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.

[Illustration: Map of Spain and Portugal to illustrate Moore's Campaign]

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?"

"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."

The man, springing to his feet, snatched the knife from the table, and

lifted his hand to strike; but Jack had already sprung into the room.

The sound of Jack's step arrested the villain's movement; he half-turned

to meet the intruder, disclosing as he did so the distorted features of

a man with one eye. Even at that tense moment Jack connected him

vaguely in thought with some previous experience, but there was no pause

in his action. Before the man had time to wheel completely round, Jack

struck him a blow on the chin that felled him to the floor, where he lay

stunned and motionless. The boy threw himself on the fallen man with a

cry of triumph, snatched up the knife that had dropped from his grasp,

and with two quick strokes severed the cords that bound the old man.

Then in a paroxysm of fury he turned to drive the weapon into the

would-be assassin's heart. Jack stayed his hand, and at the same moment

heard the sound of trampling feet, and a familiar voice exclaiming:

"This way, my men; we shall find the English bandit here."

[Illustration: Jack makes an Opportune Appearance]

"Miguel!" said Jack under his breath, remembering in a flash the

one-eyed servant he had seen following him in Salamanca. Turning

quickly to the old gentleman, who now stood in seeming uncertainty what

the new interruption might portend, he pointed to the prostrate man and

said:

"It is this man's master."

Then, as there was obviously no time to parley, he rushed to the door

and slammed it, intending to turn the key. The key was not in the lock.

Pressing his knee against the door, Jack looked round and saw the

missing key on the table. He called to the boy to bring it, but he was

too late. The door was pressed inwards in spite of Jack's exertions;

there was greater force on the other side. Feeling it opening inch by

inch Jack turned on his shoulder, set his back against the oak, and drew

his sword, preparing to give way suddenly and attack the enemy before

they could recover from their sudden inrush. But the boy, with a quick

wit that did him credit, had rushed into the corner of the room, where

there was a space of some two feet between the jamb and the wall, and

there, crouching on the floor, he jabbed with the knife through the

slowly widening aperture at the legs of the nearest figure. There was a

yell of pain; the pressure on the door instantly relaxed; and Jack,

putting forth all his strength, had almost succeeded in closing it when

a musket was thrust into the gap. Jack's muscles were strained to the

utmost. From the clamour in the corridor he knew that the enemy were

preparing for a concerted rush. He called to the old Spaniard to push

the table against the door, but before that could be done he felt

overpowering pressure on the other side. Hastily forming his

resolution, he sprang back suddenly; the door flew open, and three of La

Romana's ragged ruffians fell sprawling upon the floor. Others came

behind, and one of them, with his heavy flintlock, struck out of Jack's

hand the sword he had drawn, dropping his weapon immediately with a yell

as he felt the boy's knife in his leg. Jack saw that the old Spaniard

had taken down one of two rapiers that hung on the wall beneath the

portrait of an ancient caballero. Exerting all his strength, he dragged

the table round so that it stood obliquely across the room, cutting off

a triangular corner. Then he seized the second rapier, and stood side

by side with the Spaniard, behind the table, facing their foes just as

several of them were preparing to leap across it.

Among them Jack now recognized Miguel Priego, his face lit up with

savage excitement, flourishing his sword and goading on his desperadoes.

The boy had crawled beneath the table, prepared to use his terrible

knife on all who came within reach. The one-eyed man had recovered from

the blow dealt him by Jack, and had snatched a musket from one of his

fellows. Fortunately none of the firearms were loaded, and the

Spaniards, mad with rage, grudged the delay necessary to charge their

cumbrous weapons.

"I think, Miguel, you had better call off your followers," said Jack, in

a momentary lull that preceded the rush.

There was no reply; in point of fact Jack scarcely expected one. Miguel

was at the moment out of sight behind a burly mountaineer, and Jack felt

rather by instinct than by any reasoned process of thought that the

Spaniard would scarcely let slip this opportunity of taking him at a

disadvantage. Behind the table Jack measured the forces opposed to him.

Six men were gathering themselves for the onslaught--lean, half-starved

wretches for the most part, but ugly customers in the bulk. A raw-boned

mountaineer, armed with a long musket and a rusty bayonet, was the most

formidable among the gang, and Jack marked him out for special attention

when the critical moment came. It was not long in coming. At the cry

from Miguel: "Down with the English dog!" the six made a simultaneous

rush, and if they had not impeded one another's movements they must have

made short work of the little garrison. The lanky Asturian lunged

viciously at Jack, who dodged the point by a hair's-breadth, narrowly

escaping, as he did so, the clubbed musket of another Spaniard on the

right. Before the mountaineer could recover, Jack's long rapier,

stretching far across the table, had ploughed a gash in his arm from

wrist to elbow, and at the same moment the second assailant, howling

with pain, had dropped his musket and fallen to the ground a victim to

the terrible knife of the little Spaniard, who had been forgotten by the

enemy in the excitement of the fight.

The old man, however, had been less successful; one of his opponents had

felt the point of his rapier, but, attacked simultaneously by another,

his weapon had been dashed from his grasp, and he now stood defenceless

against the foe, who were beginning to push the table into the corner of

the room. Miguel, having left the brunt of the action to his allies,

now advanced resolutely to the attack; and Jack's rapier had crossed

with the long sword carried by his opponent, when through the open door

sounded the heavy tramp of feet; and a loud voice was heard shouting:

"What I want to know--" The sentence was never completed, for Corporal

Wilkes sprang into the room, cleaving a way through the maddened

Spaniards with his fist. Before they realized the meaning of this

unlooked-for interruption, the corporal flung himself on Miguel, caught

him by the collar, and hurled him upon two of his men, who fell under

him with a resounding thud. Immediately behind Wilkes, Bates and two

other men of the 95th had dashed in, and the rear of the unexpected

reinforcement was brought up by Pepito, who at once engaged in a tussle

with the Spanish boy, now upon his feet, for the possession of the

knife.

Wilkes stood with clenched fists over Miguel, while his companions of

the 95th threw themselves on the other Spaniards and speedily disarmed

them.

"You hound of a Don!" cried Wilkes, preparing to knock Miguel down if he

should attempt to rise; "what I want to--"

"Wilkes, let him get up," said Jack quietly, coming round the table, the

rapier still in his hand.

Miguel rose stiffly, his face expressing the purest amazement.

"Verdaderamente!" he exclaimed. "If it is not my dear friend Jack!

There is some strange mistake. And I did not recognize you in your

uniform, Jackino! Last time I saw you, you remember, you were dressed

as one of ourselves. Truly, dress makes a world of difference, amigo

mio."

His tone had all the oily suavity that Jack knew so well, and so

cordially detested. Wilkes was looking from one to the other with

concentrated interrogation in his eye, ready at a word from Jack to lay

the Spaniard low again.

"Shut the door, Bates," said Jack, as he saw the one-eyed man slinking

in that direction. "That's your man, I think?" he added, addressing

Miguel.

"My servant, who accompanied me from Saragossa," replied Miguel. "And I

am at a loss to understand--"

"So am I," interrupted Jack. "I am at a loss to understand why a man in

your position should countenance violence, robbery, almost actual

murder."

"Robbery! Murder! Really, my dear friend, these are strange words to

me. I was in the street, and one of these men--soldiers in the army of

the Marquis of La Romana--told me that an English ruffian--it was a

mistake, yes, but he said an English ruffian--had forced himself into

this house: for what purpose? It could only be, as you say, to rob or

murder. You know what sad excesses your troops, usually so excellently

disciplined, have been guilty of; and having but a short time ago heard

that your colonel--Beckwith, is that his name?--had sternly ordered his

men to refrain from acts of pillage, why, my dear friend, was it not

natural for me to come in and do what little I could to prevent such

admirable orders from being disobeyed? That explains--"

"Oh!" said Jack. "And your man--was that his errand too?"

"Perez? Oh no! He obtained my permission to visit his old master, the

faithful fellow. It was inconvenient, for we should now be on the road;

but could I--would you?--hesitate in such a case? I was touched by the

poor fellow's devotion."

Perez' solitary eye gleamed with a baleful light singularly out of

keeping with the sentimental character thrust upon him by his master.

He wriggled venomously in Bates's grasp. The burly Rifleman checked his

contortions by impressing his knuckles into the nape of his neck.

Jack turned to the old man, who had watched the scene in dignified

silence.

"I think, Senor, you can throw some light on this man's devotion."

The Spaniard, in a few quiet words, told Jack that the man had, in fact,

been his servant, but had been dismissed two years before for attempted

robbery. He had suddenly made his appearance that evening, taken his

old master unawares, and when he had bound him had broken open the

bureau containing, as he supposed, the valuables he coveted, and,

failing to find them, had demanded the secret of their hiding-place

under threat of assassination.

"I owe my life," he concluded, "the little that remains of it, to my son

here, who providentially overheard from his bedroom above the threats of

this wretch, and to you, Senor, whose chivalrous intervention came at a

moment when I regarded my case as hopeless. I thank you!"

"This, Senor," said Miguel, turning to the old man, "is to me a most

extraordinary, a most painful, discovery. The man was recommended to me

by Senor Alvarez, my father's partner"--Miguel's fluency in his present

predicament recalled to Jack's memory many of his youthful essays in

mendacity. "It only shows, Senor, how sadly one may be deceived by a

specious exterior."

As he spoke he regarded his one-eyed follower with a look of mournful

disappointment.

If Perez' exterior at this moment was any index to his quality, he was

scarcely a man in whom the most credulous would have placed confidence.

In Bates's iron grip his body was quiescent; but the malignant glitter

of his single eye told of raging fires within.

"It will be my duty," continued Miguel with increasing sternness, "to

bring this wretch to justice. Men, seize him, and see that he does not

escape. He shall be dealt with by the marquis himself."

The Spanish soldiers advanced to carry out Miguel's order, but Bates

merely tightened his grip and looked enquiringly at Jack for

instructions. Jack could not but admire Miguel's astuteness. He was

perfectly well aware that the man would be released as soon as he was

out of reach; but while loth to let him escape scot-free, he saw how

powerless he was in the face of Miguel's declaration. It was a matter

for the Spanish authorities, in which, except as a witness, he himself

had no concern; and it was nothing to the point that the Spanish

authorities were hiding in cellars, lofts, and even, as he had heard, in

pig-styes. He turned to the old man, and said:

"I fear, Senor, that, as things are, we have no choice but to return

this man to the care of his present--master. Bates," he added in

English, "let him go."

In apparent abstraction, Bates gave a farewell twist to the Spaniard's

neck-band, shot him among the knot of tattered soldiery in the doorway,

drew himself up, and saluted. With a ceremonious bow Miguel followed

his men from the room, several of them carrying with them painful

mementoes of the affray. Wilkes shadowed them to the end of the

corridor. Meanwhile the venerable Spaniard had taken a decanter and

several glasses from a press in the corner of the room.

"You will permit me, Senor," he said to Jack, "my servant having

deserted me, to offer you and your worthy soldiers a little refreshment.

It is a poor expression of my gratitude to you and them, but it comes,

believe me, from a full heart."

The men willingly tossed off their bumpers, and soon afterwards escorted

Jack to his quarters. He there learnt from them that while at supper

they had been summoned by Pepito, who announced in broken English, eked

out by gestures, that el Senor Lumsden was in urgent need of help. He

had apparently been shadowing Jack as usual, had seen him enter the

house, and a moment after heard Miguel hounding on his willing dupes to

kill the English bandit.

"The little rascal is always putting me in his debt," said Jack to

himself as the squad saluted and marched off. "He is quite a guardian

angel."

No one but Jack had cause to regard Pepito in this gracious light.

"What I want to know," asked Corporal Wilkes wrathfully, when he

returned to his billet "--what I want to know is, what's become of my

supper?"

Only Pepito knew.

*CHAPTER XIV*

*An Incident at Cacabellos*

Stragglers--Oblique Oration--The Massacre at Bembibre--Moore's Appeal--A

Shot in the Dark--A Souvenir

There was no rest for Jack or his friends that night. On returning to

his quarters he found that Colonel Beckwith had called the officers of

the regiment together, and was already addressing them with more than

usual seriousness. He told them that their hope of making a stand at

Astorga was fated to be disappointed. Sir John Moore had decided to

continue the retreat with all speed, either towards Vigo or towards

Corunna.

"It is useless to pretend I am pleased," said the colonel. "None of us

are that. Some of the youngsters among us may think that things would

be ordered differently if they were in command. That's not our

business. The general is satisfied that his reasons are good, and all

we have to do is to obey orders. And that brings me to the point. A

retreating army is always apt to get out of hand, and a British army

perhaps more than any other. Take any man in the regiment and he'll ask

you why he should retreat, and what the dickens is the good of running

away from a Frenchman. We've seen already what disorder and

ruffianliness have disgraced some of the regiments. And I tell you,

gentlemen, I won't have that in the 95th. We shall from this time form a

part of the actual rear-guard. The second battalion leaves, with other

regiments, direct for Vigo to cover our left flank. The safety of the

whole army will therefore depend much on us. The French won't let us

off lightly. We shall often be in touch with them, and if there's any

want of steadiness they'll get through us, and then it's all up. I ask

you then, gentlemen, every one of you, to keep a tight hand on the men.

There must be no slackness, no relaxation of discipline. The honour of

the regiment is in your keeping, and, by heaven! I'll never lift my

head again if the 95th fails me."

The colonel's vehement words sent a thrill through the group, and Jack

Lumsden was not the only officer among them who vowed inwardly not to

disappoint "old Sidney". Beckwith went on to prescribe their immediate

duties. He alluded to the confusion and disorder in which they had found

the town, in great part due to the unexpected presence of La Romana's

ragged regiments. The place had been crammed with stores, consisting of

shoes, blankets, tools, muskets, ammunition, from which many of the

preceding regiments had been partially re-equipped. But in the haste and

muddle the distribution had been mismanaged. Many of the stores had

been left behind, and the town was full of British and Spanish

stragglers eager to plunder where they could. The colonel instructed

his officers to see that pillaging was checked as much as possible.

What stores could not be removed were to be destroyed.

During the night, therefore, Jack and his chums were busy in carrying

out the colonel's orders. It was found next day that there were not

sufficient draught animals to serve for the transport of all the

remaining stores, and the 95th were employed for many hours in burning

and blowing up valuable stuff to prevent it from falling into the hands

of the French.

The regiments of the Reserve were to march in the evening for Cambarros,

a village some nine miles in the direction of Villafranca. Before they

started, Captain O'Hare paraded his company and repeated to them the

substance of what Colonel Beckwith had said to the officers.

"I've heard a deal of grumbling at times," he said. "You don't want to

retreat. No more do I, but our chance'll come, please the pigs; and

then I know who'll be at the front--not the grumblers and skulkers, but

the men who know how to obey. Now, my boys, I trust ye. I don't want

the general to send for me by and by and say: 'O'Hare, ye've the most

blackguardly company in the whole army.' We'll do better than the best,

and sure I'll be proud of ye. And if there should be a man among ye

with a deal o' power over the company--a good soldier let us say, but

with a long tongue and a way of speaking that--well, a way of

speaking"--the captain studiously kept his eyes from Corporal Wilkes:

"if there's such a man, to him I'd say, with all my solemn seriousness:

Ye've a deal of persuasion; then use it for the glory o' the regiment;

and bedad, I believe he'd know what I meant."

Corporal Wilkes, looking straight in front of him, had turned a

brick-red, and was unusually silent as the company marched off. To

Sergeant Jones, the little Welshman, toddling along by his side, he

remarked presently:

"I hope you'll mind what Peter said, Sergeant. As for me, 'tis a good

thing for the glory o' the regiment that the second battalion's off

another way, for all my good resolutions would be turned into sour milk

by the long fiddle-face of Corp'ril MacWhirter."

After their sleepless night, and hard work during the day, both officers

and men were glad to fling themselves down on rough beds of hay and

straw when they reached Cambarros at dusk. But they had hardly settled

to rest when some dragoons came riding in with news that the enemy were

advancing in force. The order was immediately given to get under arms,

and the march was continued through the night.

The Reserve reached Bembibre, a dirty village of mud and slate, at

daybreak on January 1st, expecting now at least to enjoy the rest so

much desired. But again they were disappointed. On entering the

village they were at once ordered to pile arms and clear the place. It

presented the appearance of a town that had recently been stormed and

put to the sack. It happened to be a depot for the wine produced in the

neighbouring vineyards, and large quantities were stored in the vaults

and cellars of the houses. The inhabitants had shown themselves

unfriendly to the regiments of the main body of Moore's army, and had

provided food and drink for them only with the greatest reluctance. The

result was that the men of the least-disciplined regiments broke all

bounds, and set furiously to work to get for themselves what the

Spaniards had denied them. Doors were wrenched off, windows smashed,

property of all kinds destroyed; and the unfortunate discovery of so

large a stock of wine had the worst consequences. Those were the days

when hard drinking was the rule in all classes of society. It was

little to be expected, then, that rough soldiers, suffering the

hardships of exhausting marches on short rations, and feeling bitter

shame and humiliation at having to retreat continually before a despised

enemy, should prove able to withstand the temptation to excess. Ready

to fight like bull-dogs if the call came, they lost all sense of

responsibility at the sight of means to enjoyment, and set their

officers at defiance.

The Reserve spent that day and part of the next in chasing the

stragglers from the houses and driving them along the streets towards

the mountains; but the task had been only partly accomplished when

cavalry pickets came in and reported that French dragoons were pushing

rapidly down the Manzanal pass in their rear.

"We must leave the ruffians to their fate," cried General Paget

furiously, ordering the Reserve to march out towards Cacabellos. Not

until late in the day did the 95th learn from the last of the hussar

pickets what had happened when they left Bembibre. Lahoussaye's

dragoons had come galloping into the village, riding through the groups

of stragglers who flocked staggeringly along the road when they heard

the noise of the pursuing horse, and slashing at them as a schoolboy

does at thistles. The French made no distinction of age or sex. They

hewed their way indiscriminately through drunken redcoats, women, and

children. Even mothers who held up their babies, pleading for mercy on

them, were struck down as ruthlessly as soldiers with arms in their

hands. Few escaped. Those who did bore terrible signs, in sabre-cuts on

head and shoulders, of the revenge the French horse had wreaked for

their defeat at Benavente.

The road from Bembibre led over the crests of the Galician hills, with

ravines and gorges and precipitous crags on both sides. Then it made a

rapid and crooked descent, ending in a valley through which dashed a

thundering river, white with foam, bearing huge stones and logs along

with it in its tempestuous rush from the Asturian mountains to the

ocean. Here the hill-slopes were covered with gaunt trees, which,

though now bare of foliage, threw a mysterious gloom over the narrow

road. Marching rapidly down this road against a beating storm of sleet,

and whipping up innumerable stragglers on the way, the 95th at length

arrived at Cacabellos.

Here, just as they halted, Sir John Moore met them, having ridden back

with his staff the five or six miles from Villafranca, where the main

body had bivouacked. The regiments of the Reserve were at once formed up

in columns in the fields by the roadside. Sir John, his fine face lined

with care and sorrow, took up a position in their midst, and then, in

his clear penetrating voice, amid a silence broken only by the distant

thunder of the torrent, he spoke in stern biting phrases of the disorder

and want of discipline he had lately witnessed. With a pungent irony

that made many ears tingle, the commander-in-chief concluded his address

thus:

"And if the enemy are now in possession of Bembibre, as I believe they

are, they have got a rare prize! They have taken or cut to pieces many

hundreds of drunken British cowards--for none but unprincipled cowards

would get drunk in presence, nay in the very sight, of the enemies of

their country; and sooner than survive the disgrace of such infamous

misconduct, I hope that the first cannon-ball fired by the enemy may

take me in the head."

After a few words, addressed specially to the 28th, which had done

glorious service with him in Egypt, Sir John turned rein and rode back

to Villafranca. His words made a deep impression on both officers and

men. Previous appeals had not been in vain. The reserve regiments had

kept much better discipline and committed fewer excesses than the main

body, and the general's stern speech deepened the resolve of all good

soldiers to abstain from disorder, and merit Sir John's approbation.

Alas! all were not animated by the same spirit. General Paget bade the

men encamp some distance away from the town, and gave orders that no one

was to enter the streets unless accompanied by a non-commissioned

officer, who was to be held responsible for the orderly return of those

committed to his charge. But no sooner had darkness fallen over the

camp than many of the soldiers, forgetting the reproof of Sir John

Moore, forgetting the subsequent appeals of the company officers,

escaped from their lines, and, entering the town, resumed the old work

of plundering. During the night many were arrested by the patrols, and

two men were seized in the act of committing a serious crime, of which

few had yet been guilty. They were maltreating and robbing a poor old

Spaniard, who, paralysed with fright, was piteously beseeching them to

take all that he had, but to do him no harm.

"This means a drumhead court-martial!" said Captain O'Hare when the

matter was reported. "Keep the men in irons; Lumsden, take a note to

the general from me."

Jack had delivered his note, and was returning to his quarters, when, as

he passed along a broad road shadowed by trees on one side and a high

wall on the other, he felt that someone was dogging him. He had heard

no pursuing footsteps; he was at a loss to account for his strange

uneasiness; but, obeying an impulse of which he was only half-conscious,

he turned suddenly round, moving as he did so a little towards the wall

on his right. At the same moment there was a report and a flash. A

bullet whizzed past him; he could feel the rush of air on his cheek,

there was a dull thud as the missile flattened itself on the stone wall.

Springing forward in the direction of the report, he could just discern

in the murk a tall figure scuttling for cover among the trees.

The man had a dozen yards' start, but Jack, always a good sprinter, had

reduced the gap by half when his quarry disappeared into the trees. It

was a narrow belt of chestnuts about three or four deep, and, following

the sound of the footsteps in front, Jack dashed through, heedless of

obstacles. A moment's scramble among roots and brambles brought him to

the far side; his assailant had turned sharp to the right and was

scampering towards a high wall running parallel with the belt on the

opposite side of the road. With a fine spurt Jack reduced the gap to an

arm's-length; his outstretched hand was within a few inches of the man's

collar, when, to his utter amazement, the pursued disappeared into the

wall. Jack shot past an open door, and before he could check his

progress there was a violent bang and the sound of falling bolts. Jack

pushed against the door, then threw himself upon it with all his force;

it did not even creak. The wall was too high to clamber over; it was

too long to go round; he had perforce to relinquish the thought of

further pursuit.

"Some poor demented Spaniard who has lost his all, perhaps," he thought,

and was about to resume his walk when he noticed a small triangle of

cloth projecting between the door and the jamb. The would-be assassin's

cloak had caught, and, but that the door was rather clumsily fitted,

would have prevented its being closed. Without any definite motive, Jack

drew his sword and cut off the strip, which he put into his pocket,

where it lay for many days forgotten. He said nothing about the

adventure to his fellow-officers, and it did not keep him awake for an

instant when, at a late hour that night, he threw himself, worn out,

upon his uncomfortable bed.

*CHAPTER XV*

*The Great Retreat*

Reprieve--A Fight in prospect--Trapped--Napoleon leaves

Spain--Salvage--The Tragedy of War--In Motley--A Breathing Space--The

Slough of Despond--Motherless--Thalatta!--A Batman's Battle

The growing spirit of indiscipline and lawlessness among the Reserve

determined General Paget to make a signal example of the culprits.

Early on the following morning he marched all the five regiments under

his command towards the crown of a low hill overhanging Cacabellos, in

the direction of Bembibre. After sending pickets to the summit, to keep

the enemy under observation, he ordered the whole division to form a

hollow square, the men facing inwards. Some distance to the rear of

each regiment, the officers sat in drumhead court-martial. The men

caught in the act of plundering were brought before them, tried, and

sentenced, and then taken into the square, where, lashed to the

triangles, they received the punishment awarded.

During this scene the general sat stern and impassive on his horse. At

one moment a cavalry vedette galloped up with news that the French were

in sight. "Very well," replied the general, and the punishment went on.

Soon another trooper appeared, to report that the enemy were rapidly

advancing. "Very well," said the general, without movement or further

word.

So many were the offenders that the work of flogging continued for

several hours. At length came the turn of the two soldiers taken in the

act of assaulting and robbing the Spaniard. They were summarily tried,

and condemned to be hanged. At one corner of the square stood a tree

with accessible branches. The unhappy men were conveyed thither, with

halters round their necks. They were hoisted on the shoulders of two

strong Riflemen, and the ropes were fastened to the lower boughs.

It was just twelve o'clock. One movement of the supporting men would

leave the criminals dangling in the air. The whole division awaited in

breathless stillness the dread signal for execution. General Paget

looked grimly down from his horse upon the wretched men, and in his set

face they saw no hope of mercy. At this tense moment a captain of

dragoons galloped through a gap opened for him in one side of the

square. Halting before the general, he excitedly reported that the

pickets on the hill were being driven in.

"I am sorry for it, sir," said the general coldly; "and I should rather

have expected the information from a trooper than from you. Go back to

your fighting pickets, sir," he added sternly, "and animate your men to

a full discharge of their duties."

The officer retired. General Paget was again silent. His lips

twitched, his eyes flamed. Then suddenly he burst out: "My God! is it

not lamentable to think, that when I might be preparing my troops to

receive the enemies of their country, I am preparing to hang two

robbers! But if at this moment the French horse should penetrate that

angle of the square, I will still execute these villains at this angle."

Again he was silent, and now shots were heard from the direction of the

hill. The awed soldiers looked with consternation at their general's

face. How long was this suspense to continue? A brief pause; then,

swinging round in the saddle, Paget cried:

"If I spare the lives of these two men, will you promise to reform?"

A quiver passed along the ranks; the men held their breath; there came

not a murmur from their parted lips.

"If I spare the lives of these men," again said the general, "will you

give me your word of honour as soldiers that you will reform?"

Still the same awful silence reigned--and the ominous sound of firing

came nearer and nearer.

"Say 'yes' for God's sake!" whispered an officer to the man next him.

"Yes," murmured the man. His neighbours repeated the word in firmer

tones, and then, as though a match had been laid to a train of powder,

shouts of "Yes! yes!" rang along the faces of the square.

"Cut the ropes!" cried the general. The prisoners were instantly

released, the triangles removed. The men cheered, and as the square was

reduced, and formed into columns, the British pickets came slowly over

the brow of the hill, steadily retreating before the advance-guard of

the enemy. Paget's orders were rapidly given. The men started at the

double towards the River Cua behind them. Three battalions crossed the

bridge and took up their position behind a line of vineyards and stone

walls parallel to the stream. A battery of horse-artillery, escorted by

the 28th, was placed so as to command the road in its ascent towards

Cacabellos from the bridge, and a squadron of the 15th Hussars, together

with half the 95th Rifles, was left on the Bembibre side of the river to

keep observation on the French.

"At last, my boys!" said Captain O'Hare. The men of his company were

flushed with excitement. At last! The weary waiting of two months was

at an end; the enemy were upon them; and now every man tingled with the

joy of the fight to come, and greedily watched for the foe. The

officers, looking along their ranks, could not but be struck with the

wonderful change. Gone the blank despair, gone the sullen discontent,

gone the hang-dog look; every man's face was lit up, every man's eyes

flashed, every man stood erect with an air of high-hearted staunchness

that had not been seen for many a day.

"There they are!" cried Pomeroy, whose keen eyes had descried Colbert's

hussars advancing cautiously over the hill-top.

At this moment the bugle sounded for the last companies of the 95th to

retire across the bridge and occupy the defensive positions allotted to

them. The men marched with alacrity; it was certain there must be a

fight now. Jack's was the rearmost company but one. It had only reached

the middle of the bridge when the 15th Hussars came riding behind in hot

haste, and the infantry were in imminent danger of being trampled down.

The French were pressing on in such force that the hussars, wholly

outnumbered, had been hurriedly withdrawn. Unsupported, the 95th were

too weak to withstand a charge of cavalry; they must retire, and there

was no time to lose.

"Hurry your stumps!" shouted a trooper as he passed Wilkes.

"No hurry!" said the corporal coolly, looking over his shoulder.

But behind them Colbert's hussars and chasseurs had swept down on to the

bridge and ridden into the rear-most company. Some of the latter were

cut down, half were captured, the rest succeeded in gaining the farther

bank, and joined their comrades behind the vineyard walls.

"A close shave, mates!" said Wilkes. "But let 'em come on; we're

ready."

General Colbert, a young and gallant officer, and reputed the handsomest

man in the French army, had reached the bridge, and saw that the slopes

on the other side were held by artillery and what appeared to be a small

infantry escort. All the regiments but the 28th were by this time

concealed from view. Burning to distinguish himself, and anxious to

emulate the successful charge of Franceschi's dragoons at Mansilla a few

days before, Colbert did not wait to reconnoitre the position and

discover the actual strength of his enemy, but ranged his leading

regiment four abreast, and led them straight for the bridge. Paget's

guns played briskly on the French horse until, with the dip in the road,

they sank below the line of fire; then the hidden infantry followed up

with steady volleys from the walls and hedges. But the French were

barely within range. The majority of the troopers escaped injury,

cleared the bridge, and dashed up the hill, to carry, as they thought,

all before them. Then the men of Paget's Reserve showed their mettle.

The 28th were drawn across the road; the 52nd and the 95th were out of

sight behind the vineyard walls; and the French horsemen fell into the

fatal trap. They suddenly found themselves in the midst of a hail of

bullets from left, and right, and front. For a brief moment they

struggled on; then Tom Plunket, leaping the wall and flinging himself

flat on the slope, fired two marvellous shots which killed Colbert and

his aide-de-camp in succession, whereupon the whole brigade wheeled

about and fled madly back to the bridge, leaving the road strewed with

their killed and wounded.

Cheer after cheer broke from the ranks of the exultant British infantry.

Many of the men wished to leap the walls and pursue the baffled enemy,

and had to be pulled back like hounds straining at the leash. Not a man

had been lost since they left the bridge, and Paget's "Well done,

Riflemen!" was like wine to their hearts.

But the fray was not yet over. Lahoussaye's dragoons swept down to the

river, avoided the fatal bridge, forded the stream at several points,

and tried to make their way over the rocky ground and through the

vineyards. Finding this impossible, they dismounted and advanced on foot

in skirmishing order, meeting with a spirited response from the 52nd and

95th, whom they first encountered. Then, as the afternoon wore on,

Merle's light regiments of the line came into sight, and in column

formation marched forward with loud cries to cross the bridge. For a

few moments the 52nd were in danger of being swept upon and overwhelmed,

but the six guns from the battery above opened a raking fire on the

massed columns of French, and drove them back pell-mell to the other

side. For an hour longer the French sharpshooters kept up a skirmish

with the 95th and 52nd; then, as darkness fell, they recognized the

hopelessness of their attack, gave up the contest, and hastened down the

slopes to the eastern bank of the Cua.

"By George, this is a change of scene!" said Smith, standing with his

fellow-subalterns around a hastily lit fire. "Won't the Grampus be green

when he hears what he has missed? I wonder what the fellow is doing?"

"Offering Napoleon long odds on something or other," said Jack with a

laugh.

He had hardly spoken when the command came to form up in marching order.

Sir John Moore had ridden back from Villafranca on hearing Paget's

cannon, and was delighted to hear of his old friend's success. The

French having suffered so decisive a check, he saw that the Reserve

could be safely withdrawn under cover of night. The troops set out in

better spirits than they had known for many a day, tramping cheerily

over the snow-covered road with the comfortable assurance that at last

they had won the general's approbation and proved themselves men. Their

gaiety was doubled when they learnt from a wounded prisoner on the way

that Napoleon was no longer behind them. He had withdrawn part of his

army, leaving Soult and Ney to continue the pursuit. The thought that

they had baffled the great emperor was delightful to the British troops:

they never doubted that Napoleon had seen he was beaten by Johnny Moore,

and had run away in sheer petulance and chagrin.

Four miles after leaving the scene of their brilliant rear-guard action,

the Reserve arrived at the outskirts of Villafranca. Long before, they

had noticed a red glow in the sky, which as they approached threw a rosy

light upon the banks of dazzling driven snow. As they drew still

nearer, the whole town seemed to be on fire. In every street great

heaps of stores and provisions were burning, and so thoroughly was the

work of destruction being carried out that guards had been placed even

round the doomed boxes of biscuit and salt meat. But the temptation was

irresistible to hungry soldiers; many men, as they passed, stuck their

bayonets or pikes into junks of salt pork that were actually on fire,

and bore them off in great glee. The men had been marching so steadily

that the officers for the most part winked at this rescue from the

flames, Jack remarking to Pomeroy that they'd all be precious glad to

get a slice or two of the meat by the time the march was ended.

After leaving Villafranca they passed through the defile of Piedrafita

into still wilder country. Climbing Monte Cebrero and emerging on to

the barren plain of Lugo, the troops reached Herrerias shortly before

daybreak. They were suffering intensely from fatigue and cold, but their

halt for food and rest was of the shortest; as soon as day dawned they

had to set off again. Now that daylight illumined the scene, they saw

terrible signs of the misery and disorder into which the constant forced

marching had thrown the main body. The road was strewn with wreckage of

all kinds--horses were lying dead, wagons lay shattered and abandoned;

here was a rusty musket, there a broken sword; worn-out boots,

horse-shoes, pots, articles of apparel, dotted the white and rugged

causeway for miles. Worse than that, human bodies were mingled with

these evidences of woe. At one spot Jack saw a group of redcoats

stretched on the snow. Thinking they were stragglers asleep, he went to

rouse them. They made no response to voice or touch; in their sleep

they had been frozen to death.

As the day wore on, other incidents added to the general misery. The

horses of Lord Paget's cavalry were constantly foundering through losing

their shoes on the stony road. When this happened, the dragoons

dismounted, and led their chargers till the poor beasts could go no

farther. Then, by Lord Paget's orders, they were shot, so that they

might not fall into the hands of the French. Many a rough trooper shed

tears as he raised his pistol to the head of the faithful animal whose

friend he was, and as the cracking of the pistols reverberated from the

rocks, the sounds sent a painful shudder through the ranks of the

trudging infantry.

Hundreds of stragglers from the leading divisions loitered along the

road, causing an exasperating delay to the march of the disciplined

Reserve. Among the laggards were not merely the marauders and

ne'er-do-wells who had cast off all obedience, but veterans who were

overcome by the rigours of the winter cold and the heavy marching on

diminished rations. Every mile brought new horrors. Many sick and

wounded were being conveyed in baggage-wagons, which, as the beasts

failed, were abandoned, leaving their human occupants to perish in the

snow. Women and children panted along beside their husbands and fathers,

or rode in the few wagons that were left; but many dropped on the road

and died of cold and fatigue. Looking back from a spur of the mountain

chain, Jack saw the white road behind covered with dead and dying, a

black spot here, a red spot there, showing where a woman or a soldier

lay sleeping the last sleep. The groans of women, the wails of little

children, were torture to the ears of the more sympathetic. Sometimes a

soldier whose wife had given up the struggle, would fling himself down

beside her, and, cursing the general whose object he so grievously

misunderstood, remain to die.

Long after dark the Reserve reached Nogales, where they remained for the

rest of the night. Before dawn, however, news came that the enemy were

pursuing close upon them, and as they marched out, the rear companies

became hotly engaged with French cavalry. The force hurried on, across

a many-spanned bridge, up a zigzag road, skirmishing all the way, and

halting at favourable points to tempt the enemy to attack. At one spot

the mountain rose up a sheer wall on the right of the road, and on the

left a deep precipice fell steeply to a valley. Here General Paget

ordered the men to face round. The position could not be gained by a

frontal assault, and the enemy, waiting for their heavy columns to come

up, sent voltigeurs and some squadrons of cavalry into the valley to

attempt a flank attack. But deep drifts of snow having hidden the

inequalities in the ground, men and horses tumbled head over heels as

they advanced, and, amid grim cheers from the British troops above, the

French withdrew discomfited.

Fighting almost every yard of ground, the Reserve continued their

rigorous march towards Lugo. Near Constantino they were amazed to meet

a train of fifty bullock-carts crammed with stores and clothing for La

Romana's army. Someone had blundered. The Spaniards were dispersed far

and wide, and, but for its being intercepted by the British, the convoy

must inevitably have fallen into the hands of the French. Astounded at

this piece of Spanish folly, but rejoiced at the luck which had brought

clothes at such an opportune moment, the soldiers soon stripped the

wagons, many a man carrying off several pairs of trousers, and enough

shoes to last a lifetime. Thus, when they were halted for action at the

bridge of Constantino, they presented a remarkable appearance. Some wore

gray trousers, some blue, some white; they were new shod, but with no

regard for pairs. Corporal Wilkes, in his haste to replace his own

worn-out boots, had put a black shoe on his right foot and a white one

on his left. But there was no time to attend to niceties of costume,

for the enemy kept up an incessant fire all the afternoon, and it was

only at nightfall that the tired regiments could withdraw from the

eastern end of the bridge and resume their march.

At dawn on January 6th they reached the main body, drawn up in battle

order three miles in front of Lugo. The brigade of Guards were in their

shirts and trousers, cooking their breakfast, having hung their tunics

and belts to the branches of trees. As Captain O'Hare's company passed

through them, one of the officers asked him if he had seen anything of

the French.

"Bedad, now," exclaimed O'Hare, "you'd better take down your pipe-clayed

belts from those trees, my dear, and put them on, and eat your murphies,

if you've got any, as quick as you can, or by the powers those same

French will finish 'em before they're cold."

The Guards laughed mockingly; they themselves had not fired a shot

during the whole retreat. But as the 95th marched on they heard Paget's

guns open on the advancing enemy behind, and, turning, they gave the

incredulous Guards a derisive cheer.

No sooner had the Reserve reached Lugo than General Paget ordered the

men to clean their weapons and polish their accoutrements as thoroughly

as if they were going on parade in the barrack-ground at Colchester.

Corporal Wilkes had scarcely uttered a murmur for three days, but this

command was too much for him.

"Discipline be hanged!" he growled. "We ain't out for a picnic, nor

goin' for a walk in the park, and what's polishin' paste to do with

lickin' the French?--that's what I want to know."

But when he had recovered from the first feeling of hardship he

recognized that the general's motive was to maintain the excellent

discipline which had hitherto prevailed in his division; and Wilkes was

too good a soldier not to do his best, even with the polishing leather.

For three days the army lay at Lugo--three days of incessant rain, which

turned to slush the snow on the hills, and proved more trying to the

spirits and tempers of the men than the frost had been. There were

large stores at Lugo, and Sir John Moore judged it wise, after the

exhausting forced marches of the past weeks, to allow the men a good

spell of rest and plentiful supplies of fresh food. His position was

very strong, and he hoped to tempt Soult to a fight, being assured that

the troops would pull themselves together and give a good account of the

enemy. But Soult was too wary to attack until he had overwhelming

numbers at his disposal. His own force had suffered almost as severely

as Moore's, and some of his divisions were still toiling on far in his

rear. After a few attempts to feel the British position he made no

further movement, and Moore waited and fretted in vain. He would not

risk an offensive movement himself. He had no hospitals, few wagons, no

reserve of food or ammunition; delay would weaken him and strengthen

Soult. There was no alternative but to continue the retreat. The route

to Vigo was definitively abandoned; orders were issued for the whole

army to slip out of its lines on the night of the 8th, leaving the

camp-fires burning so as to deceive the enemy, and to make for the

direct road to Corunna, to which harbour the transports had already been

commanded to sail round the coast. As soon as darkness fell all the

foundered horses were shot, and such provisions, stores, and ammunition

as were not required were destroyed. At half-past nine the first

companies moved off, and by midnight the whole position was evacuated.

This was the beginning of the last stage of the army's demoralization.

The frost of the previous week had quite broken up; a pelting storm of

sleet and rain assailed the troops as they marched. In the inky

darkness many of the guides missed their way amid the labyrinth of

vineyards, orchards, and intersecting paths. Regiment after regiment

went hopelessly astray, and when General Paget's reserve division

reached the appointed spot on the Corunna road, it proved to be not in

the rear but actually in advance of the main body. In these

circumstances Paget moved his troops slowly, knowing that if the enemy

overtook the less trustworthy regiments behind him the whole force would

run the risk of being annihilated.

Through the black and rainy night, then, the men marched, halting at

intervals. No man was allowed to leave the ranks; all were filled with

apprehension of what might befall. On the morning of next day the

belated divisions of the main body began to appear, and the Reserve

thankfully resumed its proper position of rear-guard.

A terrible lack of discipline prevailed in all but a few of the

regiments of the main body. Drenched by the incessant rain, the men

sought shelter in cottages and outlying hovels whenever they were

halted, with the result that when the order for marching was given vast

numbers could not be found and had to be left behind. All day and all

night the Reserve was harassed by the necessity of beating up these

loiterers, until officers and men alike were almost overwhelmed with

despair.

The experiences of that fearful 9th of January haunted the memories of

Jack and his friends for years afterwards. From cheerless dawn to

cheerless eve their eyes were shocked, their hearts were riven, by

misery almost passing belief. For mile after mile of that bleak

desolate country, a land of bluff and spur, torrent and ravine, men fell

down upon the road, groaning, weeping, dying of weariness and disease

aggravated by the bitterness of shame and despair. Mules and oxen lay as

they fell, and in the wagons they had drawn, husbandless women and

fatherless children wailed and moaned, a prey to hunger and exhaustion.

Many a time Jack stuffed his fingers into his ears to keep out the

intolerable sounds, until the very frequency of them made him almost

callous, and he tramped along with haggard face and the same sense of

dreary hopelessness. Smith was bent almost double with illness, Pomeroy

and Shirley were so utterly weary and dispirited that they dragged their

feet like old peasants racked with the ague of the fields. Even

Pepito's vivacity had vanished; for the greater part of every day he

rode on a gun-carriage, a silent image of depression.

As the 95th halted for a brief spell at a hamlet, Corporal Wilkes, his

tanned, weather-beaten cheeks drawn and pinched, came up to his captain

and said:

"Sir, Sergeant Jones's wife is dead."

"God help the poor fellow!" said Captain O'Hare; "what'll he do now with

those two little children? How are they?"

"Well, sir, and cosy; that good woman gave her life for them. The

sergeant's crazy, sir, and the wagon's come to grief that they were

riding in. I thought, sir--"

"Well?"

"I wouldn't like to leave 'em behind, sir, and the sergeant's as weak as

a rat and can hardly trail his pike. Couldn't I carry one, sir?"

"Sure an' you can. Take turns with another man. And the other one--the

poor little colleen--"

"Pomeroy and I will look after her," said Jack. "It'll give us

something to think about. We'll either carry her by turns or get some

of our best men to do it."

And so it happened that for the rest of the retreat two little children,

a boy and a girl, rode along in the rain on the shoulders of

tender-hearted Riflemen, who talked to them and cheered them, so that

the small things, all unconscious of their irreparable loss, prattled

and laughed and felt exceedingly proud of their unusual altitude.

It is the morning of January 10th; the regiments are climbing the face

of a range of hills, the last, they have been told, that intervene

between them and the harbour of Corunna. The rain has ceased, the sky

clears, and as the drenched and footsore warriors top the crest the sun

bursts through a lingering cloud and throws its low beams from behind

them.

"The sea! the sea!"

A great shout reverberates over the rugged hills. Below lies the little

town of Betanzos, and beyond it the blue white-crested waters of the

Atlantic. Corunna is only a few miles distant; the end of the long

agony is in sight; and the sudden coming of weather springlike in its

mildness after the severity of winter, fills all hearts with unutterable

gladness. Colonel Beckwith roars at his men with a gruffness which

nobody mistakes, and the fierce tension of General Paget's face is

relaxed for the first time for many days.

"The finest retreat that was ever retreated," cries Captain O'Hare, who,

though he looks only the shadow of his former self, has suddenly

recovered his usual cheerfulness. "But what's afoot down yonder,

begorra?"

All eyes follow his gaze downhill. They light on a curious spectacle.

In the distance the road is dark with French cavalry, their helmets and

accoutrements flashing in the unwonted sunlight. Between them and the

heights there marches a nondescript horde of stragglers, in all

uniforms, from all regiments. But they are no longer straggling.

Formed in a solid mass across the road, they are retiring by alternate

companies, one company remaining to face the French, another marching

along the road until they reach a position whence they can cover the

first's subsequent retreat. Time after time Franceschi's horsemen

charge; but every charge is beaten back by the rolling fire of the

British, who fight and retire, retire and fight, with equal steadiness.

"Bedad, now, that's fine!" cries Captain O'Hare enthusiastically.

"That's the greatness of the British Arrmy! Three cheers for the

fighting stragglers, my boys!"

Cheer upon cheer roll down towards the baulked and angry French. Stage

by stage the army of stragglers retire up the slope until they are safe

within the protecting lines of the Reserve. There the curious incident

is explained. Dr. Dacres of the 28th had entrusted his instruments and

baggage to the care of a batman, who had loaded his mule's panniers so

heavily that the animal had fallen far behind the regiment. During the

night the man slept in a cottage by the roadside, and, rising before

dawn, was astounded to find that the French were almost within

arm's-length. Shouting to the numerous stragglers in the vicinity, the

batman, relishing a little brief authority, got them into some sort of

order and began to fight a rear-guard action on his own account. A

sergeant of the 43rd, seeing what was in the wind, hurried up and

assumed command of the growing companies. It was by the skilful handling

of this man, William Newman by name, that the impromptu rear-guard had

held their own against the enemy's cavalry and been brought safely out

of danger.

The army remained for a whole day at Betanzos. On the 11th they marched

out towards Corunna, the Reserve being hotly engaged with the enemy's

cavalry, and disputing the last ten miles yard by yard, under the

approving eye of Sir John Moore himself. Two bridges were blown up. On

the 13th Franceschi's dragoons discovered a ford, and Sir John, seeing

that his main body was now secure, ordered the Reserve to fall back on

Corunna. The regiments had hardly left their bivouac when shots from

the French artillery came with a crash on to the roofs of the houses

they had occupied near the bridge.

It was with this thundering adieu reverberating in their ears that the

gallant 95th, along with their equally gallant comrades in arms, marched

into their new quarters at Eiris, above Corunna, and attained, after

much travail, their long-desired haven.

*CHAPTER XVI*

*The Battle of Corunna*

The Eve of Battle--Moore's Position--Wilkes is Himself Again--The First

Shot--Advance 95th!--Hand to Hand--Wilkes in Action--A Message to

Moore--The Commander-in-Chief--A Hero's Death--"Alone with his Glory"

The great retreat was ended. Sir John Moore's army, after its terrible

forced marches over 250 miles of wild country in the worst of weather,

had reached the sea. Five thousand men were left behind in sick, dead,

wounded, stragglers, and prisoners--a small proportion considering the

awful experiences they had come through. The honours of the retreat

belonged to Sir Edward Paget and his regiments of the Reserve, who had

fought dogged and successful rear-guard actions wherever opportunity

offered, and had come through the whole campaign with little loss.

But the crowning achievement of the retreat was yet to be accomplished.

Sir John's purpose had been to embark his army at Corunna on the

transports he expected to find awaiting him there, and to sail at once

for home. If this had been effected the history of the British army

would have lacked one of its most glorious pages. When Moore arrived at

Corunna, the expected vessels were still beating about under stress of

weather in the Atlantic. The embarkation was perforce delayed.

Meanwhile the French were straining every nerve to catch their enemy; it

was more than likely that Soult would arrive in sufficient force to

compel Moore to fight, and the long-wished-for opportunity of a great

battle with the French would come at last.

Corunna was packed with military stores. In readiness for anything that

might befall, Moore gave his men new muskets and rifles to replace the

rusty weapons they had brought with them across the hills. He blew up a

large amount of superfluous ammunition, and then sat down in security to

await the arrival of the belated transports.

When, on the evening of the 13th, the Reserve fell back upon the main

army at Corunna, there was still no sign of the ships. The British army

was in position on a range of heights a short distance to the south of

the city, and Paget's hard-wrought troops were ordered to occupy the

little village of Oza, in the rear of the British line. There they

formed, for the first time since the retreat began, the real Reserve of

the army.

During the next two days Jack had more than one opportunity of visiting

Corunna, where the Spaniards were making vigorous preparations for

defence. For he was selected as usual by the general to arrange with

the native contractors for the supply of provisions to the division. In

his journeys to and fro he supplemented the company mess with small

luxuries to which it had long been a stranger.

"I could almost forgive you your good luck, Jack," said Pomeroy at

breakfast on the 15th. "But you should have been in the commissariat;

you are wasted as a fighting-man. Eggs, butter, cream, and coffee--why,

the 52nd across the way are as green as our coats with envy."

"If we stay here much longer we shall be back again on the old rations,"

replied Jack. "We shall soon eat up the native produce; only our own

regulation hard-tack will be left."

"How are they getting on down at the harbour?" enquired Shirley.

"Slowly, as far as I could see. They don't seem to have done much since

the transports arrived yesterday. It is ticklish work embarking the

guns. But they expect to be ready to-morrow; and I hear that the

Reserve are to be the first to embark."

"I don't like that," remarked Smith indignantly; "after we have borne

the brunt of the retreat, they might at least have let us see it through

to the end."

"Oh! as for that, we may take it as a compliment," said Jack with a

smile. "It's a reward of good conduct. Our baggage is to be sent down

to-night, we are to follow to-morrow at mid-day, and by the time the

other divisions are ready we shall be snug and comfortable."

"It seems to me," said Pomeroy, pointing out of the window of the cura's

house in which they were quartered, "that by this time to-morrow some of

us will be a little too snug."

Jack and the rest, after a hasty glance at the heights to which Pomeroy

was pointing, could not help feeling that the prospect of an unmolested

embarkation was indeed becoming remote. They were now black with the

masses of Soult's infantry.