Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated) (1043 page)

The August sun glares on the shaven faces, white gaiters, and

white cross-belts of the English, who are to fight for their

lives while sweating under a quarter-hundredweight in knapsack

and pouches, and with firelocks heavy as putlogs.  They occupy

a group of heights, but their position is one of great danger,

the land abruptly terminating two miles behind their backs in

lofty cliffs overhanging the Atlantic.  The French occupy the

valleys in the English front, and this distinction between the

two forces strikes the eye—the red army is accompanied by scarce

any cavalry, while the blue is strong in that area.]

DUMB SHOW

The battle is begun with alternate moves that match each other like

those of a chess opening.  JUNOT makes an oblique attack by moving

a division to his right; WELLESLEY moves several brigades to his

left to balance it.

A column of six thousand French then climbs the hill against the

English centre, and drives in those who are planted there.  The

English artillery checks its adversaries, and the infantry recover

and charge the baffled French down the slopes.  Meanwhile the

latter's cavalry and artillery are attacking the village itself,

and, rushing on a few squadrons of English dragoons stationed there,

cut them to pieces.  A dust is raised by this ado, and moans of men

and shrieks of horses are heard.  Close by the carnage the little

Maceira stream continues to trickle unconcernedly to the sea.

On the English left five thousand French infantry, having ascended

to the ridge and maintained a stinging musket-fire as sharply

returned, are driven down by the bayonets of six English regiments.

Thereafter a brigade of the French, the northernmost, finding that

the others have pursued to the bottom and are resting after the

effort, surprise them and bayonet them back to their original summit.

The see-saw is continued by the recovery of the English, who again

drive their assailants down.

The French army pauses stultified, till, the columns uniting, they

fall back toward the opposite hills.  The English, seeing that their

chance has come, are about to pursue and settle the fortunes of the

day.  But a messenger dispatched from a distant group is marked

riding up to the large-nosed man with a telescope and an Indian

sword who, his staff around him, has been directing the English

movements.  He seems astonished at the message, appears to resent

it, and pauses with a gloomy look.  But he sends countermands to his

generals, and the pursuit ends abortively.

The French retreat without further molestation by a circuitous march

into the great road to Torres Vedras by which they came, leaving

nearly two thousand dead and wounded on the slopes they have quitted.

Dumb Show ends and the curtain draws.

ACT THIRD

SCENE I

SPAIN.  A ROAD NEAR ASTORGA

[The eye of the spectator rakes the road from the interior of a

cellar which opens upon it, and forms the basement of a deserted

house, the roof doors, and shutters of which have been pulled down

and burnt for bivouac fires.  The season is the beginning of

January, and the country is covered with a sticky snow.  The road

itself is intermittently encumbered with heavy traffic, the surface

being churned to a yellow mud that lies half knee-deep, and at the

numerous holes in the track forming still deeper quagmires.

In the gloom of the cellar are heaps of damp straw, in which

ragged figures are lying half-buried, many of the men in the

uniform of English regiments, and the women and children in clouts

of all descriptions, some being nearly naked.  At the back of the

cellar is revealed, through a burst door, an inner vault, where

are discernible some wooden-hooped wine-casks; in one sticks a

gimlet, and the broaching-cork of another has been driven in.

The wine runs into pitchers, washing-basins, shards, chamber-

vessels, and other extemporized receptacles.  Most of the inmates

are drunk; some to insensibility.

So far as the characters are doing anything they are contemplating

almost incessant traffic outside, passing in one direction.  It

includes a medley of stragglers from the Marquis of ROMANA'S

Spanish forces and the retreating English army under SIR JOHN

MOORE—to which the concealed deserters belong.]

FIRST DESERTER

Now he's one of the Eighty-first, and I'd gladly let that poor blade

know that we've all that man can wish for here—good wine and buxom

women.  But if I do, we shan't have room for ourselves—hey?

[He signifies a man limping past with neither fire-lock nor

knapsack.  Where the discarded knapsack has rubbed for weeks

against his shoulder-blades the jacket and shirt are fretted

away, leaving his skin exposed.]

SECOND DESERTER

He may be the Eighty-firsht, or th' Eighty-second; but what I say is,

without fear of contradiction, I wish to the Lord I was back in old

Bristol again.  I'd sooner have a nipperkin of our own real "Bristol

milk" than a mash-tub full of this barbarian wine!

THIRD DESERTER

'Tis like thee to be ungrateful, after putting away such a skinful

on't.  I am as much Bristol as thee, but would as soon be here as

there.  There ain't near such willing women, that are strict

respectable too, there as hereabout, and no open cellars.— As

there's many a slip in this country I'll have the rest of my

allowance now.

[He crawls on his elbows to one of the barrels, and turning on his

back lets the wine run down his throat.]

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
[a new plashing of feet being heard]

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?

SECOND DESERTER

I don't know what he thinks, but I know what I feel!  Would that I

were at home in England again, where there's old-fashioned tipple,

and a proper God A'mighty instead of this eternal 'Ooman and baby;

—ay, at home a-leaning against old Bristol Bridge, and no questions

asked, and the winter sun slanting friendly over Baldwin Street as

'a used to do!  'Tis my very belief, though I have lost all sure

reckoning, that if I were there, and in good health, 'twould be New

Year's day about now.  What it is over here I don't know.  Ay, to-

night we should be a-setting in the tap of the "Adam and Eve"—

lifting up the tune of "The Light o' the Moon."  'Twer a romantical

thing enough.  'A used to go som'at like this
[he sings in a nasal