A Mild Case of Indigestion

by Geoffrey Watson

  In the courtyard, framed on three sides by these buildings, the guns, limbers and wagons stood in ordered ranks, together with three carriages that had been pushed outside the coachhouse and abandoned there, to make room for extra stabling for the horses.

  Corporals and below were divided between the servants’ quarters and the stable block. Possibly it was the drivers who lodged in the loft above the horses with the gunners occupying the coachhouse, but all they could make out was that each building held roughly equal numbers.

  MacKay had early decided that he had to deal with each building separately. The odds against him would be approaching two to one if he went after all three at once and he had always considered it wise to outnumber the defenders of a potential strong point.

  In line with standard practice, the first target was the officers. As soon as the corporal and two sentries stepped out of the servants’ house, they had a knife pushed between their ribs and were dragged out of sight. The two men waiting for relief got the same treatment, then MacKay led the way into the warmth of a well-lit kitchen, where a cook and two helpers quickly thought better of making any noise and submitted to being bound and gagged with strips of cloth.

  Much to MacKay’s surprise, the noise level when they left the kitchen was so high that the gags that they had used on the cooks were quite unnecessary. Nor were they eating in separate messes. The commanding officer was having a party and they were all settling down to a little serious drinking after their meal.

  It took a second or two before they even noticed that anything was amiss. It was a large room and the entry of a swarm of drab-clothed, black-faced men did not register with everyone at first. It is not even certain whether they understood what Thuner said in his incredible dialect, but the gestures and guns had them flat on the floor in record time.

  O’Malley poked his head around the door to report that the rest of the house was clear and that the door leading to capacious cellars looked stout enough to withstand a battering ram.

  MacKay smiled gratefully and the hierarchy of the regiment was herded into the cellars, minus tunics, breeches and boots, with the promise that if they remained quiet and caused no bother, they wouldn’t have the house burned down about their ears. They weren’t to know that it was an empty threat.

  The Hornets had led the attack so far, with the Wasps and partisans in support. Now Hickson and O’Malley led the way and the Wasps and guerrilleros stormed into the servants’ quarters, while MacKay and the Hornets investigated the stables and coachhouse.

  The gunners, drivers and corporals, not invited to the celebration had mostly eaten whatever rations were available and rolled themselves into their blankets for the night. Some of the Wasps remembered that before the battle started at Talavera, the French had surprised a battalion of British troops and bayoneted most of them in their blankets. Hickson managed to stop them taking their revenge to the bitter end, though less than twenty prisoners were rushed over to join their betters in the cellars.

  In the stables there were twenty men. Mostly they were men responsible for the horses; drivers of the gun teams, wagons and caissons. Once they understood what Thuner was saying and realised that they wouldn’t be killed, they surrendered willingly and the cellars in the main house were filled to overflowing.

  MacKay was quite dazed with the ease of their success and amazed at the speed with which they had achieved it. He had expected to come away with plenty of horses, but had not considered what to do with; as he thought of it; a whole regiment of artillery. At least a couple of the Wasps had been gunners before Welbeloved had ‘kidnapped’ them, so he left all his Wasps with Hickson, together with brief but very precise instructions.

  The partisans and his Hornets drifted across towards the farm, just in time to reinforce Welbeloved’s assault on the chasseurs. Feeling the hands of his watch in the dark, he was amazed to discover that only forty-five minutes had passed since the first sentry had been silenced.

  Quickly, he gave a brief report on the success of his mission, mentioning the reason for leaving the Wasps to finish the job. He got a flash of teeth in the darkness, a “Well done, Hamish” and a firm slap on the shoulder, which he took to mean approval.

  Welbeloved inclined his head closer. “We’ve killed the three sentries, but let the first three alone in case their failure to return caused alarm while yew were having fun. Now we’ve four buildings to clear. The officers are in the farm and we’ll deal with them first. Then there are two big barns and the cattle sheds. About fifty horses are crammed into the sheds and we haven’t seen any men there, but that will have to be checked.

  The rest of the horses are in the second barn and I remember that it has a mezzanine, a kind of half floor where their men can sleep. The nearest barn is partitioned into storage bays and holds the other half of the men. Judging by the smoke, they’ve made some sort of stove in each barn for cooking or heating. The last time they opened the door, they had a couple of lanterns lit.

  I’d like to deal with the farm quietly. I reckon yew could do it with a dozen Hornets, while Atkins and I take on the barns. If I give yew twenty minutes start to sort out ten officers, yew might be in time to back us up in case any of them are awake enough to start shooting.”

  “Aye Sir, I can dae that, but I’m asking myself what we came for. If it was for horses and gear, we hae plenty already frae the gunners. You tell me that all the rest are in yon barn and the sheds. Dae we need tae take the risk with the other barn when we can push thae two big wains in front of the wagon doors and bottle them up while we deal with the men in the one with the horses? I hae noticed that the big wagon doors open outward and if the wheels of the wains are jammed against the inset wee doors that dae open inward, no-one can get oot if we put one man on each.”

  Welbeloved clapped him on the shoulder. “I must be getting old, Hamish, or yew are becoming much more devious. Belay my last order. I’ll take a dozen men and sort out the farm. Do yew deal with the barns and sheds and I’ll bring the commander out. I reckon I can persuade him to get the men in the blocked barn to surrender.”

  He didn’t need a dozen men for the farm. When they burst in they found only the commanding officer and his adjutant still sitting over their brandies. All the others were in their blankets and put up no resistance. Shortly after, all of them were locked securely in the capacious wine cellar. If there was any wine left in there after three armies had taken their plunder, they were welcome to drown their sorrows as far as Welbeloved was concerned.

  The Lieutenant Colonel in command was taken outside. MacKay had not waited. There was no need to, as he could concentrate all his men on the one barn. Not a shot was fired. Most of the men sleeping on the mezzanine had left their saddles with their carbines down below near their horses. The few in the barn who had kept them to hand were not inclined to commit suicide by shooting at the horde of terrifying, black-faced men who had burst in among them.

  The commander ordered his men in the second barn to surrender promptly and quietly. The alternative, hinted at by Welbeloved, was to leave the wains blocking the doors when the barn ‘accidentally’ caught fire.

  Two hours later, all the officers were back in the cellar and all the men were crammed into the barn with the wains rolled back into place. All the horses, saddles, arms and equipment were being driven up into the hills in their own baggage wagons. The chasseurs were left with their breeches and the officers with their uniforms, but the guerrilleros would find a use for everything else.

  All in all, it was a very satisfactory outcome from a raid that started out as an attempt merely to steal fifty horses so that all the Wasps could be mounted. Welbeloved would take the first opportunity to stress to the men the importance following up an advantage and tackling big problems one part at a time.

  They had actually finished the raid with over two hundred and fifty horses, together with twelve eight-pounder cannon and ammunition, one hundred and fifty saddles, carbines, sabres, cloaks, overalls
and general equipment for a regiment of cavalry.

  In addition to the Hornets, there was now a fully equipped, large squadron of a hundred sharpshooters, more highly trained and better equipped than any others in the French and British armies. All Welbeloved had to do was to find enough mischief to keep them entertained.

  He also had to decide what to do with twelve cannon that MacKay had stolen. They were not the most useful pieces of equipment for a guerrilla army, though a pair embrasured in the defences at each end of the valley would make the defiles almost unassailable. Whatever happened to the remaining eight, there was no doubt that MacKay was right to deny them to the enemy.

  The sudden glut of horses with all their gear and weapons was not a problem. There were enough for the Wasps and to spare. Tio Pepe’s men throughout the Gredos were now fully mobile, with spare mounts available for the recruits who were swelling the ranks of the partisans on a daily basis. Juan-Martin Diaz, El Empecinado, would be delighted to take the surplus mounts for his own men in the Guadarramos, north of Madrid. His men were sitting astride the lines of communication from France to King Joseph and the capital. This was a much more important position strategically than the Gredos and the source of much of the intelligence and captured despatches that were quickly re-routed along the partisan highway to Wellington’s headquarters, now at Viseu in the Serra da Estrela in Portugal.

  If there was one thing that stood out in almost all the captured communications since the beginning of the year, it was the news of continual reinforcements arriving in Spain. As Wellington had forecast when the Austrians were beaten, troops were now available to complete the subjugation of Spain and to drive the impudent British Leopards out of Portugal.

  It was already a known fact that over a quarter of a million French soldiers were needed permanently in Spain just to maintain their hold on all the main towns and cities. The mountainous nature of the country made it quite impractical for them to do more than that, but the many thousands of additional soldiers were rapidly becoming the equivalent of a large army. This led to speculation as to whether Napoleon himself would come to lead it and make Iberia a permanent part of his empire.

  Whether he did so or not, it was evident that this build-up of forces showed that the French were intent on forcing a confrontation with Wellington. That it would happen within the next six months seemed more than likely.

  Welbeloved found himself in a quandary. He liked to think that the force he commanded could be compared to one of the frigates that he had served in with Charles Cockburn. A frigate was independent and went where it could cause most trouble. It was not designed to fight in the line of battle with the big ships in a fleet.

  The Hornets were independent and certainly caused trouble wherever they went. Admittedly, they had taken part in the battle at Talavera, but even that rash action bore comparison with a frigate that would dart into a conflict of battleships to try and influence the outcome. For the frigate and the Hornets, such reckless behaviour could easily destroy them and was not to be recommended.

  He now found himself commanding the equivalent of a flotilla of frigates which, if used wisely in the ideal guerrilla country of Spain, ought to be able to create havoc out of all proportion to the size of his command. Even frigates though, should ideally occupy themselves in ways that fitted into the strategy of the admiral in command of the theatre of operations.

  He felt that he should go and talk to Wellington. It would be helpful if he could get some idea of his intentions and he needed his support to make the Wasps legitimate. Some of them would undoubtedly wish to rejoin their regiments, but he suspected that the majority would jump at the chance of being officially seconded to the Wasps for the duration of the conflict. At the very least, there was a dozen of them that he would gladly accept as recruits for the Hornets.

  Tio Pepe now had a formidable force to protect the valley as well as to carry out his self-appointed task of harassing the French. Mercedes and the child would be secure in her ancestral home while he led the Hornets and the Wasps aggressively westward to find out whether the new Viscount Wellington liked the idea of a nest of Wasps buzzing around French heads.

  CHAPTER 24

  It was quite a different feeling, to be riding among a body of horsemen almost a hundred and fifty strong. When travelling with the Hornets, it was essential that care be taken never to be surprised by the enemy. The French would almost always be found in far greater numbers than the Hornets could muster.

  Now he had nearly a hundred and fifty men around him and they were armed well enough to see off any troops in the world, up to twice their own force in open country. He discovered that it changed ones outlook from the defensive to a much more aggressive state of mind.

  He convinced himself that any French commander with the misfortune to have been pitted against the Hornets in the past and knew their qualities from bitter experience, would gladly trade a thousand men to eliminate the insignificant appearing squadron now surrounding him.

  Should all these men around him be fully trained Hornets, he would remain unconvinced that a thousand men would be an equitable exchange. Not that he had ever seen a thousand Frenchmen travelling in a single group, unless they were part of a much larger army.

  Now he was warmed by an irrational sense of security, riding as he was with less than a hundred and fifty men in the middle of a country occupied by well over three hundred thousand of the enemy.

  It sounded arrogant, but arrogance was an affectation he expected to find in a fighting man who was confident in his own abilities and in the abilities of the other members of his elite unit.

  No matter what his personal feelings of security were, neither he nor MacKay could tolerate any relaxation of standards of alertness. Outriders were in front, at the rear and on both flanks and the whole squadron was travelling at a sedate pace in open country, fifty miles to the south of a major French garrison at Salamanca. They were heading toward the spur of mountains projecting north at the end of the main east-west chain. Once across this mountain spur, they would come down to Ciudad Rodrigo, still in Spanish hands, and then on to the frontier with Portugal.

  He glanced back to where MacKay was riding with his new wife and ‘harem’. He grinned at the thought. Ever since Vere had been overheard, when they had met by the Tajo, MacKay’s Harem was the name everybody used when referring to the girls still attached to the Hornets. It was a much-reduced harem. The three Cortez girls, now respectable married women, had elected to stay behind with the Condesa and Isabella in the valley. They had reverted, with a certain relief, to their dresses and the traditional role of women; having always been competent, but never wholehearted, as uniformed soldiers.

  Juanita, the new Mistress MacKay, on the other hand, was now wearing a buckskin-coloured version of the Hornets’ uniform and carrying a Ferguson. Since the marriage blessing before they left the valley, she had assumed the proprietorial role towards both her husband and Welbeloved that Mercedes had relinquished while she recovered from the birth of Carlos.

  She ruled the ‘harem’ with a rod of iron. They in turn were now armed with modified, breech-loading, short carbines that were scarcely less accurate than the standard sized muskets carried by the Wasps. Looking at them now, riding in a tight bunch behind MacKay, Welbeloved smiled at a fanciful comparison with the warrior Valkyries of Norse legend.

  Two of the light wagons taken from the chasseurs were being driven along in the middle of the party. Welbeloved disliked the loss of mobility they introduced and if Daphne weren’t lying at Lisbon with more stores and supplies, he would have insisted on using their well-tried pack animals. As it was, they were proving useful in transporting his gift to Vere of twenty-five modified Roberto breech-loaders.

  In exchange, he was determined to lay his hands on two or three Baker rifles. If Roberto could convert them in the same way, his theory was that they would have a weapon with the speed and accuracy of the Ferguson at much less expense.

  His mu
sings were abruptly terminated by Peterkin, performing his normal role as advance scout, half a mile ahead of the column. The men all came to an abrupt halt as he rode past them to report. Welbeloved muttered a curse at the inevitable delay, before he even knew what lay ahead.

  They had come down from the hills onto the road running from Salamanca to Placencia and the south. It was only necessary for them to follow it south for four or five miles before they would come to the route through the pass over the mountain spur to Ciudad Rodrigo. Was it too much to ask that this four-mile stretch should be clear, so that nobody’s day need be spoiled?

  This road did, in fact, connect the French forces at their garrisons of Salamanca and Seville, but they were a long way apart. Unless they intended to attack Badajoz as well as Ciudad Rodrigo, he could think of no reason for the French to bother with a road going north to south through mountains and high hills.

  When Peterkin finally reached him at the same time as MacKay, he was even more irritated to discover that it was a full battalion of infantry that was marching north toward him, less than a mile away.

  Various possibilities flashed through his head, from a rapid retreat back up the road, to a surprise cavalry style charge before they could react by forming a square. Then there was no time left, as the head of the column came into sight over the brow of the hill. They also halted when they realised that a strange squadron of cavalry was sitting astride the road seven or eight hundred yards in front of them.

  Both sides studied each other curiously. Welbeloved could only see half of the leading company, all wearing tall shakos and light tan greatcoats with white cross-belts. They were certainly infantry of the line and Peterkin confirmed that he had been able to count four companies of men, with about a hundred men in each. His squadron was outnumbered by nearly three to one.

  It was patently obvious that the French didn’t know what to make of them. Most of the cavalry they had met had colourful uniforms, lots of braid and shakos with plumes, or fur hats, or brass helmets, but nearly always with gaudy plumes. What would a soldier do without a colourful plume of feathers?