It had been three days since Leech had left with the demolition party. He was never content when he had to split his small force and he cursed himself for not having sent a larger escort to accompany the artilleryman. For his part, the days had been spent watching for the French, expecting a party of dragoons to come upon them at any moment. But at heart Keane knew that his men had the upper hand. They were the army’s eyes and ears and a damned sight better than any Frenchman. Besides, the guerrillas travelled with them. He shot a sideways glance at Sanchez, who was riding alongside him at the head of the column of their combined forces. The guerrilla had left most of his men in the camp at San Pedro, but the small number he had brought with them bolstered Keane’s command. Keane had deliberately left von Krokenburgh back at the Spanish camp with most of the Hanoverians and taken only a single troop of the hussars as escort. He had thought it politic, for there was a hierarchy to any column of march, just as there was to a line of battle.
