An Untrustworthy Army

by Lynn Bryant

  Paul took the rush bag and opened it. The smell of food made him feel slightly light-headed. "What on earth?"

  "Roast chicken, sir. We managed to buy a few birds from a farmer. Also there's some bread, it's a bit damp, but edible. And a few apples. Compliments of his lordship. He was worried for your wife, given her delicate condition."

  Paul felt warm, despite the freezing weather. "Richard, tell him thank you. We've some food left, but not much, and I'm worried we'll run out entirely tomorrow."

  "We've not much left. But I'm more worried about the horses, this poor old girl needs her food."

  Paul could hear the anxiety in Graham's voice. He hesitated, then said:

  "Have you got five minutes?"

  "Yes. Why, sir?"

  "This way."

  Paul led Graham through the trees to where his baggage wagons had been arranged in a circle, heavily guarded. Graham looked at him in surprise. "Why aren't they with the rest of the baggage, sir?"

  "Because I don't trust anybody but my men to guard them. And because I value the contents. Get off your horse, go over to the carriage and pay your respects to my wife. Jenson is a magician and is going to feed your mare. Not much, but enough to keep her going another day."

  Graham's eyes widened. "You've got your own supplies?"

  "We have, but they're very limited. I'm not feeding every nag in the army, but you're a friend. Go on, go and talk to Nan, take her her supper."

  The following day was the worst yet. It was the job of the light division to act as rear guard to the centre column, which meant that they were the first under arms in the morning and the last to settle into bivouac at night. It also meant that the other divisions had more opportunity to forage for what limited food was available. There was an alarm during the night as a number of men, driven mad by hunger, shot down a selection of pigs, which the country people had left to graze in the forest. Paul sent Captain Manson in search of information and he returned over an hour later wearing a sober expression.

  "Lord Wellington's furious. It seems that discipline is breaking down in some of the other divisions, there's been a lot of looting and some drunkenness. He's ordered two men to be executed, hoping to deter others. I've never seen him this angry."

  "You didn't see him the day after the garrison escaped from Almeida, it was something special, I'm telling you. Although he was fairly pissed off the time I laid myself open to a court martial by upsetting the Royal Navy in Copenhagen."

  Manson grinned. "I've never heard the full story of that."

  "I will tell you over a nice bottle of red back at Ciudad Rodrigo. You'll enjoy it." Paul studied Manson's face, looking gaunt and tired in the dim light of a weak moon. "Are you all right, Captain?"

  "Yes, sir. I'm just hoping you're not going to shoot me."

  Paul understood. He grinned. "Hand it over," he said, and Manson opened his coat and removed a package wrapped in what looked like a spare shirt.

  "Pork, sir. Bought it off a private from the guards. Not sure Lord Wellington caught all of them, sir."

  Paul put his hand on Manson's shoulder. "Captain, you never disappoint me," he said. "Come and join us for supper."

  The French began to press harder early the following day. Paul divided his men, sending the 110th and 112th up to the high ground on each side of the road, leaving the rest of his brigade to guard the baggage train. The roadside was littered with dead animals, some still attached to baggage wagons. Among the beasts were the corpses of men, the sick or ill or simply those unable to keep up, who had collapsed and died by the roadside, lying in the mud.

  Paul had given orders for his men to fall out and check corpses for signs of life. A number were picked up, still living, and loaded onto the wagons, which were half empty as food supplies were used up. Most were already dead, the birds of prey descending through leaden skies to feast on the corpses. Paul held Anne's hand and watched her face as she looked straight ahead. Behind him he could hear Keren crying, with Carl's arm about her. The discipline of the march had relaxed into necessity and men helped their wives and children along where they could. Paul made no complaint and hoped that Lord Wellington did not decide to join them; Wellington was unenthusiastic about the train of women and children who followed the army and was strict about their position during campaigns. Paul half expected a reprimand when General Alten rode back to consult with his brigade commanders, but to his surprise, Alten gave no more than a thoughtful look over the column and said nothing.

  Up on the raised hillside on both sides of the road, shots were exchanged with the French, who circled like the vultures, hoping to swoop down on the weak. Stragglers were captured. As the road became a little easier, Paul decided the horses could take the strain for a while and sent Anne back into the carriage to rest, while he mounted Rufus and rode along the column, checking that his men were holding their shape, despite the struggle of the march. He stopped here and there to speak to them. The remains of the previous night's pork dinner were wrapped in cloth in his pocket, and he stopped beside some of the children and fed them scraps, wishing he had more.

  The quiet of the morning was torn apart suddenly by shots from further up the line and it was clear that the column ahead of Paul was in action. Paul turned his horse and scanned his lines.

  "Colonel Frasco, double the guards on the carriage and wagons, I'm going to see what's going on."

  "Yes, sir."

  Paul reined in and looked in at his wife. Anne put her arm about Charlie Bannan and stroked her dog.

  "Get going, Colonel," she said gently. "I'll be all right."

  Paul met her eyes. Every part of him was screaming at how wrong it felt to leave her, knowing that the French were so close, knowing of her ordeal at their hands less than a year earlier. He wondered, not for the first time, if it was worth abandoning his duty and remaining beside her to defend her, accepting the court martial and cashiering in favour of keeping her safe.

  "Go," Anne said, and her voice was firm. "I have Charlie here to keep me safe. And there are more men like Damien Cavel than like Jean Dupres in the French army, love - same as in ours. Get moving."

  Paul met Captain Smith on his way up the column. "Harry, what news?"

  "Bit of trouble, sir. French made a dash on our baggage. We had it in the charge of Colour Sergeant Baller."

  "From what I know of Colour Sergeant Baller, he may have made it out of there."

  "Not this time, sir, as far as I know. But there's worse news. General Sir Edward Paget."

  Paul felt a chill. He had been on excellent terms with Paget back at Oporto, and he had been present at the amputation of Paget's arm. After a lengthy convalescence, Paget had only recently returned to the field and been placed as Wellington's second-in-command. Paul had been glad to see him back, and he knew Wellington valued him.

  "What happened?" he asked. "He's not dead?"

  "Taken, sir. French cavalry. They're attacking up and down the column. Not in force, but small troops."

  "They've not been near us yet."

  "Neither would I, sir, they're not bloody stupid. They're looking for weak spots. Sir Edward realised that a gap had opened up between the fifth and seventh divisions and he rode back to find out why. Only took a couple of hussars with him. He can't have seen them coming."

  "He can't have fought them off either, with one arm," Paul said soberly. Another burst of firing caused Rufus to shift restlessly. It was closer at hand.

  "French skirmishers, sir," Smith said.

  "Yes. I'm getting back, Harry, I want to make sure they're ready. Take care."

  "I will. I'm not enjoying this. Sir..."

  "If anything happens, we'll take care of her," Paul said, understanding. "Make sure your lads know where to bring her. But make sure it isn't necessary, will you?"

  "I will. Good luck, sir."

  French cavalry made their first attack on Paul's brigade at noon, searching for gaps in the woods. There was an undignified scramble among the Por
tuguese troops and Kings German Legion to defend the baggage wagons as twenty French hussars came thundering out of the trees, and half a dozen men were cut down before Paul's muskets managed to get the range and drove them off with a fierce volley of shots. None of the men were dead, but there were a variety of cuts and slashes. Paul, who had been up on the higher ground and had seen the attack from a distance, rode down at a canter. By the time he arrived, the troops had formed a rough defensive square about the baggage wagons. Paul could see Colonel Frasco in what appeared to be a furious exchange with Colonel Huber and he rode forward.

  "What happened?"

  "It was not the fault of my men," Frasco said angrily. "The Germans should have been watching our flanks, we had no warning..."

  "Your men were too slow and did not form up as they should have," Huber said precisely. "My men were in position as they were ordered, but..."

  "Your men did not give the alert, we might have been slaughtered..."

  "Enough!" Paul roared. "Major Withers, get over here."

  Charles Withers had been examining a deep wound on the shoulder of one of the KGL skirmishers. He ran over, saluting. Paul looked at him. There was a graze on his temple which was bleeding sluggishly.

  "How close did those bastards get to my wife and the other women?" Paul asked.

  Withers looked back steadily. "Too close, sir."

  "Thank you, Major." Paul looked back at the two commanders who had fallen silent. "I have no interest in who got it wrong. There is no time here, for getting it wrong. Put your men on the alert. We've cavalry on both flanks and it's our job to keep them away from the rest of the column, and preferably away from our baggage wagons. When we are safe, I will have a conversation with you about my expectations of my battalion commanders, but this is not the time. Jenson."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Orders to Major Corrigan. Get the 115th down here, they are to exchange positions with the KGL and the Portuguese. Perhaps if you are out on the flank, gentlemen, you will have a better incentive to get your men moving faster. You will march in column at quarters distance and form square at the first sight of cavalry. Move."

  The day was misty, with frequent, heavy rain showers. The light division marched on, fighting off attacks from the French cavalry, and coming under sporadic fire from their tirailleurs. Rifles and muskets were of limited use given the damp condition, although the rain began to ease off later in the day, and Paul set his rifles and light companies on each flank to hold off the musket fire from the French.

  During the afternoon, the light division was joined by the commander-in-chief, who rode up with several of his staff on the left flank. Wellington looked chilled and miserable, but even the sight of him cheered the men, who regarded him as something of a talisman against bad luck. French cavalry continued to probe the lines and there was no sign of the English cavalry.

  The light division approached the Huebra River at almost four o'clock, by which time the French had infantry and artillery, as well as cavalry in place. There was a lively musket and rifle duel already going on, and the shots sounded extraordinarily loud in the forest, reverberating strangely in the heavy atmosphere.

  Lord Wellington reined in beside Paul. "Skirmishers out, Colonel van Daan. Rifles and light companies, keep their cavalry back, while I decide where best to stand, in order to get our men across."

  "Yes, sir." Paul turned to call orders and watched as his officers and NCOs led out their men. Lord Wellington surveyed the ground and gave orders for several troops of horse artillery to get into position, as the Allied column began to cross the river.

  It was a gruelling fight. The French had brought up almost twenty guns to the heights opposite the river, close to the village of Buena Madre, and began to fire both on the infantry and baggage crossing the river and the British artillery trying to defend them. Paul's brigade was under constant, heavy fire, taking shelter where they could among the trees and behind rocks, keeping up a steady fire to deter French cavalry and infantry from making a rush on the troops.

  Paul made the decision to detach his baggage wagons and send them on ahead. He could no longer spare the men to guard them and he wanted Anne and his supplies safely across and out of harms way as he directed his skirmishers back into the trees to take out French tirailleurs who were trying to creep through to reach the river further up.

  The Allied cavalry was crossing the river, and Paul, keeping his men steady and under cover as far as possible from the punishing artillery fire, was bewildered to see Vandeleur's brigade formed up in a highly exposed position, covering the cavalry retreat. He was in no position to see what was happening, and he watched from the heights with growing anxiety, as the first brigade came under heavy fire, perilously in line. Paul felt slightly sick, watching the trees for sign of cavalry and wondered what maggot had entered Vandeleur's brain to leave them so exposed.

  "Jenson."

  "Sir?"

  "Get over to Colonel Wheeler and tell him he has command for a bit, I'm riding down there to find out what's going on. I can't see General Vandeleur, I'm worried something's happened. They're going to get slaughtered like that."

  "Yes, sir. Be careful."

  "I always am."

  Jenson uttered a snort of disgust and turned his horse and Paul made his way cautiously through the trees, arriving on the flank of the first brigade. He was approaching the central column, his eyes searching the officers for Vandeleur, when a small group of horsemen appeared, riding fast from the direction of the second brigade. Paul recognised General Alten, with three of his staff members.

  Alten bypassed the brigade, heading directly towards the advancing cavalry. As Paul rode down, two of Alten's staff broke away and rode to the brigade officers, which Paul could now see included John Vandeleur. To Paul's considerable relief, the troops halted, and then changed position, ready to form square. Paul rode past them and went to join Alten who had reined in alongside the officer commanding the cavalry and his staff. As Paul came closer he recognised the man, seated on an exhausted looking grey.

  Alten's generally pink cheeks were scarlet, and the mild blue eyes held an expression that Paul had never seen before. "General Sir William Erskine," he said formally. "I have ordered my first brigade into formation so that they may defend themselves as well as covering the retreat of this army. In future, I expect you to refrain from giving orders to my men which counteract those I have already given them. You command cavalry, not infantry, and you cannot be expected to manage men who are not under your command. I am angry that you should have considered it your right to do so."

  Alten's precise, German accent was heavy with a menace which Paul had not thought him capable of. Paul reined in and hung back. His own relationship with Sir William Erskine was not good and he had no wish to make Alten's task more difficult. During the period of Massena's retreat from Portugal, Paul and his battalion had been under Erskine's command. Erskine was known to suffer from periods of madness, was short-sighted, arrogant and easy to offend. He had been removed from the command of two divisions and now held a cavalry command under General Hill, but Paul was of the opinion that he was not safe to be in charge of a church picnic, let alone a cavalry brigade.

  Erskine visibly bristled. "Your division, sir, which was once mine, is under orders to form a rear guard. I merely..."

  "My division, sir, is no longer yours, and are under orders to do exactly what I tell them to do. No more, no less. I suggest you turn your attention to your men before they find themselves under heavy fire. Good day."

  Erskine's face was scarlet. "How dare you speak to me that way, you German upstart? I have..."

  "General Erskine."

  Paul turned, startled, and both Alten and Erskine did the same. Lord Wellington had reined in. He was dressed in a dark, oilskin cape, with water dripping from his hat, and his expression warned Paul that speech was unwise.

  "Lord Wellington," Erskine said. "Sir, I have a complaint. I..."

  "Get your
men across that river, General, before I remove you from command and tip you off that horse," Wellington said, in a tone Paul had seldom heard. "General Alten, are your men in position?"

  "All but Colonel van Daan, sir, but he is on his way," Alten said, without turning. Paul wheeled his horse smartly and set Rufus back up the hill at a gentle trot. On the way back to join his men, Paul remembered Alten telling him at dinner one evening, that he missed Christmas at home in Hanover, with a wealth of tradition unknown to the English. Paul rejoined his brigade, promising himself that if they survived this retreat into winter quarters, he would find out as much as he could about German Christmas traditions and recreate them for Alten. His commanding officer deserved it.

  ***

  The 115th were positioned out on the far left wing of the brigade, huddled in sodden misery in a wooded area, while the French guns pounded them. There was nothing they could do to retaliate; muskets would be useless at such a distance. Simon Carlyon knew that their job was to keep watch for French infantry or cavalry, to avoid them sweeping down on the long column of the Allied army which was carefully negotiating the fords. The Huebra at this point was split into several branches, which meant that the men, horses and baggage train had to cross two and in some places three rivers. There were a number of fords, some deeper than others, and only one in this part of the river was suitable for wagons and gun carriages, and it was clear that the French knew it and were targeting many of their attacks onto the baggage wagons, hoping to scoop up prizes as well as prisoners.

  Given the cannonade which had been pounding down on the light division since the morning, Simon was astonished that his company had not suffered more casualties. There had been some minor wounds, mainly from splinters as the trees were struck by shells, but the heavy rain, which had caused so much misery during the past few days, had worked in their favour during the French attack, as shells which fell into the soft, heavy ground died a harmless death. Judging from an occasional cry of pain further along the line, not all the light division was doing quite as well. Simon wished he knew more about what was happening elsewhere.