The Spanish Bride (20 page)

He nodded, and patted her check. ‘Of course I will. Cheer up, hija! I’ll be with you presently!’ He wheeled his horse, and rode off in a spatter of mud. Juana found the Padre nervously begging her to make haste, and said grandly: ‘Do not be afraid! We shall be quite safe with the 52nd. How surprised they will be to see me, all our friends in the regiment!’ The Padre seemed to think this remark irrelevant, but the prospect of surprising her friends made Juana feel more cheerful; and she rode on at a smart pace, coming up with the regiment just as it was about to ford the river.

She had the satisfaction of encountering two of Harry’s friends, Major Rowan on the Quartermaster-General’s staff, and Captain Mein; and although neither of them betrayed much surprise at her having joined the regiment, both greeted her with real, if hurried, kindness.

‘Hallo, Juanita! Did Harry send you on?’ Rowan said. ‘That’s right! we’ll take care of you. Stick close to the column, there’s a good girl: wish I could take you under my wing, but you know how it is!’

‘Of course I know, and I don’t want to be under your wing!’ said Juana. ‘Go and attend to your dudes! I have West, and I have also Don Pedro.”

‘What a good duty-officer you’d make, Mrs Smith!’ grinned Rowan. Billy Mein teased her about a splash of mud on her cheek; he asked her, too, sotto voce, where in thunder Harry’s confessor had found his enormous cloak, which made her giggle. But he could not remain with her for more than a few minutes, because he had his company to attend to.

With the French infantry pressing the rear, there was no time to be lost in crossing the Huebra. At this season of the year, it was a wild-looking river, swirling beneath such steep banks that the soldiers, instead of climbing down, jumped into the fast waters. The Padre, watching with a good deal of misgiving, said: ‘But how shall we cross?’ West, always close to his mistress, smiled rather grimly, for he did not much like the Padre. Juana said: ‘I’ll show you!’ and rode Tiny straight for the bank.

‘Lord ha’ mercy!’ ejaculated West. ‘Missus, missus, wait!’

He had been attaching various small goods and chattels firmly to the saddle of Harry’s spare horse, which he was leading, and before he could do more than scramble into his saddle again, Tiny, pausing for an instant on the brink, had leaped into the river. Without paying the least heed to the unfortunate Padre, West went after Juana, led-horse and all. By the time he had forced both horses into the river Tiny was half-way across, swimming strongly, with Juana still in the saddle, though drenched to the skin. She reached the farther bank safely, and a dozen eager hands were ready to seize Tiny’s bridle, and haul him out of the river.

‘Juana, you bad child!’ cried little Digby. ‘Whatever would Harry say?’ ‘Bien hecho!’ Juana replied, sparkling with laughter.

‘I suppose he would,’ Digby admitted. ‘But what’s to be done now? You’re soaked, and here’s the regiment ordered to move downstream to watch the San Munoz ford!’ ‘Oh, do not concern yourself! I will come too, because Enrique said I was to stay with you, and so I shall. Only where is the poor Padre?’

The Padre, bravely emulating Juana’s dashing exploit, had made his pony jump into the river, but had got into serious difficulties. The pony, scarcely up to his weight, was carried away, by the current. Juana could not help laughing to see Don Pedro swept downstream, with his huge cloak blown out like a sail behind him, but it soon ceased to be a laughing matter. Unable either to make headway against the current, or to continue swimming with the Padre on his back, the pony was drowned, and only his preposterous cloak, which kept him afloat, saved the Padre from suffering a like fate.

‘Oh, Bob, pull him out!’ begged Juana, trying hard not to laugh.

‘Can’t the fellow swim?’ asked Digby. ‘What in the world possessed you two crazy people to saddle yourselves with him? Look, some of our men have got hold of him! Here, you, West! Look after your mistress, will you? I must get on.’

‘Adios! Tell Billy Mein I have no longer any mud on my face!’ said Juana. The Padre, dragged out of the river farther down stream, was looking a good deal shaken when Juana and West rode up to him. Juana had wrung some of the wet out of her habit, but the Padre stood shivering on the bank in a large puddle. Water dripped from the brim of his sombrero, from the hem of his cloak and even from the tip of his nose. When Juana said how sorry she was for his misfortune, he answered between chattering teeth that he had not dreamt that the retreat would be like this. He asked West if he could mount the spare horse, but West replied woodenly: ‘Never lend master’s other fighting horse; not to nobody.’ ‘But you must lend it to me!’ said the Padre indignantly. ‘How shall I do without a horse? Do you wish me to fall into the hands of the French, you wretched fellow?’ ‘We shan’t march far,’ replied West “The river bothered us, and it will stop the French. Our Riflemen don’t mean to let those fellows over. The walk will warm you.’ ‘Señora!’ exclaimed the Padre, trembling as much from wrath as from cold. ‘Do you hear? Will you permit this outrage?’

Juana looked doubtful. ‘But you see, it is my husband’s spare horse, and if Old Chap were hit he would instantly require it. Only, since he is on the other side of the river—Could he have the horse, West? Just for this once?’

‘Can’t lend master’s horse, missus,’ said West obstinately.

‘Well, then, I am so very sorry, but I am afraid you will have to walk,’ said Juana, tempering the words with one of her persuasive smiles. ‘And please, could you start to walk now, because if we do not remain with the 52nd my husband will not know where to find us!’ ‘But Señor Smith assured me we should bivouac immediately! Where are we going? Why do the soldiers march downstream?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Juana cheerfully. ‘It is always like that in the army, which is what makes it so exciting.’

The Padre did not look as though he cared for such excitement, but he squeezed some of the water out of his cloak, and began to plod along beside Juana’s horse. The ford of San Munoz was far down the river, and when they reached it they at once saw why the regiment had been ordered there. The French were trying to force a crossing. It proved to be impassable, but almost before she was aware Juana found herself in the middle of a hail of shot. A shell plunged feet deep in the mud quite close to her, making Tiny shy so violently that she was nearly unseated, and something whether a musket-ball, or a fragment of grape-shot she knew not, whistled over her head. She dismounted in a hurry, but just as West was shouting at her above all the commotion to come with him out of range, a private was struck, and fell almost at her feet. Down she plumped on her knees to see what she could do for him. It so happened that he was not very badly wounded, and she was able to make a bandage for him, and to help him to the rear. Then Captain Dawson was killed, and quite a number of men wounded, and there was no time to think about the danger she was in, for she had naturally to help the wounded men. It was horrible seeing Captain Dawson killed; she thought she was going to be sick, and so very sensibly turned her eyes away from his body, and began to tie the Padre’s handkerchief round the brow of a boy who was bleeding from a gash in his forehead caused by a flying fragment of case-shot. Major Rowan caught sight of her, and exclaimed: ‘Good God, you here? Get to the rear, you foolish child, get to the rear!’

But since he had no time to spare in enforcing his command, Juana stayed where she was. Captain Dawson’s body had been carried away; no one else seemed to have been killed; and the French fire was already slackening. The rain was coming down in sheets, but as she was already soaked to the skin with river-water, that, she said, did not signify in the least. It was a draggled little wife whom Harry found half an hour later, seated beside the Padre on the ground, and hugging her knees. Harry had been sent to recall the 52nd, and was thunderstruck to discover that Juana had been in the thick of the skirmish. ‘My darling!’ he cried, flinging himself out of the saddle. ‘Queridissima! Oh, mi pobrecita, how wet you are!’ ‘Enrique!’ Juana squeaked joyfully. ‘Oh, how glad I am to see you safe!” ‘I?’ he said. ‘I’m safe enough, but you, dearest? What the dickens have you been about?’ ‘Oh, I have had such adventures! I made Tiny swim across the river, and the poor Padre’s pony was drowned, but not him, and we have had a battle!’

He was holding her by the shoulders, and gave her a little loving shake. ‘You varmint, Juana! Come, I must get you to the bivouac quickly! What a drowned rat of a wife!’ He tossed her up into her saddle, and put the bridle into her cold hand. The Padre said: ‘But how shall I go? I do not think I can walk, and I have certainly caught a chill.’

‘Oh, take my spare horse!’ Harry said over his shoulder. 9

The bivouac was the worst imaginable, but Harry found that some of the Portuguese in the brigade had built a large fire, and bought it from them for a dollar. The pack-mules had all been sent on, so there was nothing to eat but acorns, no tent to shelter Juana from the drenching rain, and no change of clothes for her. She assured Harry-that she was not at all hungry, and not very cold either, but her face looked pinched and white, while as for the Padre, he might, Harry said, have been drawn for the Knight of the Woeful Countenance. The saddles were placed in a circle round the fire; wet steamed out of Juana’s clothes, but as fast as the fire drew out the moisture from them, the rain soaked them again. Kincaid, who was acting Brigade-Major to the 1st brigade, saw Harry for a few moments, and told him that acorns were quite palatable if roasted: rather like chestnuts; so West collected a hat-full, and they held them over the fire in the lid of somebody’s canteen. Juana, munching resolutely, said they tasted very peculiar, and she was glad she was not a pig. ‘Nasty?’ Harry asked.

‘Oh no, not nasty! Just strange.’

‘My poor sweet!’ Harry said, peeling another, and popping it into her mouth. ‘Why? I am enjoying myself very much, I assure you.’

‘Oh, Juana, how I love you!’ he said unsteadily. ‘Good! I love you too.’

She fell asleep presently, with her cheek on her hand, one side of her pleasantly warm, the other cold and muddy. The Padre, his damp cloak drawn right over him, slept too, and snored cavernously. Harry sat up, feeding the fire, but he had had no rest for three days, and try as he would he could not keep awake.

Juana awoke in the small hours, roused by cold. She struggled up on her elbow, still half-asleep, and in the grip of a shuddering fit of ague. Harry was lying sound asleep between her and the fire. Juana burst into tears, and shook him. He woke with a start. ‘Juana? What is it, my heart?’

‘You are horrible, and thoughtless, and cruel, and stupid!’ sobbed Juana through chattering teeth. ‘Why must you lie just there, espadachin? I hate you!’

‘Oh, my sweet, I’m so sorry!’ Harry said remorsefully. ‘I must have fallen between you and the fire. Don’t cry, queridissima! I didn’t mean to do it.’

He gathered her into his arms. She stopped crying at once, and rubbed her eyes. ‘Oh, how foolish!’ she said, snuggling close up against him. ‘I was asleep! And now I have waked you up, when you must have been nice and warm! I am very sorry, Enrique.’ ‘Darling, darling!’ Harry said, kissing the damp curls that were tickling his chin. ‘No: bad wife!’

murmured Juana, drifting back into sleep.

The rain ceased a little before daybreak. The Light division had expected to march at dawn, but were held up by the 1st division, which they were to follow, and which made no movement. Harry was able to find a mule for the Padre, and Juana managed to dry her clothes, and to seek out George Simmons, who was seriously alarmed by his brother Joe’s condition.

The river began to fall almost at once, and it was expected that the French would effect a crossing before noon. General Alten, who saw no profit in any brush with the enemy at this juncture, sent off more than one messenger to Sir William Stewart, who had been in command of the 1st division since Paget’s capture by the French. ‘What the devil ails the old man?’ Barnard demanded. ‘I think he is mad,’ said Alten calmly.

Time went on, the sun broke through the clouds; and still the 1st division did not move. Suddenly a Guards officer appeared, picking his way daintily on a blood horse. ‘Oh, Christ! The Honourable Arthur!’ said Charlie Beckwith.’

‘My deah Beckwith!’ said Arthur Upton, perceiving him and riding up dose. ‘You could not inform me where I could get a paysano? The 1st division can’t move: we have no guide.’ ‘Oh, damn, is that it?’ exclaimed Beckwith. ‘We’ll do anything to get you out of the way! Come to Harry Smith! He has a paysano, I know. Harry, Harry! Where the devil are you, man? Here, the 1st want a guide! Trot out your cutthroats!’

Harry, as usual, had three or four natives of the district under guard, and was able to hand one over to the Honourable Arthur, who went delicately away again, drawling his thanks. The Light division had formed a battle-front, but it was presently ascertained that instead of forcing a crossing of the Huebra the French were dismissed, and were all engaged in drying their clothes.

The division marched at last, in cold but dry weather. As Harry was seeing the last of the rear-guard off, he heard himself hailed, though faintly, and looking round, saw a Rifleman lying under a tree, with his leg bound up. He recognized the man, and rode up to him. ‘O’Donnell! Why, my poor fellow, this won’t do!’

‘Don’t leave me here, Mr Smith!’ O’Donnell said imploringly. ‘Are you badly hurt?’

‘It’s me leg, sir. Got me thigh fractured yesterday by a cannonball. Don’t leave me, sir! Please, don’t!’

Harry hesitated. There was no provision for wounded men in the column. The casualties had to be left behind, where it was hoped that they would presently be picked up by the enemy. The French treated their prisoners perfectly well, of course. It was no use being sentimental about it; you could not help every wounded or sick man who came, in your way. But Harry knew this man for as gallant a Rifleman as ever breathed. He said in his quick way: ‘There’s only one way I know of helping you, and I believe it won’t do. Could you ride on a gun-tumbril?’