An Act Of Courage

‘From Lord Wellington,’ added the voice.

‘I’ve no idea where he is. Neither has his colonel. He told me to wait here. What is it?’

The officer was perfectly composed, if alarmed nevertheless by the chaos into which he had quite literally stumbled. ‘Lord Wellington wishes the Third Division to make a further attempt at an escalade. The Fourth and Light Divisions can’t pass the breaches.’

Sir Edward pushed back the peak of his Tarleton. ‘Hamilton, is that you?’

‘It is. Sir Edward Lankester?’

‘What is happening?’

‘I don’t rightly know, but I never saw Wellington look so ill. Nothing but reports of failure for two hours!’

‘How does he expect Picton to get into this place over the wall if two divisions can’t force the breaches?’

‘I don’t know how he expects it, but there’s nothing else to hope for.’

‘Good God! Brave men’s breasts! It’s not enough, Hamilton; it’s not decent.’

‘I know, Sir Edward, and doubtless does Wellington. But, I tell you, there’s nothing else but to withdraw.’

A voice barked from the ink darkness: ‘Who goes there?’

‘General?’

Picton had come barging through the crouching mass of infantry, cursing left and right, threatening with his sword, frustrated as no other that he could not thrust it into a Frenchman atop the walls.

An ADC’s lantern threw just enough light for a measure of recognition.

‘General, Captain Hamilton is come from Lord Wellington,’ said Sir Edward, almost as if making an introduction in Hyde Park.

‘Well,’ growled Picton, ‘what has the commander-in-chief to say? Astonish me!’

‘The Fourth and Light Divisions are utterly stalled, sir. He does not believe they will be able to make their way through until daylight. And General Leith’s division has made no progress on the far side, either. He wishes you to press a further assault, for he believes that were the castle to be taken now the whole fortress would be ours.’

Picton heard him in silence – or rather, he said nothing, for the bedlam continued. At length he spoke, and softer than any had heard him in a month. ‘Very well.’ He turned to his ADCs. ‘Go fetch the brigadiers.’

Picton lapsed into silence again when they had gone.

For the first time, Sir Edward saw the dressing on his shoulder. Picton clutched at it and swayed.

‘General?’

He seemed reluctant to part with his thoughts.

‘General, are you well?’

Picton snapped-to. ‘Nothing, Sir Edward. It is nothing at all!’

‘What would you have me do? Should we not seek a little cover – what’s left of the palisade there?’

‘No. If once we retire a yard we’ll never recover it. Now hear: this will be a desperate business, but I shall forfeit my life if we don’t carry it, and the brigadiers the same. Once we gain the castle the sole object shall be to assault the breaches from the rear. By then we’ll have lost a good many, the officers especially. You will therefore act as my staff, you and your officers – and drive them to the breaches. I want no heroics from you until then. That is the most imperative order.’

‘I understand, General.’

‘Well then, let us see what Kempt and Campbell can do with their brigades, damn them!’

* * *

It was nigh impossible to see anything in the Stygian ditch. Hervey stumbled and cursed as they edged their way back to make room for the 5th (Northumberland) bringing up more ladders. Every powder flash blinded him for a minute and more, and even with night eyes it was too dark to see the top of the walls. How could these men scale them, not knowing what was up there?

‘Hold hard,’ said Sir Edward suddenly. ‘I won’t push past any more of them. It’s bad enough wearing blue in a place like this.’

Hervey was surprised, for besides not being able to make out one colour from another on a night like this, Sir Edward as a rule displayed supreme indifference to such things. But then, this was Badajoz. Two assaults had failed already; if they failed again, the army would stop believing in itself. There could be no failure this time, whatever it took. That was what Picton had meant. It no longer mattered how many men died scaling these walls. If the bodies piled up in a mound, then their comrades could climb on them to reach the top – a ramp of redcoats, doing more in death than they had managed to do alive. And if that was to be, then it were better to go at it quickly, to take one’s death early, with the blood coursing, rather than waiting till it ran cold – easier by far to storm the walls with a hundred men following than to follow and see the bodies of the fallen. Hervey smiled grimly: there was always the chance of being first in Badajoz. Someone must earn that accolade!

‘Sir Edward, I wish to go with the Fifth.’

‘Hervey, we have work to do,’ replied his troop-leader, a shade impatient. ‘And besides, they would never let you.’

‘Surely, sir, they—’

‘Hervey, listen with close attention to what I say. Those brave fellows in red are legion. If the Fifth don’t scale the walls, the Seventy-seventh will, and if not them then the Eighty-third behind them, or the Ninety-fourth behind them. That is the purpose of the infantry of the line, and there will be many a fine officer dying to remind them of it. Our purpose is precise and limited. We will face our turn for oblivion when the walls are stormed.’

Hervey was abashed. ‘Sir.’

‘Very well,’ said Sir Edward, but more encouragingly. ‘Now, where are the covermen?’

Eight officers and NCOs of the 6th Light Dragoons crouched in the bottom of the ditch as cheering redcoats sprang forward. Ladders slammed against the walls; men even began climbing the stonework with their bare hands, getting nowhere but keeping up the momentum of the surge of red. In the torchlight, Hervey saw the Fifth’s commanding officer climbing the nearest ladder, his men close behind shielding his head with bayonets. Soon there were so many redcoats clinging to the ladder that even if the French had been able to get a hand to the top rung they would not have been able to tip it back. Did the ladder even reach the top? Hervey could not tell. But there was no check in the movement upwards, and for a moment he thought the French must have abandoned the walls. Then came a very deliberate fusillade. Men at the bottom fell clutching wounds, but none from the ladders. The Fifth’s light company answered, the musket flashes atop the walls showing them where to aim. Hervey realized the light company’s marksmen had been waiting for this: now they could sweep the walls and keep the defenders back while the grenadiers climbed.

‘Clever Fifth!’ he heard himself say. (And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven!) ‘Clever, brave Fifth!’

But these were no angels ascending. Neither did they descend: there was no check in the ascent of the lieutenant-colonel’s ladder.

Suddenly there was shouting from the top: ‘Old Ridge’s in! He’s in!’

Grenadiers were all but running up the ladder now.

Hervey was as humbled as he was thrilled: the first man into Badajoz was not a thrusting ensign or a raging corporal, but the Fifth’s own commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Henry Ridge, leading his regiment sword- drawn as if on parade. And he, Cornet Matthew Hervey, crouched in the ditch below!

The light company stopped firing, and there were no shots from the top. Had the French left the ramparts? When would it be their turn?

‘Leu-in, leu-in the Fifth!’ shouted the brigadier, waving his sword and grasping the rung of a ladder. ‘Follow- up, Seventy-seventh!’

Hervey rose on one knee: a brigadier in – now was the time, surely?

‘Hold hard,’ said Sir Edward, calmly. ‘Let the Fifth fight the French out of the castle. We go after the Seventy-seventh.’

Hervey chafed as hundreds more redcoats surged to the walls. He was certain it would be over by the time their turn came, for Picton had said the French could not hold once the castle had fallen. He could hear firing again: