“You are also an excellent rider.”
I admitted it.
“And the best swordsman in the six brigades of light cavalry.”
Massena was famous for the accuracy of his information.
“Now,” said he, “if you will look at this plan you will have no difficulty in understanding what it is that I wish you to do. These are the lines of Torres Vedras. You will perceive that they cover a vast space, and you will realise that the English can only hold a position here and there. Once through the lines you have twenty-five miles of open country which lie between them and Lisbon. It is very important to me to learn how Wellington's troops are distributed throughout that space, and it is my wish that you should go and ascertain.”
His words turned me cold.
“Sir,” said I, “it is impossible that a colonel of light cavalry should condescend to act as a spy.”
He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder.
“You would not be a Hussar if you were not a hot-head,” said he. “If you will listen you will understand that I have not asked you to act as a spy. What do you think of that horse?”
He had conducted me to the opening of his tent, and there was a chasseur who led up and down a most admirable creature. He was a dapple grey, not very tall, a little over fifteen hands perhaps, but with the short head and splendid arch of the neck which comes with the Arab blood. His shoulders and haunches were so muscular, and yet his legs so fine, that it thrilled me with joy just to gaze upon him. A fine horse or a beautiful woman—I cannot look at them unmoved, even now when seventy winters have chilled my blood. You can think how it was in the year '10.