Send Me Safely Back Again Read Free Page B

shells should not fall into the wrong hands.’ Colonel Shrapnel’s new explosive shell was a secret of the British artillery, used for the first time and with great effect last summer.
    D’Urban nodded, and then gave an impish grin. ‘Of course, but there will be plenty of time to deal with the matter after we have run Marshal Victor to ground. And in the meantime you fellows can make yourselves useful.
    ‘Wickham, you are the best mounted of all of us on that hunter of yours. Hanley speaks Spanish, so take him with you and go over to the far right. The Duke of Alburquerque’s division holds that part of the line. Report to him and observe the fighting. Obviously, do anything you can to assist our gallant allies.’
    Major Wickham had arrived the day before, newly attached to the British mission to General Cuesta’s army. It baffled D’Urban that a man unable to comprehend more than a few words of Spanish had been chosen for the task. Wickham’s French was good, but many senior Spanish officers could not speak the language. Others, like Don Gregorio himself, refused to do so. Wickham’s usefulness in other respects was yet to become apparent. He was certainly a personable fellow, and perhaps this was seen as sufficient qualification for his task. More probably, he had powerful friends advancing his career – or perhaps just eager to have him outside the country.
    D’Urban tried without much success to dismiss that uncharitable thought. At the least, the man ought to be capable of taking a look at the performance of the Spanish. It was important to judge the mettle of their allies, and see best how Britain could aid their cause.
    ‘Perhaps Major Velarde would accompany you?’
    The Spaniard nodded. ‘An honour, your excellency.’
    ‘Splendid. Now, Mr Williams, I would like you to go with Mr Baynes and take a look at the left wing, over there, near the River Hortiga. He is only a civilian, and they are rarely safe to be let out on their own, so look after him as if he were a child. Restrain him if he gets any dangerous urges – such as peering down the muzzle of a loaded cannon! Take your man with you. What is your name, Corporal?’
    ‘Dobson, sir.’ The veteran had stiffened to attention and barked out the reply.
    ‘You look like you have seen plenty of service.’
    ‘Aye, sir, a good deal.’
    ‘Wonderful. In that case you keep an eye on them both and stop either from doing anything foolish!
    ‘Time to go, gentlemen. I shall remain with the general’s staff and go where he goes. I wish you all the joy of the day.’ With the slightest flick of his heels, D’Urban set his sturdy cob moving.
    Dobson unhitched the reins of their mules from a vine branch and brought the animals over. Hanley’s mount bucked andsnapped in protest at being forced to stir from rest so soon. The others simply stared mutely, chewing at mouthfuls of thin grass.
    The three men were grenadiers, the tallest soldiers in the battalion, and their feet reached almost to the ground when they sat in the rudimentary saddles, legs dangling as there were no stirrups. Their uniforms failed to create a better impression. Both officers wore the same jacket in which they had landed in Portugal last August. Faded by sun and drenched in snow, rain and storm, they were badly frayed and heavily patched. Williams had cut off the long tails of his coat so that at least the patches were red. Purchased in an auction of a dead officer’s effects, the coat had never fitted him well, even before his recent illness. The sleeves of Hanley’s jacket were sewn up with brown Portuguese cloth. His hat was at least military, but now rose to a low, misshapen crown. Williams’ broad-brimmed straw hat shaded his eyes and protected his fair skin from the sun, but little more could be said for it, other than that it was marginally more respectable than his ruined forage cap. His cocked hat had long since been lost. As he sat astride his mule, his bent legs