CHAPTER II. THE ULTIMATUM
News of the affair at Tavora reached Sir Terence O'Moy, theAdjutant-General at Lisbon, about a week later in dispatches fromheadquarters. These informed him that in the course of the humbleapology and explanation of the regrettable occurrence offered by theColonel of the 8th Dragoons in person to the Mother Abbess, it hadtranspired that Lieutenant Butler had left the convent alive, but thatnevertheless he continued absent from his regiment.
Those dispatches contained other unpleasant matters of a totallydifferent nature, with which Sir Terence must proceed to deal at once;but their gravity was completely outweighed in the adjutant's mind bythis deplorable affair of Lieutenant Butler's. Without wishing to conveyan impression that the blunt and downright O'Moy was gifted with anyundue measure of shrewdness, it must nevertheless be said that he wasquick to perceive what fresh thorns the occurrence was likely to throwin a path that was already thorny enough in all conscience, whata semblance of justification it must give to the hostility of theintriguers on the Council of Regency, what a formidable weapon it mustplace in the hands of Principal Souza and his partisans. In itself thiswas enough to trouble a man in O'Moy's position. But there was more.Lieutenant Butler happened to be his brother-in-law, own brother toO'Moy's lovely, frivolous wife. Irresponsibility ran strongly in thatbranch of the Butler family.
For the sake of the young wife whom he loved with a passionate andfearful jealousy such as is not uncommon in a man of O'Moy's temperamentwhen at his age--he was approaching his forty-sixth birthday--he marriesa girl of half his years, the adjutant had pulled his brother-in-law outof many a difficulty; shielded him on many an occasion from the properconsequences of his incurable rashness.
This affair of the convent, however, transcended anything that had gonebefore and proved altogether too much for O'Moy. It angered him as muchas it afflicted him. Yet when he took his head in his hands and groaned,it was only his sorrow that he was expressing, and it was a sorrowentirely concerned with his wife.
The groan attracted the attention of his military secretary, CaptainTremayne, of Fletcher's Engineers, who sat at work at a litteredwriting-table placed in the window recess. He looked up sharply, suddenconcern in the strong young face and the steady grey eyes he bent uponhis chief. The sight of O'Moy's hunched attitude brought him instantlyto his feet.
"Whatever is the matter, sir?"
"It's that damned fool Richard," growled O'Moy. "He's broken out again."
The captain looked relieved. "And is that all?"
O'Moy looked at him, white-faced, and in his blue eyes a blaze of thatswift passion that had made his name a byword in the army.
"All?" he roared. "You'll say it's enough, by God, when you hear whatthe fool's been at this time. Violation of a nunnery, no less." And hebrought his massive fist down with a crash upon the document that hadconveyed the information. "With a detachment of dragoons he broke intothe convent of the Dominican nuns at Tavora one night a week ago.The alarm bell was sounded, and the village turned out to avenge theoutrage. Consequences: three troopers killed, five peasants sabred todeath and seven other casualties, Dick himself missing and reported tohave escaped from the convent, but understood to remain in hiding--sothat he adds desertion to the other crime, as if that in itself were notenough to hang him. That's all, as you say, and I hope you consider itenough even for Dick Butler--bad luck to him."
"My God!" said Captain Tremayne.
"I'm glad that you agree with me."
Captain Tremayne stared at his chief, the utmost dismay upon his fineyoung face. "But surely, sir, surely--I mean, sir, if this report iscorrect some explanation--" He broke down, utterly at fault.
"To be sure, there's an explanation. You may always depend upon a mostelegant explanation for anything that Dick Butler does. His life is madeup of mistakes and explanations." He spoke bitterly, "He broke intothe nunnery under a misapprehension, according to the account of thesergeant who accompanied him," and Sir Terence read out that part of thereport. "But how is that to help him, and at such a time as this, withpublic feeling as it is, and Wellington in his present temper about it?The provost's men are beating the country for the blackguard. When theyfind him it's a firing party he'll have to face."
Tremayne turned slowly to the window and looked down the fair prospectof the hillside over a forest of cork oaks alive with fresh greenshoots to the silver sheen of the river a mile away. The storms of thepreceding week had spent their fury--the travail that had attended thebirth of Spring--and the day was as fair as a day of June in England.Weaned forth by the generous sunshine, the burgeoning of vine and fig,of olive and cork went on apace, and the skeletons of trees which afortnight since had stood gaunt and bare were already fleshed in tendergreen.
From the window of this fine conventual house on the heights ofMonsanto, above the suburb of Alcantara, where the Adjutant-General hadtaken up his quarters, Captain Tremayne stood a moment considering thepanorama spread to his gaze, from the red-brown roofs of Lisbon on hisleft--that city which boasted with Rome that it was built upon a clusterof seven hills--to the lines of embarkation that were building aboutthe fort of St. Julian on his left. Then he turned, facing again thespacious, handsome room with its heavy, semi-ecclesiastical furniture,and Sir Terence, who, hunched in his chair at the ponderously carvedblack writing-table, scowled fiercely at nothing.
"What are you going to do, sir?" he inquired.
Sir Terence shrugged impatiently and heaved himself up in his chair.
"Nothing," he growled.
"Nothing?"
The interrogation, which seemed almost to cover a reproach, irritatedthe adjutant.
"And what the devil can I do?" he rapped.
"You've pulled Dick out of scrapes before now."
"I have. That seems to have been my principal occupation ever since Imarried his sister. But this time he's gone too far. What can I do?"
"Lord Wellington is fond of you," suggested Captain Tremayne. He wasyour imperturbable young man, and he remained as calm now as O'Moy wasexcited. Although by some twenty years the adjutant's junior, there wasbetween O'Moy and himself, as well as between Tremayne and the Butlerfamily, with which he was remotely connected, a strong friendship, whichwas largely responsible for the captain's present appointment as SirTerence's military secretary.
O'Moy looked at him, and looked away. "Yes," he agreed. "But he's stillfonder of law and order and military discipline, and I should onlybe imperilling our friendship by pleading with him for this youngblackguard."
"The young blackguard is your brother-in-law," Tremayne reminded him.
"Bad luck to you, Tremayne, don't I know it? Besides, what is there Ican do?" he asked again, and ended testily: "Faith, man, I don't knowwhat you're thinking of."
"I'm thinking of Una," said Captain Tremayne in that composed way ofhis, and the words fell like cold water upon the hot iron of O'Moy'sanger.
The man who can receive with patience a reproach, implicit or explicit,of being wanting in consideration towards his wife is comparativelyrare, and never a man of O'Moy's temperament and circumstances.Tremayne's reminder stung him sharply, and the more sharply because ofthe strong friendship that existed between Tremayne and Lady O'Moy. Thatfriendship had in the past been a thorn in O'Moy's flesh. In the days ofhis courtship he had known a fierce jealousy of Tremayne, beholding inhim for a time a rival who, with the strong advantage of youth, must inthe end prevail. But when O'Moy, putting his fortunes to the test, haddeclared himself and been accepted by Una Butler, there had been an endto the jealousy, and the old relations of cordial friendship between themen had been resumed.
O'Moy had conceived that jealousy of his to have been slain. But therehad been times when from its faint, uneasy stirrings he should havetaken warning that it did no more than slumber. Like most warm hearted,generous, big-natured men, O'Moy was of a singular humility where womenwere concerned, and this humility of his would often breathe a doubtlest in choosing between himself and Tre
mayne Una might have been guidedby her head rather than her heart, by ambition rather than affection,and that in taking himself she had taken the man who could give her byfar the more assured and affluent position.
He had crushed down such thoughts as disloyal to his young wife,as ungrateful and unworthy; and at such times he would fall intoself-contempt for having entertained them. Then Una herself had revivedthose doubts three months ago, when she had suggested that Ned Tremayne,who was then at Torres Vedras with Colonel Fletcher, was the very man tofill the vacant place of military secretary to the adjutant, if he wouldaccept it. In the reaction of self-contempt, and in a curious surgeof pride almost as perverse as his humility, O'Moy had adopted hersuggestion, and thereafter--in the past-three months, that is tosay--the unreasonable devil of O'Moy's jealousy had slept, almostforgotten. Now, by a chance remark whose indiscretion Tremayne couldnot realise, since he did not so much as suspect the existence of thatdevil, he had suddenly prodded him into wakefulness. That Tremayneshould show himself tender of Lady O'Moy's feelings in a matter in whichO'Moy himself must seem neglectful of them was gall and wormwood to theadjutant. He dissembled it, however, out of a natural disinclination toappear in the ridiculous role of the jealous husband.
"That," he said, "is a matter that you may safely leave to me," and hislips closed tightly upon the words when they were uttered.
"Oh, quite so," said Tremayne, no whit abashed. He persistednevertheless. "You know Una's feelings for Dick."
"When I married Una," the adjutant cut in sharply, "I did not marry theentire Butler family." It hardened him unreasonably against Dick to havethe family cause pleaded in this way. "It's sick to death I am of MasterRichard and his escapades. He can get himself out of this mess, or hecan stay in it."
"You mean that you'll not lift a hand to help him."
"Devil a finger," said O'Moy.
And Tremayne, looking straight into the adjutant's faintly smoulderingblue eyes, beheld there a fierce and rancorous determination whichhe was at a loss to understand, but which he attributed to somethingoutside his own knowledge that must lie between O'Moy and hisbrother-in-law.
"I am sorry," he said gravely. "Since that is how you feel, it is tobe hoped that Dick Butler may not survive to be taken. The alternativewould weigh so cruelly upon Una that I do not care to contemplate it."
"And who the devil asks you to contemplate it?" snapped O'Moy. "I am notaware that it is any concern of yours at all."
"My dear O'Moy!" It was an exclamation of protest, something betweenpain and indignation, under the stress of which Tremayne steppedentirely outside of the official relations that prevailed betweenhimself and the adjutant. And the exclamation was accompanied by such alook of dismay and wounded sensibilities that O'Moy, meeting this, andnoting the honest manliness of Tremayne's bearing and countenance; wasthere and then the victim of reaction. His warm-hearted and impulsivenature made him at once profoundly ashamed of himself. He stood up,a tall, martial figure, and his ruggedly handsome, shaven countenancereddened under its tan. He held out a hand to Tremayne.
"My dear boy, I beg your pardon. It's so utterly annoyed I am that thesavage in me will be breaking out. Sure, it isn't as if it wereonly this affair of Dick's. That is almost the least part of theunpleasantness contained in this dispatch. Here! In God's name, read itfor yourself, and judge for yourself whether it's in human nature to bepatient under so much."
With a shrug and a smile to show that he was entirely mollified, CaptainTremayne took the papers to his desk and sat down to con them. As hedid so his face grew more and more grave. Before he had reached the endthere was a tap at the door. An orderly entered with the announcementthat Dom Miguel Forjas had just driven up to Monsanto to wait upon theadjutant-general.
"Ha!" said O'Moy shortly, and exchanged a glance with his secretary."Show the gentleman up."
As the orderly withdrew, Tremayne came over and placed the dispatch onthe adjutant's desk. "He arrives very opportunely," he said.
"So opportunely as to be suspicious, bedad!" said O'Moy. He hadbrightened suddenly, his Irish blood quickening at the immediateprospect of strife which this visit boded. "May the devil admire me, butthere's a warm morning in store for Mr. Forjas, Ned."
"Shall I leave you?"
"By no means."
The door opened, and the orderly admitted Miguel Forjas, the PortugueseSecretary of State. He was a slight, dapper gentleman, all in black,from his silk stockings and steel-buckled shoes to his satin stock.His keen aquiline face was swarthy, and the razor had left his chin andcheeks blue-black. His sleek hair was iron-grey. A portentous gravityinvested him this morning as he bowed with profound deference first tothe adjutant and then to the secretary.
"Your Excellencies," he said--he spoke an English that was smooth andfluent for all its foreign accent "Your Excellencies, this is a terribleaffair."
"To what affair will your Excellency be alluding?" wondered O'Moy.
"Have you not received news of what has happened at Tavora? Of theviolation of a convent by a party of British soldiers? Of the fight thattook place between these soldiers and the peasants who went to succourthe nuns?"
"Oh, and is that all?" said O'Moy. "For a moment I imagined yourExcellency referred to other matters. I have news of more terribleaffairs than the convent business with which to entertain you thismorning."
"That, if you will pardon me, Sir Terence, is quite impossible."
"You may think so. But you shall judge, bedad. A chair, Dom Miguel."
The Secretary of State sat down, crossed his knees and placed his hat inhis lap. The other two resumed their seats, O'Moy leaning forward, hiselbows on the writing-table, immediately facing Senhor Forjas.
"First, however," he said, "to deal with this affair of Tavora. TheCouncil of Regency will, no doubt, have been informed of all thecircumstances. You will be aware, therefore, that this very deplorablebusiness was the result of a misapprehension, and that the nuns ofTavora might very well have avoided all this trouble had they behaved ina sensible, reasonable manner. If instead of shutting themselves up inthe chapel and ringing the alarm bell the Mother-Abbess or one of thesisters had gone to the wicket and answered the demand of admittancefrom the officer commanding the detachment, he would instantly haverealised his mistake and withdrawn."
"What does your Excellency suggest was this mistake?" inquired theSecretary.
"You have had your report, sir, and surely it was complete. You mustknow that he conceived himself to be knocking at the gates of themonastery of the Dominican fathers."
"Can your Excellency tell me what was this officer's business at themonastery of the Dominican fathers?" quoth the Secretary, his mannerfrostily hostile.
"I am without information on that point," O'Moy admitted; "no doubtbecause the officer in question is missing, as you will also have beeninformed. But I have no reason to doubt that, whatever his business mayhave been, it was concerned with the interests which are common alike tothe British and the Portuguese nation."
"That is a charitable assumption, Sir Terence."
"Perhaps you will inform me, Dom Miguel, of the uncharitable assumptionwhich the Principal Souza prefers," snapped O'Moy, whose temper began tosimmer.
A faint colour kindled in the cheeks of the Portuguese minister, but hismanner remained unruffled.
"I speak, sir, not with the voice of Principal Souza, but with that ofthe entire Council of Regency; and the Council has formed the opinion,which your own words confirm, that his Excellency Lord Wellington isskilled in finding excuses for the misdemeanours of the troops under hiscommand."
"That," said O'Moy, who would never have kept his temper in control butfor the pleasant consciousness that he held a hand of trumps with whichhe would presently overwhelm this representative of the PortugueseGovernment, "that is an opinion for which the Council may presently liketo apologise, admitting its entire falsehood."
Senhor Forjas started as if he had been stung. He uncrossed his blacksilk legs and m
ade as if to rise.
"Falsehood, sir?" he cried in a scandalised voice.
"It is as well that we should be plain, so as to be avoiding allmisconceptions," said O'Moy. "You must know, sir, and your Council mustknow, that wherever armies move there must be reason for complaint.The British army does not claim in this respect to be superior toothers--although I don't say, mark me, that it might not claim it withperfect justice. But we do claim for ourselves that our laws againstplunder and outrage are as strict as they well can be, and that wherethese things take place punishment inevitably follows. Out of your ownknowledge, sir, you must admit that what I say is true."
"True, certainly, where the offenders are men from the ranks. But inthis case, where the offender is an officer, it does not transpire thatjustice has been administered with the same impartial hand." "That,sir," answered O'Moy sharply, testily, "is because he is missing."
The Secretary's thin lips permitted themselves to curve into thefaintest ghost of a smile. "Precisely," he said.
For answer O'Moy, red in the face, thrust forward the dispatch he hadreceived relating to the affair.
"Read, sir--read for yourself, that you may report exactly to theCouncil of Regency the terms of the report that has just reached me fromheadquarters. You will be able to announce that diligent search is beingmade for the offender."
Forjas perused the document carefully, and returned it.
"That is very good," he said, "and the Council will be glad to hear ofit. It will enable us to appease the popular resentment in some degree.But it does not say here that when taken this officer will not beexcused upon the grounds which yourself you have urged to me."
"It does not. But considering that he has since been guilty ofdesertion, there can be no doubt--all else apart--that the finding of acourt martial will result in his being shot."
"Very well," said Forjas. "I will accept your assurance, and the Councilwill be relieved to hear of it." He rose to take his leave. "I amdesired by the Council to express to Lord Wellington the hope that hewill take measures to preserve better order among his troops and toavoid the recurrence of such extremely painful incidents."
"A moment," said O'Moy, and rising waved his guest back into his chair,then resumed his own seat. Under a more or less calm exterior he wasa seething cauldron of passion. "The matter is not quite at an end, asyour Excellency supposes. From your last observation, and from a varietyof other evidence, I infer that the Council is far from satisfied withLord Wellington's conduct of the campaign."
"That is an inference which I cannot venture to contradict. You willunderstand, General, that I do not speak for myself, but for theCouncil, when I say that many of his measures seem to us not merelyunnecessary, but detrimental. The power having been placed in the handsof Lord Wellington, the Council hardly feels itself able to interferewith his dispositions. But it nevertheless deplores the destruction ofthe mills and the devastation of the country recommended and insistedupon by his lordship. It feels that this is not warfare as the Councilunderstands warfare, and the people share the feelings of the Council.It is felt that it would be worthier and more commendable if LordWellington were to measure himself in battle with the French, making adefinite attempt to stem the tide of invasion on the frontiers."
"Quite so," said O'Moy, his hand clenching and unclenching, andTremayne, who watched him, wondered how long it would be before thestorm burst. "Quite so. And because the Council disapproves of thevery measures which at Lord Wellington's instigation it has publiclyrecommended, it does not trouble to see that those measures are carriedout. As you say, it does not feel itself able to interfere with hisdispositions. But it does not scruple to mark its disapproval bypassively hindering him at every turn. Magistrates are left toneglect these enactments, and because," he added with bitter sarcasm,"Portuguese valour is so red-hot and so devilish set on battle theMilitia Acts calling all men to the colours are forgotten as soon aspublished. There is no one either to compel the recalcitrant to takeup arms, or to punish the desertions of those who have been driven intotaking them up. Yet you want battles, you want your frontiers defended.A moment, sir! there is no need for heat, no need for any words. Thematter may be said to be at an end." He smiled--a thought viciously,be it confessed--and then played his trump card, hurled his bombshell."Since the views of your Council are in such utter opposition tothe views of the Commander-in-Chief, you will no doubt welcome LordWellington's proposal to withdraw from this country and to advise hisMajesty's Government to withdraw the assistance which it is affordingyou."
There followed a long spell of silence, O'Moy sitting back in his chair,his chin in his hand, to observe the result of his words. Nor was he inthe least disappointed. Dom Miguel's mouth fell open; the colour slowlyebbed from his cheeks, leaving them an ivory-yellow; his eyes dilatedand protruded. He was consternation incarnate.
"My God!" he contrived to gasp at last, and his shaking hands clutchedat the carved arms of his chair.
"Ye don't seem as pleased as I expected," ventured O'Moy.
"But, General, surely... surely his Excellency cannot mean to take so...so terrible a step?"
"Terrible to whom, sir?" wondered O'Moy.
"Terrible to us all." Forjas rose in his agitation. He came to leanupon O'Moy's writing-table, facing the adjutant. "Surely, sir, ourinterests--England's interests and Portugal's--are one in this."
"To be sure. But England's interests can be defended elsewhere than inPortugal, and it is Lord Wellington's view that they shall be. He hasalready warned the Council of Regency that, since his Majesty and thePrince Regent have entrusted him with the command of the British andPortuguese armies, he will not suffer the Council or any of its membersto interfere with his conduct of the military operations, or suffer anycriticism or suggestion of theirs to alter system formed upon matureconsideration. But when, finding their criticisms fail, the members ofthe Council, in their wrongheadedness, in their anxiety to allow privateinterest to triumph over public duty, go the length of thwarting themeasures of which they do not approve, the end of Lord Wellington'spatience has been reached. I am giving your Excellency his own words.He feels that it is futile to remain in a country whose Government isdetermined to undermine his every endeavour to bring this campaign to asuccessful issue.
"Yourself, sir, you appear to be distressed. But the Council of Regencywill no doubt take a different view. It will rejoice in the departureof a man whose military operations it finds so detestable. You willno doubt discover this when you come to lay Lord Wellington's decisionbefore the Council, as I now invite you to do."
Bewildered and undecided, Forjas stood there for a moment, vainlyseeking words. Finally:
"Is this really Lord Wellington's last word?" he asked in tones ofprofoundest consternation.
"There is one alternative--one only," said O'Moy slowly.
"And that?" Instantly Forjas was all eagerness.
O'Moy considered him. "Faith, I hesitate to state it."
"No, no. Please, please."
"I feel that it is idle."
"Let the Council judge. I implore you, General, let the Council judge."
"Very well." O'Moy shrugged, and took up a sheet of the dispatch whichlay before him. "You will admit, sir, I think, that the beginning ofthese troubles coincided with the advent of the Principal Souza uponthe Council of Regency." He waited in vain for a reply. Forjas, thediplomat, preserved an uncompromising silence, in which presently O'Moyproceeded: "From this, and from other evidence, of which indeed thereis no lack, Lord Wellington has come to the conclusion that all theresistance, passive and active, which he has encountered, results fromthe Principal Souza's influence upon the Council. You will not, I think,trouble to deny it, sir."
Forjas spread his hands. "You will remember, General," he answered, intones of conciliatory regret, "that the Principal Souza represents aclass upon whom Lord Wellington's measures bear in a manner peculiarlyhard."
"You mean that he represents the Portuguese nobility and lande
dgentry, who, putting their own interests above those of the State, havedetermined to oppose and resist the devastation of the country whichLord Wellington recommends."
"You put it very bluntly," Forjas admitted.
"You will find Lord Wellington's own words even more blunt," said O'Moy,with a grim smile, and turned to the dispatch he held. "Let me read youexactly what he writes:
"'As for Principal Souza, I beg you to tell him from me that as I havehad no satisfaction in transacting the business of this country since hehas become a member of the Government, no power on earth shall induceme to remain in the Peninsula if he is either to remain a member of theGovernment or to continue in Lisbon. Either he must quit the country, orI will do so, and this immediately after I have obtained his Majesty'spermission to resign my charge.'"
The adjutant put down the letter and looked expectantly at the Secretaryof State, who returned the look with one of utter dismay. Never in allhis career had the diplomat been so completely dumbfounded as he wasnow by the simple directness of the man of action. In himself Dom MiguelForjas was both shrewd and honest. He was shrewd enough to apprehend tothe full the military genius of the British Commander-in-Chief, fruitsof which he had already witnessed. He knew that the withdrawal ofJunot's army from Lisbon two years ago resulted mainly from theoperations of Sir Arthur Wellesley--as he was then--before hissupersession in the supreme command of that first expedition, and hemore than suspected that but for that supersession the defeat of thefirst French army of invasion might have been even more signal. He hadwitnessed the masterly campaign of 1809, the battle of the Douro andthe relentless operations which had culminated in hurling the shatteredfragments of Soult's magnificent army over the Portuguese frontier,thus liberating that country for the second time from the thrall of themighty French invader. And he knew that unless this man and the troopsunder his command remained in Portugal and enjoyed complete liberty ofaction there could be no hope of stemming the third invasion for whichMassena--the ablest of all the Emperor's marshals was now gathering hisdivisions in the north. If Wellington were to execute his threat andwithdraw with his army, Forjas beheld nothing but ruin for his country.The irresistible French would sweep forward in devastating conquest, andPortuguese independence would be ground to dust under the heel of theterrible Emperor.
All this the clear-sighted Dom Miguel Forjas now perceived. To do himfull justice, he had feared for some time that the unreasonable conductof his Government might ultimately bring about some such desperatesituation. But it was not for him to voice those fears. He was theservant of that Government, the "mere instrument and mouthpiece of theCouncil of Regency.
"This," he said at length in a voice that was awed, "is an ultimatum."
"It is that," O'Moy admitted readily.
Forjas sighed, shook his dark head and drew himself up like a man whohas chosen his part. Being shrewd, he saw the immediate necessity ofchoosing, and, being honest, he chose honestly.
"Perhaps it is as well," he said.
"That Lord Wellington should go?" cried O'Moy.
"That Lord Wellington should announce intentions of going," Forjasexplained. And having admitted so much, he now stripped off the officialmask completely. He spoke with his own voice and not with that of theCouncil whose mouthpiece he was. "Of course it will never be permitted.Lord Wellington has been entrusted with the defence of the country bythe Prince Regent; consequently it is the duty of every Portuguese toensure that at all costs he shall continue in that office."
O'Moy was mystified. Only a knowledge of the minister's inmost thoughtscould have explained this oddly sudden change of manner.
"But your Excellency understands the terms--the only terms upon whichhis lordship will so continue?"
"Perfectly. I shall hasten to convey those terms to the Council. It isalso quite clear--is it not?--that I may convey to my Government andindeed publish your complete assurance that the officer responsible forthe raid on the convent at Tavora will be shot when taken?"
Looking intently into O'Moy's face, Dom Miguel saw the clear blue eyesflicker under his gaze, he beheld a grey shadow slowly overspreadingthe adjutant's ruddy cheek. Knowing nothing of the relationship betweenO'Moy and the offender, unable to guess the sources of the hesitationof which he now beheld such unmistakable signs, the minister naturallymisunderstood it.
"There must be no flinching in this, General," he cried. "Let mespeak to you for a moment quite frankly and in confidence, not asthe Secretary of State of the Council of Regency, but as a Portuguesepatriot who places his country and his country's welfare above everyother consideration. You have issued your ultimatum. It may be harsh,it may be arbitrary; with that I have no concern. The interests,the feelings of Principal Souza or of any other individual, howeverhigh-placed, are without weight when the interests of the nation hangagainst them in the balance. Better that an injustice be done to one manthan that the whole country should suffer. Therefore I do not argue withyou upon the rights and wrongs of Lord Wellington's ultimatum. That isa matter apart. Lord Wellington demands the removal of PrincipalSouza from the Government, or, in the alternative, proposes himself towithdraw from Portugal. In the national interest the Government can cometo only one decision. I am frank with you, General. Myself I shall standranged on the side of the national interest, and what my influence inthe Council can do it shall do. But if you know Principal Souza at all,you must know that he will not relinquish his position without a fight.He has friends and influence--the Patriarch of Lisbon and many of thenobility will be on his side. I warn you solemnly against leaving anyweapon in his hands."
He paused impressively. But O'Moy, grey-faced now and haggard, waited insilence for him to continue.
"From the message I brought you," Forjas resumed, "you will haveperceived how Principal Souza has fastened upon this business at Tavorato support his general censure of Lord Wellington's conduct of thecampaign. That is the weapon to which my warning refers. You must--if wewho place the national interest supreme are to prevail--you mustdisarm him by the assurance that I ask for. You will perceive that I amdisloyal to a member of my Council so that I may be loyal to my country.But I repeat, I speak to you in confidence. This officer has committeda gross outrage, which must bring the British army into odium with thepeople, unless we have your assurance that the British army is the firstto censure and to punish the offender with the utmost rigour. Give menow, that I may publish everywhere, your official assurance that thisman will be shot, and on my side I assure you that Principal Souza,thus deprived of his stoutest weapon, must succumb in the struggle thatawaits us."
"I hope," said O'Moy slowly, his head bowed, his voice dull and evenunsteady, "I hope that I am not behind you in placing public duty aboveprivate consideration. You may publish my official assurance that theofficer in question will be... shot when taken."
"General, I thank you. My country thanks you. You may be confidentof this issue." He bowed gravely to O'Moy and then to Tremayne. "YourExcellencies, I have the honour to wish you good-day." He was shown outby the orderly who had admitted him, and he departed well satisfiedin his patriotic heart that the crisis which he had always known tobe inevitable should have been reached at last. Yet, as he went, hewondered why the Adjutant-General had looked so downcast, why his voicehad broken when he pledged his word that justice should be done uponthe offending British officer. That, however, was no concern of DomMiguel's, and there was more than enough to engage his thoughts whenhe came to consider the ultimatum to his Government with which he wascharged.