Snare

Rafael Sabatini

Description

Known for a series of wildly popular, action-packed romance adventure novels such as Scaramouche and Captain Blood, Rafael Sabatini's work deftly combines the sensuality of his Italian heritage with the more mannered approach to life inculcated in him by his British upbringing. The Snare, set against the dramatic backdrop of the Peninsular War, brings together battlefield action and behind-the-scenes intrigue in a pulse-pounding story that action-adventure fans will surely appreciate.

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 septembre 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781775455035
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE SNARE
* * *
RAFAEL SABATINI
 
*
The Snare First published in 1917 ISBN 978-1-77545-503-5 © 2011 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Chapter I - The Affair at Tavora Chapter II - The Ultimatum Chapter III - Lady O'Moy Chapter IV - Count Samoval Chapter V - The Fugitive Chapter VI - Miss Armytage's Pearls Chapter VII - The Ally Chapter VIII - The Intelligence Officer Chapter IX - The General Order Chapter X - The Stifled Quarrel Chapter XI - The Challenge Chapter XII - The Duel Chapter XIII - Polichinelle Chapter XIV - The Champion Chapter XV - The Wallet Chapter XVI - The Evidence Chapter XVII - Bitter Water Chapter XVIII - Fool's Mate Chapter XIX - The Truth Chapter XX - The Resignation Chapter XXI - Sanctuary Postscriptum
Chapter I - The Affair at Tavora
*
It is established beyond doubt that Mr. Butler was drunk at the time.This rests upon the evidence of Sergeant Flanagan and the troopers whoaccompanied him, and it rests upon Mr. Butler's own word, as we shallsee. And let me add here and now that however wild and irresponsible arascal he may have been, yet by his own lights he was a man of honour,incapable of falsehood, even though it were calculated to save his skin.I do not deny that Sir Thomas Picton has described him as a "thievingblackguard." But I am sure that this was merely the downright, ratherextravagant manner, of censure peculiar to that distinguished general,and that those who have taken the expression at its purely literal valuehave been lacking at once in charity and in knowledge of the caustic,uncompromising terms of speech of General Picton whom Lord Wellington,you will remember, called a rough, foulmouthed devil.
In further extenuation it may truthfully be urged that the whole hideousand odious affair was the result of a misapprehension; although I cannotgo so far as one of Lieutenant Butler's apologists and accept theview that he was the victim of a deliberate plot on the part of histoo-genial host at Regoa. That is a misconception easily explained. Thishost's name happened to be Souza, and the apologist in question has veryrashly leapt at the conclusion that he was a member of that notoriouslyintriguing family, of which the chief members were the Principal Souza,of the Council of Regency at Lisbon, and the Chevalier Souza, Portugueseminister to the Court of St. James's. Unacquainted with Portugal, ourapologist was evidently in ignorance of the fact that the name of Souzais almost as common in that country as the name of Smith in this. He mayalso have been misled by the fact that Principal Souza did not neglectto make the utmost capital out of the affair, thereby increasing thedifficulties with which Lord Wellington was already contending as aresult of incompetence and deliberate malice on the part both of theministry at home and of the administration in Lisbon.
Indeed, but for these factors it is unlikely that the affair could everhave taken place at all. If there had been more energy on the part ofMr. Perceval and the members of the Cabinet, if there had been less badfaith and self-seeking on the part of the Opposition, Lord Wellington'scampaign would not have been starved as it was; and if there had beenless bad faith and self-seeking of an even more stupid and flagrantkind on the part of the Portuguese Council of Regency, the BritishExpeditionary Force would not have been left without the stipulatedsupplies and otherwise hindered at every step.
Lord Wellington might have experienced the mental agony of Sir JohnMoore under similar circumstances fifteen months earlier. That he didsuffer, and was to suffer yet more, his correspondence shows. But hisiron will prevented that suffering from disturbing the equanimity of hismind. The Council of Regency, in its concern to court popularity withthe aristocracy of Portugal, might balk his measures by its deliberatesupineness; echoes might reach him of the voices at St. Stephen'sthat loudly dubbed his dispositions rash, presumptuous and silly;catch-halfpenny journalists at home and men of the stamp of Lord Greymight exploit their abysmal military ignorance in reckless criticism andcensure of his operations; he knew what a passionate storm of anger anddenunciation had arisen from the Opposition when he had been raised tothe peerage some months earlier, after the glorious victory of Talavera,and how, that victory notwithstanding, it had been proclaimed that hisconduct of the campaign was so incompetent as to deserve, not reward,but punishment; and he was aware of the growing unpopularity of thewar in England, knew that the Government—ignorant of what he was solaboriously preparing—was chafing at his inactivity of the past fewmonths, so that a member of the Cabinet wrote to him exasperatedly,incredibly and fatuously—"for God's sake do something—anything so thatblood be spilt."
A heart less stout might have been broken, a genius less mighty stifledin this evil tangle of stupidity, incompetence and malignity that sprangup and flourished about him on every hand. A man less single-mindedmust have succumbed to exasperation, thrown up his command and takenship for home, inviting some of his innumerable critics to take hisplace at the head of the troops, and give free rein to the militarygenius that inspired their critical dissertations. Wellington, however,has been rightly termed of iron, and never did he show himself more ofiron than in those trying days of 1810. Stern, but with a passionlesssternness, he pursued his way towards the goal he had set himself,allowing no criticism, no censure, no invective so much as to give himpause in his majestic progress.
Unfortunately the lofty calm of the Commander-in-Chief was not sharedby his lieutenants. The Light Division was quartered along the RiverAgueda, watching the Spanish frontier, beyond which Marshal Neywas demonstrating against Ciudad Rodrigo, and for lack of funds itsfiery-tempered commander, Sir Robert Craufurd, found himself at lastunable to feed his troops. Exasperated by these circumstances, SirRobert was betrayed into an act of rashness. He seized some church plateat Pinhel that he might convert it into rations. It was an act which,considering the general state of public feeling in the country atthe time, might have had the gravest consequences, and Sir Robert wassubsequently forced to do penance and afford redress. That, however,is another story. I but mention the incident here because the affair ofTavora with which I am concerned may be taken to have arisen directlyout of it, and Sir Robert's behaviour may be construed as setting anexample and thus as affording yet another extenuation of LieutenantButler's offence.
Our lieutenant was sent upon a foraging expedition into the valley ofthe Upper Douro, at the head of a half-troop of the 8th Dragoons, twosquadrons of which were attached at the time to the Light Division. Tobe more precise, he was to purchase and bring into Pinhel a hundredhead of cattle, intended some for slaughter and some for draught. Hisinstructions were to proceed as far as Regoa and there report himselfto one Bartholomew Bearsley, a prosperous and influential Englishwine-grower, whose father had acquired considerable vineyards inthe Douro. He was reminded of the almost hostile disposition of thepeasantry in certain districts; warned to handle them with tact and tosuffer no straggling on the part of his troopers; and advised toplace himself in the hands of Mr. Bearsley for all that related to thepurchase of the cattle. Let it be admitted at once that had SirRobert Craufurd been acquainted with Mr. Butler's feather-brained,irresponsible nature, he would have selected any officer rather than ourlieutenant to command that expedition. But the Irish Dragoons had onlylately come to Pinhel, and the general himself was not immediatelyconcerned.
Lieutenant Butler set out on a blustering day of March at the head ofhis troopers, accompanied by Cornet O'Rourke and two sergeants, and atPesqueira he was further reinforced by a Portuguese guide. They foundquarters that night at Ervedoza, and early on the morrow they were inthe saddle again, riding along the heights above the Cachao da Valleria,through which the yellow, swollen river swirled and foamed along itsrocky way. The prospect, formidable even in the full bloom of fruitfuland luxuriant summer, was forbidding and menacing now as some imaginedgorge of the nether regions. The towering granite heights across theturgid stream were shrouded in mist and sweeping rain, and from theleaden heavens overhead the downpour was of a sullen and mercilesssteadiness, starting at every step a miniature torrent to go swell theroaring waters in the gorge, and drenching the troop alike in body andin spirit. Ahead, swathed to the chin in his blue cavalry cloak, thewater streaming from his leather helmet, rode Lieutenant Butler, cursingthe weather, the country; the Light Division, and everything else thatoccurred to him as contributing to his present discomfort. Besidehim, astride of a mule, rode the Portuguese guide in a caped cloak ofthatched straw, which made him look for all the world like a bottle ofhis native wine in its straw sheath. Conversation between the two wasout of the question, for the guide spoke no English and the lieutenant'sknowledge of Portuguese was very far from conversational.
Presently the ground sloped, and the troop descended from the heights bya road flanked