AN ESCAPE
During his visit to the other side of the river Terence had seen, with
great satisfaction, that a powerful battery, mounting fifty guns, had been
erected on the heights of Villa Nova, and its fire, he thought, should
effectually bar any attempt of the French to cross the bridge.
It would indeed be madness for them to attempt such an operation, as the
boats supporting the bridge could be instantly sunk by the concentrated
fire of the battery. He said nothing of this on his return to camp, as it
might have given rise to fresh agitation among the men, were they to be
aware that their presence was not really required for the defence of the
bridge. After a short stay in camp he again went down into the town, with
the idea that he was more likely to hit upon some plan of action there
than he would be in the camp.
The two men again went with him. Another prolonged stare at the convent
failed to inspire him with any scheme that was in the slightest degree
practicable. He fell back upon the conclusion he had mentioned to the two
troopers, that the only chance would be to take advantage of the wild
confusion that would prevail upon the entry of the French. The difficulty
that presented itself to him was, that the nuns would be so appalled by
the approach of the French that it would be unlikely that they would think
of leaving the protection--such as it was--of the convent, and would
shrink from encountering the wild turmoil in the streets. Even if they did
so, it would be too late for them to have any chance of getting across the
bridge, which would be thronged to a point of suffocation by the mob of
fugitives, and might readily be destroyed by one or two of the boats being
sunk by the French artillery.
The one thing evident was, that he must arrange to get a boat and to
station it at the end of some street going down to the river from the
neighbourhood of the convent. That part of the city being some distance
from the bridge, the streets would soon be deserted, and there would not
be a wild rush of fugitives to the boat, which would be the case were it
to be lying alongside anywhere near the bridge. Upon the other hand, it
would be less likely that the nuns would leave the convent if all was
comparatively quiet in that neighbourhood, and did they do so it would be
difficult in the extreme to carry off his cousin from their midst,
ignorant, too, as he was of her appearance. After looking for some time at
the convent, he returned to the more busy part of the town. Presently he
heard a great shouting; every window opened, and he saw a crowd coming
along the street. By the candles, banners, crucifixes, and canopies it was
evident that it was a religious procession. He was about to turn off into
a side street when the thought struck him that possibly it was the bishop
himself on his way up to the camp; therefore he remained in his place,
doffed his hat, and, like all around him, went down on one knee.
The procession was a long and stately one, and in the midst, walking
beneath a canopy, came the bishop himself. Terence gazed at him fixedly in
order to impress on his mind the features of the man whose ambition had
cost Portugal so dearly, and at whose instigation so much blood of the
most honest and capable men of the province had been shed. The face fully
justified the idea that he had formed of the man. The bishop was of
commanding presence, and walked with the air of one who was accustomed to
see all bow before him; but on the other hand, the face bore traces of his
violent character. There was a set smile on his lips, but his brow was
heavy and frowning, while his receding chin contradicted the strength of
the upper part of his face. There was, too, a look of anxiety and
restlessness betrayed by a nervous twitching of the lips.
"The scoundrel is a coward," Terence said to himself. "He may profess
absolute confidence, but I don't think he feels it, and I will bet odds
that he won't be in the front when the time for fighting comes."
Terence walked away after the procession had passed.
"If one could get hold of the bishop," he said to himself, "one might get
an order on the superior of the convent to hand over Mary O'Connor to the
bearer, but I don't see how that can possibly be managed. Of course, he is
surrounded by priests and officials all day, and his palace will be
guarded by any number of soldiers, for he must have many enemies. There
must be scores of relatives of men who have been killed by his orders, who
would assassinate him, bishop though he is, had they the chance. And even
if I got an order--and it seems to me impossible to do so--it would not be
made out in the name of Mary O'Connor. I know that they change their names
when they go into nunneries, and she may be Sister Angela or Cecilia, or
anything else, and I should not know in the slightest degree whether the
name he put down was the one that she really goes by. No, that idea is out
of the question."
Returning to the camp, he held counsel with Herrara. The latter, he knew,
had none of the bigotry so general among his countrymen. He had before
told him about his cousin being shut up against her will, and of the
letter that she had thrown out, but had hitherto said nothing of his
intention to bring about her escape if possible.
"I had an idea that that was what was in your mind when you went off so
early this morning, O'Connor. I have a high respect for the Church, but I
have no respect for its abuses. And the shutting up of a young lady, and
forcing her to take the veil in order to rob her of her property, is as
hateful to me as it can be to you, so that I should have no hesitation in
aiding you in your endeavour to bring about her escape. Have you formed
any plan?"
"No; I have thought it over again and again, but cannot think of any
scheme."
"If that is the case, O'Connor, I fear that it is useless for me to try to
do so; you are so full of ideas always, that if you cannot see your way
out of the difficulty, it is hopeless to expect that I could do so. If you
can contrive any plan I will promise to aid you in any way you can point
out, but as to inventing one, I should never do so if I racked my brain
ever so much."
"There must be some way," Terence said. "I used to get into all sorts of
scrapes when I was a boy, but found there was always some way out of them,
if one could but hit upon it. The only thing that I can think of, is to
carry her off in the confusion when the French enter the town."
"I should say that the nuns would never think of leaving their convent,
O'Connor; it is their best hope of safety to remain there."
"No doubt it is, but the French don't always respect the convents--very
much the contrary, indeed. No, I don't think that they would go out merely
to rush into the street; but they might go out if they thought they could
get over the bridge before the French arrived."
"They might do that, certainly; indeed, it would be the best thing they
could do."
"Do you think that if one were to dress up as a priest, or as one of the
bishop's attendants, and to go as from him with an order to the lady
superior to take the nuns at once across the bridge to the convent on the
other side, she would obey it?"
"Not without some written order," Herrara said. "The bishop would
naturally send someone who would be known to her, or if he did send a
stranger he would give him a letter or some token she would recognize;
otherwise, she could not know that it was his order."
"That is what I was afraid of, Herrara, but it is what I shall try, if I
can see no other way. Indeed, I see only one chance of getting over the
difficulty. The bishop is a tyrant of the worst kind. Now, as far as I can
remember, tyrants of his sort--that is to say, tyrants who rule by working
on the passions of the mob--are always cowards. I watched the bishop
closely when I saw him to-day, and I am convinced he is one also. Even in
that kneeling crowd he could not conceal it. There was a nervous twitching
about his lips which, to my mind, showed that he was in a state of intense
anxiety, and that under all his swagger and show of confidence he was,
nevertheless, in a horrible state of alarm. That being so, it seems to me
extremely likely that when the fighting begins he will make a bolt of it.
He won't wait for the French to enter, for he would know well enough that
in their fury at their defeat, the fugitives, if they came upon him, would
be likely to tear him limb from limb, just as they have murdered dozens of
infinitely better men; so I think that he will make off beforehand. I
imagine that he will go secretly, and with only two or three attendants."
"But you could never carry him off without an alarm being raised, if that
is what you are thinking of, O' Connor."
"No, I am not thinking of that; but if I could, say with Bull and
Macwitty, suddenly attack him like three robbers, we might carry off
something that would serve as a sort of passport to the lady abbess. For
instance, he had a tremendously big ring on. I noticed it as he held up
his hands, as if on purpose to show it off."
"That was his episcopal ring," Herrara laughed. "Yes, if you could get
hold of that, it would be a key that would open the door of any convent."
"Do you think she would hand my cousin over to me if I showed it to her
and gave her a message as from the bishop?"
"Yes, if you knew the name. You see, from the day she was made a nun she
lost her former name altogether; and certainly the bishop would send for
her under her convent name."
"That is what I was thinking myself. Then I must get them all out."
"You have got to get the ring first," Herrara said with a smile.
"Yes, yes, I mean if I get it."
"But if the French have entered the town you can never get them across the
bridge."
"No, I know that. I mean to get a boat and have it lying off the end of
some quiet street. I could put a couple of our men into that, for they
would only regard it, when I had got her on board, as an effort on my part
to save one of the nuns from the French. One thing to do would be to get
the robe of a priest, or the dress of one of the bishop's officials."
Herrara thought for some time. "I think that I could do that for you,
O'Connor. Of course I have a good many acquaintances in Oporto, among them
some ladies. I was intending to go across this evening and see some of
them, and implore them to leave the town before it is too late. One of
these friends of mine might buy some robes for me; a woman can do that
sort of thing when a man cannot. She can pretend that she wants to buy the
robe as a present for the parish priest, or her father confessor, or
something of that sort. At any rate, it is worth trying."
"It is, indeed, Herrara, and if you could manage it I should be greatly
obliged to you."
"I will go across at once. I expect Soult will be close up to-morrow
morning, or at any rate the next day. It may be another couple of days
before he gets his whole force concentrated, but in four days anyhow his
shot will be rattling down into the town. I will go and see what I can do.
You had better get one of my troopers to get the boat for you."
Herrara did not return until early on the following morning.
"I have managed it," he said, as Terence, who was getting very anxious
about him, ran forward to meet him.
"There is one family in Oporto whose eldest son is a brother officer of
mine, and I have visited them here with him, and have met them several
times at Lisbon. Indeed, I may tell you frankly that had it not been for
the troubles, his sister would, ere this time, have been affianced to me.
I had hoped that they had left the town before this, but they told me that
any movement of that sort might bring disaster on them. Two of her
brothers are in the army, and the bishop could not, therefore, pretend
that the father was a traitor to the country; being an elderly man, the
latter has in fact held aloof altogether from politics; but he is
certainly not of the bishop's party, and the bishop considers that all who
are not with him are against him. Had they attempted to leave the town
there is no doubt he would have made it a pretext for arresting the
father, and would certainly do so on the first opportunity. However, they
quite believed that the great force that there is here would be sufficient
to defend the fortifications, and were completely taken aback when I told
them that I was absolutely convinced that the place would fall at the
first attack of the French.
"They agreed to make all preparations for leaving at once. Their horses
have been seized, nominally that they should be used on the
fortifications, but really, I have no doubt, to prevent their leaving. Of
course I told them all about what we had been doing, in which they were
intensely interested. For aught they know, their house may be watched; so
they will come out in some of their servants' clothes. I told them that
they must leave on the night before Soult made his attack. Of course he
will summon the town, and the bishop will, of course, refuse to surrender,
and you may be sure the French will attack on the following day. They left
me alone with Lorenza for a time, and I took that opportunity of telling
her about your plan, and what you wanted, and she promised to procure you
the dress of an ecclesiastic to-morrow. I told her that you were about my
size and height.
"She knew your cousin personally, and was very fond of her, and therefore
entered all the more readily into our plans to get her out. She said that
she disappeared suddenly some months ago, and that her mother had given
out that she had been suddenly seized with the determination to enter a
convent, much against her own wishes. Lorenza felt sure that this was not
true, for she knew that your cousin had heard from her father much about
the Reformed religion, and was in her heart disposed that way. The mother
is engaged to be married to a nobleman who is one of the bishop's warmest
supporters, and the general idea was that Mary O'Connor had been forced
into a nunnery against her will. I sat talking with them until late last
night, and they would not hear of my leaving, especially as they said that
the town was full of bands of ruffians, who traversed the streets,
attacking and robbing anyone of respectable appearance. As I had rather a
fancy to try what a comfortable bed was like again, I did not need much
pressing."
"Thank you greatly, Herrara, I am indeed obliged to you; things seem to
look really hopeful. I have arranged with Bull and Macwitty that on the
evening before the attack is likely to take place we will watch all night
at this end of the bridge. The bishop won't leave until the last thing,
but I would wager any money he will do so that night. He won't go farther
than Villa Nova, so as to be ready to cross again at once if the news
comes that the French have been beaten off. No doubt he will make the
excuse that as an ecclesiastic he could take no active part in the
defence, but had been engaged in prayer, which had done more towards
gaining the victory than his presence could possibly have done."
"I should not be surprised if that should be his course," Herrara said,
smiling. "At any rate, for your sake I hope that it will be. Have you seen
about a boat?"
"Yes, I spoke to Francesco Nortis yesterday evening, and told him that I
wanted to hire a boat with two boatmen for the next week. They were to be
at his service night and day. He was to tell them that he would not want
it for fishing, but that, in case, by any possibility, the French took the
town, he should be able to go across and bring some friends over. When I
told him that money was no object, he said that there would be no
difficulty about it. They will be glad enough to get a good week's pay and
next to nothing to do for it."
Two days passed quietly. On the first day the news arrived that Silveira
had invested Chaves on the day of the battle of Braga, and had forced the
garrison, which consisted of but a hundred fighting men, with twelve
hundred sick, to capitulate.
Day after day news came of the advance of the French. They had moved in
three columns. Each had met with a stout resistance, but had carried the
passes and bridges after severe loss. One of the columns had been held for
some time in check at the Ponte D'Ave, but had carried it at last,
whereupon the Portuguese had murdered their general and dispersed.
On the 26th, six days after the battle of Braga, Franceschi's cavalry were
seen approaching the position in front of Oporto. The alarm bells rung,
the troops hurried to their positions, but the day passed off quietly, the
confidence of the people being still further raised by the arrival of
2,000 regular troops sent by Beresford to their assistance. As there were
already seven or eight thousand regular troops in the camp, it seemed to
all that as Soult had but 20,000 men fit for action, the defences ought to
be held against him for any length of time. The majority, indeed, believed
that he would not even venture to attack the town when upon his arrival he
perceived its strength, especially when they knew that he had but a few
guns with him, his park of artillery being still at Tuy, which was closely
invested by the Spaniards.
On the following day the whole French army settled down in front of the
Portuguese works, and a wild and purposeless fire was now opened by the
defenders, although the French were far beyond musket-range.
Soult sent in a message to the bishop urging him to surrender. He assured
him that resistance was hopeless, and that it was his earnest desire to
save so great a city from the horrors of a storm. The message was sent by
a prisoner, who was seized by the mob in spite of the flag of truce that
he carried, and would have been murdered had he not assured the people
that he came with a message from Soult, to the effect that, seeing the
hopelessness of attacking the town or of marching back to the frontier in
safety, he wished to negotiate for a surrender for himself and his army.
At one point the Portuguese displayed a white flag, and shouted that they
wished to surrender. A French general advanced with another officer, but
when they reached the lines the Portuguese fell upon him, killed his
companion, and carried the general a prisoner into the town. The
negotiations were prolonged until evening, but the bishop declined all
Soult's overtures, and the fire from the intrenchments continued. In the
course of the evening Merle's division, in order to divert attention from
the points Soult had fixed upon for the attack, moved towards the
Portuguese left, when a tremendous fire of artillery and musketry opened
upon it. The division made its way forward, and occupied some hollow
ground which shielded it from fire, within a very short distance of the
intrenchments. Feeling that the crisis was at hand, Terence had everything
prepared. The boatmen were told that they might be required that night,
and that they were to have the boat in readiness to start at any moment.
Herrara had warned his friends, and went to their house with six of his
men, as soon as it became dusk, to escort them over. Terence with his two
troopers, clad in the dresses of two of the tallest of the men and wrapped
in cloaks, with their broad hats pressed low down upon their foreheads,
went down to the end of the bridge as soon as it became quite dark. The
river was three hundred yards broad, but the sound of the confusion and
alarm that prevailed in the city could be plainly heard, although the
evening had set in rough and tempestuous. The shouts of the excited mob
mingled with the clanging of the church bells.
"That does not sound like confidence in victory," Terence remarked.
"Quite the other way, sir. I should say that after all their bragging
every man in the place is in a blue funk."
A great many people, especially women with children, were making their way
across the bridge. About nine o'clock a little knot of five or six men,
following a tall figure, passed them.
"That is the bishop," Terence whispered, and in pursuance of the orders
that he had previously given them, the two men followed him as he fell in
at a short distance behind the group. These turned off from the main road
and took one that led up to the Serra Convent, standing on the crest of a
rugged hill. As soon as they had passed beyond the houses at the foot of
the hill, and the road was altogether deserted, Terence said to the men:
"Now is our time. Do you take the attendants; I will manage the bishop."
They moved forward quickly and silently until they were close to the
group, then they dashed forward. As the startled attendants turned round
the troopers fell upon them, and with heavy blows from their fists knocked
them to the ground like nine-pins. The bishop turned round and shouted:
"Villains, I am the bishop!"
"I know that!" Terence exclaimed, and sprang at him.
The prelate reeled and fell. Terence threw himself upon him, and seizing
his hand wrested from it the episcopal ring. Then, upon seeing that the
bishop had fainted, probably from fright, Terence leapt to his feet. The
five attendants were lying on the ground.
"All right, lads," he said, "we have got what we wanted, but just strip
off one of these fellows' clothes. Take this one, he is a priest."
It took but a minute for the two troopers to strip off the garment and
pick up the three-cornered hat.
"Now, come along, men."
They reached the houses again without hearing so much as a cry from the
astounded Portuguese, who as yet had but a vague idea of what had happened
to them. The capture of the clothes had been rendered necessary by
Herrara's report, two days before, that the young lady had failed to get
the clothes, for the shopman had asked so many questions concerning them
that she had said carelessly that it made no matter. She had intended to
give them as a present and a surprise, but as there seemed a difficulty
about it she would give money instead, and let the priest choose his own
clothes. She had purposely entered a shop in the opposite end of the town
from that in which her father lived, so that there would be less chance of
her being recognized.
Herrara said that she would try elsewhere, but Terence at once begged him
to tell her not to do so.
"The bishop is sure to have some of his priests with him," he said, "and
if I rob him of his ring, I might just as well rob one of them of his
clothes."
On returning to the camp Terence found that his comrade had already
arrived with a gentleman and three ladies. The tent had been given up for
the use of the latter. Herrara had warned him not to say a word to the old
gentleman of his adventure.
"He and the others know nothing about it," he said, "and it is just as
well that they shouldn't, for he is somewhat rigid in his notions, and
might be rather horrified at your assaulting a bishop, however great a
scoundrel he might be, and would be specially so at the borrowing of his
ring."
At twelve o'clock heavy peals of thunder were heard, followed by a
tremendous outbreak of firing from the intrenchments, two hundred guns and
a terrific musketry fire opening suddenly.
"The French are attacking!" Herrara exclaimed.
"I don't think so," Terence replied. "It is more likely to be a false
alarm. The troops may have thought that the thunder was the roar of French
guns. Soult would hardly make an attack at night, or, not knowing the
nature of the ground behind the intrenchments, his men would be falling
into confusion, and perhaps fire into each other."
As, after a quarter of an hour of prodigious din, the fire slackened and
presently ceased altogether, it was evident that this supposition was a
correct one. The morning broke bright and still, and an hour later the
cannonade began again. Terence at once, after telling Herrara to form the
troops up and march them down to the end of the bridge, left the camp, and
after proceeding a short distance took off his uniform and donned the
attire of the ecclesiastic, and then hurried down into the town. He was
accompanied by the two troopers in their peasant dress. These left him at
the bridge. The din was now tremendous, every church bell was ringing
furiously, and frightened women were already crowding down towards the
bridge.
Their point of crossing had already been decided upon--it was at the end
of a street close to the convent, and when Terence reached the convent the
two men were already standing at the end of the street, awaiting him.
"Now, you do your part of the business and I will do mine," Terence said,
and he moved forward to the door of the convent, where he would be unseen
should anyone look out.
The two troopers went to the middle of the street, opposite the window
which the officer had described to Terence, and both shouted in a
stentorian voice:
"Mary O'Connor!"
The shout was heard above the tumult of the battle and the din in the
city, and a head appeared at the window and looked down with a bewildered
expression.
"Mary O'Connor," Bull shouted again, "a friend is here to rescue you. You
will leave the convent directly with the rest. Look out for us."
Then they walked on, and passed Terence.
"Have you seen her face?"
"We have, sir. We shall know her again, never fear."
Terence now seized the bell and rung it vigorously. The door opened, and a
terrified face appeared at the window.
"I have a message from the bishop to the lady superior."
The door was opened, and was at once closed and barred behind him. He was
led along some passages to the room where the lady superior, pale and
agitated, was awaiting him.
"Have the French entered the intrenchments?" she asked.
"I trust they have not entered yet, but they may do so at any moment. The
bishop is at the Serra Convent, and from there has a view over the town to
the intrenchments. He begs you to instantly bring the nuns across, for
they will be in safety there, whereas no one can say what may happen in
the town. Here is his episcopal ring in proof that I am the bearer of his
orders. I pray you to hasten, sister, for a crowd of fugitives are already
pouring over the bridge, and there is not a moment to be lost."
"The nuns are just coming down to prayer in the chapel, and we will start
instantly."
In two minutes upward of a hundred frightened women were gathered in the
courtyard.
"Are all here?" Terence asked the lady superior.
"All of them."
"I asked because I know that he is specially anxious that one, who is a
sort of prisoner, should not fall into the hands of the French, as that
might cause serious trouble."
"I know whom you mean," and she called out "Sister Theresa!" There was no
answer.
[Illustration: "MACWITTY WAS STANDING COVERING THE TWO BOATMEN WITH HIS
PISTOLS"]
"It is well you asked," she said. "They have forgotten her." She gave
orders to one of the sisters, who at once entered the house, and returned
in a minute with a young nun. The door was now opened, and they moved out
in procession. Terence could hear regular volleys amidst the roar of guns
and the incessant crack of muskets.
"I fear that they have entered the intrenchments," he said. "Hasten,
sister, or we shall be too late."
With hurried steps they passed along the deserted streets. As they neared
the bridge a crowd of fugitives were hastening in that direction, and when
they approached its head they found it blocked by a struggling mass.
"What is to be done?" the lady superior asked in consternation.
"We must wait a minute or two; they may clear off."
But every second the crowd increased, and was soon thick behind them.
Already the line of nuns was broken up by the pressure. Terence had kept
his eyes on the two tall figures who had followed, at first behind them,
and had then quickened their footsteps until abreast of the centre of the
line, and to his satisfaction saw that they had one of the nuns between
them, and were forcing their way with her through the crowd behind. At
this moment a terrible cry arose from the crowd. A troop of Portuguese
dragoons rode furiously down the street leading to the bridge, and dashed
into the crowd, trampling down all in their way in their reckless terror,
until they gained the end of the bridge. As they rode on to it, two of the
boats, already low in the water from the weight upon them, gave a surge
and sank, carrying with them hundreds of people. The crowd recoiled with a
cry of horror.
"There is no escape now, sister," Terence said; "go back to the convent."
"Home, sisters!" she cried in a loud, shrill voice, that made itself heard
even over the screams of the drowning people and the wails and cries of
the mob.
Terence placed himself before the lady superior, and by main force made a
way through the crowd; which was the more easy as, seeing their only
escape cut off, numbers were now beginning to disperse to their homes. The
movement was converted into a wild rush when a troop of French cavalry
came thundering down to the bridge. In a moment all was mad confusion and
fright. The nuns followed their superior, and all thought of decorum being
now lost, fled with her like a flock of frightened sheep along the street
leading to the convent. Terence paused a moment. He saw that the French
troopers threw themselves from their horses, and, all animosity being for
the moment forgotten in the horror of the scene, set to work to endeavour
to save the drowning wretches, regardless of the fire which, as soon as
the French appeared, was opened by the battery on the height of Villa
Nova.
Then he sped away after the nuns, whom he soon passed. He turned down the
street next to the convent, and, on reaching the end, saw the two troopers
with a nun in a boat ten yards away. Macwitty was standing covering the
two boatmen with his pistols.
"Row back to the shore again," he roared out in English, "and take off
that gentleman there." The men did not understand his words, but they
understood his gestures, and a stroke or two took them alongside. Terence
leapt in and told the men to row across the river.
"This is an unexpected meeting, cousin," he said to the girl.
"They have been telling me who you are, and how you have effected my
rescue," she said, bursting into tears. "How can I thank you?"
"Well, this is hardly a time for thanks," he said, "and I am as glad as
you are that it has all turned out well. I will tell you all about it as
soon as we are across."
They were nearly over when he exclaimed to the troopers:
"The French have repaired the bridge with planks. See, they are crossing!"
They sprang out on reaching the opposite shore. A moment later a rattle of
musketry broke out.
"Macwitty," he said, "I will give this young lady into your charge. Take
her straight up to the camp. There are three ladies there," he said to his
cousin, "and in the tent they have some clothes for you to change into. It
will not be long before I shall rejoin you. But I must join my regiment
now; they are engaged with the enemy."
As he hurried along with Bull, he could hear above the sound of the
musketry the sharp crack of the field-guns from the opposite side of the
river.
"They are covering the passage, Bull."
As he came up he found that Herrara had taken possession of the houses
near the end of the bridge. A part of his troops filled the windows, while
the main body lined the quay. The French were recoiling, but a mass of
their troops could be seen at the further end of the bridge, and two field
batteries were keeping up an incessant fire. Herrara was posted with a
company at the end of the bridge.
"We had better fall back, Herrara, before they form a fresh column of
attack. We might repulse them again, but they will be able to cross by
boats elsewhere, and we shall be taken in front and rear. Let us draw off
in good order. The infantry will be sure to march straight against the
battery on the hill behind, and it will be half an hour before the cavalry
can cross, and by that time we shall be well on our way; whereas, if we
stop here until we are taken in flank and rear, we shall be cut to
pieces."
"I quite agree with you," Herrara said, and ordered the man with the horn
standing beside him to sound the retreat.
The men near at once formed up and got in motion, those in the houses
poured out, and in two minutes the whole force were going up the hill at a
trot, but still preserving their order. Five minutes later the head of the
French column poured over the bridge. Just as the troops reached the place
of encampment the fire of the battery ceased suddenly.