A Despite of Hornets

by Geoffrey Watson

  Atkins loomed beside him, looking enquiringly and with his long knife held up. Welbeloved nodded, and the Corporal silently slashed a long slit in the canvas covering, pulling the material aside and revealing boxes and boxes of what could only be cartridges, surrounding dozens of small kegs of powder.

  The other two wagons, when slit, revealed the same deadly cargo, plus boxes of spare muskets and additional cartridges. Two more riflemen joined them, and working quickly, two dozen kegs of powder and several boxes of muskets and cartridges were loaded into cradles that had been lowered to them. At length, Welbeloved signalled enough and they scrambled back up the wall, leaving him waiting for three prepared kegs that were lowered to him, gingerly, one at a time.

  He placed them carefully, one to each wagon, with twenty minutes of slow fuse dangling outside. A wave to Vere, lying on the wall, and a small box with a smouldering match was dropped to him. Each slow match gave a satisfying hiss as it started to burn. He hesitated just long enough to be sure that they had all caught, then swung himself up and over the wall to join the rest of the party on the outside.

  While he had been setting the charges, MacKay had organised a party to move all the kegs and boxes that had been stolen. A little exploration had located a derelict cottage close by, with the crumbling entrance to the cellar barred by rotting boards. These were carefully prised open and all the booty stored within. The boards were then pressed back into place so that it looked undisturbed. It would be far too cumbersome to have to carry all the loot with them through the army encampments. It was to be hoped that it would still be there when they returned for it after the French had left.

  Even without such a load, it had taken them over an hour to penetrate as far as the wagon train and they hadn’t had enough fuse to give themselves more than half-an-hour’s grace. Welbeloved decided on boldness once more. Reasoning that a party of men marching openly away from the centre of the camp would arouse little suspicion, he formed them up and marched them back down the road at a steady pace. All the units camped outside the village had pulled off the road to bivouac for the night, and nobody challenged them. True, a couple of sentries shouted after them; greetings or jeers, it was difficult to say. Both were silenced by an authoritative growl from MacKay and the Hornets marched on.

  In fifteen minutes they were clear of the encampment and left the road, forming up into their normal formation and heading in the direction where they knew they had left the horses. At this moment there was a sudden chorus of bugle calls and scattered shots from the direction of the village; distant yells and the clash of metal on metal.

  Welbeloved snapped his watch open and felt for the hands. It was nearly five-thirty. Anstruthers would have had a long detour to get right round the village to reach the French vanguard, but it sounded as though he was pressing an attack. The disturbance could also serve to rouse the soldiers within reach of the powder wagons. If they stood to arms to guard the gate, they might be spared much of the consequences of the explosion, when it occurred. He had had to suppress qualms of conscience over setting off an explosion in a camp of sleeping men. Only the enormous odds against him, and the desperate need to stop this advance, allowed him to overcome his scruples.

  The sudden flash that lit up the sky at that moment, followed in seconds by a massive explosion, made the argument entirely academic. It was still too dark to see the cloud of smoke that must have been rising over the village, but the Hornets stood and stared nevertheless, listening to the sudden blare of bugles as the whole army stood to arms, ready to defend itself against the attack that sounded as if it was starting.

  As the French awoke to the realisation that they were once more being harried, damaged, their sleep disturbed and their General infuriated, Welbeloved led the Hornets back to their horses. They mounted and rode wearily back into the hills.

  Dawn was breaking as they found the road leading to the pass. It was a damp, chilly, misty morning, and the horses hooves were squelching through mud that was inches deep, throwing up thick gobbets that splattered everyone without distinction. Welbeloved swung his horse wide, to avoid the mud kicked up by those in front. When Anstruthers returned, his two hundred horses would turn the track into a quagmire.

  Something was bothering him. His brain felt sluggish. In the last two or three days he had slept for only three or four hours and it was beginning to catch up with him. He shook his head and concentrated. There was something that was staring him in the face, but he was too dopey to see it. Suddenly he swore and barked out a sharp command, swinging down from the saddle as everyone stopped.

  Vere dismounted and hurried over. Welbeloved was bending over and peering at the muddy prints. He gestured irritably. “Look at these, George. We should have noticed them before now.” Vere stared at the churned-up mess, and then looked more carefully at where Welbeloved was pointing. “It’s been staring me in the face, George. I thought the road was far too churned up, even though our two hundred horses came down it on the way out. These prints are going up towards the pass, and I would have been surprised if Anstruthers had beaten us to it.”

  Vere stared again. “I suppose it is possible sir. He could have galloped round the Frogs while they were disturbed over the wagons we set off.” Welbeloved looked up at him impatiently. “I dare say he could George, but there would be a hell of a lot of noise ahead if that had been the case. Don’t yew see the footprints as well? Several hundred men have marched up this road last night, and the cavalry have followed in their tracks. Look closely and yew will see where the horses have trampled over the marks, but have left the occasional footprint still partly visible. I’m afraid there’s a large French force ahead of us, and it looks as though they knew exactly where we were hiding!”

  CHAPTER 20

  A small grove of mixed trees and shrubs gave shelter from the biting, bitter wind. They had pulled off the road for a rest and the men were checking equipment, drinking from their water bottles, inspecting their horse’s hooves and generally fidgeting, while they waited for Welbeloved to decide on the action to be taken.

  He was sitting quietly on the fallen trunk of a tree, visualising the road leading into the village. Vere and MacKay stood close by, but silently, trying not to interrupt his thoughts while he was studying the hills through his telescope. He paid particular attention to the road winding upwards in gentle zigzags until it disappeared into the gorge, at the top end of which lay the village and a series of mountain meadows, before the next ascent.

  Shutting his glass he replaced it in its case and looked at his two expectant subordinates. “It seems to me that the only reason that the French would have detached so many men and sent them up here at night, would be if they had somehow discovered where we were resting. They must have hoped to catch us asleep and rid themselves of all of us, once and for all, in one quick action.

  As it is, we’ll just have to depend on Trelawney to have organised a good look-out, or they’ll have overwhelmed the few Spaniards and no doubt captured Don Pedro and the Condesa.” He kept a tight grip on his emotions as he forced himself to admit this possibility. The thought of the two women in the hands of the French soldiers gave him the shudders, when he remembered the treatment that had been meted out to the helpless villagers south of Santander, only a few weeks ago.

  “Having captured the village,” he went on, “and found out that we weren’t there, but would obviously return, I would immediately set up an ambush if I was in command. I would get everyone under cover and wait for us to walk into the trap.” He looked at the others. “Does anyone disagree with anything so far?”

  MacKay cleared his throat. “Aye, sir, I’m sure you have the right of it as to what happened, but do ye no think they’ll realise we’ll see their tracks going in?”

  Vere smiled lazily. “I’m damned if I see why they should Sergeant. None of us noticed until the Captain did, and they must have seen that the road was churned up when they went in, even though it would have been dark.”

/>   Welbeloved nodded. “I’m inclined to agree with yew, George. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t let it affect what I planned to do. The gorge going into the village isn’t all that steep-sided, but a hundred men could hold it against ten times their number, and from the top yew can see anyone coming up that zigzag road for a mile before they get there. I’d put another fifty men along the top of the gorge to watch for visitors, and when they turned up, I’d put another fifty to reinforce them, let the party through and make damned certain they couldn’t get out again.”

  He gave them a little time to think about it. “Very well, Gentlemen. Here’s what we will do! Sergeant, select one of the men to wait here and intercept Major Anstruthers before any watcher on the gorge can spot him. He is to tell him to position his men, concealed wherever suitable, on either side of the road ready to attack the French whenever the opportunity arises; hopefully when they retreat from the village.”

  He pointed up towards the village. “Our job now is to get up there without being seen and clear the French from the heights overlooking the gorge. One side will be enough, but it would be better if the Frogs on the other side didn’t know what we were doing. Once we’ve got that far, we’ll consider what else is to be done. Any questions?”

  There were none. Without fuss, they passed on the instructions to the men who tethered the horses and prepared themselves for their cross-country march. The first mile was not a problem. The lie of the ground and plentiful cover from trees enabled them to reach the base of the final hill in a body, without having to worry about serious concealment.

  They gathered at the foot of the slope and stared at the road, which rose in a series of lazy loops until it disappeared into the gorge, where the sides of the wide valley converged sharply. There was cover available, but in moving from one point to the other, there was always the possibility of a sharp-eyed sentinel picking out the movement.

  MacKay was the one that put it into words, but everyone immediately and instinctively agreed. “Be best if we moved to the right, sir. We can climb up that ridge and follow it round tae outflank them. Might even finish up above their position, though I can nae make that oot too well frae here.”

  Welbeloved opened his telescope and studied the ground. “Yew’re right about the route Sergeant, and I suspect yew’re right about that ridge.” He passed his glass over. “See if this helps any.”

  MacKay and Vere both studied the ridge and nodded agreement. The Hornets moved off at right angles, taking advantage of any cover that would hide them from the lip of the gorge. They found the ground rising more and more steeply as they approached the ridge running across their front until it merged with the pass; splitting the hills where it carried the road higher into the mountains.

  The last part of the journey was almost vertical, but they found one dark-green stand of conifers that had established themselves on the precipitous slope. Helping each other and moving from tree to tree, hauling themselves handhold by handhold, they finally emerged onto the flatter top of the ridge and could move left once more; now more or less on a level with the heights commanding the length of the gorge.

  Welbeloved led the way until the rocky ground divided, offering the possibility of climbing even higher, while the original line of the ridge continued at the same level. He touched Vere and pointed, whispering. “Take half the men and try that way. See if yew can work yor way towards the village end of the gorge. It might be useful if we could take them from both directions.” He grinned wolfishly and Vere grinned back, quickly pointed to the men he selected and beckoned them to follow him up the steeper slope.

  From here, the gorge itself was hidden by the curve of the hill, making it difficult to judge how far they still had to go. Looking down at the winding road, Welbeloved tried to imagine the point where it entered the gorge and guessed at two, maybe three hundred yards. They pressed on slowly, taking pains to make no noise, studying each forward move before they made it and removing or avoiding any loose stones liable to fall, or sticks likely to snap if stepped on.

  After what seemed ages, but could not have been much more than ten minutes, they heard voices. Cautiously, Welbeloved inched his head out from behind a projecting rock and looked across thirty yards or so, to where half-a-dozen men and a corporal, grenadiers by the look of them, were relaxing. They were sitting or sprawling with their backs supported by rocks and boulders, idly chatting and eating and drinking, while they waited their turn to take their places as lookout, or rather lookouts. Welbeloved located two men closer to the rim of the gorge, carefully watching the road and countryside below them.

  From where he was lying he couldn’t see more than a few yards along the lip of the gorge, but as he watched, another soldier came into view at a stooping run and reported to the corporal, who sent two of his men back with him, out of sight.

  Inch by inch, Welbeloved eased his way forward to the cover of another outcrop from where he could see more of the gorge. His men also found positions for themselves, from where they could watch what was going on. He lay like a statue, completely immobile; letting his gaze move over the ground laid out before him. He could see two more parties relaxing, say fifteen or sixteen men altogether. Added to that were the two lookouts and probably three or four men from each party, already in position to shoot down onto the road.

  He transferred his attention to the other side of the gorge and gradually picked out men crouching or lying behind rocks and in small gullies. They were adequately hidden from below, but from his elevated position he was sure he hadn’t missed any. He did a quick calculation and smiled wryly. His earlier estimate of fifty men to watch the gorge was almost exactly right; about twenty-five on each side.

  Quickly, he revised his plan. There was no way they could attack all three parties on this side of the gorge without making enough noise to alert those on the other side. Indeed, why take the risk when the Fergusons would do the job easily and efficiently? He crawled back to MacKay. “Is Evans with us, or did he go with Lieutenant Vere, Sergeant?”

  MacKay gestured at a rock a dozen yards away. “Over there, sir.” Welbeloved glanced at the small patch of cloth that was all that was visible of Evans. “Change of plan, Sergeant. I’m going to find Lieutenant Vere. When we open fire, select yor targets and clear the ridge. Evans is to pick off every Frog he can see on the other side of the gorge. Range is only a hundred and fifty yards. He should have no problem.”

  It took him ten minutes to get back to the fork and follow the higher way, climbing over rough stones and scrambling over sharp-edged rock. Another ten minutes and he could look down some fifty feet to where Vere and his party were spread out, overlooking the southern end of the gorge. The route he had followed must have sloped upwards at a steeper angle than he had realised. He examined with considerable dismay, the narrow ledge, which was the only way down. His latent acrophobia was something he could control, high in the rigging of a ship. That was merely unpleasant, with plenty of handgrips around.

  This was a narrow ledge, quite steep, with a sheer drop if he should miss his footing. He could feel himself sweating before he even attempted it. Strangely, going down always seemed ten times worse than climbing. He gritted his teeth, turned his face away from the drop and shuffled out onto the ledge, feeling blindly with his feet for each succeeding foothold and clutching desperately with his fingers at any crack or fissure in the smooth cliff face.

  He would never remember how long it took him. It was only ten or a dozen paces and his men had, most likely, hardly noticed. To him, it seemed like hours as he inched his way along, to lie quivering and sweating in a niche at the top of a more gentle and rock-strewn descent to where his men were waiting.

  Once past the ledge, he waited until his heart stopped pounding, took a deep breath and started down the slope, moving from rock to rock. He was spotted when he was half way down, and a faint hiss warned Vere of his presence. He raised his hand to acknowledge his arrival and Welbeloved slid down beside him into a comfortable
little hollow, then peered over the top to see the rest of the French spread out below him. In the distance, a roof or two of some of the village houses was just visible over the slope of the descent.

  Vere gestured down at the French and whispered. “We can get close enough to take them hand to hand, sir, but I haven’t worked out how we can do it without alarming the others.”

  Staring down the slope leading up from the village, Welbeloved was assessing how easily it could be defended against a determined French attack. He kept his opinion to himself and replied to Vere. “Neither have I, George. Neither have I. The time for stealth is over. Drive them off with the Fergusons. MacKay is waiting for us to open fire. Start when yew are ready and switch to the other side of the gorge as soon as this lot have been cleared.”

  Vere scrambled away to pass on his orders and Welbeloved took the opportunity of viewing the men on the other side of the gorge with his glass. He loaded and primed his rifle and picked his target, waiting for Vere to start the action.

  It wasn’t long in coming. He heard the crack of a single shot, followed by a ragged volley from Vere’s men, and a second later, another volley from the men left with MacKay. Welbeloved aimed across the gorge at one of the men on watch, squeezed the trigger and watched him jerk and lazily topple over the edge, falling and bouncing off the steep slope onto the road below.

  He reloaded smoothly and quickly, but held his fire, watching the scene below him. The French had been caught completely unaware. Half their men were down on the first volley and the rest had no time to react, and hardly any cover to reach before the second volley sought them out. Two or three survivors only threw their weapons down and frantically waved their arms in the air, screaming for quarter. The Hornets ignored these and with their third shot, concentrated on the other side of the gorge.