“I, myself, see no problem in worshipping our Lord Jesus in the best way our means allow. I find that your plain and poor interiors do little to convey the Glory of God, but I will respect your beliefs, even if I detect little foundation in them.”
Sedgwicke looked straight ahead and said nothing, he had already pushed at the boundaries of due deference to rank, but his quandary was solved by Nelly Nicholls again turning around.
“How much longer, now, Parson, darlin’?”
Sedgwicke, with the sense of time possessed of a trained mind, had no need to extract his watch for another consultation.
“One hour, Mrs. Nicholls.”
Nelly nodded her head and faced the direction of her march. “One hour” gave her a better idea of the time left, but her landmark, the one of her own that measured the hours between stops, was now giving her a far more practical notion of the time before they could, indeed, halt, rest and eat.
***
The army had slowly increased its distance from the coast, their route diverging away inland and the sea was now but a suggestion on their right hand side, indicated by the view now being practically flat, no significant upland, unlike the scene off to their left, which was one of impressive hills framed against distant mountains. The sinuous track of their slow advance had progressed steadily for the week now passed, but, if the reassurance of the fleet on the ocean was now missing, at least they were now on a decent road, where a foot placed forward did not sink down into a surface more sand than soil.
Far out on the left, inland of the column, the 105th Light Company formed the far left of the advanced picket line. Inside them were the four Companies of the 95th Rifles completing the picket screen. Carr had his men advancing in their files, making three ranks, covering a good 600 yards, for he had ordered 20 yards between each of the 30 files. He had placed himself out on the far left, accompanied by Nathaniel Drake and thus they were the most inland of all the infantry of the army, only the cavalry screen was out beyond them, still guarding their most vulnerable inland side, these horsemen being seen, then not seen, as trees and hillocks hid them from view. The day was again searingly hot, the heat building through the hours immediately after the Noon zenith of the uncaring sun, it, as always indifferent to occurrences below, remaining brilliant and dazzling, tracking its casual course off towards the Western horizon. The heat gave rise to the question most frequent in the minds in all in the Light Company; whether or not they could afford another swallow of precious water before their stand-down. Carr, as much to appease his boredom as for any other reason, pulled his Dolland glass from his waistband and extended it for a slow traverse of the country immediately to his front. He stopped as something white came into the lens and this soon proved to be buildings; they were approaching a town. Carr closed the glass and turned to Drake.
“We’re approaching some town.”
He raised his arm to point down into the valley ahead that harboured the road.
“Down there, in the centre, they may not have seen it. Do you think we should send a runner?”
Drake continued to stare ahead.
“Somewhat superfluous, I feel. Looks to me as though our cavalry are doing, have done, what they are out there to do.”
Carr looked forward and couldn’t miss what Drake had seen, a group of horse from their cavalry screen, namely the 20th Light Dragoons, who were cantering diagonally across their front, down towards Fane and his Staff, these riding the road immediately behind the Riflemen still patrolling forward.
“Nevertheless, we need to be sure they’re not riding back because one of them has cast a shoe or something. Send a runner.”
The sarcasm was not lost on Drake and he grinned momentarily, before turning to the file immediately to his right. The leading man was Tom Miles.
“Miles. Get down to our Brigadier and make sure they know that we are approaching a town.”
Tom Miles’ mouth closed into an angry line at the task he had been given, but he was enough of a soldier to know that such a message had something missing.
“How far off, Sir?”
Drake raised his eyebrows and nodded.
“Good question. Tell them under a mile.”
Miles hoisted his rifle sling onto his shoulder and grasped the barrel just up from the flintlock, this to steady the weapon, as he trotted off, not happy; this job would need a run of something over half a mile, in the heat. Mouthing obscenities at those he passed, all much amused at the discomfited Miles, he took himself down to his Brigadier. He was even less amused when he saw cavalry arriving first and knew full well that they were on the same errand, rendering his own wholly pointless. He came to the command party, stood in the road before them, brought himself to the attention and saluted. He was but a little out of breath, for running came easily to Tom Miles. He also knew the exact form in which such a message should be delivered.
“Beg pardon, Sir, but Captain Carr, 105th Foot, sends his compliments, Sir, and asks to report that he can see a town, about a mile ahead. Sir.”
General Fane, appreciating the task just undertaken, had not the heart to tell this soldier that that which he was saying, Fane already knew, so he decided to send the messenger back with a message of his own.
“Very good, Private. So, return and inform your Captain that what he can see is called Leiria. Tell him, from me, that there is a road running inland from it and that he is to take his men onto that road and set up a picket to the East, using his whole Company. In whichever suitable place he chooses. Also tell him that the cavalry are being called in.”
Fane reached into his waistcoat pocket.
“That for your trouble.”
The coin was tossed accurately forward and Miles needed to do little other than to reach out his left hand to catch it. His face changed to one that almost conveyed pleasure at this gift from an Officer, one with a broad Scottish accent, which flavoured his voice with something approaching drone of a bagpipe. Miles saluted, which was returned, then he set off on his run, this time uphill, but in much better mood, if such could ever be ascribed to the character of Tom Miles.
Less than an hour later, the Light Company were stepping off the brown, dried, grass of the fields onto the white dust of a road that ran East and inland, running with little deviation, off over the hillside for some 500 yards. It found its way over using its own cutting, through an avenue of stray olive trees and drought stunted oak. Carr looked both ways. To his right the fields dropped further downhill, whilst to his left the ridge created a skyline with what looked like a building not too far off the road. His mind was soon made up, because, as the far left picket of the army, they should be higher rather than lower. He turned left himself and indicated for his men to follow. The cutting had been worn into the chalk by countless generations of feet and hooves, so Drake, and also Shakeshaft, at the suggestion from Ellis, sent several men up to the top of the banks on each side to maintain a better lookout all around.
They were nearing the summit when a dense column of horsemen came over the ridge, easily 50 strong. They must have seen them, but they had slowed not at all. The shout of “cavalry” came from many that were ahead and Carr, taking no chances, gave an instant order.
“Cavalry! Take post. Sunken road defence!”
His Company had practiced this several times, that of meeting cavalry riding down a road. All his men climbed the banks, each section lining the top of their own bank, four ranks deep, two facing in towards the road, two outwards, as if within a square. Carr drew his sword and remained in the road. He heard the orders being given to load and fix and soon the bank ahead and either side of him was bristling with bright steel bayonets at the end of muskets held “en garde”. Carr waited and a small smile gradually spread across his face. These horsemen were from their picket, but he was going to make the point that no cavalry should have the temerity to simply ride up, en masse, without a word, through any picket line, particularly one commanded by him. Almost at that instant, the
ir Commander saw the bayonets and the formed up infantry. He hauled his horse to a halt, the sudden stop causing confusion further back as horses and men careered into each other. Carr walked forward, looking at a face he thought he recognised and a few more paces confirmed that he did. He spoke in a leisurely drawl, his voice thick with irony.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
The Commander had recovered his composure and reinforced it with anger and indignation, but he had no choice but to answer the challenge.
“Picket! 20th Light Dragoons. Captain Tavender. And you?”
Now Carr really did smile, in his indulgent, even insulting, manner, which annoyed so many who believed unambiguous deference to be the far more appropriate response.
“Captain Carr. Light Company, 105th Foot.”
Carr lowered his sword for its point to meet the ground, then placed both hands casually over the pommel. He then tilted his head to one side, whilst retaining his knowing, highly irritating, half grin. Recognition had come to him.
“You may remember, we met in Somerset, back in the year six. We were then called the Fifth Provisionals, you were in some kind of Yeomanry. Seems that things have changed, both for you and I.”
Tavender refused to respond.
“Can’t you recognise the King’s uniform? Is that so hard? You should have cleared the road.”
Carr adopted his most languid stance, the thumb of his left hand tucked into his waistband, sword casually sloped onto his right shoulder.
“Ah well, yes, sort of, but yes and no. You see, you know how you cavalry types like to dress up. To make a bit of a show, as it were. Which makes it a bit difficult for the likes of us to tell friend from foe, especially when you’re up on a horse!”
He inclined his head insolently to one side.
“But, no matter, now that we know who you are, I think we can have no objection to your riding on through and so we’ll allow you pass on.”
Tavender’s face reddened. “Allow” was indeed the word, because for cavalry, a sunken road was a death trap, if caught by infantry lined along either side. Carr sheathed his sword and stood aside. Tavender spurred his horse into an immediate gallop and all thundered past, but none, including himself, failed to spot the insolent signs and gestures delivered in their direction for the men above them. With them now passed and gone, Miles, out of the view of any of his superiors, was one of those who needed to pull his trousers back up from his knees. As in most armies, there was never any love lost between their cavalry and themselves, the infantry. In the same high spirits as his men, Carr crested the ridge, to see; yet another ridge. He turned to Shakeshaft.
“Get a picket out there, six men. Next, send Ellis down into the town to find the Colonel. We’ll be up here for the night and so some rations won’t come amiss.”
***
Leiria had nothing to distinguish it from any other Portuguese settlement of equal size. It’s buildings were solid but displayed no measure of affluence, preferring to demonstrate the virtue of endurance come what may, its buildings seeming to grow out of the ground as a low white wall, terminating in the cheerful bright terracotta of a full tiled, but very irregular, roof. As the British marched in, they were greeted by a population fullsome in their welcome, but doing their difficult best to convey it, as the dense columns of fours forced all out of the narrow street, therefore they had no choice but to hang from the windows and balconies, or crowd the entrances to the alleyways. They were more than relieved to see the anticipated red uniforms and so flowers and oranges were tossed into the passing Regiments or passed over at ground level. Carafes of wine were included and swiftly hidden away in the anonymity of the ranks.
Being one of the first Regiments to enter, the 105th passed completely through to the final buildings on the far side and here they were billeted, 20 to 30 to a house, forcing the occupants into small corners, but none billeted encountered any irritation, nor annoyance from those forced to relinquish space for their accommodation. Rumours of what happened under French occupation had reached this, as yet mostly untroubled, district of Portugal. Rumours were also circulating amongst the soldiers, especially when the order came, that they would spend but one night there only and they would march out on the following day, leaving the baggage, the heavy supplies and the camp followers behind.
All through the rest of the afternoon and the evening the army closed up and the orders were received regarding the strict discarding of any heavy baggage that would slow progress, that any such was to remain in Leiria. For D’Villiers and Carravoy, making the best of their hovel, or more accurately issuing instructions to their servant as to what should be done, this order was something beyond being merely irritating. It was D’Villiers’ nasal whine which first registered their reaction, when their servant first spoke the news.
“What? Nothing more than pack and blanket?”
Binns, the servant, cowered back slightly at the growing fury, which was the inevitable response to what he was being required to impart.
“Yes, Sirs. Strict orders, nothing that will impair our mobility, Sir. Those were the exact words.”
This was met with stony looks and a stonier silence, but Binns felt able to perhaps put a better gloss on things and spoke up, in his best cheery manner.
“It won’t be so bad, Sirs, dry ground and warm and, in the Rifles, Officers is required……...”
“Out! Get out!”
Carravoy’s explosive bellow stopped him in mid sentence, enough even to turn him around to face the door and so, now facing it, he hurried out from the small, hot room, all the better to escape the growing rage that was building before him. Soon they would be throwing things, so a hurried retreat was now in order. Carravoy looked at the glum D’Villiers.
“Damn this Wellesley. No tent and no camp bed! Barely tolerable.”
D’Villiers face matched his companion’s anger.
“More like intolerable! And unheard of, to sleep in the open, same as the men. It’s not to be countenanced, an offence against good order, is how I see it. What if we wake up face to face with ……”
Carravoy held up his hand, his face suddenly much brighter, he had had an idea.
“Not to slow things up, was the order. Right?”
D’Villiers nodded.
“Right.”
“Then we’ll hire a Portuguese servant and with him a mule! They can go anywhere. And…..”
He paused for extra emphasis.
“……..they can carry our tent, the small one, that is, and perhaps some extra bits and pieces.”
Then his face fell.
“But the beds, well, perhaps both a bit too bulky and awkward, I’d say?”
D’Villiers nodded agreement.
“Probably, yes, but, we’ll see, we’ll see. I’d prefer a bed to a washbasin! Perhaps just one and we can take it in turns, or something. Now, as you say, to hire a Portuguese and his mule.”
He turned to the door.
“Binns!”
Binns heard, but was disinclined to react immediately; his soldier’s patience was at a very low ebb with his two overly aristocratic charges. He had been watching the camp followers passing his door and felt more inclined, for this was where his sympathies lay, to answer the question of Bridie Mulcahy and Nelly Nicholls, who had spent the last ten minutes asking all and sundry where Number Three Company was, with Mary enquiring the same for the Lights. Knowing that the followers were to remain behind, Frederick Binns gave them full directions before answering his masters’ call and soon the two matrons were leading the children where they needed to go, but with Mary tailing on in a state of great disappointment. However, she cheered up when Jed Deakin told her where the Lights were and the route they would take through the town come morning. The cheer increased when all sat talking by the firelight with bellies full of beef stew thickened with biscuit, and peas!
The following dawn saw the same forward brigade leading out from the town. The 105th Lights had passed through a
nd then out, whilst darkness still reigned and Mary had to run to catch up with Joe just as they were dispersing beyond the town into skirmish order. After hugging him as best she could, because his equipment prevented her from getting her arms fully around him, she pressed on him a hollow loaf, filled with boiled beef, this being a useful portable food as taught her by Nelly Nicholls. A Corporal began to rebuke Joe Pike for his tardiness, but his harsh words were soon halted by Tom Miles.
“Leave him be, Corporal, he’ll not be late, I’ll see to that, and he has more of a goodbye to say than most!”
Both took their leave of Mary, Joe with a kiss and Tom with a smile and a wave. Soon they were out on picket, as before, patrolling inside the cavalry. At Noon the army halted for a welcome rest and a meal. For the afternoon march there were changes, the full battalion of the 60th Royal American, were out on picket, which placed the four Companies of the 95th at the head of the column, then the 105th next, with their Light Company leading their Battalion. Early evening saw their arrival at another town, but very different from Leiria and depressingly familiar to any that had followed the French into several towns across Europe. Every door was smashed in and some buildings still smouldered; the wood, thatch and the furniture that once created peaceful domesticity within the stone walls now continuing to throw dark blue smoke at the clean blue sky. Blackened window shutters hung at drunken angles and many small personal possessions, looted, but quickly discarded, lay in the road. At the head of the 105th column, Davey, Miles and Pike looked knowingly at each other, but it was Miles who spoke.
“Nothing different about these Frenchers!”
They had seen similar, in fact worse, when campaigning in Italy, but they had just reached the centre of the village, when people began appearing, walking back apprehensively, carrying large bundles, leading precious animals and guiding small carts, either propelled by themselves or with donkeys between the shafts. Once more the 105th were to pass fully through to the furthest buildings, there to make their billets in whichever constructions presented themselves and, to the joy of the men in the columns, the locals soon proved to be as welcoming and friendly as those at Leiria and, miraculously, as so they thought, the 105th received gifts of wine, bread, sausage and fruit.
Close to the Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regimen Book 2) Page 5