ALVAS.

Nothing of incident marked our farther progress towards the frontier of Spain, and at length we reached the small town of Alvas. It was past sunset as we arrived, and instead of the usual quiet and repose of a little village, we found the streets crowded with people, on horseback and on foot; mules, bullocks, carts, and wagons blocked up the way, and the oaths of the drivers and the screaming of women and children resounded on all sides.

With what little Spanish I possessed I questioned some of those near me, and learned, in reply, that a dreadful engagement had taken place that day between the advanced guard of the French, under Victor, and the Lusitanian legion; that the Portuguese troops had been beaten and completely routed, losing all their artillery and baggage; that the French were rapidly advancing, and expected hourly to arrive at Alvas, in consequence of which the terror-stricken inhabitants were packing up their possessions and hurrying away.

Here, then, was a point of considerable difficulty for me at once. My instructions had never provided for such a conjuncture, and I was totally unable to determine what was best to be done; both my men and their horses were completely tired by a march of fourteen leagues, and had a pressing need of some rest; on every side of me the preparations for flight were proceeding with all the speed that fear inspires; and to my urgent request for some information as to food and shelter, I could obtain no other reply than muttered menaces of the fate before me if I remained, and exaggerated accounts of French cruelty.

Amidst all this bustle and confusion a tremendous fall of heavy rain set in, which at once determined me, come what might, to house my party, and provide forage for our horses.

As we pushed our way slowly through the encumbered streets, looking on every side for some appearance of a village inn, a tremendous shout rose in our rear, and a rush of the people towards us induced us to suppose that the French were upon us. For some minutes the din and uproar were terrific,—the clatter of horses’ feet, the braying of trumpets, the yelling of the mob, all mingling in one frightful concert.

I formed my men in close column, and waited steadily for the attack, resolving, if possible, to charge through the advancing files,—any retreat through the crowded and blocked-up thoroughfares being totally out of the question. The rain was falling in such torrents that nothing could be seen a few yards off, when suddenly a pause of a few seconds occurred, and from the clash of accoutrements, and the hoarse tones of a loud voice, I judged that the body of men before us were forming for attack.

Resolving, therefore, to take them by surprise, I gave the word to charge, and spurring our jaded cattle, onward we dashed. The mob fled right and left from us as we came on; and through the dense mist we could just perceive a body of cavalry before us.

In an instant we were among them; down they went on every side, men and horses rolling pell-mell over each other; not a blow, not a shot striking us as we pressed on. Never did I witness such total consternation; some threw themselves from their horses, and fled towards the houses; others turned and tried to fall back, but the increasing pressure from behind held them, and finally succeeded in blocking us up among them.

It was just at this critical moment that a sudden gleam of light from a window fell upon the disordered mass, and to my astonishment, I need not say to my delight, I perceived that they were Portuguese troops. Before I had well time to halt my party, my convictions were pretty well strengthened by hearing a well-known voice in the rear of the mass call out,—

“Charge, ye devils! charge, will ye? Illustrious Hidalgos! cut them down; los infidelos, sacrificados los! Scatter them like chaff!”

One roar of laughter was my only answer to this energetic appeal for my destruction, and the moment after the dry features and pleasant face of old Monsoon beamed on me by the light of a pine-torch he carried in his right hand.

“Are they prisoners? Have they surrendered?” inquired he, riding up. “It is well for them; we’d have made mince-meat of them otherwise; now they shall be well treated, and ransomed if they prefer.”

“Gracios excellenze!” said I, in a feigned voice.

“Give up your sword,” said the major, in an undertone.

“You behaved gallantly, but you fought against invincibles. Lord love them! but they are the most terrified invincibles.”

I nearly burst aloud at this.

“It was a close thing which of us ran first,” muttered the major, as he turned to give some directions to an aide-de-camp. “Ask them who they are,” said he, in Spanish.

By this time I came close alongside of him, and placing my mouth close to his ear, holloed out,—

“Monsoon, old fellow, how goes the King of Spain’s sherry?”

“Eh, what! Why, upon my life, and so it is,—Charley, my boy, so it’s you, is it? Egad, how good; and we were so near being the death of you! My poor fellow, how came you here?”

A few words of explanation sufficed to inform the major why we were there, and still more to comfort him with the assurance that he had not been charging the general’s staff, and the conmander-in-chief himself.

“Upon my life, you gave me a great start; though as long as I thought you were French, it was very well.”

“True, Major, but certainly the invincibles were merciful as they were strong.”

“They were tired, Charley, nothing more; why, lad, we’ve been fighting since daybreak,—beat Victor at six o’clock, drove him back behind the Tagus; took a cold dinner, and had at him again in the afternoon. Lord love you! we’ve immortalized ourselves. But you must never speak of this little business here; it tells devilish ill for the discipline of your fellows, upon my life it does.”

This was rather an original turn to give the transaction, but I did not oppose; and thus chatting, we entered the little inn, where, confidence once restored, some semblance of comfort already appeared.

“And so you’re come to reinforce us?” said Monsoon; “there was never anything more opportune,—though we surprised ourselves today with valor, I don’t think we could persevere.”

“Yes, Major, the appointment gave me sincere pleasure; I greatly desired to see a little service under your orders. Shall I present you with my despatches?”

“Not now, Charley,—not now, my lad. Supper is the first thing at this moment; besides, now that you remind me, I must send off a despatch myself, Upon my life, it’s a great piece of fortune that you’re here; you shall be secretary at war, and write it for me. Here now—how lucky that I thought of it, to be sure! And it was just a mere chance; one has so many things—” Muttering such broken, disjointed sentences, the major opened a large portfolio with writing materials, which he displayed before me as he rubbed his hands with satisfaction, and said, “Write away, lad.”

“But, my dear Major, you forget; I was not in the action. You must describe; I can only follow you.”

“Begin then thus:—

“Luckily sober at that moment—”

“Stay, though, was it the eighth? Upon my life, I’m not quite clear as to that; blot the word a little and go on—”

“I’m afraid, Major, that is not precise enough.”

“Well—”

“You needn’t put that in, if you don’t like.”

“Dash that—Sir Arthur likes respect for the usages of war. Lord, how dry I’m getting!”

“I back him for mutton hash with onions against the whole regiment—”

“Is it finished, Charley? Egad, I’m glad of it, for here comes supper.”

The door opened as he spoke, and displayed a tempting tray of smoking viands, flanked by several bottles,—an officer of the major’s staff accompanied it, and showed, by his attentions to the etiquette of the table and the proper arrangement of the meal, that his functions in his superior’s household were more than military.

We were speedily joined by two others in rich uniform, whose names I now forget, but to whom the major presented me in all form,—introducing me, as well as I could interpret his Spanish, as his most illustrious ally and friend Don Carlos O’Malley.