"Yourself, sir, you appear to be distressed. But the Council of Regency will no doubt take a different view. It will rejoice in the departure of a man whose military operations it finds so detestable. You will no doubt discover this when you come to lay Lord Wellington's decision before the Council, as I now invite you to do."
Bewildered and undecided, Forjas stood there for a moment, vainly seeking words. Finally:
"Is this really Lord Wellington's last word?" he asked in tones of profoundest consternation.
"There is one alternative - one only," said O'Moy slowly.
"And that?" Instantly Forjas was all eagerness.
O'Moy considered him. "Faith, I hesitate to state it."
"No, no. Please, please."
"I feel that it is idle."
"Let the Council judge. I implore you, General, let the Council judge."
"Very well." O'Moy shrugged, and took up a sheet of the dispatch which lay before him. "You will admit, sir, I think, that the beginning of these troubles coincided with the advent of the Principal Souza upon the Council of Regency." He waited in vain for a reply. Forjas, the diplomat, preserved an uncompromising silence, in which presently O'Moy proceeded: "From this, and from other evidence, of which indeed there is no lack, Lord Wellington has come to the conclusion that all the resistance, passive and active, which he has encountered, results from the Principal Souza's influence upon the Council. You will not, I think, trouble to deny it, sir."
Forjas spread his hands. "You will remember, General," he answered, in tones of conciliatory regret, "that the Principal Souza represents a class upon whom Lord Wellington's measures bear in a manner peculiarly hard."
"You mean that he represents the Portuguese nobility and landed gentry, who, putting their own interests above those of the State, have determined to oppose and resist the devastation of the country which Lord Wellington recommends."
"You put it very bluntly," Forjas admitted.
"You will find Lord Wellington's own words even more blunt," said O'Moy, with a grim smile, and turned to the dispatch he held. "Let me read you exactly what he writes:
"'As for Principal Souza, I beg you to tell him from me that as I have had no satisfaction in transacting the business of this country since he has become a member of the Government, no power on earth shall induce me to remain in the Peninsula if he is either to remain a member of the Government or to continue in Lisbon. Either he must quit the country, or I will do so, and this immediately after I have obtained his Majesty's permission to resign my charge.'"
The adjutant put down the letter and looked expectantly at the Secretary of State, who returned the look with one of utter dismay.
Never in all his career had the diplomat been so completely dumbfounded as he was now by the ****** directness of the man of action. In himself Dom Miguel Forjas was both shrewd and honest.
He was shrewd enough to apprehend to the full the military genius of the British Commander-in-Chief, fruits of which he had already witnessed. He knew that the withdrawal of Junot's army from Lisbon two years ago resulted mainly from the operations of Sir Arthur Wellesley - as he was then - before his supersession in the supreme command of that first expedition, and he more than suspected that but for that supersession the defeat of the first French army of invasion might have been even more signal. He had witnessed the masterly campaign of 1809, the battle of the Douro and the relentless operations which had culminated in hurling the shattered fragments of Soult's magnificent army over the Portuguese frontier, thus liberating that country for the second time from the thrall of the mighty French invader. And he knew that unless this man and the troops under his command remained in Portugal and enjoyed complete liberty of action there could be no hope of stemming the third invasion for which Massena - the ablest of all the Emperor's marshals was now gathering his divisions in the north. If Wellington were to execute his threat and withdraw with his army, Forjas beheld nothing but ruin for his country. The irresistible French would sweep forward in devastating conquest, and Portuguese independence would be ground to dust under the heel of the terrible Emperor.
All this the clear-sighted Dom Miguel Forjas now perceived. To do him full justice, he had feared for some time that the unreasonable conduct of his Government might ultimately bring about some such desperate situation. But it was not for him to voice those fears. He was the servant of that Government, the "mere instrument and mouthpiece of the Council of Regency.
"This," he said at length in a voice that was awed, "is an ultimatum."
"It is that," O'Moy admitted readily.
Forjas sighed, shook his dark head and drew himself up like a man who has chosen his part. Being shrewd, he saw the immediate necessity of choosing, and, being honest, he chose honestly.
