I have told you, my friends, how we held the English shut up for six months, from October, 1810, to March, 1811, within their lines of Torres Vedras.It was during this time that I hunted the fox in their company, and showed them that amidst all their sportsmen there was not one who could outride a Hussar of Conflans.When I galloped back into the French lines with the blood of the creature still moist upon my blade the outposts who had seen what I had done raised a frenzied cry in my honour, whilst these English hunters still yelled behind me, so that I had the applause of both armies.It made the tears rise to my eyes to feel that I had won the admiration of so many brave men.These English are generous foes.That very evening there came a packet under a white flag addressed "To the Hussar officer who cut down the fox." Within, I found the fox itself in two pieces, as I had left it.There was a note also, short but hearty, as the English fashion is, to say that as I had slaughtered the fox it only remained for me to eat it.They could not know that it was not our French custom to eat foxes, and it showed their desire that he who had won the honours of the chase should also partake of the game.It is not for a Frenchman to be outdone in politeness, and so I returned it to these brave hunters, and begged them to accept it as a side-dish for their next dejeuner de la chasse.
It is thus that chivalrous opponents make war.
I had brought back with me from my ride a clear plan of the English lines, and this I laid before Massena that very evening.
I had hoped that it would lead him to attack, but all the marshals were at each other's throats, snapping and growling like so many hungry hounds.Ney hated Massena, and Massena hated Junot, and Soult hated them all.For this reason, nothing was done.In the meantime food grew more and more scarce, and our beautiful cavalry was ruined for want of fodder.With the end of the winter we had swept the whole country bare, andnothing remained for us to eat, although we sent our forage parties far and wide.It was clear even to the bravest of us that the time had come to retreat.I was myself forced to admit it.
But retreat was not so easy.Not only were the troops weak and exhausted from want of supplies, but the enemy had been much encouraged by our long inaction.Of Wellington we had no great fear.We had found him to be brave and cautious, but with little enterprise.Besides, in that barren country his pursuit could not be rapid.
But on our flanks and in our rear there had gathered great numbers of Portuguese militia, of armed peasants, and of guerillas.These people had kept a safe distance all the winter, but now that our horses were foundered they were as thick as flies all round our outposts, and no man's life was worth a sou when once he fell into their hands.I could name a dozen officers of my own acquaintance who were cut off during that time, and the luckiest was he who received a ball from behind a rock through his head or his heart.There were some whose deaths were so terrible that no report of them was ever allowed to reach their relatives.So frequent were these tragedies, and so much did they impress the imagination of the men, that it became very difficult to induce them to leave the camp.
There was one especial scoundrel, a guerilla chief named Manuelo, "The Smiler," whose exploits filled our men with horror.He was a large, fat man of jovial aspect, and he lurked with a fierce gang among the mountains which lay upon our left flank.A volume might be written of this fellow's cruelties and brutalities, but he was certainly a man of power, for he organised his brigands in a manner which made it almost impossible for us to get through his country.This he did by imposing a severe discipline upon them and enforcing it by cruel penalties, a policy by which he made them formidable, but which had some unexpected results, as I will show you in my story.Had he not flogged his own lieutenant--but you will hear of that when the time comes.
There were many difficulties in connection with a retreat, but it was very evident that there was no other possible course, and so Massena began to quickly pass his baggage and his sick from Torres Novas, which was his headquarters, to Coimbra, the first strong post on his line ofcommunications.He could not do this unperceived, however, and at once the guerillas came swarming closer and closer upon our flanks.One of our divisions, that of Clausel, with a brigade of Montbrun's cavalry, was far to the south of the Tagus, and it became very necessary to let them know that we were about to retreat, for Otherwise they would be left unsupported in the very heart of the enemy's country.I remember wondering how Massena would accomplish this, for simple couriers could not get through, and small parties would be certainly destroyed.In some way an order to fall back must be conveyed to these men, or France would be the weaker by fourteen thousand men.Little did I think that it was I, Colonel Gerard, who was to have the honour of a deed which might have formed the crowning glory of any other man's life, and which stands high among those exploits which have made my own so famous.
At that time I was serving on Massena's staff, and he had two other aides-de-camp, who were also very brave and intelligent officers.The name of one was Cortex and of the other Duplessis.They were senior to me in age, but junior in every other respect.Cortex was a small, dark man, very quick and eager.He was a fine soldier, but he was ruined by his conceit.To take him at his own valuation, he was the first man in the army.
Duplessis was a Gascon, like myself, and he was a very fine fellow, as all Gascon gentlemen are.We took it in turn, day about, to do duty, and it was Cortex who was in attendance upon the morning of which I speak.I saw him at breakfast, but afterward neither he nor his horse was to be seen.All day Massena was in his usual gloom, and he spent much of his time staring with his telescope at the English lines and at the shipping in the Tagus.
