“Sir Robert asks for orders in this dispatch, and refuses to stir from Almeida without instructions from your lordship.”
“Ah!!” It was a sigh of relief. He broke the seal and spread the dispatch. He read swiftly. “Very well,” was all he said, when he had reached the end of Sir Robert’s letter. “I shall reply to this in person and at, once. You will be in need of rest, Mr. Hamilton. You had best take a day to recuperate, then follow me to Almeida. Sir Terence no doubt will see to your immediate needs.”
“With pleasure, Mr. Hamilton,” replied Sir Terence mechanically—for his own concerns weighed upon him at this moment more heavily than the French advance. He pulled the bell-rope, and into the fatherly hands of Mullins, who came in response to the summons, the young officer was delivered.
Lord Wellington took up his hat and riding-crop from Sir Terence’s desk. “I shall leave for the frontier at once,” he announced. “Sir Robert will need the encouragement of my presence to keep him within the prudent bounds I have imposed. And I do not know how long Ciudad Rodrigo may be able to hold out. At any moment we may have the French upon the Agueda, and the invasion may begin. As for you, O’Moy, this has changed everything. The French and the needs of the case have decided. For the present no change is possible in the administration here in Lisbon. You hold the threads of your office and the moment is not one in which to appoint another adjutant to take them over. Such a thing might be fatal to the success of the British arms. You must withdraw this resignation.” And he proffered the document.
Sir Terence recoiled. He went deathly white.
“I cannot,” he stammered. “After what has happened, I—”
Lord Wellington’s face became set and stern. His eyes blazed upon the adjutant.
“O’Moy,” he said, and the concentrated anger of his voice was terrifying, “if you suggest that any considerations but those of this campaign have the least weight with me in what I now do, you insult me. I yield to no man in my sense of duty, and I allow no private considerations to override it. You are saved from going home in disgrace by the urgency of the circumstances, as I have told you. By that and by nothing else. Be thankful, then; and in loyally remaining at your post efface what is past. You know what is doing at Torres Vedras. The works have been under your direction from the commencement. See that they are vigorously pushed forward and that the lines are ready to receive the army in a month’s time from now if necessary. I depend upon you—the army and England’s honour depend upon you. I bow to the inevitable and so shall you.” Then his sternness relaxed. “So much as your commanding officer. Now as your friend,” and he held out his hand, “I congratulate you upon your luck. After this morning’s manifestations of it, it should pass into a proverb. Goodbye, O’Moy. I trust you, remember.”
“And I shall not fail you,” gulped O’Moy, who, strong man that he was, found himself almost on the verge of tears. He clutched the extended hand.
“I shall fix my headquarters for the present at Celorico. Communicate with me there. And now one other matter: the Council of Regency will no doubt pester you with representations that I should—if time still remains—advance to the relief of Ciudad Rodrigo. Understand, that is no part of my plan of campaign. I do not stir across the frontier of Portugal. Here let the French come and find me, and I shall be ready to receive them. Let the Portuguese Government have no illusions on that point, and stimulate the Council into doing all possible to carry out the destruction of mills and the laying waste of the country in the valley of the Mondego and wherever else I have required.