The Spanish Bride (55 page)

Charles was much cast-down by this intelligence, but Harry, always at his energetic best when there were difficulties to be overcome, at once set about finding a suitable craft. He got wind of a sloop of a few tons’ burden, and next day, after long and noisy bargaining, came to terms with the skipper, who, with one boy, formed the entire crew of the vessel. Careful measurement satisfied Harry that there would be just room enough for the horses with a little hole left over, aft, for himself, his wife, and his brother to crowd into. Charles, inspecting the ship in dismay, blurted out: ‘This will never do for Jenny!’ ‘Not do for me?’ said Juana, coming out of the tiny cabin on to the deck. ‘Why not?’ ‘It’s so dingy! There is no room for a lady!’

‘Basta! I am not a lady, but, on the contrary, a good soldier. When do we sail on this dear little boat, Enrique?’

That was the trouble: they could not sail until the wind was fair, on account of the horses, and, by ill-luck, a spell of foul weather had set in.

It kept them kicking their heels in Harwich for a fortnight, but at last it wore itself out, the horses and all the baggage were got aboard, and they set sail on an afternoon of sunshine. A gentle breeze carried them over to Ostend in twenty-four hours. They had to land the horses there by slinging them, and lowering them into the sea to swim ashore. When the Brass Mare was in the slings, she saw the land, and neighed loudly, an omen of success, Juana declared.

They stayed for three days in Ostend, putting up at the great inn there, which was teeming with visitors, both civil and military. Harry soon found an English horse-dealer, and bought a couple of good mules and a Flemish pony from him, for the baggage. They met several acquaintances in Ostend, and learned that the 1st battalion of the Rifles was at Brussels, and the whole army concentrated behind the frontier, in the closest touch with the Prussians.

When they reached Ghent, they found that Sir John had arrived there only a day before them. Sir John received Juana in the kindest way, and soon began to treat her as though she had been his daughter. His brigade consisted of four old Peninsular regiments: the 4th, 27th, and 40th, and the 81st, which was employed on garrison duty at Brussels. He told Harry that they must be ready to take the field at an instant’s warning.

‘No trouble about that!’ said Harry.

‘Not for my brigade,’ Sir John agreed, ‘but I can tell you this, my boy: the Duke has no such army here as we have been accustomed to. The only way he can make anything of it is to scatter the old troops amongst the raw battalions. I’ve learned already that some of the Generals are pretty sore at having their old numbers taken from them. Alten has the new 3rd division; Picton gets the 5th; Colville has the 4th. What’s left of you Light Bobs are spread amongst the rest. Colborne is with the 52nd in Clinton’s and division—Adam’s brigade—and so are your 2nd and 3rd battalions. Barnard, with the 1st battalion, is in Picton’s division, under Kempt. Then there’s Lord Uxbridge commanding the cavalry instead of Cotton: everything seems topsy-turvy to us old stagers.’ The brigade continued to be stationed at Ghent, but as the French King’s court was established there, it was quite a centre of activity, and was very often visited, not only by Wellington, and the other great men in the army, but by any officer who could get leave, and had a fancy to visit Ghent instead of Brussels. Tom Smith, who was stationed near Ath, came to pay a flying visit to Harry. He laughed when he heard that Charlie had got himself into the regiment as a Volunteer, but wished that he had been in his battalion. Charlie had gone off to join the 1st battalion in Brussels, where there was no doubt that Harry’s friends would make him welcome.

The Smiths had a very good billet in Ghent, and as soon as their particular cronies heard of their arrival, they received so many visits that it seemed as though they had come to Belgium to enjoy a social round rather than to take part in an arduous campaign. But Charlie Gore, who had Once given a ball in Sanguessa, after Vittoria, and who was still Kempt’s ADC, told them that they had missed all the best of the fun. ‘Nothing but parties and balls and picnics, I give you my word!’ he declared. ‘We don’t go so far afield now. Old Hookey don’t like it. There’s a good deal of movement on the frontier. They say Boney’s still in Paris, though. By Jove, Harry, you are in luck to have got home from America in time for this affair!’

That was the opinion held by everyone: to be out of this campaign would be the greatest piece of ill-luck imaginable. But Kincaid, riding to Ghent from Brussels, said that they wanted Harry back with them as Brigade-Major.

‘Hi, you long, lanky devil, what do you mean by that?’ demanded Charlie Eeles indignantly. ‘Aren’t I good enough for you?’

‘You do your best, little man,’ said Kincaid, with odious patronage. ‘You certainly aren’t as noisy, which I admit is an advantage.”

‘No fighting in my expensive billet!’ Harry called out. ‘I’d rather be with Lambert than in old Picton’s division. It’s too melancholy to see The Division broken up like this! How do you get on with the other fellows in your brigade? Whom have you got?’

‘The Slashers, the 32nd, and the Cameron Highlanders: couldn’t be better!’ replied Eeles. Kincaid sighed. ‘We don’t mix with ’em much,’ he said. ‘Speaking for myself, I miss our old friends the Caçadores. They do say that old Douro tried to get ’em sent back to us.’ ‘Never mind! We’ve always got the Dutch-Belgians,’ said Eeles unctuously. ‘What are the Prussians like?’ Harry asked.

‘Don’t know: don’t see anything of ’em. I suppose you know we’ve lost the Lion d’Or, Harry?’ ‘Nothing to grumble about in that,’ replied Harry. ‘I never thought so much of Cotton. If we’ve got Uxbridge, we’ve got a damned good man: we knew him when he was with Moore.’ ‘But tell me!’ interrupted Juana. ‘Where is dear Charlie Beckwith?’ ‘Oh, still on the QMG staff! Hasn’t he been to see you? The fact of the matter is, they’re devilish busy in the QMG’s office. That’s what makes us think we shall soon be on the move. What’s it like, being quartered in Ghent? Do you see much of the French troops? Are they any good?’

‘Lord, no!’ said Harry. ‘Never saw such a set of fellows in my life! The King’s impressive enough, but he can’t set eyes on one of us, without saying how delighted he is to see us, and how much he is indebted to our nation. He’s told me so twice.’

‘Listen to this!’ said Kincaid admiringly. ‘Court circles and all! Just fancy our Major Smith!’ ‘Yes, the King leaned on Enrique’s shoulder!’ said Juana.

‘I thought he seemed even more pleased with himself than usual, didn’t you, Charlie?’ ‘Yes, but I put it down to his promotion,’ Eeles replied promptly.

‘Oh, Charlie, no! Johnny, how could you say such a thing?’ cried Juana, quite distressed. ‘Don’t let them roast you, hija? Harry said, grinning.

5

Harry used to wait on Sir John Lambert every morning after breakfast for orders, while in Ghent. There were always plenty of orders, for Sir John, a Guardsman, held parade after parade, and was very fussy over the details of guard-mounting, sentry-duty, and correct garrison-procedure. Harry laughed, but admitted that the brigade was in splendid trim. He was with Sir John one morning when a voice was heard calling for him in stentorian tones in the passage. ‘Lambert! Lambert! Hallo there, where the devil’s the door?’ ‘Who in heaven’s name can that be? Go and see, Harry!’ said Lambert. Harry went, and walked, to his surprise, straight into Admiral Malcolm, who hailed him in a genial bellow, and wanted to know where Lambert had stowed himself. ‘The house is as dark as a sheer hulk!’ he declared, rolling in, and seizing Sir John by the hand. ‘Come, bear a hand, and get me some breakfast, Harry! No regular hours on shore, as in the Royal Oak!’

Where had he sprung from? Oh, he had brought over some troops from America, including the 27th regiment of Lambert’s own brigade, and had been appointed to the command of the coast. He didn’t see why the army should have all the fun; from what he could discover from his friend Wellington a rare time they had been having! Nothing but balls and picnics! But the army was not long to be left in peace to enjoy these festivities. Orders reached Lambert from De Lancey, the Quartermaster-General, on the night of the 15th June, and one hour later, at dawn, the brigade, assembling at the alarm-posts, marched out of Ghent along the road to Brussels.

By the afternoon they had reached Assche, and the noise of continuous firing from the south put the veterans on their toes with eagerness.

‘It is like old times!’ Juana said. She slid off the Brass Mare’s back, her habit powdered with dust, but her eyes like stars. ‘Any orders, mi amigo?’

‘No, General, none! We bivouac,’ responded Harry promptly. ‘Muy bien!’ she said, stripping off her gloves.

Lambert was afraid she must be tired, and said solicitously that he hoped the march had not been too much for her, which made Harry burst out laughing. ‘What, that little way, sir? You don’t know her!’

‘No, indeed!’ said Juana, smiling up into Lambert’s face of kindly concern. ‘I marched with the division from Lecumberri to the top of Santa Cruz, in the Pyrenees! And I did not fall out! Absolutamente no!’

‘Well, you are a wonderful woman,’ said Lambert. ‘Will you give me the pleasure of dining with me now?’

‘Yes, please!” said Juana. ‘I am very hungry, and you have a very good cook!’ No certain news reached the brigade that night, but the noise of the firing, which had been incessant all day, died down with the coming of darkness. It was evident that a sharp engagement had taken place somewhere to the south, but they did not learn where precisely until the following day, when they reached Brussels. They halted in the town, and found everything in a state of the greatest confusion, droves of civilians trying to escape to Antwerp by chaise, on horseback, by canal-barge, even on foot. Rumours were flying about: it was said that there had been a battle fought at Quatre Bras on the 16th; that Napoleon had taken the Duke by surprise, marching to the frontier from Paris with the Imperial Guard, with incredible celerity; that the Prussians had suffered a heavy defeat somewhere near Quatre-Bras, and were in full retreat; that the French would be in Brussels at any moment. A dramatic Belgian described the march of the British troops out of Brussels all through the small hours of the previous day. They had formed up in the market-place, regiment after regiment: Brussels had never before witnessed such a scene. There had been a grand ball given by the Duchess of Richmond: all the Generals had been present, even the Duke himself, and the Prince of Orange, commanding the 1st Corps. When the news had come of the Prussians’ retreat from Charleroi, young officers, in all the splendour of mess-jackets and white gloves, had ridden back to join their various regiments, already on the march through the placid Flemish countryside. The Duke had ridden out of Brussels in the morning, saying, with his loud laugh, that very likely Blücher would have finished the business by that time, and he would be back in Brussels to dinner.

But he had not come back, and the aspect the town had worn all day was, the Belgians assured Harry, triste beyond compare! After teeming for so long with English and Scottish soldiers, and with lovely ladies tripping along the streets in ravishing toilettes to pay morning calls, it was strange indeed, and melancholy, to see the town quite deserted by the usual frivolous crowd. People had gone to the ramparts, and a good many had fled to Antwerp. Then, in the night, a dismal cortege had borne the poor Duke of Brunswick’s body into Brussels: as though one had not been gloomy enough before!

‘Brunswick killed?’ Harry exclaimed. ‘That ought to make the Death-or-Glory boys killing mad!’

Fresh orders arrived from the Quartermaster-General, directing Lambert to move on Quatre-Bras. In the afternoon, they marched out of Brussels by the Namur gate, along the Chaussee leading south through the Forest of Soignies to Charleroi. All the baggage was left in the market-place, and, with it, Juana’s two servants.

The march south was a little disturbing. The chaussée was in a state of such wild confusion that progress, at all times difficult, became sometimes impossible. Flemish carts, baggage-wagons, wounded men, and deserters were all retreating in such scandalous disorder that the Peninsular veterans stared with shocked, incredulous eyes. Here and there a cart would be found in the road with a wheel off, blocking the way; horses who had fallen and broken their knees on the pavé had been shot, and left to stiffen where they lay; once a squadron of some foreign cavalry galloped by, shouting that the French were on their heels. At about half-past two, the day, which had been brilliant, suddenly clouded over. Inky clouds rolled up, and almost before Juana had time to unclasp her boat-cloak from the saddle, the most terrific thunderstorm broke over their heads. Great splinters of lightning shot through the black clouds; the thunder crashed deafeningly, and within a few minutes the rain began to fall in torrents. ‘It is worse than that night before Salamanca!’ Juana screamed to West, above the appalling racket. ‘Poor Vitty is so afraid!’

The storm seemed to heighten the confusion on the road, for some of the baggage-horses moving towards Brussels took fright, and careered about in a state of snorting terror. An orderly came riding along, plastered with mud. He brought yet another dispatch from De Lancey, this time directing Lambert to halt his brigade at the village of Epinay, short of the great forest. Questioned, he said that the army was in retreat from Quatre-Bras upon Waterloo; he did not think there had been any fighting that morning, but the previous day’s losses had been shocking.

This was very bad news, but, a few minutes later, riding ahead to clear the road, Harry encountered a small party of wounded Highlanders, making their painful way to Brussels. They said yes, it had been a hard day’s fighting at Quatre-Bras; the Highland brigade had been fair cut to pieces, and Kempt’s too; but as for defeat, it was no such thing! The French had not gained an inch of ground.