FullReads

Massena was a thin, sour little fellow, and after his hunting accident he had only one eye, but when it looked out from under his cocked hat there was not much upon a field of battle which escaped it. He could stand in front of a battalion, and with a single sweep tell you if a buckle or a gaiter button were out of place. Neither the officers nor the men were very fond of him, for he was, as you know, a miser, and soldiers love that their leaders should be free-handed. At the same time, when it came to work they had a very high respect for him, and they would rather fight under him than under anyone except the Emperor himself, and Lannes, when he was alive. After all, if he had a tight grasp upon his money-bags, there was a day also, you must remember, when that same grip was upon Zurich and Genoa. He clutched on to his positions as he did to his strong box, and it took a very clever man to loosen him from either.

When I received his summons I went gladly to his headquarters, for I was always a great favourite of his, and there was no officer of whom he thought more highly. That was the best of serving with those good old generals, that they knew enough to be able to pick out a fine soldier when they saw one. He was seated alone in his tent, with his chin upon his hand, and his brow as wrinkled as if he had been asked for a subscription. He smiled, however, when he saw me before him.

‘Good day, Colonel Gerard.’

‘Good day, Marshal.’

‘How is the Third of Hussars?’

‘Seven hundred incomparable men upon seven hundred excellent horses.’

‘And your wounds–are they healed?’

‘My wounds never heal, Marshal,’ I answered.

‘And why?’

‘Because I have always new ones.’

‘General Rapp must look to his laurels,’ said he, his face all breaking into wrinkles as he laughed. ‘He has had twenty-one from the enemy’s bullets, and as many from Larrey’s knives and probes. Knowing that you were hurt, Colonel, I have spared you of late.’

‘Which hurt me most of all.’

‘Tut, tut! Since the English got behind these accursed lines of Torres Vedras, there has been little for us to do. You did not miss much during your imprisonment at Dartmoor. But now we are on the eve of action.’

‘We advance?’

‘No, retire.’

My face must have shown my dismay. What, retire before this sacred dog of a Wellington–he who had listened unmoved to my words, and had sent me to his land of fogs? I could have sobbed as I thought of it.

‘What would you have?’ cried Massena impatiently. ‘When one is in check, it is necessary to move the king.’

‘Forwards,’ I suggested.

He shook his grizzled head.

‘The lines are not to be forced,’ said he. ‘I have already lost General St. Croix and more men than I can replace. On the other hand, we have been here at Santarem for nearly six months. There is not a pound of flour nor a jug of wine on the countryside. We must retire.’

‘There are flour and wine in Lisbon,’ I persisted.

‘Tut, you speak as if an army could charge in and charge out again like your regiment of hussars. If Soult were here with thirty thousand men–but he will not come. I sent for you, however, Colonel Gerard, to say that I have a very singular and important expedition which I intend to place under your direction.’

I pricked up my ears, as you can imagine. The Marshal unrolled a great map of the country and spread it upon the table. He flattened it out with his little, hairy hands.

‘This is Santarem,’ he said pointing.

I nodded.

‘And here, twenty-five miles to the east, is Almeixal, celebrated for its vintages and for its enormous Abbey.’