Part 11

"What I want to know," said Wilkes in a tone suggesting that he would rather have resented the information--"what I want to know is, why we don't up and at them Frenchmen at once. What are we waiting for? True, we ain't had much grub, and our toggery ain't exactly what the general would specially admire on parade, but over yonder, where that Marshal Salt, or whatever they call him, is, there's plenty of tommy and fine clothes too, and if we could only make a move we'd very soon be able to fill our insides and polish up our outsides. Here we are, three days off Christmas, and where's the roast-beef and plum-pudding to come from? We'll have to sing for it, by what I can see."

"Sing for it!" interposed Bates with a grunt. "No, thank'ee; we've had enough of the waits. Ha! ha!"

There was a general guffaw at Bates's little witticism.

"I don't see nothing to laugh at," growled Wilkes, resenting the interruption. The others looked reproachfully at Bates, who relapsed into abashed silence.

It was not until the morning of the 23rd that the general of the Reserve, Sir Edward Paget, a younger brother of Lord Paget, received marching orders. On the evening of that day he was to move his division forward from Grajal del Campo along the road to Carrion, join the main body, and halt until head-quarters should arrive from Sahagun. At this news the younger and less experienced men found it almost impossible to keep still.

"Lie down and rest, you silly fellows," said Jack to a group of men whom he saw fidgeting about in sheer nervousness and anxiety. "Look at Wilkes yonder; he knows what war is, and he's snoring away, getting a good sleep before the march to-night. Here, Pepito, just come and show these fellows some of your tricks, and keep them amused, or they'll be dead-beat before they start."

Pepito, who had followed Jack like a shadow ever since he had left Alaejos, obediently went among the men, and soon had them laughing merrily at his absurd antics and extraordinary gibberish. The bleak winter day passed, and at four o'clock, under a gray and leaden sky, the Reserve at last set out towards what they hoped was to be a brilliant victory. The whole country was covered deep with snow. The men had been ordered to refrain from talking or singing while on the march; and thus, in cold and silence, the column trudged along in the gathering night.

After some hours' tramping a halt was called, and the men stood and shivered and wondered.

"What are we waiting for now?" growled Corporal Wilkes, shaking the snow from his shako.

"To let the guns come up, shouldn't wonder," returned his friend Bates. "This blessed snow makes it slow work to bring 'em along."

"I expect it's old Romana not up to the scratch," suggested Tom Plunket, the best shot in the regiment. "Very likely he's lost his way, or forgotten the date, or frizzing his moustache, or something, and that's keeping our general waiting."

"Humph!" growled Wilkes, "another case of to-morrer, to-morrer. Tell you what, boys, these Dons will say 'manana' once too often. When the last roll-call comes they'll say 'manana' as sure as fate, and then where'll they be?--that's what I want to know."

"Hush! what's that?" said Sergeant Jones, a little man known familiarly as "The Weasel".

A bugle-call was sounding. Every man started to his feet. Surely the two hours' halt was over and the battle was at hand. But no; there was no sound of movement among the troops, no cheer from the men near the general's quarters. While the men stood in a tense attitude of expectancy, Jack came up out of the darkness.

"Men," he said quietly, "we are ordered back to Grajal. Fall in!"

Not a word broke from them. Back to Grajal? But the French were not there. Was the battle postponed again? No one appeared to know the meaning of this new order. They collected their kits, strapped on their heavy knapsacks, and trudged despondently back over the frozen roads.

At six o'clock that evening a note had been brought to Sir John Moore from the Marquis of La Romana. It read:

LEON, _Dec. 22_.

SIR,

The confidential person whom I had placed on the River Douro has written to me on the 18th inst. that he is assured that the enemy's troops posted at the Escurial are moving in this direction.

He adds that if the person who gave him this intelligence should not arrive the same day he would go himself to Villacastin, twelve leagues from Madrid, to watch the two roads, the one of which leads to Zamora, and the other to Segovia.

I hasten to give this information to your Excellency that you may judge what measures are requisite to be taken.

LA ROMANA.

What Moore had expected and hoped for had come to pass. It was clear that Napoleon had learnt the British position at last, and was hastening from Madrid northward across the mountains with his whole army to crush the little force.

"We must cut and run for it," said Moore to his staff with a hard smile. "And by Jove we'll give them a race!"

When Moore suddenly, ten days before, altered his line of march from the Valladolid to the Toro road, Napoleon had not had time to learn of the affair at Rueda. He had made up his mind that the British were retreating on Lisbon, and had already despatched Lefebvre and Lasalle in pursuit by way of Badajos, preparing himself to back them up with an overwhelming army of 40,000 men and 150 guns. The news of Stewart's exploit at Rueda reached him on the 19th. It had the effect of an electric shock. Where before had been activity, there was now feverish energy. Couriers were sent on the instant to all parts of Spain, ordering all the scattered units of his immense force to converge on Valladolid, which he persisted in believing to be Moore's objective. Mere skeleton corps were left to hold in check the shattered Spanish armies. The rest followed Napoleon over the Guadarrama mountains, or pushed along the Burgos road to join hands with Soult.

On the 21st, the same day on which Moore marched for Sahagun, an immense French army, comprising the flower of Napoleon's troops, left Madrid. Marshal Ney, "le plus brave des braves", led the van, and he was lucky in bringing his troops across the Guadarrama in comparatively fine weather. But no sooner had he crossed than a terrific snow-storm burst over the mountains. When Napoleon himself arrived from Madrid he found the passes blocked with snow, guns, wagons, all kinds of impedimenta; and the advance, on which so much depended, to all appearance indefinitely delayed.

But opposition, even on the part of the elements, only roused the emperor's indomitable energy. The gale was raging its fiercest, men and horses were being hurled over precipices by the force of the wind. The leading battalions had actually turned back and were making confusion worse confounded, when Napoleon appeared. Addressing the soldiers, he announced that he meant to overtake the British at all costs. He set thousands of men to clear the drifts, others to beat down the snow into a hard road, over which the artillery, harnessed with double teams, crawled painfully northward. He ordered the members of each infantry section to link arms and thus help each other along the perilous mountain way. He dismounted the cavalry, and used their horses to haul the guns. Then, gathering his staff about him, he bade them lock their arms, and himself led the way, walking arm in arm with Lannes and Duroc. Thus, in the teeth of wind, snow, and ice they pushed up the wild mountain steeps. Half-way up, the marshals and generals, who wore jack-boots, were too much exhausted to move another step. Nothing daunted, Napoleon had himself hoisted on a gun, and sat there astride. He called to his marshals to do the same; and thus, after four hours battling with the elements, the grotesque cavalcade reached the convent on the summit, where, with food and wine, the rigours of the march were forgotten.

It was in this spirit of fierce determination that the great emperor, sparing himself as little as his troops, strained every nerve to accomplish the end he had in view--the destruction of Moore's gallant little army. If La Romana's confidential agents had been napping, Moore might indeed have beaten Soult, but only to find himself enveloped by a force triple his own in numbers, commanded by the most brilliant soldier of the age. Fortunately, information had reached La Romana, and through him Moore, in time. At the moment when Napoleon arrived at Villacastin, only some three marches distant, Moore was countermanding the advance on Sahagun.

That moment marked the ebb of Napoleon's fortunes. Hitherto he had pursued his wonderful career with scarcely a check; but the decision of Moore on that December evening was the signal for the break-up of Napoleon's power; it was the step that saved Europe. It diverted the emperor from his immediate purpose of conquest, and engaged his huge armies in a fruitless and exhausting chase; it gave Spain time to bethink herself and rise as a nation. Her rising set an example to Europe, by which Austria and Prussia slowly profited, and which led Russia, three years later, to that spirited defiance which burnt Moscow and brought destruction upon the finest army in the world.

The British retreated in two columns, one, under General Baird, by the northern road to Valencia, the other, under General Hope, by Mayorga towards Benavente. General Paget's reserve division, including the two light brigades under Generals Anstruther and Disney, and five cavalry regiments, remained for twenty-four hours behind the main body. It was on Christmas-day that Jack's regiment received orders to march. The men were formed up in readiness for starting. Every face was gloomy, every heart bitter with rage. It was only vaguely known in the ranks why the advance had been so suddenly countermanded, and the general opinion was that it was due to the cowardice and incompetence of the Spaniards. The officers remarked this spirit of sullen discontent, and Captain O'Hare determined to make a personal appeal. Calling his company to attention, he stood in pouring rain and addressed them.

"Now, my boys," he said cheerily, "we must put a good face on it. The froggies are too many for us now, and the general don't want every mother's son of you to be clapped into a French prison. We're off to Astorga, and bedad, if Marshal Soult comes within reach of our heels, we'll give him a good parting kick before Boney arrives. But remember, we form part of the rear-guard; 'tis the post of honour because 'tis the place of danger. If there is to be any fighting, 'twill fall to us, and every man Jack of you must keep himself as fit as a fiddle, or he won't be able to do what's wanted. I trust to you, my boys; and sure we'll show that every Englishman, whether Scotch or Irish, is worth ten Frenchmen yet. Shoulder arms! Left turn! Quick march!"

"All very well," grumbled Charley Bates, as he swung along beside Corporal Wilkes; "there's to be fighting at Astorga, he says. The general means to march us to death first, and expects us to fight after!"

"You shut up, Bates," said the corporal sullenly. He was just as much irritated as his friends, but, being disputatious by nature, he was ready to contradict anyone. "I've fought under Johnny Moore before, and he ain't one to run for nothing. And you and me, Charley Bates, has got to show a good example to them young orficers--Mr. Lumsden an' the rest,--didn't you hear Peter say so? So step out, my boy, and don't argue."

"Hear that, Pommy?" said Jack, who was nearer the corporal than that worthy believed.

"I heard it," growled Pomeroy, "and I hope you'll profit by Wilkes's example."

They needed all their strength of will to preserve their cheerfulness. A thaw had set in, and the road, running between fields of soft rich loam, was knee-deep in slushy clay. All that day they tramped heavily through the rain. They halted at Mayorga for the night, and pushed on next day to Valderas, their clothes like sponges, their limbs racked with pain. At the halting-places they saw the first signs of failing discipline. Some of the men in the regiments which had preceded them had broken out and vented their rage on the houses of the Spaniards. Food was scarce; means of carriage were lacking; and the men were so incensed against the inhabitants of the villages through which they passed that they seized food for themselves, and, the country being for the most part treeless, tore down doors and sheds to provide wood for their camp-fires. But this marauding spirit had been as yet confined to a few regiments; the men of the light brigades were held well in hand by their officers, and refrained from the ill conduct of their less-disciplined comrades.

As they marched on the 26th and 27th it became known that Lord Paget's cavalry were having a warm time behind them. Soult had sent Lorge's dragoons in pursuit of Baird's column, and the advance-guard of the emperor's army at this time began to appear, until the five British cavalry regiments were closely pressed by no fewer than thirteen French. But Paget was a consummate cavalry leader; spreading his 2400 men as a screen to the whole army, he showed ceaseless activity in fending off the assaults of the French dragoons, beating them time after time, and capturing many prisoners. Every effort of the French to break through and attack the infantry was baffled and checked. So admirably, indeed, did he handle his men, that Napoleon imagined they were twice as numerous as they actually were.

On the afternoon of the 27th, Jack was marching with his regiment, the first battalion of the 95th, along the road from Valderas to Castro Gonzalo, where the river Esla was to be crossed. Behind came the second battalion, with other regiments, and the rear was brought up by Lord Paget's cavalry. The pace had been forced for some hours, for the French were continually pressing closer, and Sir John Moore was anxious to get his whole army across the river without delay. He had given orders that when the passage had been completed the bridge was to be destroyed, and Jack and his fellow-subalterns were disappointed that this task, and the chance of a brush with the enemy, would fall to the second battalion and not the first.

About half a mile before they reached the village of Castro Gonzalo there was a momentary stoppage of the column, caused, as was learnt in a few minutes, by the breaking down of the last of the baggage-wagons. Jack's company happened to be the nearest to the scene of the accident, and as they halted, Captain O'Hare came up and said:

"Lumsden, I'll leave you with a squad of men to repair this confounded cart. It's got our whole wardrobe in it, and we can't afford to lose that. Choose your men, and don't be longer about it than you can help. You'll probably have the job done before the second battalion come up, but if not, there'll be the hussars behind to see you safe in."

*CHAPTER XII*

*Corporal Wilkes on Guard*

Amateur Wheel-wrights--Wilkes Disappears--Dodging Dragoons--Night with a Picket--A Roman Bridge--Benevente--Wilkes enters a Protest--One MacWhirter

Jack was glad to have the chance of doing something that was not merely trudging through slush. He selected four men to assist him with the wagon--Wilkes, Bates, Tom Plunket, and his own man, Giles Ogbourne, who had some experience of smith's work. An inspection of the vehicle showed that the tyre of one of the wheels had broken, and with it one of the spokes. It was evident that, unless the tyre were repaired, the felloe would soon fall to pieces if the wagon were hauled farther over the heavy road. The first thing to be done was to take off the wheel. Luckily the Portuguese driver had a spanner in the cart, and with this the axle-cap was screwed off and the pin knocked out.

"Now, Wilkes," said Jack, "you and Bates will look after the cart while the others come with me to find a smithy. The second battalion will be up in a minute or two. If anyone asks, you can explain what has happened."

Jack started off with the other two men, who carried the heavy wheel between them. Reaching the village of Castro Gonzalo, they went along the streets in search of a smithy. Every house was deserted; the inhabitants had fled in terror at the news that the French were advancing. Nowhere was a smith's shop to be seen, nowhere a person of whom to make enquiry.

"There must be a smithy somewhere," said Jack, "even if the smith has taken to his heels."

"Maybe 'tis along the road to the left, sir," said Giles. "The smithy sometimes lies a bit out of the village at home."

"Perhaps. Let us try it."

The three proceeded down the road towards Villapando, in the teeth of a blinding storm of sleet. At a distance of nearly half a mile from the village they came to a small stone house at the left of the road.

"Here we are!" said Jack, noticing a horse-shoe nailed on the wall, and some broken bits of iron by the doorway. "The door's open; the smith seems to have bolted."

He led the way in, and found himself in a dark smithy. The forge was black and cold; evidently no fire had been lighted there for some time.

"Now, Giles, kindle a fire. You'll find some wood and charcoal about, no doubt. We must be quick about this, for we don't want to be left in the lurch."

It took some time to get a good fire alight. The wood was damp, and Giles's tinder-box had not altogether escaped a wetting. But the fire was ablaze at last, and then Jack set to work with the creaking bellows to blow it to a heat sufficient to weld the broken ends of the tyre. The third man, Plunket, held the iron in the glowing charcoal with the smith's huge tongs, while Giles stood ready with the hammer to beat it on the anvil.

"I'm afeard it won't be big enough to go round the felly without a bit more iron," said Giles; "and there don't seem to be a bit of the right kind here."

"Try it first. The whole tyre may expand enough with the heat."

But when Giles had welded the broken ends, and tried to fit the tyre on the wheel, he found that it was too short, as he had feared.

"We can't give it up," said Jack. "Look round the place and see if you can find a scrap of thin iron that will serve the purpose."

After searching in the smithy and the surrounding yard for several minutes, a strip of iron was discovered which Giles thought might weld with the rest. The tyre had to be heated again and cut at the cleavage. The small piece had to be beaten until it was of the same thickness as the tyre, and only after a good deal of patient manipulation did Giles succeed in forming a tyre of the required circumference. It was finished, however, at last. It fitted on the scorching felloe, and after cold water had been thrown on it from the blacksmith's tank, filling the air with vapour and the characteristic smell of the smithy, Giles declared that the wheel was good enough for another campaign.

"That's right, then," said Jack. "Now we must get back to the cart. By George! it has taken us a long time. It's past five o'clock, and getting dark. Raining as hard as ever too!"

They trudged up the road and through the village, expecting to meet the rear-guard of the British infantry, or at any rate the cavalry. But there was nobody to be seen. They hurried along out of the village towards the spot where, in the gathering darkness, they saw the wagon still standing in the middle of the road.

"But where are the bullocks?" cried Jack, noticing that the shafts and rope traces were empty.

Hastening in advance of the men, burdened as they were with the heavy wheel, he came to the cart.

"Wilkes, where are you?"

There was no answer; nor was there any sign of the men he had left on guard.

"This is awkward, my men," he said, as the two came up. "The wheel's right, but those two fellows and the driver have gone off, and the bullocks with them. We can't move the thing without animals."

"The corp'ril wouldn't budge without he were sent, sir," said Plunket.

"Maybe the French have come up in the dark and captured 'em, sir," added Giles.

"Nonsense! the French were not so close as all that. I don't fancy our cavalry have gone by yet. You two fellows fix the wheel on. I am going back to the village to find a team. I sha'n't be long."

Jack went back to the village in the darkness, going in and out among the houses and the gardens, expecting every moment to come upon some traces of the men and animals. The night was silent, save for the steady downpour of rain and the dull roar of the flooded river, he knew not how far beyond. Presently he heard splashing footsteps, then two men rushed towards him breathless--first Giles, then Plunket.

"The French dragoons!" panted Giles.

"Not our own men?" said Jack quickly.

"No, sir. We heard hoofs, and ran up to the first house and waited; and then two vedettes came up and stopped at the wagon, and we heard the French lingo, sir."

"Then we must make ourselves scarce. Have we time to reach the bridge?"

But even as he spoke, the sound of galloping horses and rumbling wagons came from the other end of the village.

"We must cut, my men. Follow me!" cried Jack.

Running at full speed along the Villapando road, he did not draw breath until he reached the smithy where the tyre had been repaired.

"We must wait here till we know what is happening," he said.

As they stood by the dark forge, they heard the clash of steel and the shouts of officers from the village.

"Soult's men for a certainty," said Jack. "I wonder if our fellows are across the bridge."

Soon after came a clatter and rumble as of wagons driven furiously, and then the thunder of horses' hoofs. Crack! That was a musket-shot. Another, another, then a rapid succession of reports, muffled by distance, struck their ears.

"They're trying to drive our pickets in," said Jack. "Come, men, we must try to find our own lines, or we shall stand a poor chance of escaping with whole skins in the morning. All we can do is to cut across the country over there; no one will hear us through this noise. Come along!"

Leaving the shelter of the smithy, he ran across the road into the field opposite. Great clods of earth clave to his boots, and it was heavy running; but, followed closely by the two men, he pounded on, listening for shots on his right, and moving obliquely to the left to avoid the skirmishers who, he guessed, had been thrown out by the French. As he ran he found the ground rising in a gradual ascent. The firing still continued in a desultory way, and Jack rejoiced that the night was so murky that he and his men would not, as they ascended the slope, present a mark to the enemy. They had run for nearly twenty minutes, and were panting for breath, when they were suddenly brought to a stop by hearing the click of a firelock directly in front of them, and, as they ducked their heads, a shot rang out, followed by the cry:

"Who goes there?"

"A friend--an officer of the 95th!" shouted Jack in answer.

There was a murmur of astonishment. In the darkness several forms were heard rather than seen to advance, and in a few moments Jack and his men were hauled over a rough, semicircular embankment, where they found themselves among a picket of the 43rd.

"Where the deuce do you come from?" asked the sergeant in charge, letting go his hold of Jack's collar.

"Look here, my man, I'm Lieutenant Lumsden of the 95th, and--

"Beg pardon, sir," said the sergeant hastily. "No offence. 'Twould need cat's eyes to tell a dook from a dustman in a night like this."

"What's going on, sergeant? I want to get to the bridge with my men. Can you put us in the road?"