THE LINES.

When we reached Lescas, we found that an officer of Lord Wellington’s staff had just arrived from the lines, and was occupied in making known the general order from headquarters; which set forth, with customary brevity, that the French armies, under the command of Massena, had retired from their position, and were in full retreat,—the second and third corps, which had been stationed at Villa Franca, having marched, during the night of the 15th, in the direction of Manal. The officers in command of divisions were ordered to repair instantly to Pero Negro, to consult upon a forward movement, Admiral Berkeley being written to to provide launches to pass over General Hill’s, or any other corps which might be selected, to the left bank of the Tagus. All now was excitement, heightened by the unexpected nature of an occurrence which not even speculation had calculated upon. It was but a few days before, and the news had reached Torres Vedras that a powerful reinforcement was in march to join Massena’s army, and their advanced guard had actually reached Santarem. The confident expectation was, therefore, that an attack upon the lines was meditated. Now, however, this prospect existed no longer; for scarcely had the heavy mists of the lowering day disappeared, when the vast plain, so lately peopled by the thickened ranks and dark masses of a great army, was seen in its whole extent deserted and untenanted.

The smouldering fires of the pickets alone marked where the troops had been posted, but not a man of that immense force was to be seen. General Fane, who had been despatched with a brigade of Portuguese cavalry and some artillery, hung upon the rear of the retiring army, and from him we learned that the enemy were continuing their retreat northward, having occupied Santarem with a strong force to cover the movement. Crawfurd was ordered to the front with the light division, the whole army following in the same direction, except Hill’s corps, which, crossing the river at Velada, was intended to harass the enemy’s flank, and assist our future operations.

Such, in brief, was the state of affairs when I reached Villa Franca towards noon, and received orders to join my regiment, then forming part of Sir Stapleton Cotton’s brigade.

It must be felt to be thoroughly appreciated, the enthusiastic pleasure with which one greets his old corps after some months of separation: the bounding ecstasy with which the weary eye rests on the old familiar faces, dear by every association of affection and brotherhood; the anxious look for this one and for that; the thrill of delight sent through the heart as the well-remembered march swells upon the ear; the very notes of that rough voice which we have heard amidst the crash of battle and the rolling of artillery, speak softly to our senses like a father’s welcome; from the well-tattered flag that waves above us to the proud steed of the war-worn trumpeter, each has a niche in our affection.

If ever there was a corps calculated to increase and foster these sentiments, the 14th Light Dragoons was such. The warm affection, the truly heart-felt regard, which existed among my brother officers, made of our mess a happy home. Our veteran colonel, grown gray in campaigning, was like a father to us; while the senior officers, tempering the warm blood of impetuous youth with their hard-won experience, threw a charm of peace and tranquillity over all our intercourse that made us happy when together, and taught us to feel that, whether seated around the watch-fire or charging amidst the squadrons of the enemy, we were surrounded by those devoted heart and soul to aid us.

Gallant Fourteenth!—ever first in every gay scheme of youthful jollity, as foremost in the van to meet the foe—how happy am I to recall the memory of your bright looks and bold hearts; of your manly daring and your bold frankness; of your merry voices, as I have heard them in the battle or in the bivouac! Alas and alas, that I should indulge such recollections alone! How few—how very few—are left of those with whom I trod the early steps of life, whose bold cheer I have heard above the clashing sabres of the enemy, whose broken voice I have listened to above the grave of a comrade! The dark pines of the Pyrenees wave above some, the burning sands of India cover others, and the wide plains of Salamanca are the abiding-place of still more.

“Here comes O’Malley!” shouted a well-known voice, as I rode down the little slope at the foot of which a group of officers were standing beside their horses.

“Welcome, thou man of Galway!” cried Hampden; “delighted to have you once more among us. How confoundedly well the fellow is looking!”

“Lisbon beef seems better prog than commissariat biscuit!” said another.

“A’weel, Charley?” said my friend the Scotch doctor; “how’s a’ wi’ ye man? Ye seem to thrive on your mishaps! How cam’ ye by that braw beastie ye’re mounted on?”

“A present, Doctor; the gift of a very warm friend.”

“I hope you invited him to the mess, O’Malley! For, by Jove, our stables stand in need of his kind offices! There he goes! Look at him! What a slashing pace for a heavy fellow!” This observation was made with reference to a well-known officer on the commander-in-chief’s staff, whose weight—some two and twenty stone—never was any impediment to his bold riding.

“Egad, O’Malley, you’ll soon be as pretty a light-weight as our friend yonder. Ah, there’s a storm going on there! Here comes the colonel!”

“Well, O’Malley, are you come back to us? Happy to see you, boy! Hope we shall not lose you again in a hurry! We can’t spare the scapegraces! There’s plenty of skirmishing going on! Crawfurd always asks for the scapegraces for the pickets!”

I shook my gallant colonel’s hand, while I acknowledged, as best I might, his ambiguous compliment.

“I say, lads,” resumed the colonel, “squad your men and form on the road! Lord Wellington’s coming down this way to have a look at you! O’Malley, I have General Crawfurd’s orders to offer you your old appointment on his staff; without you prefer to remaining with the regiment!”

“I can never be sufficiently grateful, sir, to the general: but, in fact—I think—that is, I believe—”

“You’d rather be among your own fellows. Out with it boy! I like you all the better! But come, we mustn’t let the general know that; so that I shall forget to tell you all about it. Eh, isn’t that best? But join your troop now; I hear the staff coming this way.”

As he spoke, a crowd of horseman were seen advancing towards us at a sharp trot, their waving plumes and gorgeous aiguillettes denoting their rank as generals of division. In the midst, as they came nearer, I could distinguish one whom once seen there was no forgetting; his plain blue frock and gray trousers, unstrapped beneath his boots, not a little unlike the trim accuracy of costume around him. As he rode to the head of the leading squadron, the staff fell back and he stood alone before us; for a second there was a dead silence, but the next instant—by what impulse tell who can—one tremendous cheer burst from the entire regiment. It was like the act of one man; so sudden, so spontaneous. While every cheek glowed, and every eye sparkled with enthusiasm, he alone seemed cool and unexcited, as, gently raising his hand, he motioned them to silence.

“Fourteenth, you are to be where you always desire to be,—in the advanced guard of the army. I have nothing to say on the subject of your conduct in the field. I know you; but if in pursuit of the enemy, I hear of any misconduct towards the people of the country, or any transgression of the general orders regarding pillage, by G——, I’ll punish you as severely as the worst corps in the service, and you know me!”

“Oh, tear an ages, listen to that; and there’s to be no plunder after all!” said Mickey Free; and for an instant the most I could do was not to burst into a fit of laughter. The word, “Forward!” was given at the moment, and we moved past in close column, while that penetrating eye, which seemed to read our very thoughts, scanned us from one end of the line to the other.

“I say, Charley,” said the captain of my troop, in a whisper,—“I say, that confounded cheer we gave got us that lesson; he can’t stand that kind of thing.”

“By Jove! I never felt more disposed than to repeat it,” said I.

“No, no, my boy, we’ll give him the honors, nine times nine; but wait till evening. Look at old Merivale there. I’ll swear he’s saying something devilish civil to him. Do you see the old fellow’s happy look?”

And so it was; the bronzed, hard-cast features of the veteran soldier were softened into an expression of almost boyish delight, as he sat, bare-headed, bowing to his very saddle, while Lord Wellington was speaking.

As I looked, my heart throbbed painfully against my side, my breath came quick, and I muttered to myself, “What would I not give to be in his place now!”