"That, sir," answered O'Moy sharply, testily, "is because he is missing."
The Secretary's thin lips permitted themselves to curve into the faintest ghost of a smile. "Precisely," he said.
For answer O'Moy, red in the face, thrust forward the dispatch he had received relating to the affair.
"Read, sir - read for yourself, that you may report exactly to the Council of Regency the terms of the report that has just reached me from headquarters. You will be able to announce that diligent search is being made 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 of it. 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 be excused upon the grounds which yourself you have urged to me."
"It does not. But considering that he has since been guilty of desertion, there can be no doubt - all else apart - that the finding of a court martial will result in his being shot."
"Very well," said Forjas. "I will accept your assurance, and the Council will be relieved to hear of it." He rose to take his leave.
"I am desired by the Council to express to Lord Wellington the hope that he will take measures to preserve better order among his troops and to avoid 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 was a seething cauldron of passion. "The matter is not quite at an end, as your Excellency supposes. From your last observation, and from a variety of other evidence, I infer that the Council is far from satisfied with Lord Wellington's conduct of the campaign."
"That is an inference which I cannot venture to contradict. You will understand, General, that I do not speak for myself, but for the Council, when I say that many of his measures seem to us not merely unnecessary, but detrimental. The power having been placed in the hands of Lord Wellington, the Council hardly feels itself able to interfere with his dispositions. But it nevertheless deplores the destruction of the mills and the devastation of the country recommended and insisted upon by his lordship. It feels that this is not warfare as the Council understands warfare, and the people share the feelings of the Council. It is felt that it would be worthier and more commendable if Lord Wellington were to measure himself in battle with the French, making a definite attempt to stem the tide of invasion on the frontiers."
"Quite so," said O'Moy, his hand clenching and unclenching, and Tremayne, who watched him, wondered how long it would be before the storm burst. "Quite so. And because the Council disapproves of the very measures which at Lord Wellington's instigation it has publicly recommended, it does not trouble to see that those measures are carried out. As you say, it does not feel itself able to interfere with his dispositions. But it does not scruple to mark its disapproval by passively hindering him at every turn.
Magistrates are left to neglect these enactments, and because," he added with bitter sarcasm, "Portuguese valour is so red-hot and so devilish set on battle the Militia Acts calling all men to the colours are forgotten as soon as published. There is no one either to compel the recalcitrant to take up arms, or to punish the desertions of those who have been driven into taking 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. The matter 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 to the views of the Commander-in-Chief, you will no doubt welcome Lord Wellington's proposal to withdraw from this country and to advise his Majesty's Government to withdraw the assistance which it is affording you."
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 in the least disappointed. Dom Miguel's mouth fell open; the colour slowly ebbed from his cheeks, leaving them an ivory-yellow; his eyes dilated and protruded. He was consternation incarnate.
"My God!" he contrived to gasp at last, and his shaking hands clutched at 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 lean upon O'Moy's writing-table, facing the adjutant. "Surely, sir, our interests - England's interests and Portugal's - are one in this."
"To be sure. But England's interests can be defended elsewhere than in Portugal, and it is Lord Wellington's view that they shall be.
He has already warned the Council of Regency that, since his Majesty and the Prince Regent have entrusted him with the command of the British and Portuguese armies, he will not suffer the Council or any of its members to interfere with his conduct of the military operations, or suffer any criticism or suggestion of theirs to alter system formed upon mature consideration. But when, finding their criticisms fail, the members of the Council, in their wrongheadedness, in their anxiety to allow private interest to triumph over public duty, go the length of thwarting the measures of which they do not approve, the end of Lord Wellington's patience has been reached.
I am giving your Excellency his own words. He feels that it is futile to remain in a country whose Government is determined to undermine his every endeavour to bring this campaign to a successful issue.
