The Spanish Bride

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.

‘It can’t be very pleasant to be held accountable for sacrificing the lives of one’s men,’ said tender-hearted Fane.

‘Let him resign his command then!’ was all Harry had to say.

He did resign it. Officially, he went home on sick leave, but those who knew him best said that he had come into a fortune on the death of his father, and was off to enjoy it Whatever was the real reason behind his retirement, he had left the Pyrenees before the dead men choking the Bidassoa had been washed away.

The Rifles, who had cast the mounds of dead Frenchmen into the river, expecting the fast waters to bear them away, had ample time to regret their impetuosity. For many days the corpses lingered, setting up the most appalling stench. Trout were seen feeding upon them (Captain Leach was not fishing these days, thank you); and a young subaltern from another division, much farther down the river, had experienced a horrid shock when, as he knelt down to drink he had seen a blackened arm, with some of the nails rotted away from the finger-tips, sticking up out of the water.

Everything, in fact, was wrong with Skerrett’s brigade, even the weather, which had begun to get colder, with incessant fogs and rain-storms. The prospect, apparently an unending one, of remaining inactive on Santa Barbara disgusted everyone almost as much as the thought of being led into battle by Skerrett alarmed them. But Skerrett departed, and while pessimists were betting on the chances of another incompetent General’s being appointed to fill his place, the news that Colonel Colborne was to assume temporary command of the brigade sent the spirits of the men soaring upwards.

No one was more delighted than Harry. He flung his hat in the air when he heard the tidings, and shouted ‘Hurrah!’ Quite a number of people wondered how he would go on with Colborne, for no two men could have been more unlike, the one quiet and undemonstrative, rather reserved in manner; the other hot-natured, emotional, and impulsive to a fault. But no one need have worried. From the moment of Colborne’s taking up his command, he had Harry’s wholehearted allegiance.

‘Well, and so I have you for my Brigade-Major after all, Smith,’ said Colborne, half-smiling. ‘Yes, and thank God for it!’ replied Harry.

To the day of his death, Harry maintained that all his knowledge of outpost-work he learned from John Colborne. Certainly, no man knew the duty of light troops better than this pupil of Moore. During the month the division remained in bivouac on Santa Barbara, Harry seemed to be always in the saddle, conning every yard of the ground in their front. He learned how and where to post pickets to the best advantage; how to strengthen every post by throwing up obstacles to prevent night-rushes; how to save men undue fatigue; and how to anticipate the enemy’s intentions. Colborne, who already knew him for a tireless Brigade-Major, found him an apt pupil, laughed at his extravagances, and liked him very much. He liked Juana too, and got on with her even better than Vandeleur had done, since he spoke Spanish as fluently as Harry. Whatever he thought of women in camp, he never gave the least sign of wishing Juana otherwhere, but was always glad to see her in his quarters, taking it for granted that if Harry dined with him she would too. He was a much younger man than Vandeleur, only thirty-five, in fact, and consequently rather shy of Juana at first. But no one could be shy of Juana for long, and by the time she had mended a tear in his jacket, darned his socks, sewn several missing buttons on to his shirts, and scolded him for allowing MacCurrie, his servant, to neglect him, he had grown so accustomed to her presence that she seemed to him quite like a young sister. ‘Dear Colborne,’ she called him, which made him smile,

‘Colonel Colborne, you insubordinate varmint!” said Harry. ‘Coronel Colborne,’ said Juana obediently.

‘If I were you, I would not pay too much attention to Smith,’ interposed Colborne. ‘I don’

t think I like Coronel Colborne, and you will never get your tongue round Colonel.’ The news of the breaking of the Armistice of Plasswitz reached Wellington on the 3rd September, with rumours of the battle at Dresden, but the siege of the fortress of San Sebastian dragged on for another week. A corps of Sappers and Miners had arrived in the Pyrenees, but they had come too late to be of much assistance. A bad business, San Sebastian: just like every other siege his lordship had engaged on. As for the taking of the town, best draw a veil over that, said those who had seen something of the sack. The fortress surrendered at last on the 8th September, and the army began to talk hopefully of an advance. It was already obvious that there were to be no regular winter-quarters this year, and everyone except Lord Wellington was itching to set foot on French territory. His lordship was not quite so anxious to lead his mixed force into the enemy’s country. It was one thing for them to plunder in Spain; quite another for them to do so amongst a hostile population. Already the Judge Advocate had a case to try of a soldier who, arrested for rape at Urdug, pleaded in extenuation of his crime that he had thought himself in France, and that there it was all regular. This kind of thing did not augur well for the army’s future behaviour; but far more harassing than the British soldiers’ probable misdemeanours was the prospect of the Spaniards revenging themselves upon the French as soon as they crossed the frontier. There was little doubt that they would conduct themselves damnably, thought his lordship; more especially since their supply columns were so badly organized that the greater part of their forces were half-starved, and ragged.

His lordship was receiving information out of France which he mistrusted. He was assured that Napoleon had become very unpopular in the south; that there was a strong Royalist party there; that the country people would welcome the advance of the British. ‘H’m! I daresay,’ said his lordship, unimpressed.

But by the middle of the month, a full report of the battle at Külm had reached him, and he began at last to prepare for the advance.

The French, meanwhile, were working like swarms of ants to render their positions more secure. Colborne and Harry used to ride out to watch them building their redoubts and entrenchments. There were two heights in front of Vera, called La Grande Rhune, and La Petite Rhune, which were separated one from the other by a narrow gorge through which the Nivelle flowed. La Grande Rhune, its steep slopes studded with gorse bushes and rocky outcrops, made the Scots remember their Highlands. Secondary heights, like tongues of land, formed a part of the great mass; two of them, called the Bayonette and the Commissari, loomed above Vera, and were extensively protected by entrenchments and forts.

The advance across the Bidassoa was held up for longer than had been expected by the state of the fords on the lower river, which, until October, were still too deep to allow Graham’s force, now commanded by Sir John Hope, to pass; but on the 6th October, the impatiently awaited orders were brought to the Light division by Colonel Barnard, from headquarters. There was much dancing and singing that night, for the division, having come to regard itself as a superb fighting unit, was never quite happy unless on the move. That the task allotted to Colborne’s brigade looked, to say the least of it, to be extremely unpromising, worried no one. Colborne himself had reconnoitred the French position, and the brigade had no doubt that under his leadership they would do all that was expected of them. The Rifles were happy, because theirs was to be the honour of opening the attack; and the men of the 52nd were happy because under cover of the skirmishing screen of Rifles they were going to storm the redoubt on one of the three hill-tongues above Vera. The attack by the Light division, with Lowry Cole’s 4th division in reserve, was to be made in two columns. Kempt’s brigade, striking to the east, after driving in the outposts in the Pass of Vera, was going to outflank the Rhune behind it; while Colborne, attacking the trenches above the town on the Bayonette and the Commissari heights, would turn the hill from the south-west. Since the Bayonette was a steep, narrow spur, blocked by three successive forts, it was plain that Colborne’s brigade had been given the harder task to accomplish. Colborne would not allow the pickets to be changed at daybreak, but ordered them to move on, so that the whole brigade was in Vera town before the French were aware of the impending attack.

The advance began a little after seven in the morning, Colville’s division distracting the enemy by noisy demonstrations at Urdax, away to the east; but the Light division, which was the most forward unit of all, did not come into action until the head of Cole’s column appeared, at about two in the afternoon.

‘Now, Smith, you see the heights above us?’ said Colborne. ‘Yes, and I wish we were there!’ replied Harry.

Colborne laughed. ‘Well, when we are, and if you are not knocked over, you shall be a Brevet-Major, if my recommendation has anything to do with it.”