With Wellington in Spain: A Story of the Peninsula

Half-hidden behind the wall surrounding a warehouse, one of the many erected there – for this was a busy part of the city, and huge barges found deep water when the tide was up, and could load right alongside the bank – Emmott watched as José passed something to the hand of the man he was conversing with. The latter, a huge fellow, dressed somewhat like a seaman, and bearded, might have been a sailor from one of the many ships lying in the river, or he might have been employed at one of the warehouses. He touched his forehead as José put something into his hand, while the lad himself looked craftily about him to make sure that no one was watching.

"What's he paying him for, that's what I'd like to know," Emmott asked himself. "He's up to no good; but how can one say that his talk with that rascal and the giving of money has anything to do with Master Tom? Mr. Septimus would laugh at the very idea, and tell us to mind our own business; but I for one shall keep my eyes on this José."

If the clerk imagined that he was thereby to catch José out in some underhand act he was very much mistaken, for the young fellow was as crafty as he was clever. More than that, though in his heart he hated Tom, he was wise enough to know that scowls and bad temper would not help him. From that very moment, indeed, he put on a smile whenever Tom came near, was urbane and friendly with all, and appeared to be genuinely sorry that his cousin was about to leave them.

"How'd you like to be a soldier, Tom?" he asked his cousin two evenings later, when our hero's preparations for departure were almost complete. "They're embarking troops this afternoon down the river, all bound for Wellington's army."

It was information which was bound to tempt the light-hearted Tom. For years, indeed, he had longed to be a soldier, and even now, when his prospects with the firm of Septimus John Clifford & Son were so apparently good, the old longing still assailed him. But if he could not be a soldier in fact, Tom could vastly enjoy the sight of troops embarking. He leaped at the opportunity, and that very afternoon saw him making his way down the bank to the spot, some two miles distant, where a sloop lay off in the river. Boats were passing to and from her when Tom arrived upon the scene, and for two hours at least he watched party on party of men embark, while his eyes feasted on others drawn up in stiff lines on the bank. The bright uniforms, the bustle, and the rattle of accoutrements and drums fascinated him. His eyes were wide open with envy as he noticed that two at least of the ensigns were no older than himself.

"And no stronger either," he told himself. "I'm as tall as they are, and though they repeat orders splendidly, and don't seem afraid to make their voices heard, I reckon I could do the same. What luck if the French drove the English back and got as far as Oporto. Then I'd see some of the fun. There's been terrific fighting in the Peninsula, and folks say that there will be a heap more. Ah, there goes the colonel's horse aboard! I never saw a horse embarked in my life before."

Company after company of men descended to the boats and took their places. Tom's eyes followed with almost childish eagerness the figure of another youthful ensign. He was envious of his scarlet uniform, of his belts and sword, and of the gaudy headdress he was wearing.

"If only I were a soldier," he sighed. "I'd enjoy a few years' marching and fighting, and then settle down to the business. Ugh! An office stool hardly compares with the life those fellows are leading."

He forgot the hardships inseparable from a soldier's life. Tom failed to remember the reports he had read of the terrible plight of our men and officers in the Peninsula. He knew nothing of wounds, terrible wounds often enough, of disease which swept whole companies away, or sent them back home helpless and useless for the reminder of their lives. He saw only the glamour of a soldier's lot, the gallant uniforms, the jolly comrades, the bustle and movement of the life. So entranced was he, in fact, that he could have remained there for hours an interested and envious spectator. But the evening was drawing in, while only one company remained to be embarked. With a sigh, therefore, Tom turned about and began to retrace his steps along the bank in the direction of the premises of Septimus John Clifford & Son.

"I'm a fool to let the wish to be a soldier upset my keenness for office work," he reflected after a while. "There are lots of chaps who would give their eyes for the opportunities I have. Yes, I'm a fool. I must settle to the thing I've got, and – all the same I hope there'll be some fighting round about Oporto."

"Hello, my sport!" he suddenly heard, as he was passing down a narrow street between two of the many warehouses in that district. "Just hold hard, and give us a pipe of 'bacca."

A huge individual came rolling towards him out of the darkness of a passage cutting into the street, and was followed by a second man, smaller than the first, but, if anything, more forbidding. Not that Tom could see them clearly, for it was very dark in that narrow street, the walls and roofs of the warehouses shutting the place in completely.

"Hold hard, shipmate," the big man exclaimed again, rolling forward. "A fill o' 'bacca ain't too much to ask from a man that follows the sea."

He was close beside Tom by then, while his shorter companion was immediately behind him. Even in that dark place one could see enough of the couple to feel sure that they were anything but desirable, and for a moment Tom considered the advisability of taking to his heels. But then, reflecting that here in the neighbourhood of the docks and quays there must be many seamen ashore on leave, and all perhaps hilarious, he turned to the strangers and answered them pleasantly:

"Sorry I can't oblige," he said. "I haven't started smoking yet."

"What, my lively! ain't started smokin' yet?" came from the bigger man. "Strike me, Bob, but here's a lubber as don't even chew, let alone take hold of a pipe!"

There came a giggle from the smaller man, who sidled forward, and coming from behind his companion, edged up to Tom's side.

"Don't smoke nor chew," he giggled in a queerly deep, gruff voice. "Most like he's a young gent that has got out o' nights without his mother knowing."

He dropped a parcel which he was carrying beneath one arm, and then stooped at once to pick it up. A moment later he had sprung up behind Tom, and with a quick movement had swung his parcel above our hero's head. What followed took the young fellow so utterly by surprise that he was completely dumbfounded; for a sack was drawn down over his head and shoulders, and long before he could lift his arms the bigger man had flung a coil of rope around him, pinning Tom's arms to his side. But still he could fight, and, seized with desperation and with anger, Tom lurched this way and that, kicking out in all directions, hustling his captors from side to side till what appeared to them at first a game began to annoy them. The bigger man clenched a huge fist and drove hard at the centre of the sack with it.

"That's silenced him and made him quit foolin'," he grunted brutally, for Tom dropped instantly and lay inert on the ground. "Jest get a lift on to his toes, Bob; I'll take his head. We'll have him in chokey afore he's shook the stars out of his eyes."

Without the smallest show of haste the two ruffians picked up their burden and went off down the narrow alley leading from the street. There was no need for them to fear interference, for police hardly existed in those days, while respectable individuals did not patronize the neighbourhood of the docks once night had fallen. Business men, living as they did in the early years of the nineteenth century above their premises, sat in the candlelight behind their shutters once evening had come, and if they ventured forth at all, took some sort of guard with them. It followed, therefore, that no one even observed the two men strolling away with their burden. Even had they been seen, the observer would in all likelihood have hurried away in the opposite direction, for drunken sailors were inclined to be more than rough. Robbery was not by any means unknown, while even murder was now and again committed in the slums adjacent to the river.

In less than ten minutes from the moment when Tom had been so hardly treated the two men came to a halt at a low doorway, the bigger of the two beating upon it heavily.

"Open!" he shouted, as if there were no need for concealment, and he had no reason to fear being overheard. "Open quick, or Sam here'll want to know the reason why there's delay."

"Comin'," ejaculated his small companion in that same strangely deep and wheezing voice, a voice which by rights should have belonged to a man of double his proportions. "I can hear the lass a-comin', Sam. Here she is. This is one more to add to the boys we're collecting."

At that moment, while the little man was in the act of stuffing some hard black cuttings of tobacco into a short pipe, the door of the house they had come to was opened noiselessly, and there appeared a frowsy-headed woman bearing a smoking oil lamp. She stood aside without a word and waited for the two men to carry in their burden. The door closed, and the procession passed through a passage into a large room, just within the doorway of which sat a man as big as he who had been called Sam, armed with pistol and cutlass. Half a dozen other men were in the place, breathing an atmosphere that was almost stifling. A dangling lamp shed a feeble light on every hand, while in one corner stood a bottle, in the neck of which was secured a lighted candle, with the aid of which another armed individual was laboriously spelling out the print on a piece of torn newspaper.

"What ho!" he cried, looking up, and disclosing a countenance which was distinctly brutal. A towsled head of hair, which would appear to have been innocent of receiving any attention for a long while, covered forehead and ears and neck, and was inseparably joined to a pair of side whiskers that might have been combed a year before. One cheek was deeply seamed by a long, straggling scar, while the eye above was covered by a patch of black material.

"What ho!" he cried again, leering at the newcomers, and drawing his clay from between his teeth. "You've had luck to-night. I can see as you've nobbled the one as you was after."

"And gets double pay," growled the man who sat at the door with cutlass and pistol in his lap. "Pay from them as has need for lads aboard, and pay from t'others as wants to get rid of a friend. You've bagged the sum from the covey, Sam?"

Sam made no answer for the moment, but got rid of his burden by the simple and easy method of dropping Tom's person heavily on the floor. Standing over him, he proceeded to fill his pipe, and, having completed the task to his liking, stretched across, snatched the bottle in which the candle was fixed, and sucked the flame into the bowl of his pipe. Then his eyes went slowly round the room, and, passing the wretch at the door and the one against the far wall, he let them fall upon the six individuals who also tenanted the room. He counted them carefully, and then jerked his head in the direction of our hero.

"Pull the sack off, Bob," he said, "and jest you two keep yer tongues close in between yer teeth – hear that, Jem, and you too, Sandy? Tight in between yer teeth. This here business has to be conducted with caution and discretion; and if we does trade with others besides the folks that pays for the men, why there ain't no need to cry it out for everyone to hear – eh?"

The last exclamation was almost in the nature of a threat. Evidently the individual with the patch over one eye, who boasted of the towsled head of hair and the unkempt whiskers, was known as Sandy, and Sam's words, and the scowl he directed at the man, had the instant effect of causing him once more to busy himself with his reading. The other, the man who sat fully armed at the door, and was known as Jem, coloured under his tan, looked as fierce as Sam for a moment, and then laughed uproariously.

"You do work yourself up, Sam," he laughed. "Who's there here to let on what business we do? These?" pointing at the six other inmates of the room. "Not much, me hearty. They'll be aboard come midnight, and to-morrow they'll be that sick they'll have forgotten you and me and everything almost. But you've drawn the stuff; been paid by that young spark as hired you to work it?"

Sam answered him with a snort and with a violent shake of his head.

"Presently," he said, meanwhile watching as the rascal Bob removed the sack from Tom's head. "All in good time. The young nobleman's coming here to make sure as there's no mistake, and once the lad there's aboard, the rest of it'll be paid. But it won't end there."

"Eh?" asked Jem quickly, while Sandy and Bob looked up keenly, avarice and rascality written on their faces. "Don't end there," said Jem; "how's that?"

"Blood money ain't all we gets," lisped Sam, allowing a cruel smile to cross his face. "I'll tell you why. I know the young spark as got us to work this business. Well, when this lad's gone aboard, and is away, I'll be axing for more of his gold. Supposing he can't pay, then – "

A hideous grin wrinkled Sandy's face, throwing into greater prominence the scar that seamed it. Bob dragged the sack from Tom's head and then turned to smile at his leader. Jem brought a massive fist down with a bang on the table, and once more burst into uproarious laughter. It was obvious, in fact, to each one of these rascals that Sam had at hand a ready means with which to force more money from the man who had bribed him to capture our hero. Let us put the matter clearly. José had met the ruffian Sam some time before, and had discovered him to be one of those infamous crimps who earned a rich living by snatching men from their employment ashore and passing them over to ships' captains. The impressment of men in those days was not illegal, and since crews were often enough hard to come by, and these rascally crimps were more or less a necessary evil, they flourished unmolested, and many a poor lad was suddenly torn from his home to be smuggled aboard ship, and never heard of again by his own people. Also many a private grudge was wiped out in this manner. Tom was not the first youth by a great many who had been suddenly spirited away at the bidding of, and with the aid of gold paid by, a relative.

As for the others in the room, they were prisoners like Tom. Four were young men of twenty-two or three, while the others were almost middle-aged, and undoubtedly sailors. These two sat at the table, smoking heavily and helping themselves to spirits contained in a square jar set upon it. The other men sat despondently upon a form, eyeing their captors resentfully, and yet in a manner which showed clearly that all the fight was knocked out of them. Like the two at the table they were becoming resigned to the position, and no doubt would settle down in time and become good seamen.

"Just throw a pail of water over his head," Sam ordered, pointing the stem of his pipe at Tom, who lay senseless where they had dropped him, his face pale in the feeble light of the lamp, his hair dishevelled, while a thin trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth. "Then pull his duds off and let him have a suit that'll do for him aboard. Ah! He's coming round. Trust Sam to strike a blow that won't do no harm and spoil trade for him. Sit him up, Bob, and when he's feeling more hisself, give him a go of spirits and a smoke."

The whole affair was a horrible exhibition of the brutality and the lawlessness of those times – times even now designated by some as the good ones. The ruffians who plied this human traffic were as utterly devoid of feeling as they well could be, and looked upon each one of their captures, not as a fellow being, but as so much value in gold, silver, and pence, so much profit in their business. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that Tom's forlorn appearance had no effect upon them. The heartless and rascally Bob procured a pail of water and tossed the contents over him, drenching the lad from head to foot. He shook him violently, and when our hero feebly opened his eyes, the wretch placed a pannikin of strong spirits to his lips, dragged his head backwards – for he had placed his captive in a sitting posture, his back resting against a form – and roughly poured the contents into his mouth. The effect was magical. Tom sat forward with a gasp, spluttering and choking. The colour rushed to his cheeks, and in a twinkling he seemed to gather his wits and his memory together. How he got into that room, who the people were, he had no idea. But Bob's grinning face was within his reach, and he was undoubtedly the rascal who had dealt with him so roughly but a few seconds before. In any case Tom waited for no explanation. He launched himself at Bob, struck him heavily with his fist, and then closed with him.

"The young tiger," growled Sam, stretching out a huge hand and catching him firmly by the shoulder. "Blest if he isn't the boy to fight them Frenchies. Avast there, me hearty! Bob ain't used to violent assaults."

Bob evidently was not accustomed to hard knocks himself, though he might often enough have cause to give them to others while plying his nauseous trade. In any case he was furious, and but for Sam, once the latter had torn Tom away from him, the smaller man would have vented his wrath by striking his almost fainting prisoner in the face.

"Avast there!" shouted Sam, keeping him off. "Ain't I axed you to bring him round quick, seeing as how the pressgang'll be along in a winking? Ain't we got to change his duds, and you there trying to make things wuss? Get off for the togs! Sandy, jest mix another go o' grog. It'll pull him round lively. Jem, I leaves him in your charge while I goes into the other room to do a little business."

Let the reader imagine a pale-faced and frightened youth cringing in the squalid den to which the rascal Sam made his way. There, beneath the same smoky lamp which the woman had borne to the door, sat José, writhing this way and that, his limbs never at rest for a moment, his fingers twining, his eyes shifting to every quarter, his lips twisting this way and that. José would have run from his own shadow on that occasion. The enormity of the crime he was perpetrating had frightened him intensely. Not that he thought of Tom; he was considering himself entirely. What if the whole foul scheme were discovered? What if Septimus were to learn of his action?

"Ho!" shouted Sam, bursting in upon him. "Come to see as all's well?"

José could not answer; his knees positively shook beneath him, while his bloodless lips would not frame the words he wished to utter. He lifted squirming, trembling fingers to his lips and mouthed at Sam. And then, with a huge effort, he managed to blurt out a few words.

"You – you've done it?" he asked.

"In chokey nice enough, master. Jest come along and take a squint at him. If he's the bird – and I don't doubt it – why, the trick's done, the money's earned, or mighty near it."

He led the trembling youth to the door of the other room, now closed upon the poor fellows placed there, and sliding a shutter to one side bade José look in.

"Eh?" he growled in his ear. "The right bird? No mistake, my hearty?"