First in the field they were, and in that furious rush upon the village, through ditches, over walls, in and out amongst the houses and me gardens, whatever doubts Harry had nursed of Cadoux’ quality were put to rest. Wherever the firing was hottest, there was Cadoux, not a hair out of place, deaf to the whistle of shots all round him, encouraging his men in his calm way. ‘Keep it steady, lads!’ he said, when the rifle-fire grew momentarily ragged. ‘Now, no untidiness! That’s right-that’s good shooting! We’ll move on, Sergeant: I really think we must dispossess those noisy, gentlemen in our front’

Harry, himself hoarse from cheering on the men, left him driving a party of voltigeurs out of the garden, where they had ensconced themselves, and made his way to Ross’s battery. He got a troop-horse from Ross, and plunged back into the fight for the village, catching a glimpse of Cadoux once, but not getting within speaking distance until they met on the farmer side of the river, dusty, dishevelled, and intent only on getting the men into order again after their impetuous sweep through the village.

Cadoux removed his shako, and shook the dust off it. Harry rode his trooper up to him, his eyes very bright between their narrowed lids, and his lean cheeks still flushed with excitement. Cadoux looked at him with a flickering smile. ‘Well, Captain Smith?’ he drawled. ‘Finished harrowing hell and raking up the devil?’

Harry laughed. ‘Oh, by God, if we are to talk of harrowing hell-!’ He stretched out his hand. “Thank you for the loan of your horse’s tail!’

Cadoux looked at him for an instant, his brows lifting in surprise. Then, with a little laugh, he held out his own hand, and shook Harry’s sinewy one. ‘Don’t mention it!’ he said, in his most finicking tone. ‘I do hope you didn’t pull any of his hairs out? Such a lovely creature, aren’t you, Barossa?’

‘Oh, is that the charger you got at Barossa?’ Harry asked. ‘Is it true you found the holster full of doubloons?’

‘Rumour, my dear fellow, rumour!’ Cadoux said, with an airy wave of his hand. ‘It was a nice battle, though: a very nice battle. Dear old Graham stood in the river, up to his waist, shouting almost as loudly as you, until one of our fellows said: ‘Do go and take care of yourself, old corporal, and get out of our way!’

Harry burst out laughing, and was still laughing when he got back to Vandeleur’s side. Lord Dalhousie had arrived in a great bustle, with Drake beside him. ‘Most brilliantly achieved indeed!’ Dalhousie told Vandeleur. ‘Where is the officer you sent to me for orders?’ Harry rode forward. ‘Here I am, my lord.’

Dalhousie looked him over. ‘Upon my word, sir! You receive and carry orders quicker than any officer I ever saw!’

Harry opened his eyes. ‘You said, “Take the village,”’ he protested. ‘My lord, there it is, guns and all!’

Dalhousie put up a hand to hide a smile, but Drake grinned openly, and said: ‘Well done, Harry!’

4

The brigade being allowed a breathing-space while it reformed, the men had leisure to notice the heavy roar and crash of artillery ahead of them, on their left flank which they had not previously been aware of. It meant that Graham was in action to the north; and this fact, coupled with the very considerable advance all along the front, seemed to show that the Allied army was closing in on Vittoria. The battle was by no means over, however, for although the French were forced back, they fought with a great deal of stubbornness over every yard of the ground, their sharpshooters taking advantage of every ditch and every shrub. Vandeleur’s brigade was fiercely engaged the whole afternoon, but in a running fight, over ground affording plenty of cover, the Light Bobs were unbeatable, never exposing themselves unnecessarily, nor massing in bodies large enough to provide good marks for the enemy. Where Kempt was, or how he was faring, no one knew, for the land was too undulating to allow of any very comprehensive view being taken of the rest of the field. But as the day wore on, the want of effective cavalry support began to be felt by those who had any time to think of anything but keeping up a steady aim.

The noise of the firing grew ever more deafening, till one had to shout to be heard above the appalling din. Smoke began to lie heavily over the plain; the air was so acrid with it that many men found it impossible to stop coughing. Through it, from a slight hill where he stood beside Ross’s brigade of guns, Harry could see the dark mass of the enemy. Pencils of fire shot through it incessantly; shells screamed overhead, and burst in crash upon crash, sending up showers of mud, and stones, and scattering whole tree-branches, and splinters of rock, and often more horrible debris, over the lines.

‘By God, if ever I saw such an inferno!” Harry exclaimed.

As he spoke, his horse fell under him, like a shot rabbit. He had just time to spring clear, and at once began to look for the wound. He had not been conscious of any missiles falling near enough to hurt the trooper, but in the middle of such a storm of bullets and shells it was possible that it had been hit without his knowledge. But although the horse was apparently dead, not a trace of a wound could he find upon it. He discovered that its heart was beating, and tried the experiment of giving it a kick on the nose. It answered admirably. The trooper gave its head a shake and instantly scrambled to its feet. Harry jumped into the saddle again, and one of Ross’s gunners shouted to him that he had seen the same thing happen before, the wind, from one of the enemy’s cannon-shot having acted on the poor beast like a knock-out blow.

It was dusk when Vandeleur’s brigade passed Vittoria, over a plain at last free from the broad ditches which had made progress difficult. As far as the Light Bobs could judge, the French army was fleeing in a state of rout comparable to the disordered flight from the field of Salamanca. As the brigade passed on, leaving the town on their left, they found their advance checked by an indescribable confusion of abandoned baggage. Acres of ground were covered with every kind of conveyance, from fourgons to elegant private-carriages-these last often containing civilians in a state of the wildest terror. Horses had been dragged out of the shafts and ridden off” into the gathering dusk; chests lay tumbled on the ground with the hasps broken, and art treasures spilling out of them; guns, caissons, artillery-wagons completely blocked the great causeway to Bayonne; and it was impossible to set one foot before the other without treading on a kit-bag, a burst portmanteau, a camp-kettle, a battered shako, or em officer’s dressing-case. Everything seemed to have been abandoned by the French, even the precious treasure-chests from Paris.

As the brigade picked their way through the confusion, still in pursuit of the flying enemy, a swarm of French cavalry suddenly bore down upon them, and all but swept away Tom Cochrane’s company. His men flung themselves down behind a bank and met this onslaught with such an accurate fire that the cavalry was checked, and, by the time Harry had rushed some of his own company up in support, was making off, leaving a number of dead and wounded behind them. Except for some desultory skirmishing, there was no more fighting in that quarter of the field. Some regiments were already plundering the abandoned baggage-train, and since cases of wine and brandy had been found, the night bade fair to be a merry one. Vandeleur received orders to join the 1st brigade with Alten’s headquarters, and sent Harry on to take up the ground. Harry did not seem to be unduly fatigued by his exertions during the day, but he had quite lost his voice, as he generally did after a battle. When he approached the 1st brigade, the first thing he heard was a torrent of heart-broken Spanish lamentations. ‘Oh, Charlie Eeles, el no vendra nunca! el no vendra nunca! Muerto, muerto, muerto!’ ‘But Juana, dearest Juana, only wait a little! There’s no saying he’s dead yet! Depend upon it, it was all a mistake! Pray, pray don’t cry! We’ll find him directly, see if we don’t!’ Harry gave a cracked laugh, and spurred forward to where, dimly, in the twilight, he could see his wife. ‘Hija!’

It was the veriest croak, but she heard it, and came running up to him, stumbling over the tail of her riding-dress, which she had let fall in her start of joy. ‘Enrique, mi Enrique! Oh, thank God you are not killed, only badly wounded!’

‘Thank God, I’m neither!’ said Harry hoarsely. ‘But you, you little varmint! What the deuce are you doing here, in all this commotion?’

‘I followed the 1st brigade, with West. I did not know our brigade was not with them! And when they told me that you were dead, for one of your men saw you fall! Oh, why do you lie to me? You must be wounded!’

Nothing would convince her that he was, in fact, untouched by so much as a splinter, and since he had neither voice nor time enough to spare for argument, he consigned her to Eeles’s care, and rode off to find quarters for his General.

The brigade bivouacked in-the stubble-fields beyond Vittoria, and the only habitation to be obtained for Vandeleur and his Staff was a large barn. Quartermaster Surtees reported that although he had located the division’s commissariat-train, it was impossible to bring it beyond Vittoria, since the congestion on the roads was holding everything at a standstill. This was not such a serious business as it might have been, as anyone who chose to give himself the trouble of going for a stroll amongst the French baggage could be sure of returning with a ham, or some sausages, and a couple of bottles of excellent wine. It was unnecessary to post pickets, as the cavalry was already far in advance, pursuing the routed French into the darkness, so Harry was able to join his wife and General in time to share a supper of ham, Swiss cheese, and burgundy.