accursed lines of Torres Vedras, there has been little for us to do. You did not miss much during your imprisonment at Dartmoor. But now we are on the eve of action."
"We advance?"
"No, retire."
My face must have shown my dismay. What, retire before this sacred dog of a Wellington—he who had listened unmoved to my words, and had sent me to his land of fogs? I could have sobbed as I thought of it.
"What would you have?" cried Massena impatiently. "When one is in check, it is necessary to move the king."
"Forwards," I suggested.
He shook his grizzled head.
"The lines are not to be forced," said he. "I have already lost General St. Croix and more men than I can replace. On the other hand, we have been here at Santarem for nearly six months. There is not a pound of flour nor a jug of wine on the countryside. We must retire."
"There are flour and wine in Lisbon," I persisted.
"Tut, you speak as if an army could charge in and charge out again like your regiment of hussars. If Soult were here with thirty thousand men—but he will not come. I sent for you, how-,
