Part 12

"Heavens above, sir, you'd be shot in a winking. The bridge is half a mile up-stream, and we're holding these heights while t'other half of the brigade knocks a hole in it. We're the last picket this way, and as, judging by the sound of it, the Frenchmen are dismounted and a-trying to pass us, and we expect 'em here direckly minute, I'm afeard you'll have to stay here till morning light, sir."

"Oh, all right! I'll take a hand if there's any fighting. What has been going on this afternoon, then?"

"Troops all crossed, sir, except our half-brigade."

"Are the cavalry over?"

"Yes, sir. They came up rather late; and directly they and the guns was got over, the general had a hole knocked in one of the arches--cut completely through, sir--so that the rest of us will have to swim across, I expect, if we get through the night. And we'll all be drownded, sure as fate. Hark to the water a-rushing and raving behind us!"

His voice, indeed, was almost smothered by the roar of the swollen river. Getting what shelter was possible, Jack and his men passed a miserable night with the picket of the 43rd, and were glad when the darkness cleared, and they saw once more the grim dawn of another wintry day.

It brought little comfort. The wind had risen to a furious gale, beating sheets of snow and sleet in their faces. Jack and his men were shivering with cold and ravenous with hunger, though the men of the 43rd shared with them the scanty rations they had. During the whole of that day, and far into the night, they had to hold their position, ever on the alert to repel a flanking attack of the French cavalry, who several times galloped close up to the bridge, always retiring more quickly than they came before the volleys of the British infantry who lined the heights. More than once Jack thought of making his way along the embankment and rejoining his regiment, but the picket of the 43rd was always outnumbered; it had lost several men, and he decided, every time the opportunity of leaving occurred, that he would stay, thinking that, after all, he could probably do more good in the fighting line than in security on the other side of the bridge.

At the bridge General Craufurd kept his men unremittingly at the task of mining the arches. There had been no time to send an engineer forward to make the necessary preparations; the men lacked the proper tools; and the material of the bridge was so strong, and the construction of the Roman engineers centuries before so solid, that the task of penetrating the massive masonry was of unusual difficulty.

Towards night the spasmodic attacks of the French ceased altogether, and they withdrew out of range. After several more hours of cheerless waiting, word was passed quietly along the entrenchments that the work at the bridge was finished and that the troops were now to retire. The wet and weary men needed no urging; in dead silence they crept along and down the heights towards the end of the bridge, where General Craufurd, commanding the rear-guard, was in person superintending the crossing. The middle arch had been cut completely through, but the men had not to swim for it, as the sergeant of the 43rd had anticipated, for planks had been laid across the gap. Jack was among the last to cross, and as he passed over the narrow, shaking strip of boarding, the impetuous and roaring torrent dashed over it, threatening at every moment to carry away planks and men together. But the last man safely reached the other side, and Jack, as General Craufurd passed him, heard that fine soldier mutter with a grim chuckle:

"There! We've dished the fools!"

A few minutes afterwards there was a terrific roar, that for the moment drowned the fury of the torrent; then a blinding glare that flashed along the gray masonry and shot through the falling rain; and then, with a great crash, two arches and their supporting buttresses fell to the bottom of the river, where they lie to this day. The mine so laboriously excavated had exploded with complete success, and between the French and the English raged the boiling torrent, which effectually forbade present pursuit. Mocking cheers broke from the throats of the tired, drenched soldiers; then they turned their backs on the river and marched on, half-asleep, towards Benavente. Jack looked at his watch; it was just midnight.

When he awoke, at daylight next morning, some minutes passed before he realized where he was. He had no recollection of going to bed; in fact, on arriving in the town he had been so fatigued that he could have slept in his wet clothes on the road. But his man had been anxiously on the look-out, and it was to him that Jack owed his bed in the convent where his fellow-officers had found lodgment.

His dazed senses were fully recalled to him by the sound of Pepito's voice humming one of his gipsy songs outside the door.

"Pepito!" he called.

The boy bounded lightly into the room with an eagerness that bespoke, as clearly as words could have done, the affection he now bore towards the young Englishman.

"Find Giles for me, my boy," said Jack, "and tell him to get me something to eat--something substantial--for I'm ravenous."

When the boy returned, Jack had dressed.

"Find him? That's right. So you got here safely yesterday! You've not been up to any mischief, I hope?"

"No, Senor," replied Pepito gravely. "But I can, now that you are here."

Jack smiled, and then sprang up as Giles entered with a dish that filled the room with a very savoury odour.

"What's this?" said Jack, sniffing. "Roast hare, by all that's glorious! Giles, you're a wonder."

"'Twas Pepito, sir," said Giles. "The young varmint went out before 'twas light this morning and snared the beast for your breakfast, sir. I allow he makes himself useful sometimes."

Pepito was grinning with pleasure, and Jack without ado devoted himself to his meal.

"By the way," he said presently, "have you seen anything of those two fellows I left with the wagon?"

A broad smile broke over Giles's ruddy face.

"They was brought in yesterday, sir, under guard, and locked up in the guard-room. They was mad, sir, both on 'em, but Corporal Wilkes the worst. He made a few remarks, sir--" and here Giles gave vent to his loud guffaw, and instantly straightened his face to its usual stolid impassivity.

"Are they still locked up?" asked Jack.

"No, sir. Captain Stovin ordered 'em to be released when they'd had about two hours of it."

"Go and fetch them."

In ten minutes Corporal Wilkes entered, followed by Bates, each man wearing a look of sullen discontent.

"Now, Wilkes, what have you got to say for yourself?" said Jack sternly.

"Say, sir? I ain't got nothing to say, nor I didn't get a chance o' saying nothing. It ain't common fairness, let alone justice, that it ain't, begging your pardon, sir. It ain't for the likes o' me to question what an orficer says, sir, to say nothing of an orficer like Bobby--beg pardon, like General Craufurd. But," continued the corporal, his eloquence increasing with his indignation, "but, Mr. Lumsden, sir, what I want to know is, what call the general 'ad to miscall me a straggler, to say nothing o' Bates, and send us in under guard of a bloomin' corp'ril of the second battalion--why, we're the laughing-stock o' the regiment."

"There now," said Jack with due gravity, suspecting what must have occurred, "I suppose there was some little mistake. Tell me all about it."

Wilkes proceeded to explain that a few minutes after Jack left with the broken wheel a heavy shower of sleet had come on, and he and Bates had taken shelter beneath the wagon. From this point of vantage they had seen the passage of the greater part of the second battalion, which was whipping in all stragglers from the various other regiments that had gone by earlier in the day. In the rear of the battalion rode General Craufurd with Colonel Wade and other officers, and Craufurd's eagle eye had at once remarked the abandoned wagon. Riding up to it, he descried the two figures crouching underneath, and sternly demanded what they were doing there.

"I was beginning to explain, sir," said Wilkes, "but before I could crawl out into the open, 'Enough of that', says he. 'Come out of that, you skulkers!' Me a skulker! And without sayin' another word he marches us off to the bridge, where he hands us over to Corp'ril MacWhirter, a feller I've the greatest dislike of. 'Here,' says the general, 'see these two stragglers safe into Benawenty, and hand 'em over to Colonel Beckwith with my compliments'. MacWhirter he sniffed, and it was hard work to keep my hands off him, sir, for blest if he didn't pass foolish and opperobious remarks all the way to Benawenty, just a grunt here and there, like as if we was pigs, and his two Riflemen like to bust 'emselves with laughing. Now, sir, what I--"

At this point Captain O'Hare came into the room. Jack, who had had some difficulty in keeping his countenance, said hurriedly:

"Well, well, it was very unfortunate, but I'll see that it is put right."

As Wilkes turned away, Jack heard him mutter under his breath:

"Yes, and I'll put it right with MacWhirter."

*CHAPTER XIII*

*Don Miguel's Man*

Fine Feathers--A Fight by the River--Lax Discipline--Scenes at Astorga--A Cry for Help--The One-eyed Man--At Bay--A Warm Corner--Wilkes to the Rescue--Miguel Explains--Righteous Indignation--Wilkes's Supper

Captain O'Hare's eyes were twinkling as he watched the aggrieved exit of the two soldiers, and when they had gone he joined in Jack's shout of laughter.

"Ah! 'tis all very well for you to laugh at Corporal Wilkes; but faith, my boy, we'll have to court-martial you for deserting his Majesty's stores, to say nothing of my best pair of galligaskins. Begorra, let's hope they won't fit the spalpeen of a Frenchman who gets them. The whole mess is rejuced to one suit."

Then, changing his tone, the captain proceeded to inform Jack of what had happened since his arrival at Benavente. The inhabitants of the town had received the British army with an attitude of sullen dislike and even animosity. Relying for their rations on what could be obtained during the march, the troops had come into the place tired and hungry, to find the doors barred and food withheld. The shops were all closed, the magistrates had taken flight, and although the British were prepared to pay for supplies, neither bread nor wine was to be had. The men were already embittered by the hardships of their long march, and disappointed of their hopes of meeting the French in fair fight, and it was small wonder that coldness where they might well have looked for warmth, and aversion where they might have claimed active friendship, provoked resentment and reprisal. They were received as enemies; they could scarcely be expected to act as friends.

"Indade, the whole army's going to the dogs," said Captain O'Hare dejectedly; "all except the Gyards and the Reserve. Things are as bad as they can be, and there's worse to come. The main body's looting, and behaving worse than Pagans and Turks. They should be at Astorga by now, and we're to follow them in an hour or so. The company's falling in, and you'd better hurry up, or you run a risk of finding an escort like our friend Wilkes. And bedad," he added, as the dull sound of firing was heard in the direction of the river, "there's the music again."

Jack had by this time finished his breakfast, and, hurrying out with the captain, he found the 95th preparing to move off.

"Hullo!" cried Smith, "you've turned up, then! What have you done with the wagon?"

"Where are my boots?" asked Pomeroy.

"And my best frilled shirt, the one with the ruffles?" continued Smith.

"And my new highlows, the ones with the silver buckles?" added Pomeroy.

"They are coming after us," returned Jack. "If you care to wait they'll probably be here in half an hour--and Colbert's dragoons inside them."

As the regiment moved off, the firing behind them became more and more distinct and continuous. Bodies of mounted troops could be seen on the horizon; a smart cavalry action was apparently being fought, and the men of the 95th were again jealous of what they considered the better luck of the cavalry. But Jack's company, marching away at the quick step, was soon beyond sight of the combatants, though for an hour afterwards the boom of guns could be plainly heard.

Lord Paget was fighting one of those brilliant little rear-guard actions that stamped him in an age of great soldiers as one of the finest cavalry leaders of his time. At Benavente he had to deal, not with the ruck of Napoleon's cavalry, who, be it said to their credit, were never wanting in dash, but with the flower of the emperor's troops, the famous Cavalry of the Guard, led in person by Lefebvre-Desnouettes, his favourite general, who had been until now the spoiled child of fortune. When Lefebvre-Desnouettes discovered that the bridge across the Esla was broken beyond possibility of immediate repair, he rode fuming up and down the river, vainly seeking a practicable ford for the large body of infantry that had now gathered on the banks. On the farther side was a thin chain of British vedettes; beyond these, as far as the eye could reach across the great plain, there was no sign of Sir John Moore's army except a few belated camp-followers hurrying into Benavente. The French general, chafing with impatience, at last flung prudence to the winds and decided to follow up the pursuit with his cavalry alone, leaving the infantry to follow as soon as the bridge could be patched up. Fording the swollen river with 600 chasseurs of the Guard at a spot some distance above the ruined arches, he drove back the vedettes in his front and pushed rapidly across the plain in the direction of Benavente. Meanwhile the news of the crossing had brought the British vedettes at full gallop from their posts opposite the fords below and above the bridge; and when a few score had collected they made a plucky charge at the head of the French column, and in spite of their small numbers threw it into disorder. The discomfited chasseurs, supported by the succeeding squadrons, rallied and pursued the audacious little band; but they were again broken by a second charge, led in person by General Stewart, who had come up with a few reinforcements. The British troopers broke clean through the first line, and although they narrowly escaped being cut off by the main body, they hewed their way out again and retired in good order towards Benavente. They were only two hundred, the French were three times their number, and Lefebvre-Desnouettes, irritated by these checks, incautiously pressed them into the outskirts of the town. There Lord Paget, with the 10th Hussars, lay grimly in waiting. Forming up his men under cover of some buildings, he held them, straining at the leash, until the chasseurs were well within striking distance, then he let them loose, and the hussars, instantly joined by Stewart's pickets, rode at the enemy at a headlong, irresistible gallop. The leading squadrons of chasseurs went down like ninepins; the rest wheeled about, galloped back to the Esla, and did not draw rein until they were safe on the French side of the stream. Lefebvre-Desnouettes himself rode his horse at the river, but the animal had received a wound and refused to face the water. While still floundering at the brink, it was seized by an enterprising British trooper; the general was captured with seventy of his men, and Napoleon was left chafing at the first decisive check he had personally met with in Spain.

Meanwhile there was growing dissatisfaction in the ranks of the British infantry, and even among the officers. It had been stated, with some show of authority, that Moore intended to make a stand at Astorga, but no one believed it; a similar statement had been made so many times before, always to be falsified. Some of the more clear-headed among the rank and file endeavoured to prove to their discontented comrades that the retreat was inevitable; Moore was no coward, and only the knowledge that he was overwhelmingly outmatched would have induced him to retire without giving battle. He had nothing personally to gain by running away; his military reputation was at stake, and he had further the duty of showing that Britain honourably stood by her pledges to Spain. It was a bitter disappointment to him, and nothing but a strong sense of responsibility had actuated his decision to march to the sea.

Unhappily a retreating army is always prone to get out of hand. Already marauding had taken place at various stages of the march, and the sullen incivility of the Spaniards provoked ill-tempered words and deeds on the part of the British. The road was encumbered with stragglers, as well as with numbers of women and children, who suffered from the inevitable hardships of a march through wild country in mid-winter. The confusion and disorder were only increased when the troops reached Astorga. There they met the ragged Spanish regiments of the Marquis of La Romana, who, in spite of Moore's repeated requests that he would retreat northwards into the Asturias, had marched westward into Galicia, giving as his reason that the only available pass into the former province was blocked with snow. In retreating before Soult his rear-guard had been cut to pieces by Franceschi's dragoons at the bridge of Mansilla, where there had been every opportunity of making a stubborn resistance. They arrived at Astorga in a state of panic, more like a crowd of peasants driven from their homes than a regular army. They were half-naked, and half-starved; many were suffering from a malignant fever, and they were maddened by cold, disease, and want. Learning that large supplies of food lay at Astorga, as well as stores of shoes, blankets, and muskets, they prowled through the town, seizing whatever they could lay hands on, setting an example which too many of the British soldiers showed themselves ready to follow.

When, on the evening of December 30th, Jack's company marched into Astorga, they found disorder reigning everywhere within its ancient turreted walls. Several houses were on fire, men were plundering on every side, all kinds of objects were littering the streets. Three divisions of Moore's army had already left the town on the way to Villafranca, and the only British troops now quartered there were the Reserve under General Paget and the two light brigades. These had kept better discipline than most of the regiments which had preceded them, and the signs of havoc provoked a great burst of indignation from the rear companies of the 95th as they swung round into the great square. Corporal Wilkes was especially voluble in denunciation of the bad discipline among the Spaniards. He was expressing himself warmly to Bates as they kept step together, when the sight of a tall Spanish soldier in somewhat better trim than the tatterdemalion rank and file of La Romana's forces added fuel to his wrath. The men were standing near the lighted door of the Town Hall, where Jack's company was to be quartered, and the Spaniard looked with a cynical smile at the Riflemen defiling past. He had a villainous countenance, its forbidding aspect enhanced by the fact that he had only one eye, which was gazing at the men with a fixed, stony, unwinking stare.

"What's that one-eyed villain of a Don doing there?" growled Wilkes, staring into the solitary eye as he passed. "Why ain't he keeping his men in order, instead of loafing about like a London whitewasher out o' work?"

Jack heard the remark, and turned to look at the one-eyed man; but a scuffle between a man of the 28th and a squalid Spaniard drew off his attention for a moment, and when the quarrel was ended by the Englishman's fist, the man had disappeared.

After the men had been safely got to quarters Jack was sitting in the room he was to share with Pomeroy and Shirley when he was summoned to the Casa Morena. He there found Colonel Beckwith vigorously haranguing a Spanish officer, and was called on to act as interpreter. Beckwith was insisting in no measured terms that the officer should make some attempt to check the disorder among his men, and Jack did his best to soften the colonel's language without depriving it of its authority. At the close of the interview, about eight o'clock at night, he was returning to his quarters when he fancied he heard a cry proceeding from a large house that stood alone, and by its size seemed to belong to a person of some importance. He stopped and listened; the cry was not repeated; he was passing on, when out of the darkness a little boy ran up, seized his hand, and began to pull him towards the house.

"Senor! Senor!" he cried in a terrified wail, "my father--he is being murdered. He is an old man; he cannot fight. Come, Senor, and save him!"

Jack had broken from the boy's clutch and was already making with long strides to the front door. It was firmly barred and unyielding to his pressure.

"Not that way, not that way, Senor!" cried the boy, and seizing Jack's hand again, he led him to the back, through a narrow enclosure, to a flight of stone steps, at the head of which was a French window with one of its halves open inwards, and a dim light shining through. Running with the boy up the steps, Jack found himself in what was evidently the sala of the house. It was in darkness, but a door at the far end giving on to a corridor was open, and a dim light filtered into the room from a lamp, consisting of a shallow bowl in which a wick was floating on oil. Treading very warily, the two crossed the room to the corridor beyond; at the end of the passage a brighter light was streaming from a half-open door, and Jack, alert to catch the slightest sound, heard a rasping voice say in Spanish:

"Now, you old dotard, I will give you one minute by yonder clock. After that the knife, and I will search for myself."

Pushing the boy behind him, and signing to him to be quiet, Jack crept cautiously to the door and peeped into the room. Tied to a chair, with a rope cut from the bell-pull, was an old gentleman, very frail and thin, with sparse gray hair and beard. On the table before him a long knife, driven into the wood, rocked to and fro with diminishing oscillation; an angular man in Spanish uniform, his back half-turned to the door, occupied a chair within a couple of feet of the victim, and, leaning forward, elbows upon his knees, gazed with a vengeful smile into the old man's face. At the side of the room a large escritoire lay open, its contents thrown pell-mell upon the floor.

The old Spaniard, bound and helpless as he was, looked steadily with unflinching gaze into the face of his enemy.

"Do you think for a moment, wretch that you are," he said with quiet scorn, his tone strangely contrasting with the fury of the other, "do you think for a moment that you will cajole me with empty promises, or scare me with insolent threats? I expect no mercy from you--you were always a villain,--but I can at least baulk your greed. I am an old man, do your worst; your knife has no terrors for me."