ing did not
reach the foot of the mountain before daylight), had pushed his
horsemen up the hill and managed to cut off and silence the outposts
without their firing a shot. Encouraged by this he pressed on to the
very gates of the town, and had actually entered the street when the
alarm was sounded--and by whom? By a single drummer whom General
Trant, distrusting the watchfulness of his militia, had posted at his
bedroom door! Trant's servant entering with his coffee at daybreak
brought a report that the French were at the gates; the drummer plied
his sticks like a madman; other drummers all over the town caught up
their sticks and tattooed away without the least notion of what was
happening; the militia ran helter-skelter to their alarm post; and the
French marshal, who might have carried the town at a single rush and
without losing a man, turned tail! Such are the absurdities of war.

But in fancy I sometimes complete the picture and see myself, in
French staff officer's dress, boldly riding up to the head of the
French infantry column and in the name of the, Duke of Ragusa
commanding its general to halt. True, I did not know the
password--which might have been awkward. But a staff officer can
swagger through some small difficulties, as I had already proved twice
that night. But for the stumble of a horse--who knows? The possibility
seems to me scarcely more fantastic than the accident which actually
saved Guarda.

III

THE PAROLE

Marmont's night attack on Guarda, though immediately and even
absurdly unsuccessful, did, in fact, convince Trant that the hill was
untenable, and he at once attempted to fall back upon Celorico across
the river Mondego, where lay Lord Wellington's magazines and very
considerable stores, for the moment quite unprotected.

Marmont had from four to six thousand horsemen and two brigades of
infantry. The horse could with the utmost ease have headed Trant off
and trotted into Celorico while the infantry fell on him, and but for
the grossest blundering the militia as a fighting force should have
been wiped out of existence. But blunders dogged Marmont throughout
this campaign. Trant and Wilson marched their men (with one day's
provisions only) out of Guarda and down the long slopes toward the
river. Good order was kept for three or four miles, and the head of
the column was actually crossing by a pretty deep ford when some forty
dragoons (which Trant had begged from Bacellar to help