Lord Wellington, deciding that no immediate danger threatened Madrid, left the city on the last day of the month, instructing Hill, as soon as he could be assured of Soult’s departure for the east, to march on the capital, and to take over the command of the troops left there. When he should have settled accounts with the French Army of Portugal, which was lifting up its head again, under Clausel, his lordship meant to return to Madrid, to confront the combined forces of Joseph, Suchet, and Soult.
Meanwhile, the divisions left at Madrid continued to amuse themselves as well as they were able. Lack of money was, as always, the chief bar to enjoyment, but there were ways, if one was an old campaigner, of getting over this difficulty. One enterprising gentleman, instead of indulging in a little honest plunder, or some legitimate pilfering, took under his protection a singularly ill-favoured widow who owned, in addition to a large wart on her nose, quite a tidy little nest-egg. But such shifts as these were not much approved of in the ranks. ‘You’d marry a midden for muck, you would!’ a frank-spoken friend told the complacent bridegroom. The officers, most of them deep in the toils of moneylenders, contrived to go on indulging in all the usual amusements offered by a capital city. The Smiths, neither being handicapped by an imperfect knowledge of the language, made a number of friends, and began to lead, Harry said, quite a respectable and domestic existence.
‘If by respectable you mean that you’ve scraped up an acquaintance with a probably disreputable priest,’ drawled James Stewart, ‘and if by domestic you mean that your scoundrelly servant always manages to steal a hen or a sucking-pig for your dinner-’ ‘Ingrato!’ cried Juana. ‘You ate it! And as for Don Pedro, he is a very good man, very well educated, very intelligent, and not at all disreputable. Enrique likes him!’ ‘Your precious Enrique likes him because he’s a good shot, and as mad on sport as he is himself. Don’t tell me he cares a fig for his intelligence, because I’ll swear he doesn’t know anything about it!’
‘If you were not so stupid that you cannot speak Spanish, and only very bad French, you would know that Enrique has very interesting talks, very clever talks, with the Vicar,” said Juana, bristling in defence of Harry.
But Stewart only laughed, and shook his head, and nothing would make him admit the domestic nature of the Smith’s life. He said that the only sign of domesticity he had ever been able to perceive was Juana throwing cooking-pots at Harry’s head, a statement which made Juana quite speechless with indignation, but drew a shout of laughter from Harry. ‘But it is not true!’ stammered Juana. ‘Enrique! Tell him!’
‘It’s no use, queridissima: he knows you for the wiry, violent, ill-tempered little devil that you are!’
‘I am not! Oh, I am not!’
‘Who boxed my ears for spilling ink on the table? Who sulked for five hours because I wouldn’t take her to a bullfight? Who-’
‘If you say one word more-but one, comprende!-I will run away, and never come back!’ Juana said, with very bright eyes, and very red cheeks.
She spoke in her own tongue, and he answered her in the same. ‘I’m not afraid of that. You’re a loving, always-faithful little varmint, hija!’
Her expression softened; she whispered: ‘I do love you, yes, and I hate you, too!’
4
When Sir Rowland Hill’s force arrived in Madrid, George Simmons saw his brother Maud again, a doubtful pleasure, since Maud, an improvident young gentleman, was a great trial to his elder brother. Poor George had been obliged to slide away from his merrymaking friends, for he had received very distressing tidings from Joe, still sick in Salamanca, and had sent him his last gold piece stuck under the seal of his letter. Very unfortunately, he had been sitting for his likeness, which he had had taken for his sister Ann, so that he found himself, after sending off the gold coin to Joe, all to pieces.
Others were in much the same predicament, but by hook or by crook most men contrived, by the sale of still more of their belongings, to keep their pockets sufficiently lined to enable them at least to amuse themselves on the Prado each evening.
The divisions left to guard Madrid remained there until the end of October. The news that came from the north was not good, and it soon became apparent that Lord Wellington was not going to return with the rest of the army to Madrid after all. A whisper of retreat began to circulate through the ranks. His lordship, besieging Burgos with an insufficient battering-train, was making no headway; and, meanwhile, the forces of King Joseph, Suchet, and Soult had effected a junction, and were marching on the capital. The autumn rains, which Wellington had counted upon to make the passage of the Tagus an awkward business, were late in falling upon New Castile; the Tagus, General Hill thought, was still perfectly practicable. There was a good deal of coming and going between his headquarters and Wellington’s throughout October, and on the 23rd of the month, the Light division received unexpected orders to be at the alarm-posts at six o’clock in the evening. ‘Where’s Harry? Where are we off to? What’s the meaning of it?’ asked more than one of Harry’s friends, finding time to call at his quarters.
Juana only knew that the brigade was being moved to Alcala de Henares, north-east of Madrid. George Simmons said that Alcala was the birthplace of Cervantes, but Jack Molloy, who had made arrangements to attend a ball at the Calle de Banos, said that that made it no better.
Nobody wanted to leave the immediate neighbourhood of Madrid, but it was thought, on arrival there, that Alcala was a very good sort of a town, very clean, and with an air of antiquity lacking in the capital. But why the division had been moved few people knew. The truth was that Hill was in an uncomfortable position, with the army of King Joseph closing in on Madrid, the Tagus perfectly fordable, and General Ballasteros, who should have joined forces with him, nowhere to be seen. In point of fact, Ballasteros, instead of keeping Soult occupied, had got himself arrested by the Cortes, at Granada, as the result of seizing the moment of Wellington’s being made Generalissimo of the Spanish Armies, to publish a manifesto, violently objecting to the appointment; and to attempt a coup d’etat with the purpose of making himself supreme ruler of Spain.
The brigade spent four days in Alcala. On the 27th October, just, complained Kincaid, as everyone was beginning to feel at home, orders came for the division to move towards the right, to Arganda.
‘Here we go round the mulberry bush!’ said Jack Molloy. ‘We shall find ourselves back at Getafe before we know where we are.’
‘Don’t raise your hopes too high,’ recommended Captain Leach. ‘This looks to me like forming a battle-front. Well, I’m glad old Daddy Hill means to make a push to defend Madrid.’
The division marched south, crossing the Henares, and reaching Arganda at dusk. Arganda was found to be quite a small place, but no one cared a penny for that, since it was famous for the excellence of its wines. Upon being told to fall out, the men made haste to put the reputation of the town to the test; and Vandeleur, who was in temporary command of the whole division, General Allen’s headquarters still being fixed at Alcala, procured several bottles of something very special, and proceeded to make a night of it. By ten o’clock, the division had reached a state of brief, riotous happiness. An orderly arrived at the Smith’s quarters with an urgent message from Vandeleur for Harry to go at once to headquarters; and Harry, who had been sitting before a snug fire, with Juana on his knee, cursed, and said ‘What in thunder does the old man want now, I wonder?’ He went off to the house he had taken for the General. Vandeleur was seated at a table with an impressive array of dead men before him. When Harry walked in, he hailed him in a loud, cheerful voice. ‘Hello, is that you, Harry? That’s right! Go and order the assembly to sound, my boy.’