ALBUERA.
Very heavily did five months in the lines of Torres Vedras pass to the
Norfolk Rangers. When, in the beginning of November, Massena fell back
to Sautarem, the greater portion of the army followed him in readiness
for attack should any openings be found. Massena, however, entrenched
himself in a very strong position, and Wellington could no more attack
him than he could attack the lines of Torres Vedras; so that both
armies faced each other in inactivity until the beginning of March,
when Massena broke up his camp and began to retreat.
The Norfolk Rangers had been one of the regiments which had remained
in their quarters on Torres Vedras throughout the winter, and great
was the joy with which they received orders to strike their tents
and push on in pursuit. The retreat of Massena was masterly. Ney's
division covered the rear, and several sharp fights took place which
are known in history as the combats of Pombal, Redinha, Cazal Nova,
Foz d'Aronce, and Sabugal.
In most of these the enemy were driven from their position by the
British outflanking them and threatening their line of retreat; but in
the last, by a mistake of General Erskine, a portion of his division
attacked the enemy in rear, and, although vastly outnumbered, drove
him off from the crest he held with desperate valor. Wellington
himself said, "This was one of the most glorious actions British
troops were ever engaged in."
The next day the French crossed the Coa and Turones, and took up their
position under the guns of Ciudad Rodrigo, which they had left six
months before with the full assurance that they were going to conquer
Portugal, and drive the British into the sea. The invasion cost
Massena thirty thousand men, killed in battle, taken prisoners, or
dead from hardships, fatigues and fevers.
The Scudamores were not present at the battle of Sabugal, for on the
afternoon after the combat of Foz d'Aronce an orderly rode up to the
regiment and handed a note to the colonel. He read it, and at once
summoned the Scudamores at his side.
"An order from the commander-in-chief," he said, "for you to go to him
at once."
Following the orderly, the boys soon arrived at the cottage at which
Lord Wellington had established his headquarters.
"His lordship is with Lord Beresford," the aide-de-camp to whom they
gave their names said, "but the orders are that you are to be shown in
at once."
The lads were ushered into a small room, where, seated at a table,
were the commanders-in-chief of the British and the Portuguese troops.
"Young gentlemen," the former said, looking up with his keen piercing
eyes, "I have not seen you since your return from Spain. I am content
with what you did, and with the detailed report you sent me in. I
shall keep my eye upon you. Lord Beresford has asked me for two
officers as aides-de-camp, and he specially requires them to have a
perfect knowledge of Spanish. I have mentioned your names to him. It
is not often that I confidently recommend young officers, but from
what I know of you I have felt able to do so in the present case. You
will, with him, have opportunities of distinguishing yourselves
such as you could not have with your regiment. You accept the
appointments?"
Tom and Peter would far rather have remained with their regiment,
but they felt that, after what Lord Wellington had said, they could
not refuse; they consequently expressed at once their willingness
to serve, and their thanks to the general for his kindness in
recommending them.
"You can ride, I hope?" Lord Beresford, a powerfully-built,
pleasant-looking man, said.
"Yes, sir, we can both ride, but at present--"
"You have no horses, of course?" Lord Beresford put in. "I will
provide you with horses, and will assign servants to you from one of
the cavalry regiments with me. Will you join me at daybreak to-morrow?
we shall march at once."
There was a general expression of regret when the Scudamores informed
their comrades that they were again ordered on detached duty. As
to Sam, when Tom told him that he could not accompany them, he was
uproarious in his lamentations, and threatened to desert from his
regiment in order to follow them. At this the boys laughed, and told
Sam that he would be arrested and sent back before he had gone six
hours.
"I tink, Massa Tom, dat you might hab told de general dat you hab got
an fust-class serbent, and dat you bring him wid you."
"But we shall be mounted now, Sam, and must have mounted men with us.
You can't ride, you know."
"Yes, massa, dis child ride first-rate, he can."
"Why, Sam, I heard you say not long ago you had never ridden on a
horse all your life."
"Never hab, massa, dat's true 'nuff; but Sam sure he can ride. Berry
easy ting dat. Sit on saddle, one leg each side--not berry difficult
dat. Sam see tousand soldiers do dat ebery day; dey sit quite easy on
saddle; much more easy dat dan beat big drum."
The boys laughed heartily at Sam's notion of riding without practice,
and assured him that it was not so easy as he imagined.
"Look here, Sam," Peter said at last, "you practice riding a little,
and then next time we get away we will ask for you to go with us." And
with this Sam was obliged to be content.
Half an hour later, when the boys were chatting with Captain Manley,
Carruthers, and two or three other officers, in the tent of the
first-named officer, they heard a commotion outside, with shouts of
laughter, in which they joined as soon as they went out and saw what
was going on.
Sam, upon leaving the Scudamores, determined at once upon trying the
experiment of riding, in order that he might--for he had no doubt all
would be easy enough--ride triumphantly up to his masters' tent and
prove his ability to accompany them at once. He was not long before
he saw a muleteer coming along sitting carelessly on his mule, with
both legs on one side of the animal, side-saddle fashion, as is the
frequent custom of muleteers. It was evident, by the slowness of his
pace, that he was not pressed for time.
Sam thought that this was a fine opportunity.
"Let me have a ride?" he said to the muleteer in broken Portuguese.
The man shook his head. Sam held out a quarter of a dollar. "There,"
he said, "I'll give you that for a hour's ride."
The muleteer hesitated, and then said, "The mule is very bad tempered
with strangers."
"Oh, dat all nonsense," Sam thought, "he only pretend dat as excuse;
any one can see de creature as quiet as lamb; don't he let his master
sit on him sideways?"
"All right," he said aloud, "I try him."
The muleteer dismounted, and Sam prepared to take his place on the
saddle. By this time several of the Rangers had gathered round, and
these foreseeing, from the appearance of the mule and the look of sly
amusement in the face of the muleteer, that there was likely to be
some fun, at once proposed to assist, which they did by giving advice
to Sam of the most opposite nature. Sam was first going to mount on
the off side, but this irregularity was repressed, and one wag, taking
the stirrup of the near side in his hand, said, "Now, Sam, up you go,
never mind what these fellows say, you put your right foot in the
stirrup, and lift your left over the saddle."
Sam acted according to these instructions, and found himself, to his
intense amazement and the delight of the bystanders, sitting with his
face to the mule's tail.
"Hullo," he exclaimed in astonishment, "dis all wrong; you know noting
about de business, you Bill Atkins."
And Sam prepared to descend, when, at his first movement, the mule put
down his head and flung his heels high in the air. Sam instinctively
threw himself forward, but not recovering his upright position before
the mule again flung up her hind quarters, he received a violent
blow on the nose. "Golly!" exclaimed the black in a tone of extreme
anguish, as, with water streaming from his eyes, he instinctively
clutched the first thing which came to hand, the root of the mule's
tail, and held on like grim death. The astonished mule lashed out
wildly and furiously, but Sam, with his body laid close on her back,
his hands grasping her tail, and his legs and feet pressing tight to
her flanks, held on with the clutch of despair.
"Seize de debil!--seize him!--he gone mad!"--he shouted frantically,
but the soldiers were in such fits of laughter that they could do
nothing.
Then the mule, finding that he could not get rid of this singular
burden by kicking, started suddenly off at full gallop.
"Stop him--stop him," yelled Sam. "Gracious me, dis am drefful."
This was the sight which met the eyes of the Scudamores and their
brother officers as they issued from their tents. The soldiers were
all out of their tents now, and the air rang with laughter mingled
with shouts of "Go it, moke!" "Hold on, Sam!"
"Stop that mule," Captain Manley shouted, "or the man will be killed."
Several soldiers ran to catch at the bridle, but the mule swerved and
dashed away out of camp along the road.
"Look, look," Tom said, "there are the staff, and Lord Wellington
among them. The mule's going to charge them."
The road was somewhat narrow, with a wall of four feet high on either
side, and the general, who was riding at the head of the party, drew
his rein when he saw the mule coming along at a furious gallop. The
staff did the same, and a general shout was raised to check or divert
her wild career. The obstinate brute, however, maddened by the shouts
which had greeted her from all sides, and the strange manner in which
she was being ridden, never swerved from her course. When she was
within five yards of the party, the general turned his horse, touched
him with his spur, and leaped him lightly over the wall; one or two
others followed his example, but the others had not time to do so
before the mule was among them. Two horses and riders were thrown
down, one on either side, with the impetus of the shock, and then,
kicking, striking and charging, the animal made its way past the
others and dashed on in despite of the attempts to stop her, and
the cries of "Shoot the brute," "Ride him down," and the angry
ejaculations of those injured in its passage. Thirty yards behind the
group of officers were the escort, and these prepared to catch the
mule, when turning to the left she leaped the wall, eliciting a scream
of terror from Sam, who was nearly shaken from his hold by the sudden
jerk.
The anger of the officers was changed into a burst of amusement at
seeing Sam's dark face and staring eyes over the mule's crupper, and
even Lord Wellington smiled grimly. An order was hastily given, and
four troopers detached themselves from the escort and started off in
pursuit. The mule was, however, a fast one, and maddened by fright,
and it was some time before the foremost of the troopers was up to
her. As he came alongside, the mule suddenly swerved round and lashed
out viciously, one of her heels coming against the horse's ribs, and
the other against the leg of the rider, who, in spite of his thick
jack-boot, for some time thought that his leg was broken.
He fell behind, and the others, rendered cautious by the lesson, came
up but slowly, and prepared to close upon the animal's head, one
from each side. Just as they were going to do so, however, they were
startled by a scattered fire of musketry, and by the sound of balls
whizzing about their ears, and discovered that in the ardor of the
chase they had passed over the space which separated the French from
the English lines, and that they were close to the former. At the same
moment they saw a party of cavalry stealing round to cut off their
retreat. Turning their horses, the dragoons rode off at full speed,
but the French cavalry, on fresher horses, would have caught them
before they reached the English lines had not a troop of British horse
dashed forward to meet them upon seeing their danger. As to the mule,
she continued her wild gallop into the French lines, where she was
soon surrounded and captured.
The boys were greatly vexed at the loss of their faithful black, but
they had little time for grieving, for an hour after they rode off
with General Beresford's division. Three days' march brought them
to Campo Mayor, a town which had, two days before, surrendered to
the French, who, surprised by the sudden appearance of the British,
evacuated the place hastily and retreated, after suffering much from
a brilliant charge of the 13th Hussars, who, although unsupported,
charged right through the French cavalry, and Beresford then prepared
to lay siege to Badajos. Had he pushed forward at once, he would have
found the place unprepared for a siege, but, delaying a few days at
Elvas to give his tired troops repose, the French repaired the walls,
and were in a position to offer a respectable defense, when he made
his appearance under its walls. The army was very badly provided with
heavy guns, but the approaches were opened and the siege commenced in
regular form, when the news arrived that Soult was marching with a
powerful army to its relief. The guns were therefore withdrawn, the
siege raised, and Beresford marched to meet Soult at Albuera.
On the 15th of May he took up his position on rising ground looking
down on Albuera, having the river in his front. Acting with him, and
nominally under his orders, was a Spanish force under Blake. This
was intended to occupy the right of the position, but with the usual
Spanish dilatoriness, instead of being upon the ground, as he had
promised, by noon, Blake did not arrive until past midnight; the
French accordingly crossed the river unmolested, and the British
general found his right turned.
Beresford's position was now a very faulty one, as the woods
completely hid the movements of the enemy, and a high hill, which they
had at once seized, flanked the whole allied position and threatened
its line of retreat.
When the morning of the 16th dawned the armies were numerically very
unequal. The British had 30,000 infantry, 2,000 cavalry, and 38 guns;
the French, 19,000 infantry, 4,000 cavalry, and 40 guns; but of these
the French were all veteran troops, while Beresford had but 6,000
British troops, the remainder being Spanish and Portuguese, upon
whom no reliance whatever was to be placed. The British officers
present were all of opinion that their chances of success, under
the circumstances, were slight indeed.
The battle commenced at nine in the morning by an attack by the French
general Godinot upon the bridge of Albuera. Their columns were,
however, so completely plowed by the guns of the Portuguese upon
the eminence behind it, that they made no progress, and Beresford
perceived at once that the main attack would be made on his right. He
despatched Tom Scudamore with orders to Blake to throw back his troops
at right angles to the main front. The pig-headed Spaniard refused to
obey, asserting that the main attack was in front. Colonel Hardinge
was sent to insist upon the order being carried out, but Blake still
refused, and Beresford himself rode furiously across and took the
command just as the French column debouched from the wood on the
right.
Before the Spanish movement was completed the French were among them.
Their cavalry swept round to the right rear, and menaced the line of
retreat, the infantry charged the wavering Spanish battalions, and the
latter at once fell into confusion and began to fall back. William
Stewart now arrived with a brigade of the second division to endeavor
to retrieve the day; but as they were advancing into position, four
regiments of French cavalry, whose movements were hidden in the
driving rain until they were close at hand, fell upon them and rode
down two-thirds of the brigade, the 31st regiment alone having time
to form square and repulse the horsemen.
Beresford himself, with his staff, was in the middle of the mélée, and
the lads found themselves engaged in hand-to-hand combats with the
French troopers. All was confusion. Peter was unhorsed by the shock
of a French hussar, but Tom shot the trooper before he could cut Peter
down. Free for a moment, he looked round, and saw a French lancer
charging, lance at rest, at Lord Beresford. "Look out, sir!" he
shouted, and the general, turning round, swept aside the lance thrust
with his arm; and as the lancer, carried on by the impetus of his
charge, dashed against him, he seized him by the throat and waist,
lifted him bodily from his saddle, and hurled him insensible to
the ground. Just at this moment General Lumley arrived with some
Portuguese cavalry, and the French lancers galloped off.
The Spanish cavalry, who had orders to charge the French cavalry in
flank, galloped up until within a few yards of them, and then turned
and fled shamefully.
Beresford, now furious at the cowardice of the Spanish infantry,
seized one of their ensigns by the shoulder, and dragged him, with his
colors, to the front by main force, but the infantry would not even
then advance.
The driving rain saved the allied army at this critical moment, for
Soult was unable to see the terrible confusion which reigned in their
ranks, and kept his heavy columns in hand when an attack would have
carried with it certain victory.
In the pause which ensued, the British regiments began to make their
way to the front. Colbourn, with the 31st Regiment, was already there;
Stewart brought up Haughton's brigade; and the 29th burst its way
through the flying Spaniards and joined the 31st, these movements
being made under a storm of shot and shell from the French artillery.
Colonel Hartman brought up the British artillery, and the Spanish
generals Zayas and Ballesteros succeeded in checking and bringing
forward again some of the Spanish infantry.
The French advanced in great force, the artillery on both sides poured
in grape at short distance, and the carnage was terrible. Still the
little band of British held their ground. Stewart was twice wounded,
Haughton and Colonels Duckworth and Inglis slain. Of the 57th Regiment
twenty-two officers and four hundred men fell out of the five hundred
that had mounted the hill, and the other regiments had suffered nearly
as severely. Not a third were standing unhurt, and fresh columns of
the French were advancing.
The battle looked desperate, and Beresford made preparations for a
retreat. At this moment, however, Colonel Hardinge brought up General
Cole with the fourth division, and Colonel Abercrombie with the third
brigade of Colbourn's second division. Beresford recalled his order
for retreat, and the terrible fight continued. The fourth division was
composed of two brigades, the one, a Portuguese under General Harvey,
was pushed down to the right to keep off the French cavalry, while the
Fusilier brigade, composed of the 7th and 23rd fusilier regiments,
under Sir William Myers, climbed the desperately contested hill, which
Abercombie ascended also, more on the left.
It was time, for the whole of the French reserves were now coming into
action; six guns were already in the enemy's possession, the remnant
of Haughton's brigade could no longer sustain its ground, and the
heavy French columns were advancing exultantly to assured victory.
Suddenly, through the smoke, Cole's fusilier brigade appeared on
the right of Haughton's brigade, just as Abercrombie came up on its
left. Startled by the sight, and by the heavy fire, the French column
paused, and, to quote Napier's glowing words, "hesitated, and then,
vomiting forth a storm of fire, hastily endeavored to enlarge their
front, while a fearful discharge of grape from all their artillery
whistled through the British ranks. Myers was killed, Cole and the
three colonels, Ellis, Blakeney and Hawkshawe, fell wounded; and the
fusilier battalions, struck by the iron tempest, reeled and staggered
like sinking ships; but suddenly and sternly recovering, they closed
with their terrible enemies, and then was seen with what a strength
and majesty the British soldier fights. In vain did Soult with voice
and gesture animate his Frenchmen; in vain did the hardiest veterans
break from the crowded columns and sacrifice their lives to gain time
for the mass to open out on such a fair field; in vain did the mass
itself bear up, and, fiercely striving, fire indiscriminately upon
friends and foes, while the horsemen hovering on its flank threatened
to charge the advancing line. Nothing could stop that astonishing
infantry; no sudden burst of undisciplined valor, no nervous
enthusiasm weakened the stability of their order; their flashing eyes
were bent on the dark columns in their front, their measured tread
shook the ground, their dreadful volleys swept away the head of every
formation, their deafening shouts overpowered the dissonant cries that
broke from all parts of the tumultuous crowd, as, slowly and with
horrid carnage, it was pushed by the incessant vigor of the attack to
the farthest edge of the hill. In vain did the French reserves mix
with the struggling multitude to sustain the fight; their efforts only
increased the irremediable confusion, and the mighty mass breaking off
like a loosened cliff, went headlong down the steep; the rain flowed
after in streams discolored with blood, and eighteen hundred unwounded
men, the remnant of six thousand unconquerable British soldiers, stood
triumphant on the fatal hill."
While this dreadful fight was going on, Hamilton's and Collier's
Portuguese divisions, ten thousand strong, marched to support the
British, but they did not reach the summit of the hill until the
battle was over; they suffered, however, a good deal of loss from the
French artillery, which, to cover the retreat, opened furiously upon
them.
The French were in no position to renew the attack, the allies quite
incapable of pursuit, and when night fell the two armies were in the
same position they had occupied twenty-four hours before.
Never was British valor more conspicuously displayed than at the
battle of Albuera. Out of 6,000 infantry they lost 4,200 killed and
wounded, while the Spanish and Portuguese had but 2,600 killed and
wounded out of a total of 34,000; the French loss was over 8,000.
This desperate fight had lasted but four hours, but to all engaged
it seemed an age. The din, the whirl, the storm of shot, the fierce
charges of the cavalry, the swaying backwards and forwards of the
fight, the disastrous appearance of the battle from the first, all
combined to make up a perfectly bewildering confusion.
The Scudamores, after its commencement, had seen but little of each
other. Whenever one or other of them found their way to the general,
who was ever in the thickest of the fray, it was but to remain there
for a moment or two before being despatched with fresh messages.
Tom's horse was shot under him early in the day, but he obtained a
remount from an orderly and continued his duty until, just as the day
was won, he received a musket ball in the shoulder. He half fell, half
dismounted, and, giddy and faint, lay down and remained there until
the cessation of the fire told him that the battle was over. Then he
staggered to his feet and sought a surgeon. He presently found one
hard at work under a tree, but there was so large a number of wounded
men lying or sitting round, that Tom saw that it would be hours before
he could be attended to. As he turned to go he saw an officer of the
staff ride by.
"Ah, Scudamore! Are you hit too?--not very badly, I hope? The chief
was asking after you just now."
"My shoulder is smashed, I think," Tom said, "and the doctor has his
hands full at present; but if you will tie my arm tight across my
chest with my sash, I shall be able to get on."
The officer at once leapt from his horse, and proceeded to bind Tom's
arm in the position he requested.
"Have you seen my brother," Tom asked.
"No, I have not; he was close to Beresford when the fusiliers dashed
up the hill; his horse fell dead, but he was not hit, for I saw him
jump up all right. I did not see him afterwards. As he could not have
got a fresh mount then, I expect he joined the fusiliers and went up
the hill."
"Is the loss heavy?" Tom asked.
"Awful--awful," the officer said. "If it had lasted another quarter of
an hour, there would have been nobody left alive; as it is, there are
not 2,000 men at the outside on their feet."
"What, altogether?" Tom exclaimed.
"Altogether," the officer answered sadly. "We have lose two men out of
every three who went into it."
"Thank you," Tom said. "Now where shall I find the general?"
"Up on the hill. I shall see you there in a few minutes. I hope you
will find your brother all right."
Very slowly did Tom make his way up the steep slope, sitting down to
rest many times, for he was faint from loss of blood and sick with the
pain of his wound, and it was a long half hour before he joined the
group of officers clustered round the commander-in-chief.
He was heartily greeted; but in answer to his question as to whether
any one had seen his brother, no one could give a satisfactory reply.
One, however, was able to confirm what had been before told to him,
for he had seen Peter on foot advancing with the fusilier brigade.
Tom's heart felt very heavy as he turned away towards the front, where
the fusiliers were standing on the ground they had so hardly won.
The distance he had to traverse was but short, but the journey was a
ghastly one. The ground was literally heaped with dead. Wounded men
were seen sitting up trying to stanch their wounds, others lay feebly
groaning, while soldiers were hurrying to and fro from the water
carts, with pannikins of water to relieve their agonizing thirst.
"Do you know, sergeant, whether they have collected the wounded
officers, and, if so, where they are?"
"Yes, sir, most of them are there at the right flank of the regiment."
Tom made his way towards the spot indicated, where a small group of
officers were standing, while a surgeon was examining a long line of
wounded laid side by side upon the ground. Tom hardly breathed as
he ran his eye along their faces, and his heart seemed to stop as
he recognized in the very one the surgeon was then examining the
dead-white face of Peter.
He staggered forward and said in a gasping voice, "He is my
brother--is he dead?"
The surgeon looked up. "Sit down," he said sharply, and Tom, unable to
resist the order, sank rather than sat down, his eyes still riveted on
Peter's face.
"No," the surgeon said, answering the question, "he has only fainted
from loss of blood, but he is hit hard, the bullet has gone in just
above the hip, and until I know its course I can't say whether he has
a chance or not."
"Here, sergeant, give me the probe," and with this he proceeded
cautiously to examine the course of the ball. As he did so his anxious
face brightened a little.
"He was struck slantingly," he said, "the ball has gone round by the
back; turn him over, sergeant. Ah, I thought so; it has gone out on
the other side. Well, I think it has missed any vital part, and in
that case I can give you hope. There," he said after he had finished
dressing the wound and fastening a bandage tightly round the body;
"now pour some brandy-and-water down his throat, sergeant, and
sprinkle his face with water. Now, sir, I will look at your shoulder."
But he spoke to insensible ears, for Tom, upon hearing the more
favorable report as to Peter's state, had fainted dead off.
The surgeon glanced at him. "He'll come round all right," he said.
"I will go on in the mean time," and set to work at the next in the
ghastly line.
It was some time before Tom recovered his consciousness; when he did
so, it was with a feeling of intense agony in the shoulder.
"Lie quiet," the surgeon said, "I shan't be long about it."
It seemed to Tom, nevertheless, as if an interminable time passed
before the surgeon spoke again.
"You'll do," he said. "It is an awkward shot, for it has broken the
shoulder bone and carried a portion away, but with quiet and care you
will get the use of your arm again. You are lucky, for if it had gone
two inches to the left it would have smashed the arm at the socket,
and two inches the other way and it would have been all up with you.
Now lie quiet for awhile; you can do nothing for your brother at
present. It may be hours before he recovers consciousness."
Tom was too faint and weak to argue, and a minute later he dropped off
to sleep, from which he did not wake until it was dusk. Sitting up, he
saw that he had been aroused by the approach of an officer, whom he
recognized as one of General Beresford's staff.
"How are you, Scudamore?" he asked. "The general has just sent me to
inquire."
"He is very kind," Tom said. "I think that I am all right, only I am
horribly thirsty."
The officer unslung a flask from his shoulder. "This is weak
brandy-and-water. I have brought it over for you. I am sorry to hear
your brother is so bad, but the doctor gives strong hopes of him in
his report."
Tom bent down over Peter. "He is breathing quietly," he said. "I hope
it is a sort of sleep he has fallen into. What are we doing?"
"Nothing," the officer answered; "there is nothing to do; every
unbounded man is under arms in case the French attack us in the night.
I expect, however, they will wait till morning, and if they come on
then, I fear our chance is a slight one indeed. We have only 1,800 of
our infantry; the German regiments and the Portuguese will do their
best; but the Spanish are utterly useless. Soult has lost more men
than we have, but we are like a body which has lost its back-bone; and
if the French, who are all good soldiers, renew the battle, I fear it
is all up with us."
"Have you got all our wounded in?" Tom asked.
"No," the officer said bitterly. "Our unwounded men must stand to
arms, and Lord Beresford sent over to Blake just now to ask for the
assistance of a battalion of Spaniards to collect our wounded, and the
brute sent back to say that it was the custom in allied armies for
each army to attend to its own wounded."
"The brute!" Tom repeated with disgust. "How the poor fellows must be
suffering!"
"The men who are but slightly wounded have been taking water to all
they can find, and the doctors are at work now, and will be all night
going about dressing wounds. The worst of it is, if the fight begins
again to-morrow, all the wounded who cannot crawl away must remain
under fire. However, the French wounded are all over the hill too, and
perhaps the French will avoid a cannonade as much as possible, for
their sake. It is a bad look-out altogether; and between ourselves,
Beresford has written to Lord Wellington to say that he anticipates a
crushing defeat."
"Is there any chance of reinforcements?" Tom asked.
"We hope that the third brigade of the fourth division will be up
to-morrow by midday; they are ordered to come on by forced marches.
If Soult does not attack till they arrive, it will make all the
difference, for 1,500 fresh men will nearly double our strength. But I
must be going now. Good-bye."
The surgeon presently came round again to see how the wounded officers
were getting on. Tom asked him whether there was anything he could do
for Peter; but the surgeon, after feeling his pulse, said: "No, not as
long as he breathes quietly like this; but if he moves pour a little
brandy-and-water down his throat. Now gentlemen, all who can must look
after the others, for there is not an available man, and I must be at
work all night on the field."
There were many of the officers who were not hit too severely to move
about, and these collected some wood and made a fire, so as to enable
them to see and attend to their more severely wounded comrades.
Tom took his place close to Peter, where he could watch his least
movement, and once or twice during the night poured a little
brandy-and-water between his lips. The other officers took it by turns
to attend to their comrades, to keep up the fire, and to sleep. Those
whose turn it was to be awake sat round the fire smoking, and talking
as to the chances of the morrow, getting up occasionally to give drink
to such of the badly wounded as were awake.
Tom, faint with his wound, found it, towards morning, impossible to
keep awake, and dozed off, to wake with a start and find that it was
broad daylight. Soon afterwards, to his intense satisfaction, Peter
opened his eyes. Tom bent over him. "Don't try to move, Peter; lie
quiet, old boy."
"What's the matter?" Peter asked with a puzzled look.
"You have been hit in the body, Peter, but the doctor means to get you
round in no time. Yes," he continued, seeing Peter's eyes fixed on his
bandaged shoulder, "I have had a tap too, but there's no great harm
done. There, drink some brandy-and-water, and go off to sleep again,
if you can."
The morning passed very slowly, the troops being all under arms,
expecting the renewed attack of Soult, but it came not; and when early
in the afternoon, the third brigade of the fourth division marched
into camp, they were received with general cheering. A heavy load
seemed taken off every one's heart, and they felt now that they could
fight, if fight they must, with a hope of success.
The new-comers, wearied as they were with their long forced marches,
at once took the outpost duties, and those relieved set about the duty
of collecting and bringing in all the wounded.
Next morning the joyful news came that Soult was retiring, and all
felt with a thrill of triumph that their sacrifices and efforts had
not been in vain, and that the hard-fought battle of Albuera was
forever to take its place among the great victories of the British
army.