The Spanish Bride

7

Those who expected Lord Wellington to launch a final offensive early on the following morning were disappointed. The ammunition-park being upon Hill’s side of the river, it was some time before fresh supplies could be brought up. The French showed no disposition to sally forth from Toulouse, and the day was spent by the Allies in succouring their wounded, and exchanging views on the engagement. Lord Wellington, encountering Colonel Colborne during the morning, called out to him, with a wave of his hand towards the northern slopes of Mont Rave: ‘Well, Colborne, did you ever see anything like that? Was that like the rout at Ocafia?’

‘Oh, I don’t know!’ Colborne said, never willing to condemn the Spaniards. ‘They ran to the bridge, I believe.’

‘To the bridge, indeed! To the Pyrenees!’ said his lordship sardonically. ‘I daresay they are all back in Spain by this time!’

There was no more fighting at Toulouse. At dusk, Soult withdrew his army from the town by the Carcassonne road; and very early on the 12th April, a deputation of citizens arrived at Lord Wellington’s headquarters with an invitation to him to enter the city. Toulouse, it seemed, was delighted with the result of the battle.

His lordship rode in later in the day, accompanied by his Staff. All the inhabitants of the town wore the white cockade, and waved white flags; and as his lordship entered the Capitol, the great statue of Napoleon was thrown off the roof, and smashed into fragments on the cobble-stones.

At five o’clock in the afternoon, Colonel Ponsonby rode in from Bordeaux with definite news of Napoleon’s abdication; so his lordship, who had been finding the situation a little awkward, was able to rise to his feet during the dinner he gave that evening, and at last drink to the health of King Louis XVIII. There was quite a riot of cheering, and General Alava, carried away by the enthusiasm, leaped up and called for a toast in honour of Wellington: liberator of Portugal!-of Spain!-of France!-of Europe!

The cheers crashed again and again. His lordship, looking down his bony nose, bowed stiffly, and called for coffee.

The news of the abdication was conveyed at once to Soult by one of his lordship’s ADCs, but not until the arrival of envoys from Paris would the Marshal believe that it was true, and that there was nothing left to fight for. Everyone found that hard to believe. Pickets were still posted, but there were no more sudden calls to arms; no more cavalry vedettes riding in circles to signal the approach of an enemy column; no more forced marches over heartbreaking roads; no more bivouacking in sodden fields. It seemed incredible at first, and Colonel Arentschildt disbelieved in the armistice so profoundly that he was discovered going to bed in his clothes, just as though he expected a night-alarm. ‘Air-mistress or no air-mistress, by Gott, I sleeps in mein breeches!’ he swore.

The Light division was moved into the suburb of Toulouse, and cantoned there. Harry requisitioned for himself and a select party of his friends, a positively luxurious chateau, engaged a French cook, borrowed some money from the Quartermaster, and spent it all on what George Simmons, restored to his regiment, called riotous living. Theatres, balls, and fetes were the order of the day, and of course it was imperative to buy dresses and ornaments for Juana, besides new boots and sashes for himself, and a splendid collar with silver bells for Vitty.

There were so few duties to be performed that all the unattached officers busied themselves with falling in love with the girls of Toulouse.

‘But I,’ said Harry, guilty of sliding his arm round a seductive waist, ‘have a safeguard in my lovely young wife!’

‘You are shameless, and faithless, and altogether good-for-nothing, besides being a great liar!’ said his lovely young wife body. ‘It is quite plain to me that you like Frenchwomen better than Spaniards, and I am not at all angry, or hurt, only extremely sorry that you have such abominable taste!’

‘Not at all!’ said Harry. ‘I adore Spanish women: I always did!’

An indignant face was turned towards him. ‘Yes! You have loved hundreds besides me, I daresay!’

‘Oh, thousands!’ agreed Harry. ‘I nearly married one once. Ay de mi! She was a dear little creature, pretty as paint too, and with the gentlest ways!’

‘Enrique! It is not true!’ gasped Juana.

‘True as I stand here!’

‘When?’ she stammered. ‘Where?’

‘Oh, when I was at Monte Video, with Whitelocke! I was billeted in her house, and was devilish ill there, with fever.’

She drew a breath of relief. ‘All that time ago! You were nothing but a schoolboy! I don’t believe she was pretty at all, or had gentle ways!’

‘Oh, but she had! Eyes like a doe’s, too.’

‘If she had eyes like a doe’s she was probably foolish. She does not sound to me the sort of wife one would choose for a hard campaign.’

Harry made a kissing-face at her. ‘Not a bit, General Juana!’