Rumours Of War

‘Right. Then I’ll make a start on the captain’s. Sor, could I—’

‘Officers’ interrupted him, the trumpeter playing the call fast but sure.

Hervey set off at once to the adjutant’s.

The orderly serjeant came doubling along the cloister. ‘Mr Hervey, sir, officers to orderly room!’

‘Yes, I heard, Corporal. What is it? The French?’

‘Don’t rightly know, sir. But an orderly come in from the bridge says the engineers can’t get it down!’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE ENGINEER’S SPORT

Castro Gonzalo, later the same afternoon

There was at least shelter from the downpour under the arches. Hervey and his working party trod gingerly along the ledge; a false foot and they would be in the river. The stone had defied the picks and crowbars all day, and Lieutenant Herbert, the senior engineer officer, had decided on another ploy. But he needed more hands.

Colonel Reynell’s guidon had been planted at General Craufurd’s headquarters, a police house near the bridge on the west bank of the river. Craufurd was reading the latest despatches from Sir John Moore, who had evidently reached Benavente but in poor spirits. Black Bob’s look was blacker than ever; thunderous indeed, reckoned Reynell.

‘Read that, Colonel.’ Craufurd thrust a sheet of print at him.

Reynell took it and remarked that it was a fine thing to be able to have General Orders printed in such exigent circumstances. He began to read:The Commander of the Forces has observed with concern the extreme bad conduct of the troops at a moment when they are about to come into contact with the Enemy, and when the greatest regularity and the best conduct are the most requisite. The misbehaviour of the troops in the column which marched by Valderas to this place, exceeds what he could have believed of British soldiers. It is disgraceful to the Officers; as it strongly marks their negligence and inattention. He can feel no mercy towards Officers who neglect, in times like these, essential duties, or towards Soldiers who disgrace their nation, by acts of villainy towards the Country they are sent to protect. The situation in which they are placed demands qualities the most rare and valuable in a military body; not bravery alone, but patience and constancy under fatigue and hardship, obedience to command, sober and orderly conduct, firmness and resolution.It is impossible for the General to explain to his army the motive for the movement he directs. The Commander of the Forces can, however, assure the army that he has made none since he left Salamanca which he did not foresee, and was not judged prepared for; and, as far as he is a judge, they have answered the purposes for which they were intended.When it is proper to fight a battle he will do it; and he will choose the time and place he thinks fit: in the meantime he begs the Officers and Soldiers of the army to attend diligently to discharge their parts and to leave to him and to the General Officers the decision of measures which belong to them alone. The army may rest assured that he has nothing more at heart than their honour and that of his country.

‘A communication of most singular asperity,’ Reynell concluded.

‘The latter part was especially ill advised,’ said Craufurd plainly, glowering at the bridge through a broken window. ‘It does not serve to explain things, or to be speaking of honour to these men. Those who would not do their duty must be compelled to.’

Colonel Reynell had no doubt of the means by which the general intended to have compliance. ‘Which are the regiments he refers to?’

‘God knows, for it could be any one of them seeing the condition of their stragglers. The Sixth and the Ninth – Beresford’s brigade – were a shocking sight. And we have only just begun.’

The Sixth and the Ninth of Foot: the 1st Warrickshire and the 1st East Norfolks. Hardly battalions with a poor reputation, thought Reynell. He shuddered at what could become of a regiment if the officers dropped the reins. ‘I will take a turn around the outposts then, General.’

Craufurd nodded. ‘You may tell Lord Paget, if you will, that I should greatly appreciate his support here until we have the bridge down. I would be obliged if he did not come galloping over until I send him word.’

‘I understand that is his design, General.’ Sir John Moore’s pessimism must be infectious, thought Reynell. ‘But I will convey your sentiments at once.’

And he would renew his own exhortations too.

All night the sappers and their auxiliaries worked at the bridge, tying barrels to the supports and packing smaller kegs into chambers hollowed out with pick and crowbar. Lieutenant Herbert had decided not to put the matches in place until nearer the time, except the quick ones under the arches (and these doubled, just to be on the safe side), for he feared a soaking would lead to misfire. They finished the work – two arches chambered and packed with powder – just before dawn. And not an hour too soon, Hervey imagined, since the French had been probing hard, sometimes dismounted, since the early hours. But each time the pickets had seen them off, and they had been able to continue the work without once having to check. As he surveyed their night’s labour, Hervey thought it must all be done with before breakfast.

Major-General Craufurd knew different, however. One of Lord Paget’s gallopers had come a little before stand-to and reported that there were still a good many baggage waggons and stragglers on the road, including a fair number of women. ‘His lordship is of the opinion that since the French do not press us very hard, he is able to hold them distant a further day, and proposes therefore to withdraw this night instead.’

Craufurd was content enough; his brigade was at least rested. The odd chasseur was bound to slip through Paget’s line, but his own men would be able to see them off. And it would give the sappers more time; Lieutenant Herbert said he could demolish two arches now, but with another day he could prepare a third, and that would double the repair time the French would need.

Hervey was disappointed when he heard. He wanted to see their good work. But at least they might have a little sleep this way. ‘Have the men return to the troop, Corporal Armstrong,’ he said, putting his coat back on. ‘I shall report to the bridge garrison captain.’

After taking proper leave of the captain, Hervey set off on his own, on foot, back to the convent. The rain had eased a little, but still it drummed noisily. The place was quite deserted now but for a roadblock manned by the first battalion of the 43rd (Monmouthshire), one of the army’s best light infantry regiments, said those in the Sixth who knew about these things. Their uniform was in a poor way, though – sodden, with red dye running from the tunics, and their faces black from carboned shakos. But they looked sharp enough, with an ensign and three NCOs to the fore. Hervey saluted (it was their bridge) then made his way through the chicane, taking a closer look at the faces of the private men. They were hollow-cheeked and sunken-eyed, but they spoke more of grim determination than defeat. As he walked away, he wondered how long it would be before the Sixth’s men began to resemble the Forty-third’s. How many nights without sleep did it take? How many miles marching?

*

There! A glimpse only, but he was sure: a blue coat, and not thirty yards away! The man had darted across the street and into one of the bigger houses.

Hervey checked. What should he do? Go back and alert the Forty-third’s picket? What if it weren’t a Frenchman, though? What if it were a Spaniard? Should he not first make certain?

The street was empty. He drew his sword and ran to the house.

It was open, the windows unshuttered and broken. He went in silently. The blue-coated figure had evidently not been the first, for the house looked well looted.

Hervey advanced cautiously, wishing he had his pistols primed and dry.

The man spun round at the scrape of Hervey’s boot.

‘Serjeant Ellis? What—’

Ellis stared back defiantly, sack in hand.

‘What is it you have, Serjeant Ellis?’