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Updated: June 14, 2025
Never in all his career had the diplomat been so completely dumbfounded as he was now by the simple 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.
Having done, he rose at last from Sir Terence's desk, at which he had been sitting, and took up his riding-crop and cocked hat from the chair where he had placed them. "And now," he said, "I think I will ride into Lisbon and endeavour to come to an understanding with Count Redondo and Don Miguel Forjas." Sir Terence advanced to open the door. But Wellington checked him with a sudden sharp inquiry.
An orderly entered with the announcement that Dom Miguel Forjas had just driven up to Monsanto to wait upon the adjutant-general. "Ha!" said O'Moy shortly, and exchanged a glance with his secretary. "Show the gentleman up." As the orderly withdrew, Tremayne came over and placed the dispatch on the adjutant's desk. "He arrives very opportunely," he said.
I told her of the promise you had been compelled to give the secretary, Forjas, and I was even at pains to justify you to her when she was indignant with you for that. It would perhaps be better," he concluded, "if you were to send for Una." "It's what I intend," said Sir Terence in a voice that made a threat of the statement. He strode stiffly across the room and pulled open the door.
"So opportunely as to be suspicious, bedad!" said O'Moy. He had brightened suddenly, his Irish blood quickening at the immediate prospect of strife which this visit boded. "May the devil admire me, but there's a warm morning in store for Mr. Forjas, Ned." "Shall I leave you?" "By no means." The door opened, and the orderly admitted Miguel Forjas, the Portuguese Secretary of State.
They did not realise these things partly because they did not enjoy Wellington's full confidence, and in a greater measure because they were blinded by self-interest, because, as O'Moy told Forjas, they placed private considerations above public duty.
"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.
"That," said O'Moy, who would never have kept his temper in control but for the pleasant consciousness that he held a hand of trumps with which he would' presently overwhelm this representative of the Portuguese Government, "that is an opinion for which the Council may presently like to apologise, admitting its entire falsehood." Senhor Forjas started as if he had been stung.
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.
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.
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