‘Of course he must be supported,’ said Colborne, his calm voice in odd contrast to Harry’s impetuous tone. “The whole battalion should move down into Vera.’
‘Move down into Vera! I had them there, and they are even now retiring up the hill!’ said Harry bitterly. ‘Cadoux expects them to go to his support, but, oh, Colonel, Skerrett is callous to anything! I fear I shall never prevail on him to move!’
‘Well,’ said Colborne, ‘you must do as you can. When the attack comes, the 95th must move to the support of the picket without an instant’s loss of time. As soon as I see the battalion in motion, I will move down the hill on your flank. You had better go back to the Brigadier now.’ He added, with a slight smile: ‘And if I were you, Smith, I would not lose my temper with him.’
‘No use, sir, it’s lost already. If he lets Cadoux’ company be cut to pieces, I don’t care how soon he breaks me, for by God, I’ll be no Brigade-Major of his!’
He found Skerrett sitting over the fire in his quarters. When he reported the arrangements he had made with Colborne, Skerrett merely laughed, and said he should be glad to know who was in command of the brigade: himself, Colonel Colborne, or a young whipper-snapper of a Brigade-Major?
‘Cadoux will be attacked before dawn,’ Harry replied shortly.
‘Nonsense!’ said Skerrett. ‘I don’t expect anything of the sort. If he is attacked, it will certainly not be in force. I’ve no more orders for you tonight, so you may go back to your own quarters. I should advise you to go to bed, and forget all these alarms of yours.’ ‘With your permission, General, I will stay here,” said Harry.
‘Oh, do as you please,’ shrugged Skerrett. ‘But don’t fancy you can succeed in putting me into a panic! I have a great deal more experience than you, strange though you may think it. If I did not know you for a well-meaning young hothead, I should have something to say about your behaviour tonight. However, you are a good boy, in your way, and we’ll let it pass.’ Since he was unable to force his tongue to reply civilly to this speech, Harry said nothing. Skerrett presently lay down on his bed, and went to sleep; but Harry stayed wakeful by the fire, listening to the scream of the wind round the corners of the house, and the lashing of the ram on the widow-panes. The night was very dark, lit only by occasional flashes of lightning. Some time after midnight, a messenger arrived from divisional headquarters with a dispatch from Alten, informing Skerrett that the enemy were retiring across the river; that it was to be apprehended they would before daylight try to possess themselves of the bridge of Vera, and that every precaution must be taken to prevent this.
‘Now, General!’ Harry said triumphantly. ‘Let me move the battalion down to the bridge at once!’
‘Oh, pooh, you are a great deal too hasty! Ten to one the French will never reach Vera in this storm! Why, it is so dark you cannot see your hand before your face! A nice thing it would be for me to march the men off on such a night, for no good reason!’
‘General Skerrett, every minute that you delay puts that picket in worse danger! What have you to lose by moving the regiment forward in support?’
‘What have I to lose indeed! Why, you young fool, I should have half the men down with ague through exposing them unnecessarily! No, no, I know my business better than that!’ No argument, and Harry used many, had the power to make him alter his decision. The matter was still being discussed, on Harry’s part most intemperately, when the sound of trumpets penetrated the racket of the storm. Harry leaped to the window, and forced open the rickety casement. The wind whistled into the room, scattering the papers on the table, and making Skerrett swear.
‘Quiet! For God’s sake, listen!’ Harry said.
His straining ears caught the sound of the all too familiar cry of: ‘En avant! l’Empereur recompensera le premier qui s’avancera!’
The faint echo was drowned by the sudden staccato rattle of rifle-fire. Harry shut the window, and turned to snatch up his hat and boat-cloak. ‘Now, General, who is right?’ Skerrett was struggling in to his coat. He looked chagrined, and muttered something about hoping that it would be found to be nothing but an attack by skirmishers. Harry ran out, shouting for his horse, which he had directed West to keep ready saddled in the barn, and galloped recklessly through the darkness to where the 2nd Rifle battalion was bivouacked. The men had been lying by their arms, and no urging was necessary to hasten the falling-in. They advanced downhill, guided more by the sound of the firing by the bridge than by the faint fight creeping through the storm-wrack. It was obvious from the din that Cadoux was hotly engaged, and reports received confirmed Harry’s fears that the bridge was being assailed by overwhelming numbers. Clausel himself, with two brigades, had succeeded in crossing the river during the afternoon, before the fords became impassable, but his rear brigades, stranded on the western bank, had been groping about all night in search of the bridge of Vera. Cadoux had posted double sentries, but the noise of the storm had smothered the sound of the French column’s approach; and the sentries were fallen upon, and bayoneted, because the rain had damped their priming powder, and the rifles missed fire. But Cadoux was on the watch, and instead of passing unmolested across the bridge, the French met the determined charge of fifty Riflemen. Had the rest of the battalion been posted in the village, the French column must have been overcome, but though they made charge after charge, rallying in dwindling numbers about their Captain, the Riflemen could not stand against the waves of Frenchmen that were launched upon them. The battalion, making all possible speed to the bridge, was too far distant to arrive there in time to save its being lost. The Rifles reached it in the first grey dawnlight, and fell upon the French rear-guard, but the leading column was already on the eastern bank, and Cadoux’ company driven back, half his little force either killed or badly wounded.
When Harry galloped down to the bridge, there was light enough for him to see how desperately the picket had defended its position. The bridge was choked with dead, and many bodies, hurled into the river, were being tossed and churned in the swollen waters. Llewellyn, Cadoux’ lieutenant, was lying with a shattered jaw; he tried to call to Harry, and could not. Harry saw one of the Sergeants attempting with a broken leg to get upon his feet, and shouted to him: ‘Captain Cadoux? Where’s Captain Cadoux?’
‘Dead, dead!’
A groan burst from Harry. He had no time then to search for Cadoux’ body, but when the bridge was once more in British hands, and the corpses of the enemy were being pushed over the parapet into the river, he found it, lying where the fight had been most fierce. A bullet had pierced me brain; Cadoux must have died instantly; perhaps had felt nothing. His face was calm, with the shadow of his lazy smile on his lips. The little remnant of his company, bearing his body to the grave dug to receive it, wept as they shovelled the wet, cold earth on to him, for his men had loved him dearly.
‘If he hadn’t of fallen, we’d have held the bridge, so help us, we would!’ a wounded private said, dragging his cuff across his eyes.
But Harry’s grief was more acute, because he knew that Cadoux had trusted to being supported; and although it was not his fault that support had come too late, it seemed as though the faint, mocking smile on the dead lips reproached him for betraying a trust.
Chapter Eight. Colborne
In what terms Skerrett reported the disaster at the bridge of Vera to Alten, his officers did not know. It was thought that he had somehow managed to excuse himself, but to whatever extent he might be able to put himself right with Alten, no future deed of heroism or of skill would ever win for him the forgiveness of the Riflemen. The news that the town, though not the fortress, of San Sebastian had been carried, that the French had everywhere been repulsed, was received by the regiment in sullen silence. The most unhappy spirit prevailed in the brigade, the men of the 52nd openly sympathizing with the Riflemen, and even the Caçadores inveighing against the stupidity of the Brigadier. The death-roll, out of the already depleted company, was so appalling that no one spoke of it. Wherever Skerrett went, he met with glowering looks.