“We’re goin’ back. Back t’Sahagun.”
At the rear of the column, that which once had been the head, Bentinck and his entourage were beating on the door of a small hovel at the roadside. The group included Lacey who entered with the others, in past an astonished and apprehensive Spanish peasant, who was immediately ordered to light a candle. This done, Bentinck opened the despatch handed to him by the Aide-de-Camp, him now long gone, having delivered by word of mouth the important order to halt and return. Bentinck read the note out loud.
“Return to Sahagun and prepare for retreat. La Romana can muster only 8,000 men and one battery. Napoleon has left Madrid and is marching North towards us, with all the force at his disposal.”
Bentinck re-folded the note and put it into his pocket. He then left the building without a word, followed by all others, who hoped to find their horses in the dark.
They finally filed back into their billets during full daylight, watched by their astonished followers. Tired, most immediately slumped down, divested themselves of their full marching kit and began to prepare food. Those who did go outside were promptly quizzed on their return, ‘what had they learned?”, especially Jed Deakin when he came back from returning The Colours to Lacey’s Headquarters.
“What’s the rumour Jed? What’s goin’ on?”
The whole billet fell silent. Deakin had halted in the middle of the room, the sign that he had something to say.
“I got it off Lacey’s Sergeant Clerk, Bert Bryce. We’ve got to get ourselves out of a hole, an’ that means retreat. Boney’s on our case an’ comin’ up with all he’s got. On top the Spanish b’ain’t worth a row of beans. We’ve got Soult still on our doorstep and The Man hisself hurryin’ up to join ‘im. We’n full outnumbered and have to pull back.”
The next question came from several quarters.
“Where”
“Bert didn’t have no certain information, but his guess, an’ I’d say he was right, was to Corunna, a port up North. It looks like a full evacuation.”
Those last words were taken as being his last words and the billet dissolved into chatter, much in angry tones, but Deakin had more to say. He shouted at the top of his voice.
“Now listen. Listen! All of youse!”
At such an order from such as Jed Deakin all fell quiet. Deakin took a deep breath.
“I’m not goin’ to make this sound easy, not in any way. We’ve got a retreat comin’, in winter, and over mountains. It don’t get any ’arder. We could be movin’ any minute, so, once you’m fed, look to your gear. Particular to your boots! What you’ve got on your feet decides if you can march an’ whether you can go lookin’ for food. If you can find a spare pair, carry ’em, chuck somethin’ out if you ‘as to. Take only what’ll get you out of this.”
He looked at Tom Miles, not a popular man, but well known as an experienced veteran.
“Tom. Be there anythin’ you can say, as might help?”
The answer came immediately, calm and grave, spoken as Miles stood up.
“Rain don’t just make you wet and cold, it adds to the weight on you. If you can get a piece of tarpaulin to cover yer shoulders that sends the rain off, all to the good, but if not wax up a piece of cloth to put in the same place. Failin’ that wax up your coat, to shed the rain off.
He took a deep breath, the next coming from his scrounger’s experience.
“The first to be left behind is supply wagons when the horses packs up. Their covers is tarpaulin. Try to get a piece.”
With that abrupt ending, Miles sat back down to attend to his own affairs and even Nelly Nicholls sent a kindly look in his direction, which he returned with an understanding nod. All throughout the billet was alarm and anxiety for the future, but the many tasks for preparation at least occupied their thoughts and partly shrouded their fears and soon there came the smell of melted tallow as many took Tom Miles’ advice, the candles used being of the finest, looted from nearby churches. Soon came the order they had been expecting: Parade at Noon. They did so and quickly marched off, noting gratefully that they were not part of the rearguard, now marching up and past in the opposite direction, a long column, the whole of General E. Paget’s Division and the two Light Brigades, Robert Crauford’s and Alten’s King’s German Legion, comfortingly supported by Lord Paget’s now celebrated cavalry, after their astonishing victory at Sahagun.
***
They had been marching non-stop for a night and a day, over roads identified across the landscape simply as a ribbon of barely passable half frozen mud. Now a weak Noon sun peered down upon them, but it afforded no warmth through the gathering clouds. They had been sent on a more Northerly route compared to the Divisions of Fraser and Hope, which meant that theirs, Baird’s, was faced with crossing the river Esla at Valencia de Don Juan, by means of only a ford and two ferry boats. It was Christmas Day, but none had noticed, save a few Officers. In their Company at the front of the 105th, Carr passed around his hip flask, with the words “Merry Christmas” but he could not make them sound anything other than deeply ironic. The flask went on to Ellis and Fearnley, both grateful for the strong spirit. In the Grenadiers, Carravoy, too, felt the need to make some form of acknowledgement of the occasion and in the same way, the flask was circulated to D’Villiers and Ameshurst, but what was passed further on down to the two Grenadier Company Sergeants came from their individual Captain’s own supply. In Number Three Heaviside also passed the flask but also accompanied by the inevitable.
“Unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. Luke 2, verse 11”
Having received the flask back from Ensigns Rushby and Neape, he took another swig himself before passing it onto Deakin, who delivered his standard reply.
“Yes Sir. Thank you Sir. I’m sure the lads all sees it that way, Sir.”
Deakin passed it onto Gibney, who, having drank, sank his face deeper into his collar.
There had been a sudden thaw; the road was being churned into mud and so anyone beyond the first battalion had to contend with the sucking loam, now churned up, which threatened to pull off their precious footwear, but many of the followers, taking the advice of the more experienced, bound their feet with straps or even rags, to hold their shoes in place. The soldiers produced their parade spats, which should be gleaming white for such an occasion, but they now held on their boots and shed away the water. Soon they were indistinguishable from boots and trousers, each man having mud up to his knees.
The thaw was worrying Lacey and O’Hare.
“This thaw will raise the river at Valencia, Padraigh, let’s hope by not too much.”
O’Hare’s answer was not on that subject at all.
“Who’s behind us, holding off Soult?”
Lacey turned in the saddle to see him and give a clear answer.
“Anstruther’s Brigade, that’s the 20th, 1st 52nd, and the 1st 95th”
“The 20th. Aren’t those the lads that came up beside us at Maida?”
Lacey nodded, this emphasized by his bi-corn, worn “fore and aft”.
“The same.”
He paused.
“Also Lord Paget, or a least some of his, and in him I have every Faith. His two Regiments saw off twice their number at Sahagun and so, I strongly suspect, any French cavalry will be wholly wary of the sight of a Hussar’s pellise.”
O’Hare chuckled .
“I hope so. I’d like to think that I could win battles just by the cut my tailor puts into the uniform I wear.”
They both laughed and then busied themselves with unstrapping their cloaks at the rear of their saddles. It was beginning to rain again.
Valencia de Don Juan proved to be a bottleneck in more ways than one. Firstly, the streets which led down to the ferry and ford were narrow, but, at least for those waiting in these streets above the river, there was some shelter afforded by the walls of the houses and the over-hanging thatch. Secondly was the river itself, with its ford and fer
ry. Strangely, the entire town was on their bank so all buildings were available to provide some degree of comfort for the followers of the 105th and the protection was doubly welcome as they pressed against the walls of cottages, watching the water dripping from the overhanging thatch above them. One line was composed of the broods of Bridie and Nelly Nicholls and all were now munching army biscuit, not now so crisp from the rainy march of the past 24 hours. The Chaplain’s wagon was before them on the road, waiting its turn, either for the ford or the ferry, and in it was Mary, cold but at least not wet. Sedgwicke was at the reins, sat just out of the rain, partly under the wagon canopy. A horse blanket was over his head, which at least covered his shoulders and part way to his knees, this keeping off the occasional, and wayward, gathering of raindrops that the odd gust of unkind wind sent slanting under the short awning above him. His Chaplain was also inside, content to be in the company of his wife, but not so sure about the company of Mary, but he relented slightly on discovering that Mary carried a Rosary and that she knew her prayers very well.
Sedgwicke looked across at the huddled figures against the cottage wall. He did his best to sound cheerful.
“How are you, ladies? How are you coping? Reasonably well, I hope.”
Nelly Nicholls was the nearest and it was she who answered.
“Parson, me darlin’! Now, sure, things could be worse. We’re all sufferin’ from the cold but we’ve enough commons as to keep us all goin’. How might things be with yourself?”
“Well enough, Mrs. Nicholls. I must be thankful that I am not required to walk, as you are, so I’ll make no complaint.”
“You’ve got the truth of it there, Old Parson, Lord Save Us all.”
She paused.
“Now, is there anythin’ that you might be knowing?”
She was asking about rumour and Sedgwicke did have an answer.
“There’s talk that we’ll give battle at a place called Astorga.”
“And how far might that be?”
“Two days, would be my estimate.”
He saw her nod her head knowingly, then he asked further.
“How are your children?”
Nelly looked down at the six shapes grouped between herself and Eirin Mulcahey.
“Sure aren’t they holdin’ up well, but ’tis the Lord’s Truth that the three youngest is feelin’ the pace of it all.”
Despite the rain, Sedgwicke leaned out of the wagon a little more.
“Then can I offer that they sit up here with me for a while?”
He pulled a blanket up from under his bench.
“Up here they can rest and perhaps be a little warmer.”
“The Saint’s Blessings be upon you, our Old Parson. They’ll come up, if you’re certain now.”
Sedgwicke nodded and the three, Sinead Mulcahey, then Violet and Trudy Nicholls, clambered up over the wheel to sit on the vacant space and huddle together under the extra blanket. The noise alerted Chaplain Prudoe, under his own pair of blankets, but him very disinclined to abandon their warmth, for however short a time, to peer outside the canopy.
“Sedgwicke! What is taking place out there?”
“Just a measure of re-organisation, Sir. Sorry to disturb you.”
Sedgwicke was gaining the art of dissembling as well as any veteran, only with a better vocabulary.
Meanwhile on the edge of town at the river, all was feverish activity. The guns were surging over the ford, the water above the wheel hubs, but not enough to apply enough pressure to move them with the current and into danger. The two ferries were in constant use, but the usual ferrymen were by now exhausted and sheltering in their hut, or counting the money earned. The necessary manpower was now provided by soldiers, all anxious and urgent to get themselves across and to the relative safety of the other side. Therefore, there was no shortage of willing hands to pull the hand rope as it ran through the guides at the side of each ferry, nor of willing hands to pull back that which was empty, using an extra pair of ropes attached to the back of each vessel.
The 105th were the next and stood patiently waiting their turn. Conveniently each ferry could take one Company, and the Lights would be next after the Grenadiers. John Davey, always suspicious and wary, broke ranks to examine the lashings of the guide-ropes on their side, not only were they used to propel them across, they also held the ferries safe in the stream. After careful inspection he returned, nodding his head and grinning at the exasperated looks he received from his comrades. Within half an hour all were across and volunteers now did the same for their followers. However, the baggage wagons were required to use the ford and they entered the water to find it surging up against their sides. Most gave a lurch at the pressure, but their wheels held when they were seized by the grooves worn by the countless traffic that had traversed the smooth stone over the centuries. However, within the Chaplain’s wagon all was suddenly not well. The water, higher than the floor of the wagon, bubbled in between the floor and the sides and soon all on the floor was wet through. Mary and Mrs. Prudoe, sat on their bench, lifted up their feet out of danger, but the Reverend Chaplain found both himself and his precious blankets now very wet, cold and uncomfortable. He heard children’s giggling from the front, but was too discomfited with his own situation to pay it any further attention.
Having crossed the Esla the Brigade made camp. Once his Regiment had crossed, Lacey turned himself to the business of the day, this being a written command from Bentinck, this having come from above him, from Baird, Bentinck’s Divisional Commander. Lacey stuffed it in his pocket and turned to O’Hare and Simmonds.
“We are ordered to drop behind, to form a link between our Division and Anstruther. The 4th and 42nd will move on, at dawn. How far back he wants us, I’ve no way of knowing. Closer to which, himself or Anstruther?”
He paused.
“How far back is Anstruther?”
He looked at the two and received no answer, not surprisingly, for there was none that either could give. He exhaled loudly through his nose.
“Right, we’ll hold here for tonight and half tomorrow. At dawn get the followers on; get them closed up to the 42nd. At least there, they’ll have some protection from marauding cavalry, but I’m worried about them getting their rations. Send a loaded wagon on with them, and our Chaplain. He can take command. Now, sleep!”
With that he took himself off to his tent, and his two Majors off to theirs. With the night came unwelcome activity. Many of the 105th, seeing the empty village across the water, saw their chance for plunder or valuables, or firewood at least, but this possibility had not escaped the attention of RSM Gibney. Merely a few hours into the night, he assembled a line of the NCO’s he trusted, these including Deakin, Ellis, Hill, and Fearnley, all positioned to meet any returning miscreant from wading the river with contraband. Those that had gone back merely to gather firewood from the stock within the cottages were allowed through, whilst those with any item that could be described as valuable, even if the intention was merely to smash it for firewood, received a punch on the jaw from Gibney and orders to return it, then report back empty handed or receive another stinging blow. However, Seth Tiley used his formidable strength to ford the river higher up and avoid the line. He had ransacked but three cottages and found but a few coins, but he regarded that as being a satisfactory result for little risk and effort.
Soon after the following dawn the 105th found themselves alone, both their fellow Regiments and followers having now gone. Lacey spread his men in their Companies along the banks and waited for the hands in his half hunter to show Noon, or for Anstruther to appear on the opposite bank. What did appear at around 10 o’ clock was a small squadron of Hussars, who plunged straight into the ford and crossed. They halted and their Officer went straight to Lacey.
“Cornet Miles Cornish, Sir. 18th Hussars.”
Lacey nodded
“Lacey. 105th. What do you know?
The Cornet leaned forward in his saddle.
“W
e’ve just seen off a couple of squadrons of French. Yesterday, Sir. Other than that I know little. I am to get myself back to Benevente, where the main column is.”
“Anstruther?”
“Some way back, Sir, but I could not say how far. Yesterday we heard sounds of fighting, but that’s all.”
He paused, clearly having more to say, but not information.
“I have some wounded, Sir, please can you help?”
“Of course, our Surgeon is in the trees there. And get yourselves some hot food!”
The Cornet saluted and returned to his men, who were having their own conversation with the Light Company, Davey in particular, who had immediately noticed their wounded.
“When did they come up on you?”
A dark faced Sergeant gave answer, Light Cavalry pigtails prominent either side of his face, but his reply contained no aggression.
“Yesterday. Over 100, but we gave ’em a caning. His cavalry don’t seem to have the stomach for it, but his infantry is different, so it seems. They’ve got Boney behind ’em and that always makes a difference.”
Davey nodded.
“The rearguard? Seen anything?”
“There’s fighting, we hear it every day. So far, us and them have kept the Johnnies back, but they’ll come.”
He took a drink from Davey’s offered canteen and was evidently pleased to taste the rum. Thus more warmed, now both inside himself and also towards Davey, he said more.
“Anstruther will be with you before night, and watch out. He’ll be needing all he can get, and you, hanging about here; you’ll get pulled in!”
He handed back the flask and followed his Officer, riding to the rear of the 105th’s position. Within an hour they were gone, leaving Lacey to again study the hands of his watch, both seeming to be moving in reverse. At 11.45 he gave orders to assemble for march, but at 11.55 an Aide de Camp came riding up, plunging through the ford with more urgency than that shown by the 18th.
Lacey looked at O’Hare.
“Here it comes!”
The Aide de Camp reigned in his panting horse and saluted.
“Sir. I’m hoping I’ve found the 105th.”
Close to the Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regimen Book 2) Page 25