Captain John Smith

by C. H. Forbes-Lindsay

The situation was extremely perilous but it allowed the Earl no alternative from the desperate course of attacking a body twice as numerous as his own, enjoying the advantage of an ideal position. To turn back would be certain destruction. To stay where he was would be to die like a rat in a trap. The only hope—and it was very slim—lay in cutting a way through the Turks holding the pass and gaining the town, only a few miles beyond, before the reinforcing Tartars could arrive. Hesitation was foreign to the character of Meldritch. Putting a bold face upon the matter, he marched on until within a mile of the pass and then halted his men to prepare for an attack as soon as night should fall.

In the meanwhile our hero’s busy brain had been at work, and when the troops came to a halt he had a simple but well-devised plan to propose to his commander. He lost no time in repairing to the spot where the general stood consulting with his leading officers. Although no more than a major-captain, Smith could always gain the ear of his superiors, who had long since learned to respect his judgment and shrewd resourcefulness.

“Way there for my ‘Master of Stratagem,’” cried the Earl banteringly, as our hero approached. “Now I warrant he hath some bold proposal to advance that shall give us easement in this difficulty. Thou art always welcome Captain Smith, for methinks Dame Fortune dances close attendance on thee.”

Smith revealed his scheme and immediately received the consent of the commander to its execution.

“By my halidame!” said the pleased general, “this powder-magician of ours would rout the forces of Pluto and distract his realm with horrible contrivances. Take what men you need and make what arrangements your judgment prompts, Captain Smith. Tonight the van is under your command.”

The leader of the vanguard was decidedly the post of honor in such an action as was about to begin, and as our captain rode forward in the dark at the head of three hundred picked horsemen, he felt justly proud of the position assigned to him. Each of his men carried a spear on the head of which was fastened a bunch of fireworks, designed to make as much noise and splutter as possible. When they had arrived within a few hundred yards of the Turks who lay in waiting at the entrance to the pass, each man lighted the combustibles at the end of his lance and charged with it thrust in front of his horse’s head. The effect upon the enemy was immediate and decisive. Panic seized their ranks. They turned and fled, falling over one another in their terrified haste to escape the demons by which they supposed themselves to be beset. The horses of their cavalry, no less alarmed by the strange sight, plunged wildly amongst them, increasing the confusion.

Into this disordered mass rode Smith’s horsemen followed by the main body, slaying as they went. So they cut their way through the pass and emerged on the other side without losing a score of their number. It was a great achievement, but Meldritch’s little army was still in very grave danger. The Tartars were close at hand if not already in the way. The Earl pushed forward, but he dared not urge his troops to their utmost speed, in case he should come upon the enemy with his horses exhausted. Furthermore, the night was unusually dark and the men had to keep to the road and proceed cautiously for fear of falling or losing their way.

With the first streaks of dawn, the anxious Earl, riding at the head of the column, began to gaze forward with straining eyes. They were entering the valley of Veristhorne and the refuge they sought was scarce three miles distant. Presently the general, looking across the valley, dimly discerned the black bulk of Rothenthrum upon the farther side. But the cry of joy that started from his lips was cut short by the sight of a huge dark mass stretched across the middle ground. It was too late. Forty thousand Tartars lay before them and in their rear thirty thousand Turks were advancing.

The Earl of Meldritch was one of those rare combinations—a dashing leader and a sound general. His inclination would have prompted him to charge the horde of barbarians that lay in his path, but such a course would have been suicidal. Instead, he led his troops to the base of a mountain where he immediately began dispositions to withstand an attack. The Tartars commenced to form their ranks at sunrise but, fortunately for the Christians, did not advance until noon. This unexpected respite enabled Meldritch, not only to rest his men and horses after their all-night march, but also to make some rough defences. The Tartar cavalry were the greater proportion of their army and that most to be feared. In order to check their charges, the Earl surrounded his position, except where it rested upon the mountain, with a cordon of sharpened stakes, driven firmly into the ground.

The sun was high in the heavens when the Tartar horsemen advanced to the discordant clamor of drums, trumpets and hautboys. In dense ranks they stretched far beyond each flank of the small Christian army and looked as though they might envelop and swallow it with ease. Behind them came a horde of foot-soldiers armed with bows and bills. By this time detached bodies of Turks began to appear on the surrounding hills where they complacently sat down to watch the combat in the arena below, prepared, if necessary, to reinforce the Tartars. These additional enemies amounted to about fifteen thousand in number, so that Meldritch’s ten thousand were hopelessly overpowered. The Earl realized that his little force was doomed but, like a good and brave commander, he had made the best disposition possible of them and was determined to fight to the last.