the breeze had freshened, and the big frigate was jumping about in a lively manner—he drew himself up before the officer.
"Ready, sir!" he said, repeating the old expression.
"Feel seasick?" came the interrogation.
"Not a bit, sir. I've been to sea a few times with my father. We used to hire a sloop and cruise along the coast in summertime."
"Then you're used to getting aloft?"
"A little, sir, but only aboard a sloop. These masts are terrific."
He cast his eyes aloft, and the officer likewise. There could be no doubt that the masts did tower to a great height. But then this was a large frigate, with seventy grinning guns behind her closed ports. Tom knew that already, for the messman who had conducted him below, and who was decidedly a pleasant, kindly individual, had given him much information. The meal, too, had been partaken of on the lower deck, where the space between it and that above was so cramped that even Tom could not stand upright, while all along the sides, firmly cabled to ring-bolts in the deck, were grinning cannon, sponge rods and all the paraphernalia necessary for loading being hung on racks close to them, and secured there firmly.
"You'd go aloft without feeling squeamish then?" asked Mr. Riley, feeling a strange interest in our hero.
"I'd go, sir," came the ready answer. "Whether I'd exactly like it at first is an altogether different matter."
"Then you'll soon have the opportunity of making the test. You'll be in my watch, Clifford. Now come along up on the poop. Don't forget to touch your cap as you come up; ah, wait though! We'll put you into proper sailor rig first; I'll send you down to be fitted."
It was perhaps half an hour later when a smart-looking young sailor obeyed the call of the boatswain and came aft to the poop. Dressed in his new clothing, his hair brushed and his face and hands washed, Tom looked a really smart young fellow, and Mr. Riley smiled his approval when he saw him.
"Pass him up, boatswain," he called, and at the order the burly individual shouted at our hero.
"Mind yer touch yer cap as you get above," he warned him, "just as Mr. Riley had done." And, obedient to the order, Tom raised his hand the moment his foot touched the poop or quarterdeck of the frigate.
"Come with me, Clifford," said Mr. Riley, leading the way. "I'm taking you to the commander. Fair-play is a thing a sailor prizes, and, as you complain that there has been some mistake about your impressment, I reported the same to the commander. He will question you himself."
They passed across a snow-white deck and entered a gallery, outside which an armed sentry was stationed. The officer tapped at a door, and passed in, followed by our hero. Tom found himself in a large cabin, at the back of which two guns were situated, roped and secured to deck rings as were those others he had seen in the 'tween decks. An officer, dressed just like Mr. Riley, but evidently older, sat at a table, with charts spread out before him. He looked up as the two entered, and then went on writing.
"One of the new men, sir; impressed two nights ago; reports that he was taken in error. You have the notes of his case before you."
Once more Tom found himself being inspected with that open gaze which is the right of all officers. He returned the glance of his commander respectfully and firmly.
"Age?" asked the officer jerkily.
"Nearly eighteen, sir.
"Tell me all about yourself, lad," came from the commander, and with such kindness that Tom promptly responded. He gave the history of the family in a few words, and stated how he was about to sail for Oporto, there to learn the business of the firm and take charge when proficient.
"Ah! Anyone with a grudge against you?" was asked quickly.
Tom wondered and racked his brains. He could think of no one, unless it could be the grocer's young man, who was wont to pass along the river bank every morning. Exactly two months before he had had an altercation with that young fellow, who stood a trifle higher than he did, and was at least a year older. He had shown rudeness when passing Marguerite, and Tom had resented the rudeness. The fight that followed had been of the fiercest, and the grocer's apprentice had been handsomely beaten.
"No one, sir," he answered, "unless it could be the fellow I had a row with some weeks ago," and then explained the occurrence.
"Pooh! Impossible," declared the commander. "Lads who get fighting don't bear ill will. The letting of a little blood cures a young chap of that entirely. You shook hands?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Then look elsewhere; someone perhaps was jealous of you, thought you were a nuisance. Who were the other members of the firm and the family?"
Tom told him, wondering all the while whether there were one amongst them capable of getting him impressed so as to remove him. "José?" he asked himself. "Impossible! He'd never be guilty of such ingratitude to father, though I suppose, if I were out of the way, he would succeed to the business one of these fine days."
Little by little the commander ferreted such thoughts out of our hero, and ended by placing his finger on the name of José.
"Your cousin, you said," he exclaimed. "You were always good friends?"
Tom had to reply in the negative, and give the reasons.
"And he was next in succession to yourself, I think?"
"Yes, sir. But—but it's impossible! My father rescued him and his sister from poverty."
"Nothing is impossible, my lad. This matter must be looked into. There seems no doubt that you have been impressed in the hope of removing you altogether. Or the matter may have been a mistake, helped by the fact that you were in those parts at a time when you should have been safely at home. For the moment you are in the service of His Majesty, and although I could order that you be given no duty, I've an idea that that would hardly meet with your wishes?"
"I'd rather work, sir," responded Tom eagerly. "I like ship life, and the experience may be useful. If only you will give me the opportunity of writing home, I will willingly act as one of the hands aboard, and work in that way till I am released."
"That's the spirit, my lad," exclaimed the commander. "He's in your watch, Mr. Riley, and I know you'll look after him. As to writing, you can do that; Mr. Riley shall see to it. I also will write to your father and to the authorities. We shall fall in with a boat homeward bound shortly, and in a week perhaps your people will know what has become of you. There, my lad, I like your spirit."
The commander shook hands with our hero, an uncommon honour, and then sent him off with Mr. Riley. And that very night Tom sat down in the latter's cabin to write his letter, telling his father exactly what had happened.
Next morning, early daylight, the first streak of dawn in fact, found him on deck, his feet naked, a deck brush in his hand. He joined the gang of men engaged in washing down, and, if the truth be known, thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Meanwhile the fine frigate was pressing along under easy sail, a fresh wind abeam, ploughing her way through a sunlit sea that might have belonged to the Mediterranean.
"We're jest cruising on and off watching for a Frenchie, me lad," explained one of his messmates, a jovial old salt who had seen many an action at sea. "There's never no saying when a Frenchie may turn up, and then we're bound to be at 'em. But they ain't so frequent nowadays as they was. Yer see, Spain and Portugal being joined to France, the French has simply to slip over the mountains, and that's how they're sendin' men in to fill the ranks of their armies. Queer thing, ain't it, that Boney should want them countries for his own? He's always a-grabbin'. The earth won't find lands enough for him by the way he's going on. But he'll get beaten handsome some day. I ain't so sure as we won't do it for him. Know all about this here campaign in the Peninsula, as Spain and Portugal's called?"
Tom modestly admitted that he knew something about the fighting. "It's a long business," he said. "Boney put his own brother on the throne of Spain, and of course the Spaniards wouldn't have him. At the same time he had taken Portugal for himself. He's been the terror of Europe these many years, and as he aims at subjugating England also, why, we gladly agreed to go in and help the Portuguese and Spaniards. As for the fighting, there's been such a heap of it that it is quite bewildering."
"Aye, and it's easy to see as you're a gent as has been used to better things than the lower deck," said the salt. "What're you here for? Grabbin' something that wasn't yourn?"
He put out a hand to touch Tom's sleeve the instant after, for he saw him flush with indignation. "I'm sorry, lad," he said. "It's plain as it wasn't that."
However, the lower deck in those days was not peopled entirely by kindly disposed individuals. Bluff and hearty and plucky men there were in abundance, if their language was not always refined or their habits too particular. But then, as now perhaps, the coming of a young fellow of Tom's stamp amidst a rather rough crowd was apt to draw attention to him, attention not always of the most pleasing. And it so happened that there was one in the mess to which Tom had been posted who seemed to resent his coming. Higgins was a bull-necked, squint-eyed young fellow of some twenty years, and had been sent from a prison to the navy, as had many another. He was possessed of a thin, mean face, over which dangled one long forelock. For the rest, it may be stated that he was accustomed as a general rule to say very little, having discovered himself unpopular amongst the men; though, to be sure, whenever there did happen to arrive aboard the ship a youngster smaller than himself, Higgins was the first to attempt to bully him. For some reason he had taken a violent dislike to Tom. Possibly he was jealous of the attention he had gained, or of the way in which he came to good terms with the men. Whatever the cause, he was determined to browbeat him, and took this, the first opportunity.
"I dunno as you ain't right, Jim," he sang out coarsely, the instant the other had spoken. "Why shouldn't he be here for grabbin'? There's lots comes to the navy on that account, and why shouldn't he? I'll lay he has, too."
"Then you're mistaken," said Tom firmly. "I was impressed; every fool knows that."
"Oh, every fool knows it, do they?" was the sharp answer. "You ain't calling me a fool?"
"Jest you put a stopper on yer tongue and belay," sang out the salt, seeing all the elements of a quarrel in this discussion, and noticing Tom's flushed cheeks, and the rising anger of Higgins. "'Sides, I ain't Jim to you, me lad, and don't you ferget it. I'll take a rope's end to you afore you're a minute older if you ain't careful."
But Higgins had allowed his temper to rise to the point where it was uncontrollable. He had expected Tom to accept his remarks meekly, as became a new hand, and, finding he had not done so, was determined to pick a quarrel with him. There are always such cantankerous individuals in the world, and it was Tom's fortune to hit up against this one. He, too, was roused, for he resented the man's impertinence.
"I'll back as he's a jail bird," declared Higgins, thinking that by making a firm stand in this altercation he would stimulate his own popularity amongst the men. "He's a gent that's took the money out of the till and then been collared. The easiest way to cover the thing was to hand him over to a crimp. That's how he's here—I know him."
He had probably never set eyes on our hero before, and had he done so would not have dared to address him in such a manner. But Tom was one of the deck hands, one of themselves, and, moreover, a newly-joined recruit, too often destined for a time to be the butt of his fellows. Higgins counted on his giving way at once. Most recruits are awe-stricken at first by the strangeness of their surroundings, and perhaps by the roughness of their companions. Besides, bullying airs and ways, backed most probably by other individuals, are apt to cause a young fellow to choose the easier path and swallow his displeasure. However, Tom was one of the obstinate sort. Fighting was nothing new to him, and to show his readiness for a contest, and the fact that he was by no means afraid of an encounter, he promptly began hostilities by pitching the contents of a jug of water over Higgins.
"I'll ask you to understand that when I say a thing I mean it, and that I tell a lie for no one," he said, rising from his seat and undoing the neckerchief which he, like the others, wore about him. "I don't know what the rules are aboard a king's ship; but this I do know, I allow no man to suggest that I am a thief or a liar. Take back what you've said or I'll trounce you."
There was a commotion in the 'tween decks by now. Men crowded about the long narrow tables stretching from the side of the ship towards the centre, and which was one of many. Like the rest, too, it was constructed to lift up to the deck above and be attached there, leaving the decks free for movement. Jim had meanwhile risen to his feet, and now held his hand high for silence.
"Mates," he said, "there's trouble brewin' here. This new mate of ours is a good 'un, and I'll not allow him to be stamped on. Higgins here has just now called him a thief and a liar, and the young spark has drenched him with water. If Higgins don't come down handsome with a 'pology there's only one thing left."
"A set to, and right it'll be," burst in another of the men, one of the seniors. "Fightin' don't do no great harm, and it's necessary when one mate calls another names that tastes nasty. You, Higgins, admit you called him a liar and a thief?"
"Of course," came the coarse answer. "I'm goin' ter thrash him."
"You are, are you?" came the grim reply from the old salt, while he sized up the two young fellows swiftly, craning his head to one side as if he were a bird. "I dunno so much; the new mate looks as if he could use his hands lively. You ain't goin' to 'pologize?"
"Not likely! I'll hammer him till he'll be glad to admit that what I've said's as true as gospel."
If he imagined that Tom would keep him waiting he was much mistaken, for that young fellow had already rolled his sleeves to the elbow. Indeed, as we have intimated, he was no novice. Not that he was by nature quarrelsome; but those were rough days, and like many another boy Tom had need now and again to defend his honour. He stood away from the table, waiting while it and two or three next to it were swung out of the way. Then, bending low so that his head would not hit the deck above, he stepped to the centre of the circle which the men immediately formed.
"Any sort of rules?" he asked coolly. "Anyone keepin' time?"
"Go as you please, mate," came Jim's answer. "A sailor don't ax fer breathing time if he comes up alongside a Frenchie, and you don't have no call for it either. It's the same fer both, and as fair and square as may be. But it'll have to be straight work. We stops the fight if there's foul hitting."
A fight in the 'tween decks was no unusual occurrence in those days, and was a source of some interest to the men of the navy. Hard fellows without an exception, they had been brought up in a stern school which taught that a man must look to himself alone for protection. But they could recognize spirit, and Tom took their fancy wonderfully.
"He's game, he is," declared one of the men, as he doubled his arms and pressed forward to watch the contest. "And he ain't no weakling. You can see as he's not used to haulin' and suchlike, and ain't been a tar over long. But I like his figure-head. It's clean and well-cut, and he's a beam on him that carries weight, and'll lend strength to a blow when he gets one home. He ain't no new 'un at the game, I'll stake my Davy. That boy has been grappled on to a job like this many a time."
The ten minutes which followed proved that Tom was something also of a scientist; for he played with his antagonist. It was clear, in fact, after five minutes that he would be the victor, though at first he had some ugly rushes to stop and some hard hitting to protect himself from. But science and generally good condition told, and while at the end of some ten minutes, during which the two broke away now and again to pant and glare at one another, only to begin once more at the shouts of the crew, Higgins was almost in a condition of exhaustion, Tom was still comparatively fresh. He stopped a furious and last attempt on the part of Higgins to rush him up against the side of the ship, and then, darting forward, struck the man full in the mouth, sending him sprawling.
Higgins lay for a minute without movement, and then his hand went back towards the knife which, sailor-like, he carried attached to his belt and well behind him.
"Drop that!" shouted Jim. "Now, Higgins, you as was a-goin' ter whack this young shaver, say as you 'pologize for callin' him names."
For a second there was defiance on what was still recognizable as that young man's face. Then he nodded his head in assent. Tom at once went towards him, his hand outstretched.
"Shake hands, and let's be friends," he said. "I dare say you didn't understand how I'd take what you said. But where I come from a man fights and fights again when another calls him thief or liar. There, shake hands and let's be friends in the future."
There was a cheer at that, while the men gathered round our hero, patting him on the back with such heartiness that his remaining breath was almost driven from his body. Some of the more enthusiastic even began to chair him, and had carried him as far as the deck ladder, when the sudden shrill piping of whistles and the appearance of an officer put a stop to the movement. It was Mr. Riley, a long glass beneath one arm, his other hand on the rail of the ladder.
"My lads," he began, about to give an order, and then, suddenly catching sight of Tom, ceased abruptly. Casting his eye over the heads of the men, he soon picked out the somewhat miserable figure of Higgins.
"Ah," he said, "a fight! My lads, strictly against orders. But I've news for you—we've rounded up a Frenchman. Clear these decks."
He was gone in a twinkling, his coat tails swinging behind him. But as he turned he contrived to smile at our hero.
"Licked that young man Higgins. That's good," he was saying as he raced up the ladder. "Young Clifford has courage. Wonder how he'll behave when shot and cannon balls come crashing amongst us; he's just the boy for this service."
When Tom had washed his face and had clambered to the deck he saw a large vessel some four miles away, bearing up towards the frigate, while a smaller one sailed behind her.
"Ship o' the line, mate," said Jim, who was leader of the squad of men of whom our hero was one, who had the working of one gun. "It'll be tough business, and ef she wasn't so big I doubt as she'd sail up so cocky towards us. But we'll give her what for; we're fair death on Frenchies."
A magnificent sight the Frenchman made as the distance between the two vessels decreased. Tom peeped at her through the wide-open port and admired the enormous spread of white above her, the seething foam at her forefoot, and the gleam of her broad decks that came into view now and again as the ship heaved to the swell of the ocean. Then a spout of white smoke burst from her fo'castle; a flash severed it in twain and was followed after a distinct interval by a dull reverberating report. The shot reached its mark almost at the same moment. There was a crash within ten feet of Tom. The side of the vessel at that point burst inward in a hundred splinters, and the iron messenger struck the very next gun to his, slithered and crashed across the 'tween decks, and finally brought up short against the opposite side. It roused a cheer of excitement from the crew.
"That's shootin'!" cried Jim. "She's the sort for our money. In a jiffy we'll be layin' into her. Just take a sight along the gun, Tom, and larn now how to pitch a ball into a Frenchie."
CHAPTER IV
A Naval Encounter
In the ordinary way the immediate prospect of an encounter at sea might be expected to rouse qualms in the breast of a novice, and we cannot affirm that Tom would have been any exception to the rule on this his first meeting aboard an English frigate with a French man-of-war. But there was so much else to attract his attention. Even in those days the wooden walls of our stout ships contained sufficient to interest even a dullard, and to a lad of active brain, as was our hero, there were things to watch and marvel at, while the men themselves grouped in the 'tween decks were quite a study. They stood about their guns stripped to the waist, joking and merry, the master of each gun with his eye on the sights. Close at hand a lad sat on a long narrow tub filled to the brim with powder.
"Powder monkeys we call 'em," said Jim in a hoarse whisper. "The young villains! They're always up to some sort o' mischief, and when it comes to fighting, blest if they wouldn't take on the whole of Boney's fleet alone. They ain't the lads to squeak. If we fetch up alongside the Frenchman, and there's a call for boarding parties, them imps is amongst the first to answer."
"Stand ready!" the order came at this moment, and turning his head Tom caught a glimpse of Mr. Riley, still with a long glass beneath his arm, his sword belted to his side, and his shapely form bent so as to allow him to peer through one of the ports. "Stand ready, men," he shouted. "Gun layers train your sights on the enemy and aim low. Between wind and water is the mark, lads!"
The crew of the guns answered him with a cheer, and for a while gun layers stretched over the weapons they commanded, sighting for the enemy. Tom watched as Jim squinted along the sights, and then peered out at the French ship of the line. She was bowling along before a fresh breeze, heeling well over, so that half her deck showed. He could see a mass of men on it, and others running to and fro, while quite a number were clambering into the rigging.
"Shows she means to come right up close," said Jim in his gruff way. "That'll suit us nicely. Hammer and tongs is the best sort of fighting for us boys, and we don't get it too often. She's going to run right in and when there's a broadside it'll be a close one, and thunder won't be in it."
"Stand by to fire!" was heard through the 'tween decks, while an instant later there came a roar from the deck above, a trembling and shaking of the whole vessel which all could feel, and then the rumble of wheels as the guns were run in, sponged out and reloaded. By now the enemy had disappeared from sight behind a huge cloud of smoke, which, however, was whisked away swiftly by the breeze. It was a minute later, perhaps, when the French battleship was again visible, that Mr. Riley gave the order to fire, and Tom was witness of the result for the first time in his life. Jim touched the vent of the gun with his portfire, and instantly a squirt of flame and smoke shot upward. There was a huge commotion in the gun itself. Though braced into position by numerous cables it started backward, drawing them as tight as iron bars, while the wheels thudded heavily on their runners. The commotion was accompanied by that of every other gun on that deck in the broadside, while the ship herself shook from end to end. The roar of the discharge was indescribable, and deafened him, while the 'tween decks was instantly filled with volumes of sulphurous smoke.
"Slack off! Haul her back, boys!" came in stentorian notes from Jim. "Run her in quick. Now with the sponge rods, and we'll have a second charge into her before the smoke's cleared."
Five minutes later Mr. Riley's voice was heard. "Stand by for another broadside," he bellowed. "Double shot your guns next time—ah!"
The frigate quivered from end to end; she seemed to have been struck by a cyclone. An iron hail beat on her sides, bursting them in in many directions, while splinters of iron and wood flew across the 'tween decks, striking men down in many directions. In one brief second the orderliness of the place was transformed to the most utter disorder, as the enemy had answered the frigate's broadside with one of her own. Tom looked about him wonderingly, dazed by the commotion and astounded at what he saw. For by now the wind blowing in at the open ports had cleared all the smoke away, and he could see all that was happening in the 'tween decks. There lay the gun on his right a wreck, turned on its side, its muzzle crushed out of sight, two of its wheels broken and half-buried in the deck. What had before been a square porthole was now an irregular, torn opening, through which a vast expanse of sea could be watched. But it was the poor wretches who had manned the gun who claimed his greatest attention. Five of them lay mangled upon the deck, with pools of blood accumulating about them and draining off towards the scuppers in trickles and streams. On the port side, opposite where the gun had stood, three men had been struck by the missile, and lay silent and motionless. Elsewhere there were rents in the side of the frigate, and men lay about in all postures, some moaning, others silent, nursing a wounded arm or leg. This was war; this was the treatment meted out by one nation to another.
But of loss of discipline there was none. If the 'tween decks was in disorder there was order amongst the men, and no flinching. Already the surgeon's mates and helpers were carrying the wounded away towards the ladder leading to the cockpit, while at every gun stood its crew, immovable and ready, waiting the word of the officer. As for the enemy, the shapely lines of the French man-of-war had changed wonderfully, for she was so near now that one could see distinctly. The white deck, still careened towards the frigate, was seamed and scarred and torn. One mast lay over her rail, the sails towing in the water, and her sides were marked by shot holes, two of her ports having been converted into one by an enormous rent that extended between them.
A dull cheer resounded through the frigate; the men in the 'tween decks took it up lustily, and then came again that commotion above. The vessel shivered, shot and flame and smoke belched from the ports on the upper deck, the roar being followed once again by the rumble of gun wheels on their metal runners.
"Fire!" Mr. Riley stood halfway up the ladder leading to the upper deck and waved his cocked hat at the crews under his own command. Crash! went the broadside. Tom watched the powder at the vent squirt upward in flame and smoke as on a previous occasion, and then sprang to the cables as Jim's husky voice called to his own crew to draw the gun in and reload.
"Double shot; don't forget," bellowed Mr. Riley, and obedient to the order the loaders thrust first one and then a second huge iron ball into the gaping muzzles. In the middle of the operation there came a resounding discharge from the enemy, while huge columns of smoke hid her sides. But the shot failed to strike the frigate, for a few seconds earlier the commander had put his helm up and had sheered off towards the Frenchman. It was a clever manœuvre, and made a wonderful difference to the fight in progress. For the enemy had received four successive broadsides now, and had returned only one effective one, and that not so effective as it might have been had the ships been nearer. Added to that, it was less than five minutes later when the gunners on the port side got their sights aligned on the enemy, and a simultaneous broadside was delivered by the guns of the upper and 'tween decks. Then the commander swung his helm again and made across the stern of the Frenchman.
"Stand ready," sang out Mr. Riley again, his eyes glued upon the man-of-war. "Layers concentrate on the stern. In one minute, men; in one minute we shall be there. Now! Fire!"
Running round in a circle after crossing in the wake of the Frenchman, the frigate had gone about after emptying her complete port broadside, and had then swept round in rear of the enemy. It was a manœuvre which, if not quickly carried out, might have ended in disaster. But nothing occurred to disturb it, while the Frenchman, impeded by his broken mast and the sail dragging in the water—and slowed considerably thereby—was unable to counter the movement by swinging also. It followed, therefore, that the frigate had an enormous advantage, and, making the most of this, crossed and recrossed the rear of the enemy, emptying first the starboard broadside and then every gun on the port side. As for the French battleship, her guns were useless. Not one of her broadsides could be brought to bear, and though she sheered off to the south a little, the commander was at once able to alter his own position correspondingly.
"It's a victory," said Jim, with elation. "The man that laid the gun that brought down that mast deserves to be made an admiral this minute. It's saved lives aboard this ship, boys. It's won the battle."
"Shall we board her now?" asked Tom, who was densely ignorant of naval matters.
"Board her! Not us!" cried Jim. "Where's the use? She carries two or three men to every man jack of us, and would have all the chances if we boarded, not that I say as we wouldn't do the business. But we've the best of it like this. She's cut that mast adrift, but it'll be hours before she can refit, and meanwhile we've the legs of her. We've only to keep here, astern, plugging shot into her all the while, and she's bound to give in before long. Of course she can't do that yet awhile. That wouldn't be fighting, and I'm bound to say that the Frenchies are good at the game, almost as good as we are. She'll hold on and endeavour to best us; but she'll have to haul down her colours before very long. Ah! What'd I say? Look at 'em!"
The flag of France flying aloft on the enemy was seen to flutter. It dropped a foot or two and then came down with a run. Instantly a hoarse bellow resounded through the frigate. Men gripped hands and cheered, the shouts coming from every deck. Even the wounded, who had not all been removed, sat up with an effort and cheered as best they could.
"Silence, men," came from Mr. Riley at this moment, and turning they saw him standing halfway up the ladder, bent so that the men could see his face. "Stand to your guns all the while; don't draw charges till you get the order. Jim there, from No. 4 gun, send me four of your men to join the boarding party."
Tom noticed that the officer had been wounded, for he carried one arm in a sling, and there were stains of blood on his breeches. He was wondering how he had come by the wound, when Jim struck him heavily on the back.
"Avast dreamin' there, me hearty," he shouted hoarsely, still elated at what had happened. "Get off to the officer and go aboard the ship. You'll see something to interest you."
Tom wanted no more coaxing; he dropped the cable on which he had been hauling and went at a run towards the ladder, followed by the other men. They kept close on the heels of Mr. Riley, and in a twinkling were on the main deck. There the commander was now stationed, and about him a group of officers and men.
"Ah, there you are, Mr. Riley!" he exclaimed. "We'll go aboard in the cutter, taking three men from each deck. Step in, my lads."
Tom scrambled into the boat with the crew, and watched as it was lowered away. He was filled with amazement, first that a boat of such proportions as the cutter could support so many men when hung to her davits, and then that she could be safely lowered with such a load to the water. Meanwhile he noticed the high sides of the frigate, the officer up on the quarterdeck, and the men of the watch away aloft in the rigging. The frigate lay inert, her sails flapping, while, almost a quarter of a mile away now, the French ship lay in the water, slowly heaving up and down, with a peculiar and significant twist in one of her masts.
"Struck by our broadsides as we passed and repassed," Mr. Riley told him as they were lowered away, for the officer happened to be close to our hero. "She had bad luck. It's rare that one brings down a mast at the first discharge, and that of course proved her undoing; the loss of the second makes her useless for fighting purposes. This has been a gallant action and will give us no end of credit. Ah, there goes a recall gun!"
A spout of flame and smoke belched from the frigate a little above the heads of the men in the cutter, for the latter had now reached the water, and turning his head Tom watched the ball discharged strike the sea some two hundred yards ahead of the small sloop that had been sailing in company of the battleship, and which had now changed her course.
"She'll not disobey the order," reflected Mr. Riley. "Once we are aboard the enemy the frigate could sink that vessel within ten minutes. There go her sails aback; she'll swing round and come in like a docile dog. Now, lad, clamber aboard when we reach the ship; you come as one of my escort."
"You're wounded, sir," said Tom. "Let me fasten that sling for you again; it's too long, and doesn't support the arm."
He undid the knot with the help of fingers and teeth and then rearranged the sling. By the time he had finished they were under the counter of the French battleship, to which a man at the stern and bows of the cutter clung with a boathook. At once a midshipman sprang at a dangling rope ladder and went swarming up with the agility of a monkey, two of the crew following. Tom picked up a coil of rope and without a question made a noose fast round the waist of the officer who had already befriended him.
"I'll get aboard and help to haul you up, sir," he said. "You'd never manage to clamber up that ladder with one arm wounded."
He waited for no orders, but, springing at the ladder, went scrambling up, the end of the rope secured between his teeth. A minute later Mr. Riley was being hoisted to the deck of the French battleship. Then the commander followed, and after him more of the crew, with two officers.
Tom found himself looking down upon a scene which was almost indescribable; for the ship had been cruelly mauled by the broadsides of the frigate. There were a dozen holes in her deck, where shot had penetrated, while in many places the rails were driven in. A dismounted gun lay in one of the scuppers, with part of her crew crushed beneath it; and from end to end of the ship there were signs of the awful havoc the iron tempest had created. Men lay in all directions and in all postures. The damaged mast swung by the starboard halyards and threatened to fall inboard at any moment, while a huge stretch of crumpled and shot-holed canvas covered one portion of the deck. To add to the scene of ruin, smoke and flames were belching from a hatch towards the stern of the quarterdeck, and some fifty sailors were endeavouring to quench the conflagration with water cast from buckets. Almost opposite the spot where the ladder dangled, and where the victors had come aboard, was a group of officers, and in their centre one seated on a chair, pallid to the lips and obviously wounded. The commander went towards him instantly and took him by the hand.
"You are hurt?" he asked. "You have fought your ship gallantly, but fortune was against you. Go to your quarters, please. I will take no sword from an officer of such courage."
He put aside the sword that was offered him so feebly, and signed to men of his crew to lift the injured officer. Then he shook hands with the other Frenchmen present, many of whom shed tears as they replaced their swords in their scabbards.
"Ah, monsieur," said one, who seemed to be the second in command, "it was the fortune of war, but bad fortune for us. With that mast shot away we were helpless, and then your broadsides poured into our stern tore the lengths of the decks, and did terrible damage. Our poor fellows were shot down in heaps. War, monsieur, is a terror."
None could fail to admit that who visited the French ship, for what had been a well-found, trim vessel was now a shambles. It turned Tom sick and faint when he looked about him, so that he was forced to cling to the rail. But a moment later, when Mr. Riley called him, he was able to pull himself together.
"We're to go aboard the sloop and see what she is," he called. "Help to lower me into the cutter."
Half an hour later Tom clambered up the side of the smaller vessel, and hauled his officer up after him. They found a French midshipman in command of a crew of five, while beneath the hatches there were three prisoners.
"Release them," Mr. Riley ordered; and, taking a couple of the French crew with him, Tom saw the hatch lifted, and called to the men below to come up. The smart uniform of an officer showed through the square hatch at once, and in a moment or two a youth stood on the deck before him, whom one would have said was British to the backbone.
"Ensign Jack Barwood, 60th Rifles, sir," he reported, drawing himself up in front of Mr. Riley and saluting. "Going out to join my regiment, this little sloop in which I had taken passage was held up by a French man-of-war. Our men were taken off, that is, the crew. I and two of my own men were left here as prisoners. We heard heavy firing, and guessed there was an action. What has happened?"
Mr. Riley turned and pointed at the French prize won by the frigate. "We beat her," he said, with pride in his tones. "You've had luck to escape so early from a French prison. Where were you bound for?"
"In the first place, Oporto," came the answer. "Later, as a prisoner, for Bayonne. Now, I suppose, we shall have to return to England?"
As it turned out, however, it was to Oporto that the little sloop made.
"The frigate makes for home at once," Mr. Riley reported, when he had rowed back to the ship, and had again come out to the sloop. "She sails in company with her prize, and no doubt the homecoming will be a fine triumph. I have orders to take this sloop to Oporto, there to hand over this young fellow to the authorities."
He pointed to Tom and smiled, while the ensign, turning upon our hero, surveyed him with amazement, and with some amount of superciliousness if the truth be told.
"Pardon, sir," he said, "I don't understand."
"Of course not," came the smiling answer; "nor does he. Come here, Tom."
Our hero, as may be imagined, was just as dumbfounded as the ensign; for though Mr. Riley had been wonderfully kind to him from the beginning, his manner had suddenly changed. He addressed him as if he were an equal, not as if he were one of the crew.
"I'll explain," he smiled, seeing the bewilderment expressed by both young fellows. "While the action was passing between us and the man-of-war our lookouts reported a sail in the offing. She has come up to us since, and turns out to be a smaller frigate than ourselves. But the point is this—she left the Thames after us, and has carried a brisk breeze with her all the way. She asked at once for information concerning a young fellow brought aboard just before we weighed, who had been impressed by a gang having quarters near London Bridge. That, sir, is the young fellow."
He pointed at Tom, whom the ensign still regarded in amazement.
"The whole thing has been cleared up, of course," said Mr. Riley. "There is no longer any doubt that this gentleman is the son of Mr. Septimus John Clifford, wine merchant, of London Bridge."
"Eh?" suddenly interjected the ensign, staring hard at Tom. "Clifford, of London Bridge. Well, I'm bothered! Why, Tom, don't you know me?"
It must be confessed that our hero was somewhat taken aback. In this young officer so much above himself, clad in the handsome uniform of the 60th Rifles, he had not recognized an old friend. Indeed his attention had been centred on his own officer. But now, when Jack Barwood lifted his cap, Tom recognized him at once, and gave vent to a shout of delight.
"Why, it's you!" he cried, gripping the hand extended. "Haven't seen you since—now when did we meet last?"
"Time you licked that cub of a grocer's boy," laughed Jack, who seemed to be just such another as our hero, and who was evidently a jovial fellow. "He passed when we were with your cousin, and grinned and sauced you. You were at him in a jiffy."
Mr. Riley laughed loudly when he heard what was passing. "Why, he's been at one of our men aboard the frigate," he cried. "Hammered him badly just before we fell in with the Frenchman. He's a tiger."
"He's a demon to fight, is Tom, sir," laughed Jack. "Ask him how we became acquainted."
"Eh? How?" asked the officer curiously, and then pressed the question when he saw that Tom had gone a crimson colour and was looking sheepish. "Eh?" he repeated.
"He's pretending to have forgotten," shouted Jack, enjoying the situation. "I'll tell the tale. It was at school one day. Tom was chewing toffee, mine had disappeared from a pocket. I tackled him with the theft, and we went hammer and tongs for one another. It was a busy time for us for some ten minutes."
"Ah!" smiled Mr. Riley. "Who won?"
"Drawn battle," exclaimed Tom, somewhat sulkily.
"I had a licking," laughed Jack. "It was a certainty for him from the beginning."
"Not surprised," came from the officer. "And the toffee?"
"Eh?" asked Jack.
"The toffee you accused him of stealing?" asked Mr. Riley. "You found it later?"
"In another pocket—yes," admitted Jack, with a delightful grin. "I deserved that hiding; it made us fast friends. So Tom's been impressed."
"By the machinations of his cousin."
That caused Tom to lift his head and come nearer. He had wondered time and again how that impressment had been brought about, whether by accident or design, and had never been able to bring himself to believe that José was responsible. Mr. Riley's words made him open his ears.
"You are sure, sir?" he asked.
"The commander has letters from your father with positive proof. However, things seemed to have happened fortunately. You are to be taken to Oporto after all, and here you meet with an old friend. Things couldn't have been better. Now I shall leave you both aboard while I go to get together a crew. We'll set a course for Oporto when I return, and ought to reach the place inside the week. Tom, you'll no longer be a sailor before the mast. I have the commander's orders to take you as a passenger, or, if you wish it, to appoint you an officer for the time being. How's that?"
It was all delightful hearing; and when at length the sloop turned her bows for Oporto, leaving the frigate to sail away with her prize, and incidentally to carry Tom's letter to his father in England, the party aboard the little vessel could not have been merrier.
"You'll have to turn soldier yet," declared Jack to our hero, standing so that the latter could inspect his uniform, and indeed the young fellow cut such a neat figure that Tom was even more tempted than formerly. For Jack was slimmer and shorter than he, while the few months of training he had experienced had taught him to hold himself erect. A jollier and more careless ensign never existed. It can be said with truth that, had the fortunes of the troops in the Peninsula depended on Jack's wisdom and military knowledge, disaster would promptly have overtaken our arms. He was just one of those jolly, inconsequential sort of fellows, always skylarking, always gay and laughing, who go through the world as if serious subjects were not in existence.
"Hooray for the life of a soldier!" he shouted, knowing Tom's ardent wishes that way, and anxious to fill him with envy. "Who'd ever sit on a stool and sweat over books in an office?"
"I'll lick you if you don't stop short," growled Tom sourly, and yet laughing for all that; for who could take Jack seriously? "Who knows, I may be a leader of troops before you have cut your wisdom teeth? Who knows?"
Who could guess the future indeed? Not Tom. Not the jovial, thoughtless Jack. Not even the wise Mr. Riley, with all his experience of the sea and of the men who go upon it. It seemed that Oporto would receive them in the course of a few days, and that Jack and Tom would there part. But within twenty-four hours of that conversation the scene was changed. Two vessels raised their peaks from the offing, and, sailing nearer, declared themselves as French. They overhauled the little sloop, in spite of a spread of canvas that threatened to press her beneath the water. And that evening Tom and his companions were prisoners.
"My uncle! What awful luck!" groaned Jack, in the depths of despair, as is often the case with high-mettled people when reverses come along. "No soldiering, Tom; no office for you. I'd prefer that to a prison."
"It's the fortune of war," exclaimed Mr. Riley with resignation. "For me it makes no great difference. The wound I received aboard the frigate has not improved, and, even if I become a prisoner, I shall receive proper treatment, which is impossible aboard this sloop. I'm sorry for you two young fellows."
"Pooh, sir," smiled Tom, "we'll give 'em the slip! Seems to me I'm not meant for Oporto yet awhile. We'll give 'em the slip, and then I'll take on as a soldier."
"Slip? How?" asked Jack, somewhat staggered, for the idea had not occurred to him.
"Depends; couldn't say now how we'll bring it about. But we'll manage it some way. I speak Spanish and Portuguese and a little French. If with those advantages we can't manage the business, well, we're only fit for a prison."
"Hooray!" shouted the excited Jack; whereat one of the French officers accosted them angrily. But Tom quickly appeased him.
"Where do we get landed, Monsieur le Lieutenant?" he asked politely.
"Ah, you speak our tongue! That is good," came the more pleasant answer. "But where you land I cannot say; you will be sent with troops to the north of Spain, and so to a prison."
It was not very cheering news, but Tom made the best of it.
"I don't put my nose into a French prison if I can help it!" he declared, in that particular tone of voice to which Jack had grown accustomed when they were chums at school.
"And he won't!" declared the latter. "I know Tom well—a pig-headed, stubborn beggar from his cradle. Tom'll give 'em the slip, and we with him. One thing seems all right in the meanwhile—there's grub and drink in plenty. I never could stand starvation; I'd rather go to prison."
But whatever thoughts they may have had as regards escaping were set aside when they landed. Putting in at an obscure port, Tom and his friends found a squadron of horsemen waiting to receive them, for the ship had flown signals. The three friends, together with the two men belonging to Jack's regiment, were given horses, while a trooper took their reins, two other men riding close to each one of them. And then they set off across a barren country, which, however fair it may have been in other days, was burned black, stripped of all eatables, while those villages which had not been swallowed by the flames were wrecked and useless.
"You will be careful not to attempt an escape," said the officer in command of the squadron, speaking to Tom, the only one of the prisoners who could understand him. "I have given orders for the troopers to shoot at the first attempt. We ride now to join our main army, and through a country inhabited by people who would flay us alive if they could catch us. Let that alone warn you not to attempt escape. The Portuguese peasants are more dangerous than my soldiers."
He shouted to the head of the column, set his own horse in motion, and led the way at a pace that threatened to be trying. It was obvious, in fact, that he was anxious to reach the summit of the hills near at hand, and not to be found in the open when night fell. As for Tom and his friends, the outlook seemed hopeless; an attempt at escape meant a bullet from their guard. And, even were they successful, they were in a country where bands of peasants scoured the valleys murdering all who were too weak to oppose them. It looked indeed as if a French prison would shortly shelter them, and as if there Jack's military career would come to a halt before it had actually begun, while Tom's ambitions in that direction would be cut in twain and end only in bitter disappointment.
CHAPTER V
Prisoners
If ever a band of prisoners could be described as jovial it was the little band with whom Tom Clifford was travelling. For the confinement at sea made a trip ashore most enchanting; then the quick and unaccustomed movement, the efforts more than one of them were forced to make continually to keep in their saddles, provoked an amount of amusement which even infected their escort.
"I was as near off as anything that time," shouted the irrepressible Jack, when his horse had shied at a rock and nearly thrown him. "Wish one of these fellows would rope me to the saddle instead of leading me as if I were a child."
"What does he say, monsieur?" asked the trooper riding near our hero, and at once Tom explained.
"That would not be good for him," laughed the man. "If we have to gallop at any time, and the horse fell, he would be left to be butchered. I tell you, monsieur, these peasants are terrible. I do not say that they are not justified, for our men have behaved cruelly to them. But the peasants care nothing whether it be horse soldiers or foot. If a man of ours falls into their hands he is butchered; that would be your fate also if you were to lag behind."
Every now and again, as the small party made for the hills, groups of men were seen hovering in the distance. And once, when the squadron was riding through a narrow defile, rocks descended from above.
"Gallop!" commanded the officer, and striking their heels into the flanks of the horses the soldiers soon passed through. When the dusk of evening began to fall, shots rang out in the distance, and one of the troopers was wounded.
"I see men gathering in front of us," suddenly exclaimed one of the sergeants. "They fill the gap through which we must pass to gain the road for the hill."
"Halt!" came from the commander. "Place the prisoners in the centre. We will ride forward steadily till within shot of them, and then we will charge. There is nothing else to be done. To retreat would be to have the whole population of the country about us to-morrow; monsieur," he said, as if by an afterthought; "you and your comrades realize the danger?"
Tom nodded at once. "We see the position, Monsieur le Capitaine," he said. "You are a detached party away from the army."
"We are one of hundreds of squadrons told off to clear the country during the retreat of our armies across the Tagus," came the answer. "From to-day we march for Spain, and I hope we may never put foot in Portugal again. It is not a pleasant duty, this burning of villages and crops, but orders must be obeyed. We are detached, as you say, and to join our friends we have to run the gauntlet. Monsieur and his friends can have temporary liberty, and arms with which to fight, if they will give their word of honour to respect me and my men, and hand themselves over later on as captives to us."
"I will speak with my friends," replied Tom at once, overjoyed at the proposal; for he could see easily that there was a strenuous time before the little party, and in the event of a reverse to the troopers the position of himself and his friends might be very serious. Armed and ready they would be in a different position. Rapidly, therefore, he explained the position to Mr. Riley.
"Agreed!" cried the latter eagerly. "Not that I'm much use either way. It takes me all my time to stick to this animal, let alone use a weapon; for I have only one useful arm. Tell him we agree. You men,"—and he swung round on Andrews and Howeley, the two men of the 60th accompanying them, "you men understand the position, no doubt. We are fighting for the Portuguese, and against the French; but here is a case where our friends will not know us. They will kill us with the others before we can explain. It is a question of self-preservation."
"Right, sir," answered Andrews cheerily. "We're game, and though it'll be hard luck to have to become prisoners again, we see the reason. We give our word."
"Good, then," exclaimed the officer of the party with relief, and at once gave orders to his troopers to throw off the leading reins, and to hand each of the prisoners a sabre. To Mr. Riley he presented a pistol.
"For you, monsieur," he bowed. "If there is need, you will know how to use it. Now, men," he commanded, "we will ride forward in column of files, and when I shout, spread out into line. A charge should carry us through them. Gallop right through the village and up the road. Forward!"
Nowhere, perhaps, were there finer troopers to be found than those in the French army invading the Peninsula. Napoleon had, in fact, swamped the country with divisions of magnificent cavalry, with numerous veterans in the ranks, and under leaders skilled in cavalry work who had taken their squadrons into action many and many a time, and had won victories. The preceding years of this eventful campaign in the Peninsula had seen detached parties of French horsemen penetrating far into country held by Wellington's troops, or by Spanish or Portuguese irregulars; and while the former had taught them many a lesson, and had, indeed, shown the French troops that if they were brave, the lads from England were equal to them, there is little doubt that, just as Wellington and our armies had learned to despise the Portuguese irregulars, and those of Spain in particular, the French held them even more in contempt. It was the detached bands of guerrillas, however, that did them the greatest injury. No wandering party of horsemen could bivouac without fear of having sentries and outposts murdered in the night. Sudden and ferocious attacks were frequent, and at this time, when the French were retreating before our armies, and when without shadow of doubt they had treated the Portuguese peasantry and townspeople with horrible cruelty, a detached squadron such as the one Tom accompanied was liable to annihilation unless handled with great skill. However, this squadron in particular and its officer seemed to make light of the difficulties before them. They were accustomed to the hatred of the peasants, accustomed also to see them take to their heels when they charged, and disappear in their mountains. It was, therefore, with a cheer, in which Tom and his friends joined, that they jogged forward in column of file, their sabres drawn and ready, their leader a horse's length in advance of them.
Tom rose in his stirrups and surveyed the enemy. Even through the gloom he could see that there must be two hundred at least gathered at the entrance of the village through which the squadron must pass to reach the road to the heights. Shots came from the mass every now and again, while there were red flashes from the buildings. Shrill cries of rage and hate reached his ears, and amongst the voices he could distinguish those of women.
Phit! Phit! Bullets whizzed overhead, while the trooper next to him suddenly gave vent to a growl of anger.
"Struck me in the arm, monsieur," he said, after a few moments. "I would rather far receive a wound in proper battle than from these wolves. But you will see; they will scatter as we charge. We shall cut down a few of the laggards, burn the village, and thus light our way to the mountains. Poof! The Portuguese are brutes, the Spaniards are gentlemen beside them."
That was the way in which the French looked at the nations in the Peninsula. Truth compels us to admit that they had reason for liking the Spaniards; for not only were they able to play with them as if they were children, utterly despising them as soldiers, but also they obtained real help from them in their campaign, and though England had sent troops to repel the invader, and to help the Spaniards as well as the Portuguese to rid their country of oppression, yet throughout the campaign the Spaniards in particular foiled the wishes of Wellington and his generals in every direction. They withheld supplies even from the wounded. They parted with nothing save at an exorbitant price, and always there were traitors amongst them ready to disclose our plans to the enemy. The Portuguese, too, were not guiltless in this matter; but, on the whole, their irregulars did some excellent work, and they at least made an attempt to help the British to drive Napoleon and his armies out of the Peninsula.
"Canter!" the command rang out loudly as a wide splash of flame came from the peasants, while bullets clipped the air, sang shrilly overhead, and sometimes hit horses or accoutrements. Tom heard a sharp metallic sound, and lost a stirrup, shot away by one of these bullets; but he managed to secure it again, though he was no great horseman.
"Form line on the left!" The command rang out, while answering howls and shouts came from the village. "Charge!"
Tom could see the commander standing in his stirrups, his sword raised overhead, his face turned towards his men. And that exhilarating shout, the excitement in the air, the bullets and the cries, sent his blood surging through him. Let us remember that Tom was young, and possessed of excellent health and spirits, also that soldiering was no new ambition with him. Fear for the future he had none, but all the while he was wondering how the matter would progress, and what would happen supposing the villagers held their ground and refused to be driven from the village. The hammer of the horses' hoofs, the jingle of bits and stirrups, and the sharp reports of muskets sent a thrill through his frame from head to foot, and in a moment he was leaning forward like the troopers, his sabre down over his knee, all eagerness to reach the enemy. Nor was it long before the squadron got to striking distance. The peasants held their ground till the horses were fifty paces away, and then raced into the houses. A storm of bullets came from windows and doorways, and then, of a sudden, there was a clatter in front, and the commander of the squadron disappeared from view entirely. By then Tom was within ten paces of him; for the formation had brought him to the very centre.