第 28 页

was pushed down to the right to keep off the French cavalry, while the

Fusilier brigade, composed of the 7th and 23rd fusilier regiments,

under Sir William Myers, climbed the desperately contested hill, which

Abercombie ascended also, more on the left.

It was time, for the whole of the French reserves were now coming into

action; six guns were already in the enemy's possession, the remnant

of Haughton's brigade could no longer sustain its ground, and the

heavy French columns were advancing exultantly to assured victory.

Suddenly, through the smoke, Cole's fusilier brigade appeared on

the right of Haughton's brigade, just as Abercrombie came up on its

left. Startled by the sight, and by the heavy fire, the French column

paused, and, to quote Napier's glowing words, "hesitated, and then,

vomiting forth a storm of fire, hastily endeavored to enlarge their

front, while a fearful discharge of grape from all their artillery

whistled through the British ranks. Myers was killed, Cole and the

three colonels, Ellis, Blakeney and Hawkshawe, fell wounded; and the

fusilier battalions, struck by the iron tempest, reeled and staggered

like sinking ships; but suddenly and sternly recovering, they closed

with their terrible enemies, and then was seen with what a strength

and majesty the British soldier fights. In vain did Soult with voice

and gesture animate his Frenchmen; in vain did the hardiest veterans

break from the crowded columns and sacrifice their lives to gain time

for the mass to open out on such a fair field; in vain did the mass

itself bear up, and, fiercely striving, fire indiscriminately upon

friends and foes, while the horsemen hovering on its flank threatened

to charge the advancing line. Nothing could stop that astonishing

infantry; no sudden burst of undisciplined valor, no nervous

enthusiasm weakened the stability of their order; their flashing eyes

were bent on the dark columns in their front, their measured tread

shook the ground, their dreadful volleys swept away the head of every

formation, their deafening shouts overpowered the dissonant cries that

broke from all parts of the tumultuous crowd, as, slowly and with

horrid carnage, it was pushed by the incessant vigor of the attack to

the farthest edge of the hill. In vain did the French reserves mix

with the struggling multitude to sustain the fight; their efforts only

increased the irremediable confusion, and the mighty mass breaking off

like a loosened cliff, went headlong down the steep; the rain flowed

after in streams discolored with blood, and eighteen hundred unwounded

men, the remnant of six thousand unconquerable British soldiers, stood

triumphant on the fatal hill."

While this dreadful fight was going on, Hamilton's and Collier's

Portuguese divisions, ten thousand strong, marched to support the

British, but they did not reach the summit of the hill until the

battle was over; they suffered, however, a good deal of loss from the

French artillery, which, to cover the retreat, opened furiously upon

them.

The French were in no position to renew the attack, the allies quite

incapable of pursuit, and when night fell the two armies were in the

same position they had occupied twenty-four hours before.

Never was British valor more conspicuously displayed than at the

battle of Albuera. Out of 6,000 infantry they lost 4,200 killed and

wounded, while the Spanish and Portuguese had but 2,600 killed and

wounded out of a total of 34,000; the French loss was over 8,000.

This desperate fight had lasted but four hours, but to all engaged

it seemed an age. The din, the whirl, the storm of shot, the fierce

charges of the cavalry, the swaying backwards and forwards of the

fight, the disastrous appearance of the battle from the first, all

combined to make up a perfectly bewildering confusion.

The Scudamores, after its commencement, had seen but little of each

other. Whenever one or other of them found their way to the general,

who was ever in the thickest of the fray, it was but to remain there

for a moment or two before being despatched with fresh messages.

Tom's horse was shot under him early in the day, but he obtained a

remount from an orderly and continued his duty until, just as the day

was won, he received a musket ball in the shoulder. He half fell, half

dismounted, and, giddy and faint, lay down and remained there until

the cessation of the fire told him that the battle was over. Then he

staggered to his feet and sought a surgeon. He presently found one

hard at work under a tree, but there was so large a number of wounded

men lying or sitting round, that Tom saw that it would be hours before

he could be attended to. As he turned to go he saw an officer of the

staff ride by.

"Ah, Scudamore! Are you hit too?--not very badly, I hope? The chief

was asking after you just now."

"My shoulder is smashed, I think," Tom said, "and the doctor has his

hands full at present; but if you will tie my arm tight across my

chest with my sash, I shall be able to get on."

The officer at once leapt from his horse, and proceeded to bind Tom's

arm in the position he requested.

"Have you seen my brother," Tom asked.

"No, I have not; he was close to Beresford when the fusiliers dashed

up the hill; his horse fell dead, but he was not hit, for I saw him

jump up all right. I did not see him afterwards. As he could not have

got a fresh mount then, I expect he joined the fusiliers and went up

the hill."

"Is the loss heavy?" Tom asked.

"Awful--awful," the officer said. "If it had lasted another quarter of

an hour, there would have been nobody left alive; as it is, there are

not 2,000 men at the outside on their feet."

"What, altogether?" Tom exclaimed.

"Altogether," the officer answered sadly. "We have lose two men out of

every three who went into it."

"Thank you," Tom said. "Now where shall I find the general?"

"Up on the hill. I shall see you there in a few minutes. I hope you

will find your brother all right."

Very slowly did Tom make his way up the steep slope, sitting down to

rest many times, for he was faint from loss of blood and sick with the

pain of his wound, and it was a long half hour before he joined the

group of officers clustered round the commander-in-chief.

He was heartily greeted; but in answer to his question as to whether

any one had seen his brother, no one could give a satisfactory reply.

One, however, was able to confirm what had been before told to him,

for he had seen Peter on foot advancing with the fusilier brigade.

Tom's heart felt very heavy as he turned away towards the front, where

the fusiliers were standing on the ground they had so hardly won.

The distance he had to traverse was but short, but the journey was a

ghastly one. The ground was literally heaped with dead. Wounded men

were seen sitting up trying to stanch their wounds, others lay feebly

groaning, while soldiers were hurrying to and fro from the water

carts, with pannikins of water to relieve their agonizing thirst.

"Do you know, sergeant, whether they have collected the wounded

officers, and, if so, where they are?"

"Yes, sir, most of them are there at the right flank of the regiment."

Tom made his way towards the spot indicated, where a small group of

officers were standing, while a surgeon was examining a long line of

wounded laid side by side upon the ground. Tom hardly breathed as

he ran his eye along their faces, and his heart seemed to stop as

he recognized in the very one the surgeon was then examining the

dead-white face of Peter.

He staggered forward and said in a gasping voice, "He is my

brother--is he dead?"

The surgeon looked up. "Sit down," he said sharply, and Tom, unable to

resist the order, sank rather than sat down, his eyes still riveted on

Peter's face.

"No," the surgeon said, answering the question, "he has only fainted

from loss of blood, but he is hit hard, the bullet has gone in just

above the hip, and until I know its course I can't say whether he has

a chance or not."

"Here, sergeant, give me the probe," and with this he proceeded

cautiously to examine the course of the ball. As he did so his anxious

face brightened a little.

"He was struck slantingly," he said, "the ball has gone round by the

back; turn him over, sergeant. Ah, I thought so; it has gone out on

the other side. Well, I think it has missed any vital part, and in

that case I can give you hope. There," he said after he had finished

dressing the wound and fastening a bandage tightly round the body;

"now pour some brandy-and-water down his throat, sergeant, and

sprinkle his face with water. Now, sir, I will look at your shoulder."

But he spoke to insensible ears, for Tom, upon hearing the more

favorable report as to Peter's state, had fainted dead off.

The surgeon glanced at him. "He'll come round all right," he said.

"I will go on in the mean time," and set to work at the next in the

ghastly line.

It was some time before Tom recovered his consciousness; when he did

so, it was with a feeling of intense agony in the shoulder.

"Lie quiet," the surgeon said, "I shan't be long about it."

It seemed to Tom, nevertheless, as if an interminable time passed

before the surgeon spoke again.

"You'll do," he said. "It is an awkward shot, for it has broken the

shoulder bone and carried a portion away, but with quiet and care you

will get the use of your arm again. You are lucky, for if it had gone

two inches to the left it would have smashed the arm at the socket,

and two inches the other way and it would have been all up with you.

Now lie quiet for awhile; you can do nothing for your brother at

present. It may be hours before he recovers consciousness."

Tom was too faint and weak to argue, and a minute later he dropped off

to sleep, from which he did not wake until it was dusk. Sitting up, he

saw that he had been aroused by the approach of an officer, whom he

recognized as one of General Beresford's staff.

"How are you, Scudamore?" he asked. "The general has just sent me to

inquire."

"He is very kind," Tom said. "I think that I am all right, only I am

horribly thirsty."

The officer unslung a flask from his shoulder. "This is weak

brandy-and-water. I have brought it over for you. I am sorry to hear

your brother is so bad, but the doctor gives strong hopes of him in

his report."

Tom bent down over Peter. "He is breathing quietly," he said. "I hope

it is a sort of sleep he has fallen into. What are we doing?"

"Nothing," the officer answered; "there is nothing to do; every

unbounded man is under arms in case the French attack us in the night.

I expect, however, they will wait till morning, and if they come on

then, I fear our chance is a slight one indeed. We have only 1,800 of

our infantry; the German regiments and the Portuguese will do their

best; but the Spanish are utterly useless. Soult has lost more men

than we have, but we are like a body which has lost its back-bone; and

if the French, who are all good soldiers, renew the battle, I fear it

is all up with us."

"Have you got all our wounded in?" Tom asked.

"No," the officer said bitterly. "Our unwounded men must stand to

arms, and Lord Beresford sent over to Blake just now to ask for the

assistance of a battalion of Spaniards to collect our wounded, and the

brute sent back to say that it was the custom in allied armies for

each army to attend to its own wounded."

"The brute!" Tom repeated with disgust. "How the poor fellows must be

suffering!"

"The men who are but slightly wounded have been taking water to all

they can find, and the doctors are at work now, and will be all night

going about dressing wounds. The worst of it is, if the fight begins

again to-morrow, all the wounded who cannot crawl away must remain

under fire. However, the French wounded are all over the hill too, and

perhaps the French will avoid a cannonade as much as possible, for

their sake. It is a bad look-out altogether; and between ourselves,

Beresford has written to Lord Wellington to say that he anticipates a

crushing defeat."

"Is there any chance of reinforcements?" Tom asked.

"We hope that the third brigade of the fourth division will be up

to-morrow by midday; they are ordered to come on by forced marches.

If Soult does not attack till they arrive, it will make all the

difference, for 1,500 fresh men will nearly double our strength. But I

must be going now. Good-bye."

The surgeon presently came round again to see how the wounded officers

were getting on. Tom asked him whether there was anything he could do

for Peter; but the surgeon, after feeling his pulse, said: "No, not as

long as he breathes quietly like this; but if he moves pour a little

brandy-and-water down his throat. Now gentlemen, all who can must look

after the others, for there is not an available man, and I must be at

work all night on the field."

There were many of the officers who were not hit too severely to move

about, and these collected some wood and made a fire, so as to enable

them to see and attend to their more severely wounded comrades.

Tom took his place close to Peter, where he could watch his least

movement, and once or twice during the night poured a little

brandy-and-water between his lips. The other officers took it by turns

to attend to their comrades, to keep up the fire, and to sleep. Those

whose turn it was to be awake sat round the fire smoking, and talking

as to the chances of the morrow, getting up occasionally to give drink

to such of the badly wounded as were awake.

Tom, faint with his wound, found it, towards morning, impossible to