Beat the Drums Slowly Read Free

off, he fell in at the rear of the general’s family of staff officers. A lieutenant with side whiskers almost as luxuriant as the general’s rode beside him and soon proved himself a friendly companion.
    ‘There are French cavalry at Sahagun. Maybe a brigade, but we can’t be sure. Probably foraging, or the far outposts of Marshal Soult’s army. So we’re off to wake them up a bit.’
    ‘We?’
    ‘The Fifteenth Light Dragoons, old boy,’ drawled the staff officer, who then turned to the man riding behind them at the head of a squadron. ‘Nearly as good a regiment as the Tenth Hussars.’ The officer behind them ignored the good-natured provocation.
    ‘The Tenth are my lot. They’re out there somewhere with Old “Black Jack” Slade. They drive the French from cover, and then it’s view halloo and sabres and glory before breakfast. Have you ever been in a cavalry charge, Williams?’
    ‘I confess not.’
    ‘The main thing is to stay on your horse.’ The hussar chuckled, and the mockery was so good natured that Williams happily joined in.
    ‘Quiet back there,’ shouted a voice far louder than their conversation. ‘We’re getting close now.’
    The moon had gone, and the pale light of dawn was growing, although there was no sign of the sun. In the fields there were patches of milky-white mist. They rode on, hoofbeats mingling with the snorts and heavy breathing of the horses and the creak and jingle of harness to produce a noise so different from the sound of infantry on the march. If anything, the road was in worse condition than the stretch Williams and Wickham had come down. Patches of ice combined with deep ruts to make the going treacherous. Bobbie stumbled and skidded several times, as did most of the other horses. Several fell, although Williams did not see anyone badly hurt.
    Muffled shouts and a single shot came from somewhere in advance of the main column. Minutes later, an hussar galloped up to report that the outposts had run into a French piquet, and killed two and captured half a dozen. Several more had escaped, riding back to give the alarm. Lord Paget led the regiment on, but progress was slow when they had to file across two bridges spanning a drainage ditch. Neither had a parapet, and their surface was slick with ice, but, to Williams’ surprise, Bobbie strode across without any hesitation or false step.
    He could see the rooftops of Sahagun clearly now, and somewhere a bell was tolling.
    Lord Paget took the 15th to the right of the place, following a fork in the road. As Williams looked across the fields to their left, he could see a dark mass formed outside Sahagun, perhaps a quarter of a mile away. There were horsemen there, but in the mist and gloom it was hard to know their strength. The cheerful hussar officer had no doubt about their identity.
    ‘Johnny Crapaud is up early for once.’
    Lord Paget turned and gave the order himself. ‘Form open column of divisions!’ Cavalry drill was something of a mystery to Williams, and he had no idea whether a division was a troop or a squadron, but the intent seemed clear. As in the similar infantry formation, the regiment would march with sections one behind the other, with enough space between them so that each could wheel and form a single line either to the front or facing either flank.
    The dark mass began to move as the 15th changed formation, heading eastwards away from Sahagun.
    ‘Walk march – trot!’ The general’s order was repeated down the extended column. The British cavalry advanced rapidly, moving parallel to the enemy, quickly gaining and then passing them. Small shapes came out of the darker mass as the French sent out flankers, individuals and pairs of riders, whose task was to screen the main force. They came close, and Williams could clearly see the outline of one man’s broad-topped shako. He was probably a chasseur, like the men they had seen in Portugal, and the counterparts to the British light dragoons and