Very soon, the last of the daylight was gone and the various companies of the enemy could be located by the grouping of their campfires; patches of twinkling lights stretching down the valley, like gatherings of fireflies on a summer evening. Numerous patches of snow, left unmelted by the rain, bore testimony to the fact that it was no longer summer. Reflections of the campfires set many a glow in these scattered white drifts, giving a kind of ethereal beauty to the dark hills and darker trees, under a clearing and chillier sky; with the first early evening stars complementing the glow from hundreds of flickering fires.
As it became darker they became bolder, picking up armfuls of light twigs, as if they were on a foraging expedition, they moved among the different units unchallenged, checking each encampment to discover whether it was infantry, cavalry or whatever.
If in any of the camps there was any evidence of extra celebrations to celebrate the birth of Christ, it was not obvious from where they watched, in the darkness beyond the light thrown by the fires. The soldiers were still active; perhaps somewhat slower than usual. Not unexpected this, after twelve hours wading through freezing mud, but veterans of campaigns the length and breadth of Europe, over the years would have endured much worse conditions than these.
They worked their way steadily down the valley until Welbeloved suddenly gripped MacKay’s arm and pointed. Two batteries of field guns were drawn up in lines, with carriages, tenders and wagons. They had pulled off the road onto higher ground overlooking the river. The officer in command must have been an experienced campaigner. The position could only be attacked in strength from two sides; the slope up which the guns had been hauled, and a steeper slope to the right, that would have been accessible to infantry, but would have created great difficulties for horse soldiers.
Crouching, he whispered in MacKay’s ear. “I reckon we’re going to have to make a meal of this, one little piece at a time. There are only the two batteries of guns, but they can be as valuable as two regiments of infantry. Let’s have a look and see what mischief we can make with these. Yew circle round to the right and I’ll go left. Meet back here by that tall pine and we’ll compare notes.” The tall Scot growled softly. “Aye aye sir. Take care!” then he vanished quickly into the darkness.
Welbeloved moved steadily and silently along the steep slope between the river and the lip of the plateau, where the guns and limbers were parked. The slope was almost vertical in parts, and in the dark the going was treacherous. Even attackers as skilful as the Hornets would never reach the top here without making enough noise to alert the sleepiest of sentries.
He scrambled on, through the steep, broken, but boggy ground on the second side, onto the wooded slope and more gentle incline which brought him back to the pine, where MacKay was waiting for him. Together they stole back to the horses and returned to camp.
Three o’clock in the morning and the Hornets moved out. The plan that Welbeloved had outlined to them was received without comment, each man considering the implications in his own way, and mentally calling up a picture of the enemy camp and positions of the guns and men, from the detailed description that MacKay had given. Even the Condesa, Isabella and Don Pedro were involved, although only in the sense that the assault would be made on foot and someone would have to guard the horses when they left them.
On this occasion, the Condesa accepted her role without demur. She realised without explanation that by remaining in reserve she would be releasing additional, highly trained Hornets for the venture. Don Pedro also accepted his supporting role without question or complaint and the party rode quietly under a bitterly cold, but cloudless sky. The temperature had fallen sharply as the clouds had cleared and had introduced additional hazards. The frozen ground underfoot would make silence almost impossible to achieve, and the clear sky together with the white frost would make concealment incredibly difficult.
They found a natural corral; a conifer-clad, tiny valley with a narrow entrance that would contain their mounts without risk of them straying. An estimate of two miles march across country should bring them to the gunner’s encampment. They set off at a fast pace, hoping to arrive near to the time when the sentries would be changed. Seeking for every advantage, Welbeloved always believed that the guard’s attention at the time of changeover was more taken up with the formalities of the drill, than with keeping a good watch. That, and the natural sleepiness of the newly awakened men, could make all the difference in the world to the ability of an attacker to surprise them.
The Hornets had discarded their packs and cloaks, wearing only uniform and pouches, but carrying between them several of the kegs of powder captured from the French. Trelawney had fussed over these, fitting lengths of fuse to each, so that a quick slice with a sharp knife would enable him to gauge to within a few seconds how long it would take for the spark to reach the powder.
They had all taken the precaution of blackening their faces, and as a concession to the good visibility, they took particular care on the approach, slipping quickly and quietly from cover to cover, moving like shadows. Glowing embers from camp fires guided them away from the encampments of other troops and they came within striking distance of the guns and spread out under the steep slope and around the far side where the frost would make the marsh and bog solid enough to bear their weight.
Their timing had been excellent. His telescope pierced the darkness well enough to make out parties of gunners moving from post to post, relieving the men at the end of their spell. The Hornets took advantage and one party started up the steep slope below the ridge, moving as far as they could up the less arduous slope at the base, where erosion had created a substantial ramp over the years. The second party was able to move without hindrance over frozen marsh to within yards of the nearest sentries.
Welbeloved and MacKay led the second party and they lay concealed behind tussocks of grass, low scrub and sparse shrubs. The closest sentry could be seen quite clearly from where they lay hidden. He had slung his carbine over his shoulder by the sling, and after breathing hard on his hands to warm them, thrust them under his armpits to keep them that way. His greatcoat collar was pulled up round his ears, restricting his vision both to the left and right.
Even without this, it is doubtful whether he would have seen the man whose hand clamped on his throat to prevent any cry, while a thin bladed knife drove through layers of clothing and under his ribs into his heart with a single thrust. Before he could fall, another figure had risen beside him and wrenched off his shako, quickly donning it himself and taking the dead man’s place. The action was so smooth that anyone not watching carefully would have noticed no change in the scene before them.
Twenty minutes later and all the guards overlooking the river were Welbeloved’s own men. Those guarding the marsh side had been dealt with at the same time. The soft call of a tawny owl gave the signal to those waiting below, who climbed up to where the slope became almost vertical.
Spreading themselves along the length of the slope they began to dig deep holes into the face of it, using bayonets and bare hands, until they could plant a keg of powder as far in as they could reach, packing it around with stones and soil, but leading out fifteen inches of slow match joined to a foot or more of quick match. The slow match burned at a steady inch each minute, while once lit, the quick match would take only seconds to reach the charge. In theory they would have fifteen minutes to get clear, allowing for the variable quality of the materials and the unknown effect of the heat generated in such a confined space.
In the meantime, Trelawney and two helpers had located the wagons carrying the powder and shot. Holes were slit in the canvas coverings and the remaining kegs of powder squeezed in. In this case the order was reversed, with the quick match leading from the kegs out of the holes in the canvas, where it was joined to the slow fuse, timed for twenty minutes. Trelawney deemed it more prudent not to have the slow match burning in the middle of a store of powder for that length of time.
The operation w
as completed quickly and efficiently and they waited for the signal that the more difficult and time-consuming mining operation was complete. Again they heard the soft screech of an owl and Welbeloved clapped MacKay on the shoulder and moved over to Trelawney.
The false sentries had been watching MacKay and they all faded back into cover as Welbeloved tapped Trelawney gently on the arm. The Cornishman removed the lid from a small pot and touched the glowing end of a slow match in turn to each of the fuses he had prepared. Pausing a few seconds in each case to make sure that they were burning steadily, he tapped Welbeloved’s arm in reply and they both vanished into the darkness.
Without the same need for concealment, the withdrawal was made a good deal more quickly than the approach. The second set of fuses under the rim of the plateau had been lit as soon as the retreat began and every one gathered at the foot of the slope, quickly checked to make sure no-one was missing, and moved away at a fast pace for ten minutes. They paused on a slight rise and waited while Welbeloved studied the encampment as well as he was able through his small telescope.
The night was almost over, but it would be at least an hour before any lightening of the eastern sky would be seen. All was still and silent; a clear, bitingly cold morning. He snapped open his watch and felt for the hands. It was now over fifteen minutes since the fuses on the slope had been lit, but there was no sign of anything happening. Could the fuses be faulty? They were, after all French fuses and it was a well-known fact that English powder was superior to French. In any case, five mines had been planted. They couldn’t all have failed.
He swept his glass along the ridge and heard rather than saw a succession of muffled explosions, then silence. It was still too dark to see detail, but he was sure that he could make out at least one gun, silhouetted against the sky. He had hoped that the explosions would undercut the face of the ridge and take the guns down into the river in the resulting avalanche. It seemed he had miscalculated.
It was unfortunate after all the effort they had put in, but as he was shrugging his shoulders fatalistically, there was a vivid triple flash, followed by an enormous thunderclap which seemed to rumble on after the initial bang, growing fainter and fainter. The whole of the valley was lit up and then plunged into pitch darkness as they temporarily lost their night vision. A soft half-cheer, half-moan rose from the waiting men, but was quickly silenced by a growl from MacKay.
They waited another five minutes and Welbeloved searched carefully with his glass. Nothing could be seen, not even the silhouette of a gun. Possibly the powder smoke from the enormous explosion of the ammunition wagons was obscuring the view. If so, there was no wind to blow it away. He snapped the glass shut and they resumed their march.
Back at the horses, where the enormous flash and explosion had been seen and heard, they were agog with excitement. Immensely relieved that no-one had been hurt, the Condesa welcomed them back warmly, but they could tell her nothing, other than that the ammunition train had obviously been destroyed and that they must all move away from the area as quickly as possible, before daylight brought frantic and furious activity from the French, seeking to catch and wreak revenge on those responsible.
Later in the morning, from a hilltop overlooking the valley, and with an easy means of retreat behind them, Welbeloved let them take it in turns to study the scene through his glass. It was over half a mile away, but the enormous crater where the wagons had stood was clearly visible. None of the guns could be seen. The charges in the hillside may not have been successful by themselves, but had probably weakened the ridge sufficiently for the subsequent massive explosion to send the whole lip of the plateau plunging down onto the road and into the river, carrying the guns with it and damming the course of the stream so that a large lake had formed where the road had run.
It would take Tasselot’s engineers a day or two to clear a passage for the half of his army still trapped behind the fall. The guns themselves could probably be dug out and used again, but their carriages and wheels would have been completely smashed.
The General would now have no artillery support, unless more guns were detached from Soult’s army, and then it was doubtful that they could arrive in time to be of service. Welbeloved was quietly satisfied. The first and perhaps the least complicated, but most effective blow had been struck. It could only get more difficult from now on. He led the party northwards. In an hour they would stop and rest and he promised himself the most enormous breakfast. Amazing how a little night exercise sharpened the appetite.
CHAPTER 16
Trelawney had acquired an assistant. It was the third day since they had destroyed the guns and the Hornets had made the most of the delay imposed on the French force. They had pressed on towards the coast, well ahead of Tasselot’s men and had used up most of the remaining kegs of powder, systematically destroying any bridge that seemed likely to cause further serious problems to the invaders.
Not that there had been many bridges falling into this category. Most of the streams were crossed by fords, or were small enough or shallow enough to make the bridge a convenience rather than a necessity. Only when the road crossed a gorge, or where the stream was deep and swift, was it worthwhile to expend their remaining stocks of explosive.
The Condesa had been watching their efforts to demolish the first one and had been as fascinated as Trelawney with the technical problems of placing the kegs in exactly the right position to achieve the maximum effect. She seemed to have an eye that could pick out the weakest and most vulnerable part of the structure. Thereafter, their heads were forever close together, discussing the best places to work on and directing the others to lever out stones in key areas, so that the kegs could be placed in the resulting cavities.
Three bridges had already tumbled into the beds of their streams, and Tasselot’s engineers must have been working overtime to repair the damage and allow the army to pass. By this time, the stocks of powder had mostly been used up. There was perhaps enough for one more bridge, and they had examined each one as they came to it, with a view to selecting the one that would cause the maximum amount of trouble and convenience to the following troops.
They would have to make a decision soon, or not at all. The sea was in sight. The passes through the mountains were behind them and the coastal plain to the west would offer alternative roads to the enemy.
The structure they were examining now was the last bridge that was on the route that the army would have little option but to use. The river was wide at this point and flowing rapidly down the last slope of any substance before the ground flattened out towards the delta.
Unfortunately there was little depth to the water. Destruction of the bridge would inconvenience the French but was not likely to delay their advance more than an hour or so. The infantry would be soaked up to their armpits, and that would be unpleasant in this wintry weather, but a brisk march afterwards would dry them out, or at least keep them warm until they could bivouac and light a fire.
It was the thought of a fire that made up Welbeloved’s mind for him. Breaking the bridge would cause only minor harassment to the French, but it would nonetheless make life much less pleasant for them, and anyway his stomach told him it was time to stop for a meal. While half the men were lighting fires and heating food, the Condesa and Trelawney could use up the last of the kegs of powder and blow up a couple of the arches.
The mules were unloaded and Trelawney, with the Condesa and four men, started to lever out the stones to place the charges. They were working up to their waists in icy water without complaint and Welbeloved gave instructions for a couple of good fires to be built. They would all need the heat to warm themselves and attempt to dry their clothes afterwards.
The rest of the men crossed the bridge and retired upstream to a stand of trees, where fires could be hidden from view from the road. They left only three men on watch; one at the bridge and the other two half a mile down the road in either direction.
Welbeloved supervised the erection
of a crude canvas shelter near to the fire, in which the Condesa could strip off her wet clothing in privacy. He ate his soup and biscuit without a deal of interest and strolled back down to see how the work was progressing.
Pausing high up on the bank, he looked across the stream and down under the arches and marvelled. The Condesa was wading through water up to her chest, unreeling a length of fuse, as if she had been accustomed to doing this sort of thing all her life; instead of the privileged and pampered existence she had been brought up to. It suddenly came home to him, what a strong affection he had developed for this extraordinary woman; an affection all the more remarkable, considering his first impressions of her as one of those people in an inherited position of power and influence. The sort of person brought up to regard all outside their class as beneath consideration. How wrong she had proved him. Now he was even daring to believe that she returned some of his feelings, ridiculous as such thoughts must be.
They were all clambering out now, wringing water out of their clothes and swinging and banging their arms about to try and restore their circulation. Collecting their rifles from where they had been piled, they trotted briskly onto the bridge, roaring with laughter at some remark made by the Condesa. Welbeloved was smiling in sympathy when his attention was jerked towards the sound of a rifle shot and the sound of his sentry galloping towards the bridge, waving his rifle over his head.
He quickly unslung his own Ferguson, at the same time bellowing a warning to the camp and yelling to the bridge party to run for the cover of the trees. The galloping man was now half way towards the bridge and the road behind him was suddenly filled with horsemen in green uniforms, in full gallop, sabres flashing as they hurtled down on the bridge.
It was immediately obvious that Welbeloved’s bedraggled party would never manage to reach cover before the chasseurs reached the bridge and charged among them. He ran towards them shouting commands. They stopped and formed into two ranks with the Condesa at the rear. Welbeloved himself joined at one end and the sentinel, who had galloped across the bridge, slid from his horse and tacked himself onto the other end in one fluid movement.
A Despite of Hornets Page 17