The Bravest of the Brave — or, with Peterborough in Spain, G. A. Henty [intellectual books to read .txt] 📗

the works joined them, concluding that they were Dutch, and were only undeceived by finding themselves taken prisoners. The men were so confused by the loss of many of the officers that, had the French pushed in at once, they would have been able to carry the main body of the works with but little resistance. They halted, however, in the bastions they had won. The next morning the people of Barcelona, headed by their priests, sallied out to effect the relief of Montjuich, but were easily driven back by the besiegers. The little garrison of the castle sallied out to meet their friends, but when these retreated to the town they had to fight their way back to the castle, which they regained with great difficulty, the gallant Earl of Donegal and many of his officers being killed.

Finding that their position was now desperate, the remnant of the British troops abandoned the castle they had so stoutly defended, and succeeded in making their way safely into the city. Tesse now pushed on the siege of the town with vigor. Batteries of heavy guns were raised opposite the newly mended breaches, and so close did he plant his guns to the walls that the artillery of the besieged could not be depressed sufficiently to play upon them, while so heavy a fire of infantry was kept up upon the walls that their defenders were unable to reply effectively with their musketry.

The walls crumbled rapidly, and the defenders busied themselves in raising inner defenses behind the breaches. Had the French been commanded by an enterprising general there is little doubt that they could have carried the town by assault, but Tesse, in his over caution, waited until success was a certainty. The alarm in Barcelona was great, and the king sent messenger after messenger to Peterborough to urge him to come to his relief; but, daring as was the earl when he considered success to be possible, he would not venture his little force upon an enterprise which was, he felt, hopeless, and he knew that the only possible relief for the city was the arrival of the English fleet.

Early in March Admiral Sir John Leake and Baron Wassenaer had sailed from Lisbon with the combined fleet in accordance with Peterborough's orders; but the wind was contrary, and it was fully six weeks after starting that they reached the Straits, where they were joined by Captain Price with a small squadron, on board of which were two English regiments. It was not until the 24th of April that they sailed from Gibraltar.

On reaching Altea they received news that another squadron had sailed from Lisbon to join them, and in spite of the warm remonstrances of General Stanhope, who commanded the troops on board, the Dutch and English admirals determined to await the arrival of the reinforcements before sailing to give battle to the fleet of the Count of Toulouse before Barcelona.

On the 3d of April Sir George Byng arrived at Altea with some ships from Ireland, and the next day Commodore Walker, with the squadron from Lisbon, also arrived; but the wind was now contrary, and although the fleet set sail, for three days they made no progress whatever, and each hour so wasted rendered the position of the besieged at Barcelona more and more desperate. While lying at Altea General Stanhope had sent a message to Lord Peterborough telling him that he would use every means in his power to hasten Sir John Leake's movements, and that he would give him timely notice of the approach of the fleet.

He said that as it was of the utmost importance that the enemy should remain in ignorance of the approaching succors, his messenger should carry only a half sheet of blank paper, so that if he were taken by the enemy they would learn nothing from his dispatch. When the fleet sailed he sent off a second messenger, who got safely to the earl, and delivered his blank dispatch. With the exception of his aide de camp, who was always in his confidence, he told no one the meaning of this blank dispatch, and his officers were surprised when orders were issued for the little army at once to prepare for a night march. Officers and men had, however, most implicit confidence in their general, and, doubting not that some daring enterprise was at hand, they started in high spirits.

All through the night they marched in a southwesterly direction over the hills, and at daybreak reached the little seaport of Sitjes, some seven leagues from Barcelona. Ordering the wearied soldiers to encamp behind some low hills, the indefatigable general rode with Jack Stilwell into the little port, and at once, by offering large rewards, set the sailors and fishermen at work to collect the boats, barges, and fishing smacks along the neighboring coast, and to bring them to Sitjes.

In two days he had succeeded in collecting a sufficient number to carry the whole force. The news of the work upon which the general was engaged soon spread among the force and caused the greatest astonishment. Jack Stilwell was overwhelmed with questions as to the intentions of the general.

“What on earth are we going to do next, Stilwell?” one of the colonels said to him. “We are all ready, you know, to do anything that the chief bids us, but for the life of us no one can make this business out. The only possible thing seems to be that the chief intends to attack the French fleet, and desperate as many of his exploits have been, they would be as nothing to that. Even the earl could surely not expect that fifteen hundred men in fishing boats and barges could attack a fleet of some thirty men of war. The idea seems preposterous, and yet one does not see what else he can have got in his head.”

“Of course, colonel,” Jack said, laughing, “you do not expect me to tell you what are the general's plans. You may be quite sure that, whatever they are, there is nothing absolutely impossible about them, for you know that although the general may undertake desperate things, he never attempts anything that has not at least a possibility of success; in fact, as you know, he has never yet failed in any enterprise that he has undertaken.”

“That is true enough,” the colonel said; “and yet for the life of me I cannot make out what else he can be thinking of. Certainly to attack Toulouse would be madness, and yet there is no one else to attack.”

“Well, colonel, I can only say that time will show, and I don't think you will have to wait very long before you know as much about it as I do.”

Jack was right in this, for on the night of the second day the earl called his officers together, and informed them that he was waiting to join the English fleet, which might at any moment come in sight. As hitherto nothing had been known about the arrival of reinforcements, the news excited the greatest joy. The earl had hoped that at daybreak the fleet would be in sight, and as soon as it was light he mounted a hill which gave him a wide view over the sea, but to his deep disappointment not a sail appeared above the horizon. Knowing the desperate state of the garrison at Barcelona, and that at any hour he might receive news that an assault had been delivered and the city captured, his disappointment at the delay in the appearance of the fleet was unbounded.

The roar of the distant guns around Barcelona came distinctly to his ears, and he was almost wild with impatience and anxiety. On reaching the shore again he found that a fast sailing felucca had just come in from Barcelona. She had managed to evade the blockading fleet, and bore an