Part 10

The other officers got up and looked over his shoulder. Jack watched their faces, and noticed how their expression changed from an ordinary interest and amusement to an excitement rivalling his own.

"By George, Lumsden," cried the general as he finished the document, "you've found a treasure here!"

"It cost me twenty dollars, sir."

"Dirt cheap at twenty thousand! How did it happen?"

Jack briefly told the story.

"Boney was always too careless about his aides-de-camp," said Seymour. "The idea of sending the poor chap off without an escort!"

"Spare your pity!" laughed Stewart. "This must go off to the commander-in-chief at once." He looked at Jack, and added dryly: "I suppose you are too tired to take it yourself?"

"If you'll give me a fresh horse I'll start at once, sir."

"Very well, though you look dog-tired. Have you got a flask you can give him, Seymour? That's right. There's a fellow half an hour ahead of you, with a despatch reporting our capture here--and I've put you down as missing, my boy. You're sure you can do it? It's a ride of nearly twenty miles."

"I'll go, sir," said Jack simply. "May I mention two things? I left my horse at the posting inn at Valdestillos, and promised to send for it and buy the Frenchman's gray. Will you look at it, sir, and offer a price? And there was a little gipsy boy with a few Spaniards in the watch-house here. The boy has been rather useful to me; will you order him and the rest to be released and looked after a bit?"

"Done to both. I'll buy the horse myself if he's fit; and as for the boy and those Spanish louts, they were released long ago, and the gipsy has kept the men in fits with his monkey antics. Now wait just a moment while I scribble a note to Sir John, and then be off, and think yourself a lucky young dog."

When Jack, fortified with Captain Seymour's flask, went to the door to mount his horse, he became for the first time thoroughly aware how tired he was. He had been in the saddle almost without intermission for more than twelve hours, and as he lifted his foot to the stirrup, he felt as though his thigh was weighted with lead, and on the point of snapping. But he would never have confessed his fatigue, much less have abnegated his right to carry the important despatch to the commander-in-chief; so, aching but cheerful, he cantered off into the night.

He had a ride of eighteen or twenty miles before him, and it was now past midnight. "Thank heaven!" he said to himself, "in three hours or so I shall be between the sheets." Soon after he started, snow began to fall in scattered flakes, giving cold and gentle dabs to his face. The horse answered to his spur, and trotted rapidly along the solitary road, which grew whiter and whiter as he proceeded, past the cabin where the French outpost had been surprised, past the cross-road where the little tussle of the afternoon had taken place, over the bridge, up the hill, and thus on and on until he was within a couple of miles of the town of Alaejos.

At this point he overtook suddenly another horseman, whom the snow, driving now thick and fast, had hidden from his sight, while the carpeted road had deadened the sound of his own horse's hoofs. Guessing at once that this must be the courier bearing General's Stewart's earlier despatch, the recollection that he had been reported missing made him chuckle. Throwing a word of salutation to the rider as he passed him, he urged his horse to a gallop, soon came to the advanced pickets of the British force, and in a few minutes arrived at the door of the house in which Sir John Moore had fixed his quarters. The general had not long arrived, and was still up, engaged in arranging with a few of his staff the details of the next day's march. Jack was ushered to his room at once. Staggering in, white from head to heel, he drew Stewart's letter and the intercepted despatch from his breast pocket, and, holding them out towards the general, he said:

"A despatch, sir, from General Stewart."

"Ah, indeed!" said Sir John, rising in his chair. "I hardly expected--why, Colborne, the boy's done up! See to him."

Jack's face had turned the colour of his snow-laden cloak, and he would have fallen had not Major Colborne, Moore's secretary, hastily caught him and placed him on a seat, asking one of the aides-de-camp present to give him some cordial. Meanwhile Sir John had hurriedly run his eye over Stewart's covering note, and was now eagerly perusing Berthier's despatch.

"Gad, we have him at last!" he exclaimed, as he came to the end. The assembled officers looked expectant of an explanation, but at this moment the courier whom Jack had passed on the road entered, bearing the despatch announcing the capture of the French garrison at Rueda.

"Another despatch!" exclaimed the general; "Stewart appears to have been busy."

Tearing it open, he said, with a jubilant note in his voice:

"First blood, gentlemen! The campaign has opened at last. General Stewart has captured fifty of Franceschi's chasseurs and seventy of Lefebvre's infantry at Rueda, and--why, what's this? Lieutenant Lumsden missing!"

He looked across the room at Jack, who had now recovered, and was sitting, half-asleep, with his back to the wall.

"You're Mr. Lumsden, surely?" he said.

"Yes, sir."

"I thought I could not be mistaken. How is it you are reported missing in the second despatch?"

"I was missing when the courier left, sir. I overtook him on the road."

"I see. You're dead beat, I'm afraid, but I should be glad to hear how you came by this despatch of yours, if you can manage to keep awake for a few minutes."

Jack briefly gave an account of the circumstances.

"You did very well, uncommonly well, Mr. Lumsden," said Sir John when he had concluded. "Colborne, be good enough to send someone to see Mr. Lumsden safely to the quarters of the 95th. Mr. Lumsden, you will hear from me to-morrow."

Jack rose stiffly and saluted; then, accompanied by one of the aides-de-camp, he walked off to the quarters of his battalion. The officers had all gone to bed. Learning from Jack the name of his servant, the aide-de-camp roused the servants' quarters, and, just as the church clock was striking three, Jack was put to bed in a cosy little room on the ground floor of the house by his man Giles Ogbourne.

"What I want to know is, when are we agoing to have a slap at the French? Here we've been tramping and camping for two months or more, and nothing to show for it--not a shot fired. And you call that sojering!"

The words and the grunt that followed came on Jack's ears as it were out of a mist, along with the pungent fumes of strong tobacco. He had just awoke from a heavy sleep; the window of his room was open, and he could see the deep-blue sky of a fine December day.

"My friend Corporal Wilkes holding forth!" he said to himself with a smile, and, turning on his back, he listened for more.

"What are we here for?" went on the grumbler. "What's the good of cleaning your rifle day after day when it's had no chance of getting fouled? It's nothing but walking, walking, walking; 'ang me if we ain't out on a bloomin' walking-match."

"There's been a bit of a scrum somewhere for'ard, so I heard," put in another voice. "P'raps things is waking up, corp'ril."

"Shut up, Bates! What's the good o' that to us? It was those long-legged dragoons, by all accounts. Why should they have it all? Where does the 95th come in?--that's what I want to know. What's the good o' pickin' out the Rifles from the whole army and then giving them cavalry chaps the only job that's going? Besides, nothing'll come of it. We shall only have a longer walk than ever, you see. A flick in the ear to the French, so to say, and then we skedaddles!"

"That ain't fair, corp'ril. Who says we're a-going to sheer off?"

"Nobody _says_ we're going to sheer off, but anyone with half an eye could see those blessed grub-carts over there cutting up the roads this morning, and anyone with an ounce of gumption would know what that means. That ain't the road to Valladolid! What I want to know is, do the general mean to fight, or don't he? If he do, let's step off on shanks his mare and get to business; if he don't--why, he's only spoiling good sojers, that's all I've got to say."

"Not so much noise, corp'ril," said Giles Ogbourne; "you'll wake Mr. Lumsden."

"Spoil his beauty sleep, eh? Where's he been, getting so dead tired that he ain't up to take his rations? I don't hold with such late hours. Not but what he's a good plucked 'un mostly, and I don't grudge him the--"

At this point Jack got out of bed, wincing as his aching muscles reminded him of the previous day's hard work.

"You there, Giles?" he said, putting his head out of the window. "Get me some hot water, and then see about my breakfast while I dress."

A guffaw broke from the soldiers below, and was instantly suppressed.

"Yes, sir," said Giles, adding: "Beg pardon, sir, but it's not breakfast, it's dinner."

Jack laughed.

"What! Have I been asleep so long? What's the time?"

"Gone four, sir, and mess is at a quarter past."

"Hurry up, then! There's just time."

"Mr. Pomeroy's been twice to see if you was up, sir, but he wouldn't let me disturb you. And he said I was on no account to say a word about--"

He caught himself up, with a blush that gave his honest round face a very boyish air.

"About what?"

"I wasn't to say, sir."

"Oh well, cut off and fetch the water! Been fighting any Spaniards lately, Wilkes?"

"No such luck, sir. Spaniards or French, it's all one to me, and what I want to know is--"

Jack smiled and shut the window.

When he entered the mess-room he found the officers of his regiment already seated, Colonel Beckwith being at the head of the table.

"Hullo!" exclaimed Smith, who was opposite the door. His exclamation drew all eyes towards Jack, and as he passed down the table to take the place made for him beside Pomeroy, the subalterns rapped knives and glasses on the unstained deal, and gave a rousing welcome to the wanderer.

"Of all the lucky beggars!" said Pomeroy in Jack's ear, when the general greetings had subsided. "And I can't even punch your head!"

"You're welcome to try," retorted Jack, "but allow me to get some dinner first. I've had nothing but pucheros and gaspachos for days past, and there are heavy arrears to make up."

"Well, I don't want to take advantage of you, though you have played me rather a mean trick."

"What do you mean?"

"Wine with you, Mr. Lumsden," interjected Colonel Beckwith from the far end of the table; "a good ride, begad!"

"Thank you, sir! most happy," said Jack, with a look of mingled pleasure and surprise. After the interchange of compliments, Jack, turning again to Pomeroy, said quietly: "What's Sidney driving at? I've never been honoured in this way since I first joined."

"Oh, he's anxious!" returned Pomeroy carelessly.

"Anxious! About what?"

"About his job."

"How? What?"

"'Fraid he'll be superseded, you know."

Jack was so much puzzled by the apparent inconsequence of the reply that he failed to remark the wide grin of amusement which all the subalterns within hearing were vainly endeavouring to dissemble.

"He's trying to carry it off," added Pomeroy.

"I say, Smith, what does this lunatic mean?"

"What! Haven't you heard the rumour?" answered Smith.

"'What great ones do the less will prattle of,'" quoted Shirley _sotto voce_.

"What rumour?" asked Jack, more mystified than ever.

"Well, there may be nothing in it, but for my own part I think it's a shame to promote a raw sub like you over the heads of men like Colonel Beckwith and Captain O'Hare, to say nothing of Pomeroy."

Jack, looking somewhat startled, appealed to Captain O'Hare, who was bubbling with amusement.

"Are they all mad, sir?"

"'S mad's hatters!" replied O'Hare with a chuckle. "'Tis a shame to keep ye in suspense. The fact is, my boy, as you'd have learnt if you'd only kept dacent hours, you've been growing in your sleep. You're like the mushroom that blooms in the dark. You went to bed a second lieutenant and woke up a full-blown one. 'Tis most unusual, this promotion, and bedad, 'tis Peter O'Hare himself that's glad, so he is, and so's all the rest of us."

"Except me," said Pomeroy in a tone of regret; "for as my superior officer I can't punch his head."

There was a laugh, under which Jack was glad to hide his pleasure and embarrassment.

"And the worst is," added Pomeroy, "that it's another bet won for the Grampus."

"By the way," asked Jack, "what's become of the Grampus?"

"Oh!" said Smith, "he went off a week ago. Said he came out to be at the front; bet me Baird would open the ball with Soult, and went to lend a hand."

"He'll be lucky if he isn't made mincemeat of by the French, or else by Spanish bandits," said O'Hare. "These amachures would be safer at home."

At this moment an orderly entered and handed a note to Colonel Beckwith, who, having read it, crumpled it up and rapped on the table.

"Gentlemen, I may as well inform you, although of course it must go no further to-night, that a change has been made in our route. We march for Toro to-morrow."

There was a dead silence, broken only by a half-audible growl from Captain O'Hare. The shadow of a smile flickered across the colonel's face as he noticed the glum looks of his officers.

"This change, I may add, is due to some news lately received." Here he glanced quizzingly at Jack. "It's not so bad as it looks, and you may take my word for it that before the week's out we shall be in the thick of it."

"Thanks be!" said Captain O'Hare.

*CHAPTER XI*

*Napoleon in Pursuit*

To the Douro--Pepito Turns Up--Four Noble Spaniards--At Sahagun--In Suspense--News from La Romana--On the Trail--War with the Elements--Word from O'Hare--A Cavalry Skirmish--A Break-down

Sir John Moore had instantly recognized the immense importance of the despatch so opportunely discovered by Jack at Valdestillos. It informed him of the exact positions of the various components of the Imperial army; it assured him also that up to the present Napoleon's ignorance of his enemy's whereabouts was profound. But Moore knew that after Stewart's brilliant little affair at Rueda it was only a matter of days before this ignorance would be dispelled, and then Napoleon would without doubt launch every Frenchman within striking distance upon his track. If, therefore, he pursued his original intention of moving on Valladolid he would come into the direct line of the emperor's advance, whereas, with his new information about Soult's position, it was just possible that he would have time to strike a blow at that marshal before the huge masses converging on Madrid could be wheeled round and hurried over the passes of the Guadarrama in direct pursuit, or pushed forward from Burgos upon his flank. That Napoleon would interrupt all other operations to crush him he had no doubt, and if he was to strike at all it must be at once.

His own force numbered some 25,000 men, and he was assured from several sources that he might hope for the co-operation of La Romana, who was said to be at the head of a continually increasing army of Spaniards at Leon. Thus reinforced, he would be more than a match for Soult, if Soult, with some 16,000 men, were ill-advised enough to risk an action. On the other hand, if Soult, probably the ablest of Napoleon's marshals, resisted the temptation to close with Moore before the other French armies came up, the British general would have, as he himself said, "to run for it", with one army on his flank and three others at his heels. The risks were great; the boldest general might well shrink from the ordeal with which Sir John was now confronted. But Moore's courage and promptitude increased with the magnitude of the peril; he fully counted the cost, and, feeling bound in honour to take this one chance of saving Spain, he quickly formed his resolution and set to work with energy to carry it out.

Within a few hours of receiving the intercepted despatch, Moore countermanded the advance to Valladolid, and ordered his infantry to cross the Douro at Zamora and Toro, throwing out cavalry as a screen for both columns. When the news spread through the ranks that a rapid move was to be made against Soult, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. The dissatisfaction which all had felt, the murmurs which had not been confined to the men, gave place to jubilation, and it was with laughter and singing that the advance-guard marched out of Alaejos northward to the Douro.

Jack's regiment was brigaded with others to form the Reserve, and the men had to curb their impatience for some hours before their turn to march arrived. It was a bitterly cold day, that 15th of December, and, having performed all their immediate duties, Jack and his fellow subalterns were stamping up and down before their quarters, wrapped in long cloaks, and doing their best to warm their blood. They had been so busy since Jack's arrival that there had been no time to get from him a full account of his recent adventures, but now, in their enforced idleness, they kept up a fire of questions as to where he had been and what he had seen, and how it was that he had had, as they put it, all the luck. Jack found that the simplest means to escape the bombardment was to give a consecutive account of the events at Rueda and Valdestillos, to which his chums listened with interest, scarcely remarking the modesty with which the narrator minimized his own share in the bustling incidents.

"That boy Pepito, you see," he said at one point in his narrative, "is not quite the thorn in the flesh we all supposed he was going to be. In fact, he has the strangest knack of turning up at odd moments when he can be of use--"

"A regular god in the machine!" said Shirley.

"A familiar spirit, I'd call him," said Pomeroy. "I never had much faith in witchcraft, but upon my word I shall soon begin to believe that you're in league with the powers of darkness, and no wonder you have such confounded luck!"

"Talk of the--" cried Smith suddenly. "Look at that!"

The subalterns, looking in the direction pointed out by Smith's stretched forefinger, saw, at the other end of the street, a strange cavalcade approaching. Between two stalwart troopers of the 18th Light Dragoons rode a picturesque little figure on a gaily-caparisoned mule, the rider cocking his head aloft with a consequential air that was irresistibly comic. Behind tramped a crowd of foot-soldiers, and the rear was brought up by a troop of dragoons.

"By George!" cried Pomeroy, "it's Pepito himself, riding in like a conqueror.

"And the French prisoners of Rueda behind him," added Jack. "I'm glad to see the boy. Giles, go and see where they halt, and bring the little beggar to me."

In a few minutes Giles returned, bringing not only Pepito but a group of four rather dilapidated-looking Spaniards.

"My friends of the Olmedo inn," thought Jack, recognizing them with a chuckle. "Well, Pepito, so you've turned up again, eh?"

"Si, Senor," answered the gipsy with his captivating smile. "And with me the four noble Spaniards, Senor."

"So I see. You seem in high feather. You'd better tell me what has happened since I saw you last on the way to Medina."

Pepito stood in the centre of the group of officers, while the four stablemen hung on the outskirts, Giles keeping a watchful eye on them. The boy, speaking in rapid Spanish, with an occasional Romany word when he found his emotions too much for him, told how, after being provided with clothes by Giles Ogbourne, he had started to track the Senor, in spite of orders to the contrary. Being hungry, and having no money, he had, on arriving at the farmhouse where Jack had met him, offered to clip the farmer's mules, such clipping being the traditional occupation of the gipsies in Spain. There he had seen Jack's plight, caught sight of the pursuers, and instantly determined the course of action he adopted. When overtaken by the panting stablemen, he had sent them off on the wrong track; but they carried him along with them and threatened him with a lingering death if he proved to have played them false. He was cudgelling his wits for a plan of escape when, as luck would have it, they fell suddenly in with a troop of French chasseurs, who captured the whole party, chose to assume that they were spies, and bundled them into the watch-house at Rueda to await punishment.

"Ay, ay, that cell!" said Pepito. "It was dark and damp and foul, and Senor knows how the Romany love the fresh air and the open sky. But still, there were the Busne, the four noble Busne, Senor, and when I felt sad I would laugh at them, and tell them what fools they were, who the Senor really was, and how it was all their own fault if they were shot. Oh, it was good, Senor!" The gipsy's black eyes twinkled at the recollection.

"I'm afraid you're a mischievous young scamp," said Jack. "You'd better come along with me--that is, if you'll behave yourself."

"Ta ra, ta ra! Viva!" cried Pepito, flinging his knife in the air and catching it as it fell. "'The Romany chal to his horse did cry'"--and singing his merry song he skipped up to Giles, and dug the stolid Devonian in the ribs.

Meanwhile, Jack beckoned to the Spaniards, and they slouched towards him with shamefaced sullenness. Addressing the biggest of them, he said with a smile:

"Well, hombre, you will be wiser next time. It might have been awkward for you. You'd better go home by way of Salamanca, or you might happen to meet some more Frenchmen. Here, you may find this useful."

He gave the man a few pesetas, and the four dejected fellows, muttering their thanks, shambled away.

Half an hour later the order came for the regiment to march, and soon the men were swinging along on the way to Toro. It was a fine frosty day, and the cold, though keen, was exhilarating. The road, which in wet weather would have been a mere slough of mud, was now frozen hard, and walking was easy and pleasant. Many women walked with the regiment; others, with their children, were perched on the baggage- and ammunition-wagons. There was joking and laughter; the prospect of soon meeting the enemy whom they had been so long hoping to fight gave brightness to the men's eyes and elasticity to their gait. Colonel Beckwith rode up and down the column, throwing a word to this man and that, encouraging the laggards and chaffing the boasters. A little snow fell at times, causing the women to snuggle under their cloaks and the men to growl about wet boots; but during this day's march, and the four succeeding days', the high spirits of the regiment were well maintained, and it was with surprisingly little loss by sick or stragglers that the infantry arrived, on December 20th, at Mayorga, where a junction was effected with the column under Sir David Baird. They moved forward again the following morning, and their enthusiasm was raised to the highest pitch by the news that Lord Paget, with the 10th and 15th Hussars, had surprised a large body of French cavalry in Sahagun, killing or capturing over 200 officers and men.

When they arrived at this place in the evening, the main army found that it had outstripped its supplies. Wagons were short, and neither food nor clothing was to be had. It was therefore imperative that a breathing-space should be allowed, that time should be given for recruiting their strength and repairing their equipment. Eager as they were to fight, they were not sorry when they learnt that at least a day's rest was to be given them.

But when the whole of December 22nd passed without the expected order to advance, the men again began to chafe at the delay. Corporal Wilkes and some of his cronies were sitting round their camp-fire on the evening of that day discussing the situation.