The Adventures of Harry Revel

by Arthur Quiller-Couch

  CHAPTER XXII.

  ON THE GREATER TESSON.

  I turned for a look behind us and below. At the foot of the slope,where daylight had just begun to touch the dark shadows, stood a lineof mules--animals scarcely taller than the loads they carried, whicha crowd of Portuguese had already begun to unpack; and already, onthe plateau to the left of us half a dozen markers, with aquartermaster, were mapping out a camp for the 52nd. They went towork so deliberately, and took such careful measurements with theirlong tapes, that even a tyro could no longer mistake this for anordinary halt.

  I looked at Sergeant Henderson. Word had just been given to theranks to dismiss, and he returned my look with a humorous wink.

  "That'll do, eh?" He nodded towards the markers.

  "What does it mean?" I asked.

  "It means that we've done with cold baths, my son, and may leave 'emto the other divisions. What else it means you'll discover beforeyou sleep, maybe." He glanced up at the ridge, towards which at adozen different points our sentries were creeping--some of themescorted by knots of officers--and ducking low as they neared thesky-line.

  "May I go down and watch?" I asked again, pointing at the plateau;for I was young enough to find all operations of war amusing.

  "Ay--if you won't get in the way and trip over the pegs. I'll bedown there myself by 'n by with a fatigue party."

  I left him and strolled down the hill. The morning air was cold andthe turf, on this north side of the hill, frozen hard underfoot.But I felt neither hunger nor weariness. Here was war, and I was init!

  As I drew near the plateau a young officer came walking across itand, halting beside the quartermaster, held him in talk for a minute.He wore the collar of his great-coat turned up high about his ears:but I recognised him at once. It was Archibald Plinlimmon.

  Leaving the quartermaster, he strolled towards the edge of theplateau, hard by where I stood; halted again, and gazed down throughhis field-glasses upon the muleteers unloading beneath us; but by andby closed his glasses with a snap, faced round, and was aware of me.

  "Hallo!" said he, as I saluted: but his voice was listless and Ithought him looking wretchedly ill. "You're in Number 4 Company, areyou not? I heard that you'd joined."

  It struck me that at least he might have smiled and seemed glad towelcome me. He did indeed seem inclined to say something more, buthesitated, and fumbled as he slipped back the glasses into theircases.

  "Are they looking after you?" he asked.

  I told him of the sergeant. "But are you well, sir?" I made bold toask.

  He put the question aside. "Henderson's a good man," he said:"I wish we had him in our company. Ah," he broke off, "they won't belong pitching tents now!"

  He swung slowly on his heel and left me, at a pace almost as listlessas his voice. I felt hurt, rebuffed. To be sure he was an officernow, and I a small bugler: still, without compromising himself, hemight (I felt) have spoken more kindly.

  The fatigue party descended, the tents were brought up anddistributed, and at a silent signal sprang up and expanded like linesof mushrooms. The camp was formed; and the 52nd, in high goodhumour, opened their haversacks and fell to their breakfast.

  The meal over, the men lit their pipes and stretched themselveswithin the tents to make up arrears of sleep. It does not take a boylong to learn how to snatch a nap even on half-thawed turf packedwith moisture, and to manage it without claiming much room. We wereeleven in our tent, not counting the sergeant--who had gone off onsome errand which he did not explain, but which interested the mensufficiently to keep them awake for a while discussing it in lowvoices.

  I was at once too shy to ask questions and too sleepy to listenattentively. Here was war, I told myself, and I was in it.To be sure, I had not yet seen a shot fired, nor--save for theinfrequent boom of a gun beyond the hill--had I heard one: and yetall my ideas of war were undergoing a change. My uppermost sense--odd as it may seem--was one of infinite protection. It seemedimpossible that, with all these cheerful men about me, joking andswearing, I could come to much harm. It surprised me, after mymonths of yearning and weeks of tramping to reach this army, todiscover how little my presence was regarded even in my ownregiment. The men took me for granted, asking no questions.I might have strolled in upon them out of nowhere, with my hands inmy pockets. And the officers, it appeared, were equally incurious.Captain Lockhart, commanding the company, had scarcely flung me alook. The Colonel I had not seen: the Adjutant had dismissed me tothe devil: and Archibald Plinlimmon had treated me as I have told.All this indifference contained much comfort. I began to understandthe restfulness of a great army--a characteristic left clean out ofaccount in a boy's imaginings, who thinks of war as a series ofcombats and brilliant personal efforts at once far more glorious andmore terrifying than the reality.

  So I dreamed, secure, until awakened by my comrades' voices, liftedall together and all excitedly questioning Sergeant Henderson, whosehead and shoulders intruded through the flap-way.

  "Light Company and Number 3," he was announcing.

  "Blasted favouritism!" swore the man next to me. "Ain't there noother battalion company in the regiment, that Number 3's been pickedfor special twice now in four days?"

  "The Major's sweet on 'em, that's why," snarled another.

  "I ain't saying nothing against the Bobs. But what's the matter with_us_, I'd like to know? Why Number 3 again? Ugh, it makes me sick!"

  "Our fun'll come later, lads," said the sergeant cheerfully."When you reach _my_ years you'll have learnt to wait. Now, if you'dasked _me_, I'd have chosen the grenadiers: they're every bit as goodas a light company for this work."

  "Ay--grenadiers and Number 4. Why not? It's cruel hard."

  I asked in my ignorance what was happening. My neighbour turned tome with a grin. "Happening? Why, you've a-lost your chance of deathor victory, that's all. Here you are, company bugler for twenty-fourhours by the grace of Heaven and the sergeant's contrivance, andbecause everyone's forgot you and because, as it happens, fortwenty-four hours there's no bugling wanted. To-morrow you'll befound out and sent back to the band, where there's fivesupernumeraries waiting for your shoes. And the bandmaster'll cuffyour head every day for months before you get such another chance.Whereas, if No. 4 Company had been chosen for to-night, by to-morrowyou'd have blown the charge, and half the drummers in the regimentwould be blacking your eyes out of envy. See?"

  I did not, very clearly. "Is there to be an attack to-night?"I asked. "And shan't we even see it?"

  "Oh yes, we'll _see_ it fast enough. I reckon they won't go so faras to grudge us free seats for the show."

  Sure enough, at eight o'clock, we formed up by companies and weremarched over the dark crest of the hill and a short way down it inface of the lights of Ciudad Rodrigo. Right below us, on our left,shone a detached light. We ourselves showed none. The word forsilence in the ranks had been given at starting, and the captainsspoke in the lowest of voices as they drew their companies togetherin battalion. The light company having been withdrawn, we foundourselves on the extreme left flank, parted by a few yards only fromanother dark mass of men--the 43rd, as a tallish young buglerwhispered close beside me.

  "But how the hell do _you_ come here?" he went on, mistaking me inthe darkness, I suppose, for one of the youngsters in the band.

  "Shut your head, bugler," commanded a corporal close on my right.

  The men grounded arms and waited, their breath rising like a fog onthe frozen air. Their two tall ranks made a wall before us, shuttingout all view of the lights in the valley. The short or supernumeraryline of non-commissioned officers on our right stood motionless as arow of statues.

  Suddenly a rocket shot up from below, arched its trail of light, andexploded: and on the instant the whole valley answered and explodedbelow us. Between the detonations a cheer rang up the hillside andwas drowned in the noise of musketry, as under a crackle of laughter.Forgetting discipline, I crawled forward three pace
s and tried topeer between the legs of the rank in front, but was hauled back bythe ear and soundly cursed. The musketry crackled on withoutintermission. Away in Ciudad Rodrigo the walls seemed to open andvomit fireworks, shell after shell curving up and dropping into thevalley.

  "Glory be!" cried someone. "The old man's done it! The Johnnieswouldn't be shelling their own works."

  "Ah, be quiet with ye!" answered an Irish voice; "and the fun not tenminutes old!"

  "He's done it, I say! Whist now, see yonder--there's Elder goingdown with his Greasers! Heh? What did I tell you?"

  "Silence in the ranks!" commanded an officer, but his own voice shookwith excitement, and we read that he believed the news to be true.

  "Arrah now, sir," a man in the front rank wheedled softly, "it'sagainst flesh and blood you're ordering us."

  "Wait a moment, then. They've done it, I believe--but no cheering,mind!"

  What had been done was this. From the summit of the hill where westood we looked into Ciudad Rodrigo over a lesser hill, and betweenthese two (called the Great and the Lesser Tesson) the French hadfortified and palisaded a convent and built a lunette before it,protecting that side of the town where the ground was least rocky andcould be worked by the sappers. Upon the lunette before this Conventof San Francisco, Colborne (our Colonel of the 52nd) had now flunghimself, with two companies from each of the Light Divisionregiments, and carried it with a rush: and this feat, made possibleby our night march across the Agueda and the negligence of theFrench sentries, in its turn gave the signal for the siege to open.The place was scarcely carried before Elder had his Portuguese atwork spading a trench to the right of it and under what cover itswalls afforded from the artillery of the town, which ceased not allnight to pound away at the lost redoubt.

  The cacadores--seven hundred in all--toiled with a will under shotand shell; and when day broke a trench three feet deep and four widehad been opened and pushed for no less than six hundred yards towardsthe town! Next night the Portuguese were replaced by the FirstDivision, which had been marched over the Agueda. While the LightDivision cooked its food and enjoyed itself on Mount Tesson, theothers had to cross and recross the river between their work andtheir quarters; and I fear that we took their misfortunesphilosophically, feeling that our luck was deserved. To be sure Ihad been taken from my company and relegated to the band: but duringthe twelve days the siege lasted there was always a call for boys towatch the explosions from the town and warn the workmen when a shellwas coming: and, on the whole, since Ciudad Rodrigo contained plentyof ammunition and did not spare it, I enjoyed myself amazingly.

  On the night of the 9th, while the First Division dug at thetrenches, our men helped with the building of three counter-batteriesa little ahead of the convent; and, because the French guns began tomake our hill uncomfortable, we shifted camp and laid a shallowtrench from it, along which we could steal to work under fair cover.On the 10th the Fourth Division took over the siege trenches, and onthe 11th the Third Division relieved: on the 12th came our turn.

  The day breaking with a thick fog, Lord Wellington determined toprofit by it and hurry on the digging, which the bitter frost wasnow miserably impeding. To him, or to someone, it occurred thatby scooping pits in front of the trenches our riflemen (the 95th)might give ease to the diggers by picking off the enemy's gunners.And with this object we were hurried down in force to take up thework as the Third Division dropped it.

  Now I knew the North Wilts to belong to this Division, and it hadoccurred to me on the way down that as likely as not I might runacross Leicester. And keeping a sharp look-out as his regiment filedforth from the trench, I spied him before he caught sight of me.He recognised me at once; but instead of passing with a scowl (as Ihad expected) he treated me to a grin as nearly humorous as hissallow face allowed, and came to a halt.

  "D'ye know who's in there?" he asked, jerking his thumb back towardsCiudad Rodrigo.

  "No, sir," I answered, scarcely grasping the question, but quaking asthis man always made me quake.

  "Thought you mightn't. Well then, our friend is in there."

  "Our friend?" I echoed. "Who?"

  "Whitmore." His grin became ferocious now. "We have him, now--havehim sure enough, this time--eh?"

  But how on earth could Mr. Whitmore have come in Ciudad Rodrigo?Leicester read the question in my eyes, and answered it, pushing hisface close to mine in the fog.

  "He's a deserter. If the river don't come down in flood, we'll havehim sure enough. And it won't, you mark my words! Two or three daysof flood would let up Marmont upon us and spoil everything. But thisweather's going to hold, and--it's a bad death for deserters," hewound up, with a snarling laugh.

  "Mr. Whitmore a deserter? But how?"

  "Ah, you've come to the right man to ask. I bear you no grudge, boy;and as for Plinlimmon--how's _he_ doing, by the way?"

  "I've scarcely seen him since I joined. He passed you just now,didn't he?"

  "Ay, I saw him. For a man in luck's way he carries a queer sort offace. What's wrong with him?"

  "Nothing wrong that I know of. The men reckon him a good officer,too."

  "Well, I'll be even with Master Archibald yet. You hear? But aboutWhitmore now--I caught up with him in Lisbon. You see, he'd got thismoney off the Jew and he counted on another pocketful from thatBelcher woman. He always was a devil to get around women, 'speciallythe old ones. I don't know if you guessed it, that night, but he'dpersuaded the old fool to run off and marry him. Yes, and meantimehe'd taken his passage in one of the Falmouth packets, meaning togive her the slip--and give me the slip too--as soon as he'd laidhands on her purse. Well, you headed him off that little plan; andto save his skin, as you know, he rounded on me. Now what puzzles meis, how you let him slip?"

  I did not answer this.

  "The Belcher woman had a hand in it, I'll lay odds. Never mind--don't you answer if you'd rather not. But when I caught up with him,he didn't escape _me_: that's to say, he won't: and it'll be a sightworse for him than if he hadn't tried."

  He paused again, and laughed to himself silently--a laugh unhealthyto watch.

  "I came on him in Lisbon streets," he went on; "came on him frombehind and put a hand on his shoulder. He's an almighty coward--that's his secret--and the way he jumped did me good. 'Recruit forthe North Wilts,' said I. He turned and his knees caved under him.'Wha--what do you mean by that?' says he"--and here Leicesterburlesqued the poor cold stammering knave to the life--"'Oh, for theLord's sake, Leicester, have mercy on me!' 'You'll see the kind ofmercy you're going to get,' says I; 'but meantime you've a choicebetween hanging and coming along to join the North Wilts.' 'But whyshould I join the North Wilts?' he asked. 'Well, to begin with,' Isaid, 'you're a dreadful coward, and there you'll have some chance tofeel what it's really like. And what's more,' I said, 'I'll takecare you're in my company, and I'm going to live beside you and giveyou hell. I'm going to eat beside you, sleep beside you, marchbeside you: and when things grow hot, and your lilywhite soul beginsto shiver, I'll be close to you still--but _behind_ you, my daisy!'So I promised him, and, being a coward, he chose it. I tell you Ikept my word too: it's lucky for you, boy, that I'm a connoisseur inmy grudges. But Whitmore--he'd betrayed me, you see. Often andoften I had him alone and crying! and I promised myself to be behindhim on just such a job as we're in for--a night assault: oh, he'dhave enjoyed that! But he couldn't stand it. At Celorico he gave methe slip and deserted: and now he's in Ciudad Rodrigo, yonder, andthe trap's closing, and--what's he feeling like, think you? Eh?I know him: it'll get worse and worse for him till the end, and--it'sa bad death for deserters."

  He paused, panting with hate and coughing the fog out of his lungs.I shrank away against the wall of the trench.

  "When he's done with, I won't say but what I'll turn my attention toyou--or to Plinlimmon. You know what Plinlimmon was after--thatmorning--on the roof? He was there to steal."

  He eyed me.

  "Yes," sa
id I with sudden courage, "he was there to steal. And youwere waiting below, to share profits."

  He fell back a pace, still eyeing me.

  "I'll have to find another way with you than with Whitmore--that'sevident," he said with a short laugh, and was gone.