By the time the brigade was set in motion, Juana’s mule was ready for her, and it only remained to carry her down, and set her on its back. She stoutly denied feeling any pain, but received a great deal of sympathy from everyone but Harry. One or two tender-hearted officers were quite indignant with him for the bracing tone he took, but Harry, whose heart ached for every wince Juana gave, never let her see how much he pitied her. Her gallant spirit responded to the ruthless demands he made upon it; she was not in the least resentful, but sat up straight in her cushioned lady’s saddle, desperately trying to live up to his expectations.
She bore the march well, following the column with the doctors and the baggage-wagons. When she arrived at the village where the brigade headquarters were established, there was no chance for Harry to lift her down from the mule’s back. Laughing, he found himself elbowed out of the way, while an eager guard of honour turned her dismounting into quite a ceremony. The doctor commanded; cloaks were spread on the ground for her reception; half-a-dozen officers claimed the privilege of lifting her down, and there was such a confused babble of advice and instruction, with sharp adjurations to, ‘Take care, now!’ or to ‘Mind the leg!’ that the villagers gathered round to stare in surprise at such doings. She was riding the mare again before the week was out, very lame, but determined no longer to plod along in the rear, with only the doctor for company. ‘My place is with the column,’ she said, with the sauciest tilt of her chin; and when she joined them again, the soldiers cheered her, and Harry had to rap out the sharpest of commands to prevent her putting the mare through all her paces. Juana was always obedient on the march. She saluted, and said: ‘Yes, sir!’ in such an exact mimicry of Harry’s subalterns that a roar of laughter went up, and Harry shook his fist at her.
As the column wound northward, they left behind them the sterile plains, and entered upon a countryside rich with already yellowing corn, and thick vineyards. There were no dykes or hedges to separate one man’s land from another’s, and the corn stretched in an unbroken shimmering sea as far as the eye could reach.
The chief difficulty to be overcome was the scarcity of wood for firing. There were hardly any trees in the district, and in the end the quartermasters were obliged to pull down empty houses in the villages and to use the timbers for camp-fires.
The army was in touch with King Joseph’s forces, but the infantry had not yet been engaged. Very few men knew why the French continued to fall back, and only Staff-officers had any appreciation of the strategy underlying the march of Lord Wellington’s three columns. The troops knew only that they were being hustled in a wide, north-westerly sweep, with the presumable object of turning King Joseph’s right. That Lord Wellington, weeks before, had made plans to transfer his base from Lisbon to Biscay, abandoning his long, difficult communication-lines with the Portuguese coast, was his lordship’s own secret. No one, least of all the harassed French commanders, connected the presence of a British supply fleet at Corunna with these carefully guarded plans. The ships were accounted for by the necessity of keeping the Spanish army of Galicia supplied with arms and stores. But from his headquarters at Melgar on the 10th June, his lordship sent off a dispatch to an officer in charge of the British depots in Galicia, informing him for the first time of the existence of these ships. ‘I shall be much obliged,’ wrote his lordship, ‘if you will request any officer of the navy who may be at Corunna, when you receive this letter, to take under his convey all the vessels loaded as above mentioned and to proceed with them to Santander. If he should find Santander occupied by the enemy,’ continued his lordship coolly, ‘I beg him to remain off the port till the operations of this army have obliged the enemy to abandon it.’ So his lordship, in spite of looking sometimes extremely anxious, as was natural in a General undertaking an advance of such magnitude, was in a mood of calm confidence. His army was in the best of health; with Murray as QMG every detail of the complicated triple march was exactly arranged; the supplies were keeping well-up with the columns; Clausel was still hunting guerrilleros in Navarre; and King Joseph’s force was known to be hampered by the accompanying train of refugees (all with their carriages and impedimenta), civil administrators, ministers, his Majesty’s private baggage, and a long line of treasure-carts.
The British officers thought that King Joseph and Marshal Jourdan would make a stand on the fine of the Pisuerga river, but again the French fell back, this time on Burgos. King Joseph, very much in the dark as to his adversary’s intentions, compelled by necessity (and the most stringent orders from his autocratic brother and mentor) to retain the great road to France that ran through Burgos and Vittoria, was nervous of the Pisuerga position, and found it, moreover, impossible to obtain food for his army there.
When it was realized in the Allied ranks that Burgos must be their objective, the prospect of having to engage upon a protracted siege damped everyone’s spirits. The Light Bobs had no doubt that they were destined to be employed on this labour. They would take the town, of course: no question about that; but they looked forward to it with gloomy feelings. Everyone hated siege-work; and everyone would rather fight in half-a-dozen open battles than take part in one storm of a fortified city. By all accounts, Burgos would be as hard a nut to crack as Badajos had been, and no one could think of that hellish business without hoping that he would never again be asked to go through such a hideous night. When, on the 12th June, the line of march took an abrupt turn eastwards, and the troops knew themselves to be marching on Burgos, there was less than the usual amount of cheerful talk in the ranks. Pessimists prophesied a month’s trench-work under gun-fire, and when the division bivouacked that night at Hornilla, there was a faint atmosphere of depression over the camp.
But very early next morning the men were startled by the echoes of a terrific explosion. It was so loud that it brought many to their feet and it was followed at intervals of a minute or two by three more. No one knew what had caused them, although the wildest hopes burned in nearly every breast. It was said that Wellington had ridden off with the various divisional commanders to reconnoitre; he was seen returning a few hours later; and the news that Marshal Jourdan had evacuated Burgos, blowing up the Castle, and was in retreat towards the Ebro, spread quickly through the camp.
Shakos were flung up, and the air made loud with hurrahs. Orders to break camp and march towards the Ebro arrived, and were hailed by renewed cheers. Canteens were packed, fires stamped out, tents loaded on to the mules, and the division marched north-eastward in the best of good spirits.
Chapter Six. Vittoria
The columns, leaving behind them at last the vast Tierra de Campos, with its miles of unbroken cornfields, plunged into a maze of rocks and towering hills; dropped from the mountains into the valley of the Upper Ebro; and thought themselves come suddenly upon the Promised Land. Giant-cork trees gave shade from the sun’s glare; fruit and flowers grew everywhere. From pretty little villages girls trooped out with garlands to throw over the heads of los colorados. They danced before them on the dusty road, and offered great baskets spilling with cherries and pears. The soldiers, disheartened by the waste of rocks amongst which they had forced a difficult way, revived at once; and as they crossed the Ebro the regimental bands struck up The Downfall of Paris.