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The Young Buglers

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THE YOUNG BUGLERS

by G.A. Henty




PREFACE


To my Young Readers.

I remember that, as a boy, I regarded any attempt to mix instruction
with amusement as being as objectionable a practice as the
administration of powder in jam; but I think that this feeling arose
from the fact that in those days books contained a very small share
of amusement and a very large share of instruction. I have endeavored
to avoid this, and I hope that the accounts of battles and sieges,
illustrated as they are by maps, will be found as interesting
as the lighter parts of the story. As in my tale, "_The Young
Franc-Tireurs_," I gave the outline of the Franco-German war, so
I have now endeavored to give the salient features of the great
Peninsular struggle. The military facts, with the names of generals
and regiments, the dates and places, are all strictly accurate, and
any one who has read with care the story of "The Young Buglers" could
pass an examination as to the leading events of the Peninsular war.

Yours truly,

THE AUTHOR.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER I. A Coaching Adventure

CHAPTER II. The Young Pickles

CHAPTER III. Enlisted

CHAPTER IV. A Tough Customer

CHAPTER V. Overboard

CHAPTER VI. Portugal

CHAPTER VII. The Passage of the Douro--Talavera

CHAPTER VIII. A Pause in Operations

CHAPTER IX. "With the Guerillas"

CHAPTER X. Madrid

CHAPTER XI. The Fight on the Coa

CHAPTER XII. Busaco and Torres Vedras

CHAPTER XIII. Albuera

CHAPTER XIV. Invalided Home

CHAPTER XV. Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajos

CHAPTER XVI. Salamanca

CHAPTER XVII. Caught in a Trap

CHAPTER XVIII. Just in Time

CHAPTER XIX. Vittoria

CHAPTER XX. Toulouse




THE YOUNG BUGLERS.




CHAPTER I.

A COACHING ADVENTURE.


Had any of the boys in the lower forms of Eton in the year 1808, been
asked who were the most popular boys of their own age, they would have
been almost sure to have answered, without the slightest hesitation,
Tom and Peter Scudamore, and yet it is probable that no two boys
were more often in disgrace. It was not that they were idle, upon the
contrary, both were fairly up in their respective forms, but they were
constantly getting into mischief of one sort or another; yet even
with the masters they were favorites, there was never anything low,
disgraceful, or ungentlemanly in their escapades, and they could be
trusted never to attempt to screen themselves from the consequences
by prevarication, much less by lying. If the masters heard that a
party of youngsters had been seen far out of bounds, they were pretty
sure that the Scudamores were among them; a farmer came in from a
distance to complain that his favorite tree had been stripped of
its apples--for in those days apples were looked upon by boys as
fair objects of sport,--if the head-master's favorite white poodle
appeared dyed a deep blue, if Mr. Jones, the most unpopular master
in the school, upon coming out of his door trod upon a quantity of
tallow smeared all over the doorstep, and was laid up for a week in
consequence, there was generally a strong suspicion that Tom and Peter
Scudamore were concerned in the matter. One of their tricks actually
came to the ears of the Provost himself, and caused quite a sensation
in the place, but in this case, fortunately for them, they escaped
undetected.

One fine summer afternoon they were out on the water with two or three
other boys of their own age, when a barge was seen ahead at some short
distance from the shore. She was apparently floating down with the
stream, and the fact that a horse was proceeding along the towing-path
a little way ahead was not noticed, as the rope was slack and was
trailing under water. The boys, therefore, as they were rowing against
stream, steered their boat to pass inside of her. Just as they came
abreast of the horse a man on the barge suddenly shouted to the rider
of the horse to go on. He did so, the rope tightened, rose from the
water just under the bow of the boat, and in another minute the boys
were struggling in the water. All were good swimmers, and would
have cared little for the ducking had it occurred accidentally, but
the roars of laughter of the bargeman, and the chaff with which he
assailed them as they scrambled up the bank, showed clearly enough
that they had been upset maliciously. The boys were furious, and one
or two proposed that they should report the case, but Tom Scudamore
pointed out that the bargeman would of course declare that it was
a pure accident, and that the boys were themselves in fault in not
looking out whether the barge was being towed, before going inside
her, and so nothing would come of reporting.

The boat was dragged ashore and emptied, and in a few minutes they
were rowing back towards the town. The distance was but short, and
they did not repass the barge before they reached their boat-house.
The brothers had exchanged a few words in a low voice on the way, and
instead of following the example of the others, and starting at a run
for the house where they boarded to change their clothes, they walked
down by the river and saw that the barge had moored up against the
bank, at a short distance below the bridge. They watched for a time,
and saw the bargeman fasten up the hatch of the little cabin and go
ashore.

That night two boys lowered themselves with a rope from the window
of one of the dames-houses, and walked rapidly down to the river.
There were a few flickering oil lamps burning, and the one or two
old watchmen were soundly asleep in their boxes. They did not meet a
soul moving upon their way to the object of the expedition, the barge
that had run them down. Very quietly they slipped on board, satisfied
themselves by listening at the half-open hatch to the snoring within
that their enemy was there, then loosened the moorings so that they
could be thrown off at a moment's notice.

"Now, Peter," the elder brother said, "open our lantern. The night is
quite still. You hold your hand behind it, so that the light will not
fall on our faces, and I will look whether he is only wrapped up in a
blanket or has a regular bed; we must not risk setting the place on
fire. Get the crackers ready."

A dark lantern was now taken out from under Tom's jacket, and was
found to be still alight, an important matter, for striking a light
with flint and steel was in those days a long and tedious business,
and then opening it Tom threw the light into the cabin. It was a
tiny place, and upon a bench, wrapped up in a blanket, the bargeman
was lying. As the light fell on his eyes, he moved, and a moment
afterwards started up with an oath, and demanded who was there.

No answer came in words, but half a dozen lighted crackers were thrown
into the cabin, when they began to explode with a tremendous uproar.
In an instant the hatch was shut down and fastened outside. The rope
was cast off, and in another minute she was floating down stream with
the crackers still exploding inside her, but with their noise almost
deadened by the tremendous outcry of shouts and howls, and by a
continued and furious banging at the hatch.

"There is no fear of his being choked, Tom, I hope?"

"No, I expect he's all right," Tom said, "it will be pretty stifling
for a bit no doubt, but there's a chimney hole and the smoke will find
its way out presently. The barge will drift down to the weir before it
brings up, there is not enough stream out for there to be any risk of
her upsetting, else we daren't have turned her adrift."

The next day the whole town was talking of the affair, and in the
afternoon the bargeman went up to the head-master and accused one of
the boys of an attempt to murder him.

Greatly surprised, the Provost demanded what reason the man had for
suspecting the boys, and the bargeman acknowledged that he had that
afternoon upset a boat with four or five boys in her. "They would not
bear you malice on that account," the Provost said; "they don't think
much of a swim such weather as this, unless indeed you did it on
purpose."

The man hesitated in his answer, and the Provost continued, "You
evidently did do it on purpose, and in that case, although it was
carried too far, for I hear you had a very narrow escape of being
stifled, still you brought it upon yourself, and I hope it will be a
lesson to you not to risk the lives of Eton boys for your amusement. I
know nothing about this affair, but if you can point out the boys you
suspect I will of course inquire into it."

The bargeman departed, grumbling that he did not know one of the young
imps from another, but if he did find them, he'd wring their necks for
them to a certainty. The Provost had some inquiries made as to the
boys who had been upset, and whether they had all been in at lock-up
time; finding that they had all answered to their names, he made no
further investigation.

This affair had taken place in the summer before this story begins,
on the 15th of October, 1808. On that day a holiday was granted in
consequence of the head-master's birthday, and the boys set off, some
to football, some for long walks in the country.

The Scudamores, with several of their friends, strolled down the
towing-path for some miles, and walked back by the road. As they
entered their dames-house on their return, Tom Scudamore said for the
twentieth time, "Well, I would give anything to be a soldier, instead
of having to go in and settle down as a banker--it's disgusting!"

As they entered a boy came up. "Oh, Scudamore, Jackson's been asking
for you both. It's something particular, for he has been out three or
four times, and he wanted to send after you, but no one knew where you
had gone."

The boys at once went into the master's study, where they remained all
the afternoon. A short time after they went in, Mr. Jackson came out
and said a word or two to one of the senior boys, and the word was
quickly passed round, that there was to be no row, for the Scudamores
had just heard of the sudden death of their father. That evening, Mr.
Jackson had beds made up for them in his study, so that they might not
have the pain of having to talk with the other boys. The housekeeper
packed up their things, and next morning early they started by the
coach for London.

Mr. Scudamore, the father of the young Etonians, was a banker. He was
the elder of two brothers, and had inherited his father's business,
while his brother had gone into the army. The banker had married the
daughter of a landowner in the neighborhood, and had lived happily and
prosperously until her death, seven years before this story begins.
She had borne him three children, the two boys, now fifteen and
fourteen years old respectively, and a girl, Rhoda, two years younger
than Peter. The loss of his wife afflicted him greatly, and he
received another shock five years later by the death of his brother,
Colonel Scudamore, to whom he was much attached. From the time of his
wife's death he had greatly relaxed in his attention to his business,
and after his brother's death he left the management almost entirely
in the hands of his cashier, in whom he had unlimited confidence.
This confidence was wholly misplaced. For years the cashier had
been carrying on speculation upon his own account with the monies
of the bank. Gradually and without exciting the least suspicion he
had realized the various securities held by the bank, and at last
gathering all the available cash he, one Saturday afternoon, locked up
the bank and fled.

On Monday it was found that he was missing; Mr. Scudamore went down
to the bank, and had the books taken into his parlor for examination.
Some hours afterwards a clerk went in and found his master lying back
in his chair insensible. A doctor on arriving pronounced it to be
apoplexy. He never rallied, and a few hours afterwards the news spread
through the country that Scudamore, the banker, was dead, and that the
bank had stopped payment.

People could believe the former item of news, but were incredulous as
to the latter. Scudamore's bank was looked upon in Lincolnshire as at
least as safe as the Bank of England itself. But the sad truth was
soon clear to all, and for awhile there was great distress of mind
among the people, for many miles round, for most of them had entrusted
all their savings of years to the Scudamores' bank. When affairs were
wound up, however, it was found that things were not quite so bad as
had been feared. Mr. Scudamore had a considerable capital employed
in the bank, and the sale of his handsome house and estate realized
a large sum, so that eventually every one received back the money
they had entrusted to the bank; but the whole of the capital and the
profits of years of successful enterprise had vanished, and it was
calculated by the executors that the swindler must have appropriated
at least 80,000_l._

For the first month after their father's death the boys stayed with
the doctor who had long attended the family and had treated all their
ailments since they were born. In the great loss of their father the
loss of their fortune affected them but little, except that they were
sorry to be obliged to leave Eton; for the interest of the little
fortune which their mother had brought at her marriage, and which was
all that now remained to them, would not have been sufficient to pay
for their expenses there, and indeed such an education would have been
out of place for two boys who had to make their own way in life. At
the end of this month it was arranged that they were to go to their
only existing relative, an elder sister of Mr. Scudamore. The boys had
never seen her, for she had not for many years been friends with her
brother.

The letter which she had written to the doctor, announcing her
willingness to receive them, made the boys laugh, although it did not
hold out prospects of a very pleasant future. "I am, of course," she
said, "prepared to do my duty. No one can say that I have ever failed
in my duty. My poor brother quarreled with me. It was his duty to
apologize. He did not do so. Had it been my duty to apologize I should
have done so. As I was right, and he was wrong, it was clearly not my
duty. I shall now do my duty to my niece and nephews. Yet I may be
allowed to say that I regret much that they are not all nieces. I do
not like boys. They are always noisy, and not always clean. They do
not wipe their shoes, they are always breaking things, they go about
with all sorts of rubbish and dirt in their pockets, their hair is
always rough, they are fond of worrying cats, and other cruel games.
Altogether they are objectionable. Had my brother made up his mind to
leave his children in my charge, it was clearly his duty to have had
girls instead of boys. However, it is not because other people fail
in their duty that I should fail in mine. Therefore, let them come to
me this day fortnight. By that time I shall have got some strong and
suitable furniture in the room that my nephews will occupy, and shall
have time to make other arrangements. This letter will, if all goes
well, reach you, I believe, in three days after the date of posting,
and they will take the same time coming here. Assure them that I am
prepared to do my duty, and that I hope that they will make a serious
effort at doing theirs. Ask my nephews, upon the occasion of their
first arrival, to make as little noise as they can, because my cat,
Minnie, is very shy, and if she is scared at the first meeting,
she will take a very long time to get accustomed to them. I also
particularly beg that they do not, as they come up to the house, throw
stones at any of the pigeons who may be resting upon the roof, for the
slates were all set right a few weeks ago, and I am sure I do not wish
to have the slater here again; they were hanging about for ten days
the last time they came. I do not know that I have anything else to
say."

The boys received the reading of this singular epistle with shouts of
laughter.

"Poor aunt," Tom said. "What does she think of us that she can suppose
that, upon our very first arrival, we should come in like wild
Indians, throwing stones at her pigeons, and frightening her Minnie
into fits. Did you ever hear such an extraordinary idea, Doctor
Jarvis?"

"At any rate, boys," the doctor said, when the laughter had ceased,
"you may find your aunt a little peculiar, but she is evidently
determined to do her duty to you, and you must do yours to her, and
not play more pranks than you can help. As to you, Rhoda, you will
evidently be in high favor, and as you are fortunately a quiet little
lady, you will, I have no doubt, get on with her very well."

"I hope so," Rhoda said, smiling, "you see she means to be kind,
though she does write funny letters, and, at any rate, there are
Minnie and the pigeons; it sounds nice, you know. Do you know what
aunt's place is like, Dr. Jarvis, and how to get there from here."

"No, my dear, I never was in that part of England. It is close to
Marlborough that she lives, a very pretty country, I believe. There
is, of course, no way to go across from here. You must go up to London
by coach from here, and then to Marlborough by the western coach. I
will write to my brother James in town, where you stopped at night as
you came through, boys, and I know that he will take you all in for
the night, and see that you go off right in the morning."

"You're very kind, indeed, Doctor Jarvis. I do not know how to thank
you for all you have done for us," Tom said earnestly, and the others
cordially echoed the sentiment.

The day before starting the doctor had a long talk with the boys. He
pointed out to them that their future now depended upon themselves
alone. They must expect to find many unpleasantnesses in their way,
but they must take their little trials pleasantly, and make the best
of everything. "I have no fear as to Rhoda," their kind friend said.
"She has that happy, amiable, and quiet disposition that is sure to
adapt itself to all circumstances. I have no doubt she will become a
favorite with your aunt. Try to keep out of scrapes, boys. You know
you are rather fond of mischief, and your aunt will not be able to
understand it. If you get into any serious difficulty write to me, you
can rely upon always finding a friend in me."

The journey to London was no novelty to the boys, but Rhoda enjoyed it
immensely. Her place had been taken inside, but most of the journey
she rode outside with her brothers. She was greatly amazed at the
bustle and noise of London, and was quite confused at the shouting and
crowd at the place where the coach drew up, for two or three other
coaches had just arrived from other directions. Mr. Jarvis had sent
his man-servant to meet them, their luggage was sent direct to the
booking-office from which the coach started for Marlborough, and the
servant carried a small bag containing their night things. It was
evening when they got in, and Rhoda could scarcely keep her eyes open
long enough to have tea, for the coach had been two days and nights
upon the road. The next day they stayed in town, and Mrs. Jarvis took
them out to see the sights of London--the Tower and St. Paul's, and
Westminster Abbey, and the beasts at Exeter Change. The boys had twice
before spent a whole day in London, their father having, upon two
occasions, made his visits to town to fit in with their going up to
school, but to Rhoda it was all new, and very, very wonderful.

The next day the coach started early for Marlborough. It was to
take rather over twenty-four hours on the way. As before, Rhoda rode
outside with her brothers until the evening, but then, instead of
going inside, where there were five passengers already, she said, as
the night was so fine and warm, she would rather remain with them.
They were sitting behind the coachman, there were two male passengers
upon the same seat with them, and another in the box seat by the
coachman. The conversation turned, as in those days it was pretty sure
to turn, upon highwaymen. Several coaches had been lately stopped by
three highwaymen, who worked together, and were reported to be more
reckless than the generality of their sort. They had shot a coachman
who refused to stop, the week before on Hounslow Heath, they had
killed a guard on the great north road, and they had shot two
passengers who resisted, near Exeter.

Tom and Peter were greatly amused by observing that the passenger who
sat next to them, and who, at the commencement of the conversation,
showed a brace of heavy pistols with which he was provided, with much
boasting as to what he should do if the coach were attacked, when he
heard of the fate of the passengers who had resisted, became very
quiet indeed, and presently took an opportunity, when he thought that
he was not observed, of slipping his pistols under the tarpaulin
behind him.

"I hope those dreadful men won't stop our coach," Rhoda said.

"They won't hurt you if they do, Rhoda," Tom said assuringly. "I think
it would be rather a lark. I say, Peter," he went on in a whisper, "I
think we might astonish them with those pistols that coward next to
you has hid behind him."

"I should just think so," Peter said; "the bargee at Eton would be
nothing to it."

The hours went slowly on. Rhoda and the boys dozed uncomfortably
against each other and the baggage behind them, until they were
suddenly roused by a shout in the road beside them: "Stand for your
lives!"

The moon was up, and they could see that there were three horsemen.
One galloped to the horses' heads, and seized the rein of one of the
leaders, the others rode by the coach.

The first answer to the challenge was a discharge from the blunderbuss
of the guard, which brought one of the highwaymen from his horse.

The other, riding up to the side of the coach, fired at the guard, and
a loud cry told that the shot had taken effect. In another moment the
fellow was by the side of the coachman.

"Hold up!" he said, "or I will blow your brains out!"

The coachman did as he was ordered, and indeed the man at the leader's
head had almost succeeded in stopping them. The passenger next to the
boys had, at the first challenge, again seized his pistols, and the
boys thought that he was going to fire after all.

"Lie down at our feet, Rhoda, quick!" Tom said, "and don't move
till I tell you." The fate of the guard evidently frightened away
the short-lived courage of the passenger, for, as the coachman again
pulled up, he hastily thrust the pistols in behind him.

"Get down, every one of you," the highwayman shouted.

"Lie still, Rhoda," Tom whispered. "Now, Peter, get in underneath the
tarpaulin."

This was done as the passengers descended. The luggage was not so
heavily piled as usual, and the boys found plenty of room beneath the
tarpaulin.

"Now, Peter, you take one of these pistols and give me the other. Now
peep out. The moon is hidden, which is a good thing; now, look here,
you shall shoot that fellow standing down below, who is swearing at
the ladies inside for not getting out quicker. I'll take a shot at
that fellow standing in front of the horse's heads."

"Do you think you can hit him, Tom?"

"I have not the least idea, but I can try; and if you hit the other
one, the chances are he'll bolt, whether I hit him or not. Open the
tarpaulin at the side so as to see well, and rest the pistol upon
something. You must take a good shot, Peter, for if you miss him we
shall be in a mess."

"All right," Peter said, in a whisper, "I can almost touch him with
the pistol."

In loud and brutal tones the highwayman now began to order the
frightened ladies to give up their watches and rings, enforcing his
commands with terrible curses. When suddenly a pistol flashed out
just behind him, and he fell off his horse with a ball through his
shoulder.

Tom's shot, though equally well intended, was not so truly aimed.
The highwayman had dismounted, and was standing just in front of the
leaders, so that Tom had a fair view of him between them. The boys had
both occasionally fired their father's pistols, for, in those days,
each householder in the country always kept loaded pistols in his
room, but his skill was not sufficient to make sure of a man at that
distance. The bullet flew past at two feet to the left of his head.
But its effect was scarcely less startling than if it had actually hit
him, for, in its passage, it passed through the ear of the off leader.
The horse made a start at the sudden pain, and then dashed forward.
The rest of the team, already alarmed by the shot, followed her lead;
before the startled highwayman could get out of the way they were upon
him, in another instant he was under their heels, and the coach gave a
sudden lurch as it passed over his body.

"Lie still, Rhoda, a little longer; it's all right, but the horses
have run away," Tom exclaimed, as he scrambled forward, and caught
hold of the reins, which the coachman had tied to the rail of the seat
as he got down. "Catch hold of the reins, Peter, and help me pull."

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