The French retreat to the Tonnes, covered by Percy’s and Foy’s unbroken troops, closely resembled a rout. Hundreds of soldiers were escaping into the protection of the thick woods on the southern side of the plateau; the plateau itself was strewn with dead men and horses; smoke still hung heavily where the artillery-fire had been hottest; and a litter of discarded accoutrements gave an air of confusion to the whole scene.
Juana heard someone on the Quartermaster-General’s Staff say that the remnant of the French army, which was making for the fords across the river, would be caught by the Spanish troops left at Alba.
The sun was sinking, and the chill night wind made Juana glad of her big cloak. West pitched her little tent on the battlefield, in the middle of some green wheat. He cut sheaves of it to make a bed for her, since he thought there was little chance of her being able to rejoin the brigade that night. He had a pair of lanterns with him, and by the light of these Juana ate a supper of sandwiches, washed down with some of the wine of Rueda. When she lay down presently on her bed of wheat, she had to hold her horse. The moon rose and lit the field with a cold silver light, but it could no more prevent Juana’s dropping asleep than the confused noises of the army bivouacking for the night, or the crackle and glow of the camp-fires. She had spent an exhausting day; she was not yet fifteen; and not even the thought of Mrs Dalbiac, whom she had seen again, riding towards the scene of Le Marchant’s magnificent charge, and looking strangely haggard, had the power to keep her awake. Mrs Dalbiac had seemed scarcely to recognize her; she had said over and over again: ‘I must find my husband. You must let me find my husband!’ All Juana’s warm young heart had gone out to her; she could picture herself in just such distress, searching for Harry’s body amongst the slain; but there was nothing she could do to help Mrs Dalbiac; and meanwhile Harry was safe, and West was unwrapping some thick sandwiches, and she was very hungry. The bed of wheat, though it scratched her cheek a little, was wonderfully comfortable. She curled herself up with Harry’s boat-cloak spread over her, and dropped into a deep dreamless sleep, which lasted until a persistent tugging at the wheat roused her. She opened drowsy eyes upon a moon like a silver plate, and found Tiny’s soft muzzle close to her ear. Another tug made her realize what was happening. She sat up, waking West by breaking into peals of laughter. ‘Oh, oh, Tiny has eaten all my lovely bed!’
Chapter Four. Madrid
Juana was in Harry’s arms again by noon on the following day. Like the rest of the army, he was torn between jubilation and extreme irritation, this last being occasioned by the miscarriage of the pursuit of the broken French army through the night. The mob of fugitives crowding through the forest to the river should never have been allowed to get away, and indeed Marmont’s entire force must have been shattered beyond hope of re-forming had not the Spanish General, Carlos de Espana, taken it upon himself on the morning of the battle to withdraw the force he had been ordered to leave at Alba to guard the fords across the Tormes. He thought, of course, that he was doing quite the right thing, and when a tentative feeler, thrown out by him, disclosed the fact that Lord Wellington most decidedly desired the Spanish troops to remain at Alba, he had not cared to confess that they had already been withdrawn. It was one thing to act on one’s own initiative, but quite another, when it came to the point, to tell his lordship one had done so. In fact, it proved to be quite impossible, as anyone having the slightest knowledge of his lordship’s character must surely realize. So the French rout streamed across the Tonnes all through the night, without encountering any opposition; and the pursuing force, instead of finding them attempting the fords of Huerta, discovered that they had retreated by way of Alba de Tonnes instead. The Light division was continuing the pursuit, but Harry was not going with the brigade. Old Dr Burke had cursed him for a feckless madman, and had told him to take himself, and his boils, and his wife off to Salamanca, on sick-leave. This command having been endorsed by General Vandeleur, there was nothing for Harry to do but to hand over his duties to Brother Tom, dispatch his batman to disentangle his hounds and his portmanteau from the baggage-tram, snatch Juana up in his arms, singing out: ‘We’re going to have a honeymoon, alma mia de mi corazon,’ and ride off with her to Salamanca. That they had no money did not worry either of them. If the worst came to the worst, they could live on their rations. ‘A buen hambre no hay pan duro!’ said Juana gaily. Salamanca was crowded with sick and wounded, but the Smiths found themselves a billet in the house of a tenderhearted lady who mothered Juana, supplemented the surgeon’s treatment for Harry’s boils with remedies of her own, and eked out the army rations with coffee, and other such luxuries. Juana, detecting at the outset the maternal gleam in the lady’s eye, pandered to her shamelessly; accepted all the ointments and drenches she produced for Harry; and wheedled fresh eggs and pats of butter out of her by describing in the most harrowing style the awful privations of life in the British army. If that failed, a highly coloured account of her own adventures at Badajos could always be relied upon to conjure a few cakes or a freshly baked loaf out of the good lady. Harry swore that during the fortnight they spent in Salamanca Juana ruthlessly slew all her family in the siege of Badajos. ‘I never knew you had so many aunts and uncles and cousins!’ he declared. ‘Well, I haven’t,’ said Juana.
‘Oh, you little varmint, how can you say so? There was your uncle Tomas, who was shot by the French; and your uncle Juan, who died of starvation; and your heroic cousin, Maria, who flung herself on a soldier’s bayonet rather than lose her precious virginity-very difficult thing to do, that: she must have jumped out of the window on to the bayonet, I think; and your sainted aunt from the convent, who-’
‘Basta!’ said Juana. ‘You know very well I have no aunt in any convent, and as for my uncle Tomas, he died before I was born, and of course
you could throw yourself on a bayonet, if it was pointed at you, estupido!’ ‘Speaking for myself, I never point bayonets at girls I mean to rape,’ said Harry. ‘Pechero! malvado!’ Juana cried, pummelling him, but bubbling over with laughter. Harry grabbed at her wrists. ‘Peace, vixen! Now, speak the truth! Did you ever have a Cousin Maria, or an Uncle Juan?’
‘Yes, certainly I have both, but they live a long way from Badajos, and I do not think I shall ever see them again, so what does it matter if I tell a few little lies about them?’ ‘Little lies!’ scoffed Harry. ‘You’re an unprincipled female, hija.’ He let go her wrists, but held one of her hands lightly in his. ‘Tell me, mi pobrecita, do you miss them, that family of yours?”
‘Not very much,’ confessed Juana. ‘Only when I think that I have now no one but you, and then perhaps I do, a little.’
‘You don’t regret our marriage?’
‘Only when you are unkind to me, and unfaithful,’ said Juana mournfully. ‘You looked at the landlady’s niece in a very unfaithful way,’ said Juana, gloomily shaking her head.
‘I’ve a good mind to wring your neck!’
‘No, don’t. Tell me how we can buy a pair of socks, for that you must have.’ ‘I’ll be hanged if I know! I must see if I can borrow a crusado novo from someone.” ‘A crusado novo! It is not enough!”
‘It’s all I’m likely to get.’
The luck, however, was with him, for he fell in with General Cole’s ADO, who, upon hearing of the straits to which he was reduced, promptly lent him a dollar from the forty which had been doled out to him for the support of his General and his Staff. He thought that since Cole was in hospital, together with the other General-officers who had been wounded in the battle, he would scarcely miss it.