FORTH DESERTER [to a fifth, who is snoring]
Don’t treat us to such a snoaching there, mate. Here’s some more
coming, and they’ll sight us if we don’t mind!
[Enter without a straggling flock of military objects, some with
fragments of shoes on, others bare-footed, many of the latter’s
feet bleeding. The arms and waists of some are clutched by women
as tattered and bare-footed as themselves. They pass on.
The Retreat continues. More of ROMANA’S Spanish limp along in
disorder; then enters a miscellaneous group of English cavalry
soldiers, some on foot, some mounted, the rearmost of the latter
bestriding a shoeless foundered creature whose neck is vertebrae
and mane only. While passing it falls from exhaustion; the trooper
extricates himself and pistols the animal through the head. He
and the rest pass on.]
FIRST DESERTER Here’s something more in order, or I am much mistaken. He cranes
out.] Yes, a sergeant of the Forty-third, and what’s left of their
second battalion. And, by God, not far behind I see shining helmets.
’Tis a whole squadron of French dragoons!
[Enter the sergeant. He has a racking cough, but endeavours, by
stiffening himself up, to hide how it is wasting away his life.
He halts, and looks back, till the remains of the Forty-third are
abreast, to the number of some three hundred, about half of whom
are crippled invalids, the other half being presentable and armed
soldiery.’
SERGEANT
Now show yer nerve, and be men. If you die to-day you won’t have to
die to-morrow. Fall in! [The miscellany falls in.] All invalids and
men without arms march ahead as well as they can. Quick—maw-w-w-ch!
[Exeunt invalids, etc.] Now! Tention! Shoulder-r-r—fawlocks! [Order
obeyed.]
[The sergeant hastily forms these into platoons, who prime and load,
and seem preternaturally changed from what they were into alert
soldiers.
Enter French dragoons at the left-back of the scene. The rear
platoon of the Forty-third turns, fires, and proceeds. The next
platoon covering them does the same. This is repeated several
times, staggering the pursuers. Exeunt French dragoons, giving
up the pursuit. The coughing sergeant and the remnant of the
Forty-third march on.]
FOURTH DESERTER [to a woman lying beside him]
What d’ye think o’ that, my honey? It fairly makes me a man again.
Come, wake up! We must be getting along somehow. [He regards the
woman more closely.] Why—my little chick? Look here, friends.
[They look, and the woman is found to be dead.] If I didn’t think
that her poor knees felt cold!... And only an hour ago I swore
to marry her!
[They remain silent. The Retreat continues in the snow without,
now in the form of a file of ox-carts, followed by a mixed rabble
of English and Spanish, and mules and muleteers hired by English
officers to carry their baggage. The muleteers, looking about
and seeing that the French dragoons gave been there, cut the bands
which hold on the heavy packs, and scamper off with their mules.]
A VOICE [behind]
The Commander-in-Chief is determined to maintain discipline, and
they must suffer. No more pillaging here. It is the worst case
of brutality and plunder that we have had in this wretched time!
[Enter an English captain of hussars, a lieutenant, a guard of
about a dozen, and three men as prisoner.]
CAPTAIN
If they choose to draw lots, only one need be made an example of.
But they must be quick about it. The advance-guard of the enemy
is not far behind.
[The three prisoners appear to draw lots, and the one on whom the
lot falls is blindfolded. Exeunt the hussars behind a wall, with
carbines. A volley is heard and something falls. The wretched
in the cellar shudder.]
FOURTH DESERTER
’Tis the same for us but for this heap of straw. Ah—my doxy is the
only one of us who is safe and sound! [He kisses the dead woman.]
[Retreat continues. A train of six-horse baggage-waggons lumbers
past, a mounted sergeant alongside. Among the baggage lie wounded
soldiers and sick women.]
SERGEANT OF THE WAGGON-TRAIN
If so be they are dead, ye may as well drop ’em over the tail-board.
’Tis no use straining the horses unnecessary.
[Waggons halt. Two of the wounded who have just died are taken
out, laid down by the roadside, and some muddy snow scraped over
them. Exeunt waggons and sergeant.
An interval. More English troops pass on horses, mostly shoeless
and foundered.
Enter SIR JOHN MOORE and officers. MOORE appears on the pale
evening light as a handsome man, far on in the forties, the
orbits of his dark eyes showing marks of deep anxiety. He is
talking to some of his staff with vehement emphasis and gesture.
They cross the scene and go on out of sight, and the squashing
of their horses’ hoofs in the snowy mud dies away.]
FIFTH DESERTER [incoherently in his sleep]
Poise fawlocks—open pans—right hands to pouch—handle ca’tridge—
bring it—quick motion-bite top well off—prime—shut pans—cast
about—load—-
FIRST DESERTER [throwing a shoe at the sleeper]
Shut up that! D’ye think you are a ’cruity in the awkward squad
still?