and his men to the hussars, with Keane acting asliaison, and to move the whole force down to the line of the Duas Casas river in order to guard Craufurd’s right flank.
Craufurd himself had elected to fall back to a better position by the ramparts of the old Fort Concepcion to the north of Almeida and to await Massena’s onslaught there.
Keane consulted his master map and traced a line between Sanchez’s reported location and the bridge. It was not far. Perhaps a day’s march at most.
From experience, Keane knew that the guerrillas would have spotted his column long before he was aware that they were near their camp at San Pedro. He would not attempt to outwit Sanchez, but allow them to be taken. The only way to ingratiate yourself with these people, he had come to learn, was to let them believe that they had the upper hand. Be taken by their sentries without protest.
He turned to Ross. ‘Don’t concern yourselves about the guerrillas. We’ll let them take us, sarn’t.’
‘Yes, sir, just as we always do.’ Ross recalled their first encounters with the guerrilla leaders Morillo and Cuevillas the previous year. That had been an eye opener and no mistake. He turned to Keane. ‘Sir, what d’you reckon to this Sanchez? Will he be the same as Cuevillas, do you think?’
‘I’ve heard, sarn’t, that he’s somewhat more civilized. But we can take nothing for granted, as you well know.’
‘More civilized. That would be easy. Those heathen bastards.’
Keane had come to understand that this was his sergeant’s way of describing any Catholics. A natural trait for a man who had been brought up a strict Presbyterian among Glasgow’s Ulster Scots.
They climbed steadily. This was not the huge rocky outcrops of the Serra da Estrela that they had negotiated the previousyear. They were further north and these hills were more forgiving and seemed less inclined to put Gabriella into the cold sweat that had been engendered by the eerie atmosphere and massive, lowering presence of the ‘mountains of the stars’. At the same time, though, Keane felt a sense of apprehension. It was all very well for the duke to offer the opinion that he knew how to deal with guerrillas, but in truth he still felt something of a novice. He wished he had Grant’s consummate coolness, or even the bluff confidence of George Scovell.
What troubled him most, however, was the knowledge that they would not be able to return to Celorico until they had carried out the duke’s instructions with regard to Sanchez. He had decided on one course of action at least. He would send a rider off to Morris and tell him to explore the ruins of Pritchard’s house. Apart from that, there was nothing he could do, save disobey a direct order from the commander-in-chief. And while Keane was capable of going against orders and using his own initiative at all times, even he knew at what point he would be overstepping the mark.
They travelled to the north-west in a long, snaking column, Keane and his men as usual at the front, the hussars following on.
After four hours Keane began to have the feeling that he was being observed. He pulled back until he was level with Ross and spoke in a whisper. ‘We’re being watched, sarn’t.’
‘Yes, sir. I felt the same myself, since a mile back.’
Von Krokenburgh came riding up from the rear. ‘Keane, do you feel it? The eyes in the hills?’
‘Yes, we both do. Sanchez’s men, no doubt. Just do as we agreed. Let them take us.’
Von Krokenburgh dropped back and they carried on until theycame to where the road crossed a little stone bridge and then split, the left forking up towards San Pedro. Without warning, four horsemen appeared from either flank. All were dressed in a form of uniform, a combination of elements of Spanish, French and British items and all had drawn sabres. Keane pulled up and barked, ‘Halt.’ As the column came to a stop more men appeared to their left and right armed with a variety of
Craufurd himself had elected to fall back to a better position by the ramparts of the old Fort Concepcion to the north of Almeida and to await Massena’s onslaught there.
Keane consulted his master map and traced a line between Sanchez’s reported location and the bridge. It was not far. Perhaps a day’s march at most.
From experience, Keane knew that the guerrillas would have spotted his column long before he was aware that they were near their camp at San Pedro. He would not attempt to outwit Sanchez, but allow them to be taken. The only way to ingratiate yourself with these people, he had come to learn, was to let them believe that they had the upper hand. Be taken by their sentries without protest.
He turned to Ross. ‘Don’t concern yourselves about the guerrillas. We’ll let them take us, sarn’t.’
‘Yes, sir, just as we always do.’ Ross recalled their first encounters with the guerrilla leaders Morillo and Cuevillas the previous year. That had been an eye opener and no mistake. He turned to Keane. ‘Sir, what d’you reckon to this Sanchez? Will he be the same as Cuevillas, do you think?’
‘I’ve heard, sarn’t, that he’s somewhat more civilized. But we can take nothing for granted, as you well know.’
‘More civilized. That would be easy. Those heathen bastards.’
Keane had come to understand that this was his sergeant’s way of describing any Catholics. A natural trait for a man who had been brought up a strict Presbyterian among Glasgow’s Ulster Scots.
They climbed steadily. This was not the huge rocky outcrops of the Serra da Estrela that they had negotiated the previousyear. They were further north and these hills were more forgiving and seemed less inclined to put Gabriella into the cold sweat that had been engendered by the eerie atmosphere and massive, lowering presence of the ‘mountains of the stars’. At the same time, though, Keane felt a sense of apprehension. It was all very well for the duke to offer the opinion that he knew how to deal with guerrillas, but in truth he still felt something of a novice. He wished he had Grant’s consummate coolness, or even the bluff confidence of George Scovell.
What troubled him most, however, was the knowledge that they would not be able to return to Celorico until they had carried out the duke’s instructions with regard to Sanchez. He had decided on one course of action at least. He would send a rider off to Morris and tell him to explore the ruins of Pritchard’s house. Apart from that, there was nothing he could do, save disobey a direct order from the commander-in-chief. And while Keane was capable of going against orders and using his own initiative at all times, even he knew at what point he would be overstepping the mark.
They travelled to the north-west in a long, snaking column, Keane and his men as usual at the front, the hussars following on.
After four hours Keane began to have the feeling that he was being observed. He pulled back until he was level with Ross and spoke in a whisper. ‘We’re being watched, sarn’t.’
‘Yes, sir. I felt the same myself, since a mile back.’
Von Krokenburgh came riding up from the rear. ‘Keane, do you feel it? The eyes in the hills?’
‘Yes, we both do. Sanchez’s men, no doubt. Just do as we agreed. Let them take us.’
Von Krokenburgh dropped back and they carried on until theycame to where the road crossed a little stone bridge and then split, the left forking up towards San Pedro. Without warning, four horsemen appeared from either flank. All were dressed in a form of uniform, a combination of elements of Spanish, French and British items and all had drawn sabres. Keane pulled up and barked, ‘Halt.’ As the column came to a stop more men appeared to their left and right armed with a variety of
Similar Books
