An Act Of Courage

‘Indeed. Wellesley and the general were abroad for two hours after we pushed the French off the ridge. Both our brigades are now forward. Tilson’s is right, on the crest, and Stewart’s left so the French can’t envelop the wing. There’s supposed to be a brigade of cavalry in the valley over yonder to support him, but I don’t know who.’

Neither did Hervey. Cotton’s, with which the Sixth were brigaded, were covering the junction with the Spanish on the right, and Fane’s heavies would surely be needed in the centre? ‘Anson’s, perhaps.’

‘Well, when they show, no doubt one of us will be sent to them. But I should say, the general spoke very favourably of you, you know – after the skirmish last night, I mean. There’ll be a promotion in it.’

Hervey was flattered, if doubtful. ‘Really, Gartside, it was nothing out of the ordinary. We must have made two dozen cuts apiece in the Sixth yesterday afternoon!’

Lieutenant Gartside put a hand to Hervey’s shoulder. ‘My dear sir, we all of us know the work of cavalry goes unobserved. When it comes to promotion, one cut in the right place is worth a hundred out of sight. Be pleased you have made both sorts!’

Hervey was still doubtful, but he would hope. If it did not bring promotion, it might at least serve his reputation when it came to the court martial and Daly.

Ten minutes later, with the sun flushed up, Lieutenant Gartside pronounced his final words on the matter. ‘See, Hervey: those are the fellows who will give us our opportunity!’

The sun was full in their eyes, but Hervey could make out the French well enough. Opposite the Second Division, on the Cerro de Cascajal, were more guns than he had ever seen. He took out his telescope to observe. The gunners were standing to attention by their pieces, as if all was ready and waiting for the command ‘fire’. He scanned right, to the low ground the other side of the Portina. Regiments of blue-coated infantry stood facing the British line as far as the redoubt at the junction with the Spanish, all ranked in column of battalions for the attack, guns to the fore. Behind them were cavalry in numbers he could not begin to calculate. Corunna looked but a skirmish compared with this! The rats in his stomach began running again.

Lieutenant Gartside beckoned him further forward until they drew close to one of Sir Arthur Wellesley’s ADCs. ‘Gordon, my dear fellow!’

A captain, four or five years Hervey’s senior, no more, wearing the uniform of the Third Guards, turned in the saddle. ‘Gartside – good morning.’

To Hervey, he sounded as cool as the commander-in-chief looked.

‘I heard you were come out,’ said Lieutenant Gartside, with an easy smile. And then he looked at him more intently. ‘My dear Gordon, are you quite well?’

‘The devil, I am, Gartside. I’ve not been well since leaving Lisbon. Something has taken hold of me, and I wish it would leave go!’

‘I am sorry for it. It’s deuced noble that you should turn out, feeling so out of sorts. May I present Cornet Hervey, of the Sixth.’

The ADC turned further in the saddle, and nodded. ‘How d’ye do, sir.’

Hervey touched his peak.

‘Gordon was with Sir David Baird at Corunna,’ explained Gartside.

Hervey at once knew all. Baird had been Moore’s deputy at Corunna. This was the Gordon who had taken the victory despatch to London, and got a brevet for it. It ought to have been another’s honour, they had all said, since Baird himself had been carried from the field early in the day, and General Hope had seen the battle to its end. But Baird had insisted that his nephew take the despatch – and, no doubt, had arranged this appointment to Sir Arthur Wellesley, too. But Hervey was not disposed to dislike a man merely for his good fortune. After all, Captain the Honourable Alexander Gordon had paraded this morning, in the most evident discomfort, and that said something of his quality, did it not?

Gartside was not deterred by either Gordon’s reserve or Hervey’s. He knew the one well enough, and was already coming to like the other. ‘Gordon, are you able to tell us what are the army’s dispositions? We came up here last evening and saw nothing.’

Captain Gordon, while keeping a sharp eye on the commander-in-chief, was happy to oblige his old- schoolfellow. It was simply explained, he said. From their vantage point, here on the Cerro de Medellin, they could see the mile of British line along the Portina clearly enough – and with a good telescope they could see the Spanish, too, three-quarters the distance again to the walls of Talavera. The junction was guarded by the bastion of Pajar de Vergara and its batteries (Hervey had seen it the evening before) and the divisions were formed, conveniently alphabetical, right to left from the bastion to the cerro: Campbell’s on the right, then Mackenzie’s, then Sherbrooke’s; and then Hill’s on the left flank. Two brigades of cavalry – Fane’s and Cotton’s – would stand in the centre of the second line between Mackenzie’s division and Hill’s, while Anson’s was ordered to the north valley.

‘I am very much obliged, Gordon,’ said Gartside, turning to Hervey.

Hervey imagined himself as well served now as any galloper in the army. He nodded. ‘Thank you, Captain Gordon.’

The ADC turned and looked at him. ‘Was it you who cut out Hill last night?’

Hervey was surprised the news had travelled. ‘It was.’

The ADC nodded, and with just a suggestion of a smile. ‘Then you did the army a service, if I’m not very much mistaken.’

A thunder-blast of cannon seemed to rock the entire cerro. Then came the whistling-buzzing shot, tearing the air about them, pounding the forward slope and throwing up fountains of earth, showering the commander-in-chief’s party with sods and stones – and worse. A bloody arm fell in front of Hervey, its fingers stretched out like a fan. Instinctively, for it was the way Joseph Edmonds had trained them (and to take his eyes from the disembodied limb), he took out his watch: it was twenty minutes past five o’clock.

The redcoated battalions of the forward brigade swayed visibly under the bombardment – thirty guns were firing, by the ADCs’ common reckoning. But the batteries were now joined by others further down the slopes of the Cerro de Cascajal, so that soon there was a continuous fire, and all concentrated on the eastern end of the long ridge of the Cerro de Medellin.

Sir Arthur Wellesley turned to General Hill. ‘Very well, have them withdraw behind the crest and lie down. But have the light companies hold their ground: I must have skirmishers to break up the columns when they advance.’

General Hill had taken the precaution of having the brigade-majors join him for stand-to. He nodded to them, no words necessary, then he touched his hat as the commander-in-chief spurred off to inspect his other divisions.

Smoke drifted across the valley of the Portina, obscuring their view of the batteries, but likewise spoiling the gunners’ aim. General Hill sat coolly astride his black gelding on the reverse slope, far enough behind the crest for protection, but, standing in his stirrups, able to observe the movement of the French – and his light companies. After twenty minutes without flinching in the storm of shot, he snapped shut his telescope suddenly, and scowled. ‘The French have excess of fortune this morning. So many guns firing blind and still telling! And every shot thickening the smoke. I can no longer see the light companies!’

‘Recall them, General?’ asked his AQMG.

‘Ay, George; let us have them in. And quick about it.’

The AQMG reined about and repeated the order to the brigade-majors.

In less than a minute the regimental buglers were sounding ‘retire’. As a rule, General Hill did not permit field orders to be passed by bugle. The drill book was emphatic on the matter: Signals are improper in exercise, because dangerous and apt to be mistaken in service. Except that in his experience signals were rarely mistaken by the enemy! But what alternative did he have this morning, with so much smoke? This morning he did not mind by what means his skirmishers were recalled. If the French heard the urgent, repeated Gs, so be it! The light companies would be sure to.

Ten minutes later, Hervey saw the first men filing home through the blackening smoke, arms sloped, regular as if on parade.

General Hill exploded. ‘Damn their filing! Let them come in anyhow!’

Lieutenant Gartside blinked. ‘I do believe that is the first time I have heard the general swear.’

With so severe a cannonade, Hervey could not but imagine the general had cause.