With Wellington in Spain: A Story of the Peninsula

A huge French grenadier barred the road where it passed in beneath the frowning doorway of the fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo, and with his long bayonet dropped to the level of the...

"Stand back so that they cannot see you," commanded Tom, as the peasants rushed madly at the entrance of the church that the troopers had defended so gallantly on the previous e...

Brisk action was a characteristic of Mr. Septimus Clifford, though his portly frame gave one the impression that he might very well be a sluggard. However, the bustle in those o...

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 ha...

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...

A crisp, cool breeze straight from the sea swept through the streets of Oporto and fanned the brows of three horsemen who were riding in from the country about ten in the mornin...

There was a business-like air about the jovial Jack Barwood on the second morning after the fall of Badajoz, a seriousness about the smart young adjutant to which his friends we...

"Now for our troops and the Peninsula," said Mr. Riley, settling himself in a corner of the old church and fixing his eyes for a few moments on the flaming and smoking torch whi...

Within the village church in which the French troopers and their one-time English prisoners had taken refuge under Tom Clifford's guidance there was a deathly silence while the...

Heavy drops of thunder rain, pattering upon the roof above and upon the stone flags that surrounded the front of the church, awakened Tom Clifford at early dawn on the morning a...

The gentle tinkle of convent bells, the lowing of distant oxen, and the cheery whistling and singing of the men of Wellington's 1st Division awakened Tom on the morrow of his ar...

"A terribly hard nut to crack," observed Jack, for perhaps the twentieth time, as he and Tom sat their horses on a ridge above Badajoz, and looked down upon the fortress. "It'll...

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 enchant...

The man who had entered Tom's prison, the one whom his irregulars had captured outside Ciudad Rodrigo, and in whose clothes our hero had made his venture into the fortress, push...

Imagine a low-ceilinged room, the whitening long since gone a dull smoke colour, cobwebs in the corner, dust on every angle and ridge, and a floor innocent of scrubbing-brush fo...

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 s...

Grouped together in three separate squares, Tom's Spanish command awaited the onset of the French horse, each man gripping the musket supplied to him by his British allies, and,...

Behind the forecourt, crowding the latter closely towards the edge of the River Thames, some few hundred yards below the point where the stream swept and swirled through the arc...

Those 40,000 victorious men of Wellington's great army now had their backs to the Portuguese frontier and were marching gaily on Madrid. Away in front a half-battalion of infant...

While Tom Clifford, commander of the composite force of Spanish and Portuguese irregulars, staff officer, and as smart a young fellow as served under Wellington's command, liste...