by Lynn Bryant
He was on foot, along with most of the other officers. As the French attack became more concentrated, the colonel had sent word along the line that he was sending horses on ahead under an escort of the KGL, to ensure their safety. Few of the younger officers could easily afford to replace expensive horses, and the animals were already in poor condition, having survived on very limited rations for several days. Simon had been happy to send Reynolds with his horses out of danger; they were of no use here, other than to serve as a target for French gunners.
"Mr Carlyon, Mr Witham."
Simon shifted cautiously beyond the tree to see his captain coming through the mist. "Sir?"
"Orders from Major Corrigan. They've tirailleurs coming down over the top, through those pine woods, first and second company to cut through these woods and stop them. Five companies of the 112th are cutting round from the other direction to join up with us."
"Yes, sir." Simon turned to give orders to his ensigns and NCOs. It was a relief to have something to do other than listening to the crashing of the guns and wait for a shell to hit. Moving through the trees gave a sense of security which was probably false but felt reassuring. Captain Lewis threw his men out into skirmish formation, with Simon taking the left flank and Nicholas Witham the right. Simon kept a wary eye on his men but they were keeping steady, remembering their training and covering their partners well.
They encountered French infantry in about half a mile, startled into action by a flurry of musket fire. There were shouts in French as the tirailleurs realised that they were under attack, and without further warning, the French were in among them. Simon moved in, his sword drawn, yelling to his men to use bayonets. In this kind of skirmish, with poor visibility, a musket shot was just as likely to his one of their own as a Frenchman.
It was a short, brutal encounter, with no quarter asked or given. The men of the 115th had no way of taking prisoners on their retreat and the French obviously realised that trying to guard captives over this terrain would be impossible. For fifteen bloody minutes, the two companies pushed forward, leaving blue-coated men dead or wounded on the forest floor and then they were out the other side of the belt of trees and a yell of warning told Simon that they had encountered the 112th fighting their way from the opposite direction. The French, neatly caught between two forces, retreated at speed over the top of the rise, and Simon paused to catch his breath.
"Sergeant May, what losses?"
"Only Barlow, sir. A few wounded, but they can all walk."
"Good, because I'm not carrying them," Simon said, and raised a weary cheer from his men. Beyond the tree line there was a fine view down over the Huebra and Simon could see the army making its way slowly over three fords. On the far bank the various divisions were forming up in watchful columns.
It was good to be out of the woods and temporarily out of range of the French guns. They were still firing, the sound echoing off the rocky hillside and through the trees. Simon found that it was easier to ignore them when they were not trained on his men and he stood for a while watching the activity on the various fords below.
Directly at the foot of the slope, a collection of baggage wagons and mules were making their ponderous way across. It was clearly heavy going; beside them splashed women and children, lifting up skirts and carrying bundles while the muleteers urged their exhausted beasts across to the other side.
A carriage was crossing, a big lumbering vehicle pulled by four horses. A number of women entered the river beside it and Simon, watching, realised suddenly that the carriage must be the one belonging to his colonel's wife. She was there, dressed in a dark blue cloak, striding out into the water strongly and Simon wondered irrelevantly if any of the men guarding the column realised that she was pregnant and might need help.
Some kind of activity to the east caught Simon's eye and he turned and peered at the heavily wooded slopes. There was movement where he would not have expected to see it, masked by the trees. Simon peered, suddenly anxious, trying to catch a proper glimpse. He was still peering when he heard an enormous roar from the lines of the 112th.
"French cavalry in the trees. They're going for the baggage wagons, the colonel's wife is down there. 112th, to me!"
There was a scramble and a blur of movement and Simon realised the voice had come from Colonel Wheeler who had been watching, as he had, the crossing of the Huebra. The men of the 112th who had made the climb with their colonel were hurling themselves down the further slope at breakneck speed, leaping over fallen trees and sliding through muddy patches, bayonets and muskets in their hands.
Simon was moving almost before he had thought about it, yelling to his men to follow. He did not stop to find out if they had, or wait for orders from his captain. His only thought was for the woman in the river, who had survived too much to be cut down like this.
The cavalry swooped down on the wagons and carriage crossing the river, yelling in triumph at the same time as the men of the 112th and 115th took the final descent of the hill at a slide. The horses splashed into the river, the horsemen with drawn sabres, making for the straggling line of drivers, muleteers, women and children. Further across the ford, a company of infantry from the fifth division were guarding the far bank, but at the sight of the thundering hussars, they turned and ran, scrambling back up the steep bank to safety.
Simon charged towards the river, sword in hand, hearing the wet splashing of the men around him, some of them sliding in the mud. Several of them were barefooted, either having lost their shoes in the swampy ground during the march, or having had to cut their boots off their swollen, bleeding feet. Up ahead, the leading horsemen had reached the column, and there was a scream as three Portuguese muleteers went down under their swinging sabres. The mules panicked, charging around and crashing into the cavalry horses and into each other, slowing the attack down and winning the fleeing women a few precious extra moments.
They used them well. Simon heard a woman's voice cut through the chaos, of braying mules and screaming women and children.
"Run. Drop everything and run. This way."
She stood, almost up to her knees in the water, dark hair straggling down around her face, guiding the terrified people past her. "Keren, take Teresa and Ana, get them out of here. Charlie, help them. Go. That side, it's shallower."
Simon, sliding into the water, realised she was right. Leaving the melee of abandoned wagons and mules, the camp followers, servants and wagon drivers splashed through the shallows. Some were reaching the far side. The infantry company was returning to its position, driven by its furious officers and possibly by a sense of shame, and the men were reaching out to help the terrified people up the bank.
The cavalry realised that they were under attack and many were turning to face the light division men. In normal conditions, the cavalry would have cut through such a disorganised infantry charge within minutes, leaving no survivors, but the French were having trouble controlling their horses. The animals were confused by the cacophony of sound coming from the abandoned pack animals and their riders were too close together in the river with no way to manage a proper charge. They had lost their momentum, and the furious men of the 112th and 115th were upon them, dodging their swinging sabres and stabbing up with bayonets, bringing several of them down.
The water was showing red with blood in the last of the afternoon light. Simon found himself engaged in a fierce one to one combat with a hussar who had been unhorsed but was on his feet, slashing about him with lethal intent. It was difficult to keep balance in the water, and twice Simon almost lost his footing. In the end it was his opponent who slipped, and Simon moved in to finish him quickly.
He heard a yell and recognised it as Captain O'Reilly of the 112th. Simon spun around and saw the Irishman running frantically, his sword in his hand, slowed by the deeper water on the far side of the stranded carriage. Another shout came from Colonel Wheeler who had been directing his men to line up on the banks, hoping to deliver a musket volley whic
h would drive off the cavalry.
Simon turned to see what had caused the two men to panic and saw immediately. Anne van Daan had waited until the last of her retinue had gone past her and was now fighting her way through the water to the opposite bank, lifting her waterlogged skirts high, but two cavalrymen had broken away from the skirmish with the light division and had followed her. One had inserted himself between the woman and the opposite bank and waited, his sabre ready, his expression almost avid. The other was approaching from behind her to cut off any hope of retreat back that way.
Anne twisted her head to look back at the second horseman and Simon caught a glimpse of her white, terrified face. He could see her trying to decide which way to run, but she was going to be cut down in either direction, and he saw her realise it. She seemed to straighten her back, letting go of her skirts, and drew herself up to her full height, placing her hands on her rounded stomach as if to protect the child within. Simon did not know if it was a deliberate and intelligent attempt to appeal to the hussars or a purely instinctive gesture, but he saw the expression on the face of the hussar change as he realised that she was pregnant.
Simon did not know if the Frenchman would have withdrawn from the attack, allowing the girl to reach safety; he was given no opportunity to do so. A shot rang out from the opposite bank, and the hussar jerked and then tumbled forward into the river. His demise seemed to goad the other horseman into action. Raising his sabre he urged his horse forward, advancing on Anne.
Anne did not attempt to turn or run. She stood facing the hussar, looking directly at him, as if she knew that her youth and her condition were her only defence. The Frenchman did not pause and Simon heard a roar of sheer rage as O'Reilly scrambled through the water to try to reach her in time. Simon began to move as well, but he knew, with horrified certainty, that they were too far away and that they were never going to reach her before the horseman did. The hussar could not easily gallop through the water but he was moving as fast as he could, and as he drew close to Anne and lifted his sabre high, he was smiling, and Simon heard himself give a sob of pure horror. At the last moment he closed his eyes, unable to watch her die.
Chapter Fifteen
With the bulk of the army across the river, Paul stood watching the last of the troops making their way across the upper fords. It was impossible to see down river to where Anne would be crossing with the baggage wagons; the slopes were heavily wooded. Despite the heavy cannonade from the French artillery, none of his men from the 110th, the Portuguese and KGL had been killed, and only a few had suffered minor injuries. The guns had done some damage here and there, but the soft ground was absorbing most of the shells and only a direct hit was likely to cause casualties.
The light was beginning to fade and the intensive skirmishing of the late afternoon was dying out, only occasional shots being fired. Most of the seventh division had crossed and were formed up on the opposite bank. The sound of hooves in the soft mud of the river bank made Paul turn, and he saluted, recognising the caped figure of Lord Wellington.
"Not much longer," Wellington said. "I'm told that most of the baggage and hospital wagons are across. I have given orders to form up on the far bank and be ready to defend the position in case they try to cross. I doubt they will do so tonight, there should be a chance to rest and eat."
"Most of them don't have anything to eat, sir."
"I know, Colonel. When we are safe, I will make enquiries into the state of the commissariat on this march, it has been an appalling blunder. But once we are across, it is no more than a day or so to Ciudad Rodrigo."
"They're going to come after us again tomorrow, sir."
Wellington met his eyes. "I know. But if we can hold them at the river until most of the army is underway, I do not think they will follow us much further. And that is going to be your job, Colonel, I've given General Alten my orders."
"Yes, sir." Paul hesitated. "Sir, given that, may I have permission to make my way down to the lower fords. I'd like to be sure that my wife is safely across. Major Swanson can take over here and I'll rejoin them on the other side."
Wellington studied him for a moment and then shook his head. "I would say no to anybody else, Colonel."
"You can say no to me if it's necessary, sir, I can take an order."
"Go," Wellington said briefly. "Take a small escort. By now the other half of your brigade should be abandoning the heights and preparing to cross; if they haven't, call them in. I am told that Colonel Wheeler has done an excellent job of defending those slopes all afternoon; he is to be commended. I will speak to him personally in time, but you may tell him he will be mentioned in dispatches."
"Thank you, sir." Paul saluted and went to find Captain Manson. He had sent Jenson over with the officers' horses earlier, trusting his orderly to make sure they were taken safely to the rear. Jenson's wooden leg made it difficult for him to manage on foot during a skirmish and Paul was not prepared to risk him.
Collecting Manson, Sergeant Hammond and half a dozen of the 110th light company, Paul left Carl in charge of the final withdrawal and made his way up through the trees and down river. The thick belt of trees made it impossible to see anything of the Huebra. As they came closer, he could hear sounds up ahead and he paused, holding up his hand for silence. There was a jumble of noise; horses whinnying, mules braying and oxen bellowing and over it, the shouts of men and what sounded like a woman's scream.
"Christ, they're attacking the baggage wagons," Manson said softly.
Paul began to run. His common sense told him that there was no reason to assume that Anne was involved; she might well have been over the river and completely safe by now. He had been nowhere near the lower fords, leaving their defence to Wheeler, in command of the 112th and 115th while Paul joined Alten in covering the upper fords where most of the column was crossing with the 110th and his rifles, KGL and Portuguese battalions. Using two of his young ensigns as runners, Paul had kept in touch with Johnny through the day until Ensign Jones had been badly hit by a stray musket ball from tirailleurs in the woods. Paul had sent Sergeant O'Keeffe, his bandmaster, with three men to help carry Jones to safety and had told Ensign Loftus to discontinue his messages unless it was urgent.
Paul had been trying hard to get his wounded down and across the river but he knew with miserably certainty, that men who had fallen and could not easily be reached would be left behind. This was not a battlefield with a victor and a loser it was a desperate scramble for survival, and once the Allied army were across the river, there would be no going back to bury the dead or retrieve the wounded. Paul had been told that Captain Dawson of the 52nd, one of the few officers killed, had been given a hasty burial where he had fallen, but many would not.
Paul led his men at full speed through the trees, risking a broken ankle in the fading light. Cutting down towards the ford, he followed the sounds of battle and came to a skidding halt as he emerged from the woods, his heart stopping for a moment at the tableau below in the river.
A line of stranded wagons and baggage animals were strung out across the river. Horses and oxen were thrashing about in terror, threatening to upset the big carriage which Paul recognised in horror as belonging to his wife. On the opposite bank, drivers, muleteers, servants and camp followers were scrambling to safety, dragged up the steep bank by the men of the seventh division, but a lone woman stood stranded in the ford. There was a fighting melee of French cavalry and British infantry in the river and one French hussar was walking his horse towards the girl, his sabre raised.
Paul heard himself call her name. He could do nothing; he was too far away although he could see several of the men in the river splashing frantically towards her. The opposite bank was closer and Paul could not believe that none of the men of the seventh were going in to try to help her.
As he had the thought, several things happened all at the same time in a confused blur of movement. A fallen cavalry horse, which had been thrashing about in the water, suddenly str
uggled to its feet and stood shaking itself. Anne had turned her head at the sound of Paul shouting her name and seemed to be scanning the far bank searching for him, but now she spun around with surprising speed, given her condition, and grasped the bridle of the horse. The animal reared in fright, almost knocking the girl off her feet, but she hung on grimly. Paul knew she could not possibly mount the horse without help, especially in her condition, but she managed to get herself behind it, using it as a barrier. It would buy her seconds only, but it gave Paul, racing down to the water's edge, illogical hope.
At the same time, three men tumbled into the river from the opposite bank. Paul recognised them as Dr Oliver Daniels and two of his medical orderlies, Gibson and Garrett. None of the three would be armed; they must have seen what was happening from the safety of the hospital wagons which had already crossed, and were running to try to help Anne. The hussar was urging his horse forward, edging round the riderless horse, and Anne was pressing herself closer to the animal, but the sight of the Frenchman unnerved the horse and it reared up again, throwing Anne back into the water. She fell heavily, with a cry of pain, and the horseman was above her, cutting down with his sabre. Paul heard himself say her name again, this time as a whisper.
There was a blur of movement and the cavalryman gave a scream; something hit him hard as he stooped for the kill, ripping into his arm with a snarl and dragging him from his horse. Paul could see nothing more; both horses were stampeding in terror and Paul felt a new fear, that his wife would be trampled where she lay. He was more than halfway across the river before both horses, mad with terror, galloped past him. The cavalry were retreating, driven back now by a steady volley of musket fire which Johnny Wheeler had managed to set up on the edge of the bank, and Paul could see that both Michael O'Reilly and Simon Carlyon had reached his wife. Seconds later, the three medical men joined them and Paul felt his legs, running through the water, go weak with sheer relief as he saw her on her feet, soaked and dripping but able to stand.