Blood and Famine (Man of Conflict Series, Book 4)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Nothing like an evening on the booze to bring the officers together, do you not think, Cooper?”

  Cooper had helped cook and serve the meal and had eaten his fill of the left-overs and then had ensured that all of the empty bottles were literally that; he was in no mood for light conversation, grunted as he set out a clean shirt.

  “No need to change socks or smallclothes, sir. You’ve only worn them for three days yet. I’ll get the shirts washed this morning; looks like a dry day.”

  “Shoes then, not boots today if there will be no mud. What do the men think about a couple of hundred of Portuguese, Cooper?”

  “They’re all for it, sir. The Goosers make good men in a scrap, so they reckon. No yellow in their backbones, sir.”

  “Nor softness in their eyes, I should imagine, Cooper. I know that the Portuguese in the battalion did well enough at the ford, but will they be good on their own, with their own officers, that is?”

  “Reckon so, sir. Those young gentlemen ain’t got no time for the Frogs, sir; none at all. They’ll be quite pleased to kill a few, so I reckon, anyway. Problem we might get, sir, will be taking a surrender. They might be more inclined to stick a knife up their guts rather than tell them to put their hands up.”

  “We shall deal with that when we come to it, Cooper. Prisoners can be a damned nuisance in any case.”

  Just how big a nuisance they could be was confirmed later in the week when a half company of New Foresters marched in, herding a great crowd of assorted, nominally French, captives in front of them.

  Major Howton reported a while later, having made sense of who and what the mob was.

  “The Frogs have got no maps of the country, either, sir. Quite ridiculous, their story! One hundred and eighty-three of replacements for the thinned ranks of Massena’s army, winnowed out of garrisons and depots across the north of Spain and sent to fight, rather against their will. Old sergeants in command, and resenting the fact, under young officers, newly made and terribly enthusiastic!”

  “Perhaps ‘enthusiastically terrible’, might be a better way of expressing that, Major Howton!”

  They applauded Colonel Watson; he had made a joke! It was one of the first ever signs that he was more than a stuffed dummy.

  “Well said, sir! These enthusiastic volunteers to the cause are mostly not even French. Italians swept up in Bonaparte’s campaigns in the last war account for at least one half, and besides that a leavening of Dutch and a few Swiss and a dozen at least of Turks who found themselves in the French ranks in Egypt and discovered no wish to go home again for being seen as traitors. They have, mind you, even less desire to be here. All of them pushed out of their previous places – which means they were not wanted there, for their commanders would have kept their best and thrown out their bad lots. They marched, slowly for being unused to the exercise, fell off the pace and were left to straggle. At a crossroads somewhere, or so I surmise, they took a wrong turn, possibly a deliberate act on the part of some sergeants, and then made their way cross-country and very slowly in the appropriate general direction. They were found some five miles from here in a state of near mutiny, rations used up and unwilling to march further, although they were almost within sight of their army. I suspect it is not impossible that they had discovered their proximity to the fighting and had decided they would far rather be elsewhere. They surrendered with great delight, falling over each other to hand in their muskets.”

  “What do we do with them, gentlemen?”

  Major Howton caught Septimus’ eye and shrugged; it was a remarkably foolish question, but he felt he should answer it, for fear of what Septimus might be tempted to say.

  “Well, sir, you might, in theory, parole them. That is to take their word of honour that they will report to their own people and inform them that they may not fight until they have been exchanged by the release to us of an equivalent number of our people. The probability is that their most senior man would be shot as a traitor for making the agreement and that the rest would be kicked back into line. The French army never honours exchanges, sir, presumably under orders from Bonaparte. Such being the case, the better course is to send them back to the rear, under escort. They have effectively deserted from their own army, so if they are not carefully watched they will leave us as well, probably to become a band of brigands preying on the rear of either or both armies and on any poor civilians they can find.”

  “That will demand a full company, will it not?”

  “That would be the least I would detach to the duty, sir. Three days to march them back to the Castle, if they will accept them there. Possibly another two or three days to the rear before they can get rid of them. It might easily be two weeks before we saw our men again; assuming, that is, that they were not given other orders the meanwhile. If a general spots them and needs a company for a specific service… well, he may not have the right to give them orders, but will a lieutenant or even a captain be able to refuse him?”

  “But that would be an outrageous breach of army law, Major Howton!”

  “So it would, sir. No doubt there would be a reprimand issued after a complaint and a full investigation. Probably, the whole business would take two or three years to come to a conclusion. We would still not see our men, sir.”

  Septimus took pity on Watson, lost in an unfamiliar world. Life in barracks in England, which was his sole experience as a commanding officer, had left him unfit for the demands of the field, where convenience was the first consideration, law and regulations far less a constraint.

  “We could perhaps have use for a contingent of labourers, sir. The track would benefit from being widened and metalled on its softer stretches; we might wish to extend the walls or deepen the ditches; we could benefit from the felling of more trees for firewood and perhaps to improve the surgeons’ facilities. They are not actually French, in the sense of being natives of the land, born to it, and as such might be argued not to be prisoners but escapees from tyranny, volunteered to our service. No doubt, when we come into more regular contact with our own people, we could pass them across to a Pioneer or Engineer battalion, or whatever organisation they have for digging and building – there must be some and they will certainly be short of men.”

  “Will they be willing, Sir Septimus? Prisoners of war do have well-known rights, do they not?”

  “Ah… yes, sir, but we have established that these anomalous souls are not prisoners, as such, but rather, in fact, fugitives from the French. While prisoners do undoubtedly have rights, deserters do not, to the best of my knowledge. Was we to point out to them that they are at risk of being sent back to their proper masters, we having no use for turncoats and renegades, then I do not doubt that they would become very willing workers. Would-be navvies, in fact!”

  Colonel Watson could not be entirely convinced it was right, and the lack of expression on Septimus’ face and the half-grin displayed by Major Howton did little to reassure him, but he was not quite strong enough to defy them both. He gave the instructions that turned the mistakenly identified prisoners into deserters, taken in as an act of charity almost; he was even so foolish as to put his orders into writing, recorded in the Brigade’s books.

  His two battalion commanders left the tent, shaking their heads in unison, as soon as they were out of sight.

  “I fear, Sir Septimus, that the New Forester’s Diary will record the capture of these men and that they were then discovered by the acting-brigadier to have been deserters.”

  “I can see no other course, Major Howton. There will be a brief note in ours as well, which may serve as a reference point, should questions arise at some future time. For the while, sir, what do we need first? The track or timber?”

  With so many extra hands it was practical to fell larger trees and drag them into position in front of the walls as an extra obstacle to cavalry, and the stacks of firewood grew rapidly, greatly to the pleasure of the men who sat watching their progress. They had not become soldiers in order
to work for their living and much liked to see foreigners making the effort for them.

  The sergeants pointed out that they were much better protected behind their strengthened walls as well, and they liked that too.

  The patrols went out as before and occasionally discovered groups of French light troops on the same mission, poking about in the woodlands to discover what, if anything, the British were doing. Generally, very little happened as the two parties typically spotted each other at much the same moment and the smaller group then legged it into the far distance. The only noticeable effect during the first week was that both sides increased their patrols to half company size, more than that too cumbersome for the forest.

  Colonel Dudley returned on the eighth day, riding at the head of a column of some three hundred men and six big guns. A tail of baggage carts stretched for half a mile behind him.

  “Got the twelve-pounders, gentlemen! The gunners said they was newer guns and would stand the bumping and battering across the tracks better than the carriages of the old nines. Four companies of Portuguese soldiers as well, bit more than two hundred of ‘em! Very willing, so they were, though I suspect it was because the choice was to join us or be taken up by the Portuguese Army later in the month. They had word they was to join up with the regular forces, and get paid nothing, fed less and put up with bad conditions and worse discipline. While they campaign with us, they get our pay and rations.”

  Colonel Watson handed over thankfully and made to retire to his own people’s tents; he was delayed while Colonel Dudley enquired about the work details he could see, still dressed in their blue coats.

  “Deserters, you say, Colonel Watson? Not prisoners? Well, sir, the decision was yours to make and I am very glad to see you had the courage to create a written record of it. Sir Septimus and Major Howton thought it to be a good idea, you say? I am certain they were right. Well and good, sir! I am sure they will have proved very useful. We have rations in plenty for the while so that will be no problem, and we will be able to send them back if rain closes the tracks to the commissary wagons.”

  Colonel Watson gained a slight suspicion that the others might have gulled him, that he might have exposed himself to censure while they had avoided all responsibility. He was not best pleased; the comment about a written record was especially worrying when he came to think of it; paper was important to the army.

  They had been nearly three weeks at the ford and no further orders had come through, much as had been forecast.

  “The men were right to make themselves comfortable, or so it would seem, gentlemen. Have you any suggestions for ways of amusing ourselves the while?” Colonel Dudley enquired.

  “We could beat up the rear area of the corps over the hills behind us, sir. That would upset them to no small degree, but I cannot really like killing the doctors and burning the hospital tents, which would inevitably occur. A battalion in a swift attack downhill could have the better part of an hour to raise Cain before there was a response and then a withdrawal covered by a second holding the pass between the hills.”

  “It would certainly disconcert the Frogs, Sir Septimus, and would force the bulk of the corps to reposition itself, possibly disrupting their whole set of dispositions. Valuable, but, as you say, not the way one wishes to make war. The doctors and the hospitals should be left unharmed. We are not Russians, barbarians in peace and war alike!”

  Colonel Dudley was very unwilling, it seemed, to order such a course.

  “Was we to be defending our own land against invaders, then it would be a different matter, sir. But in ordinary circumstances, such as these, it should not be done!”

  Major Howton, laying down the law as so often, did not seek to discover the opinions of the Portuguese on the matter.

  “We might send a pair of companies out of an afternoon, sir, into the woodland and lay up in ambush on the paths that the French have been seen to use. At the moment we are almost gentlemanly in our conduct. We see the French and wave and smile and step aside while they turn around and go home again; we are content simply to keep them at a distance and prevent them from discovering just how many we are and how we are disposed. An ambush would wake them from their complacency.”

  “True, Sir Septimus, but we would then have to tread mighty careful ourselves afterwards.”

  “Good for the men, sir. Keeps them on their toes!”

  Colonel Dudley was inclined to wonder if it was a sensible exercise, but they were not there to enjoy picnics in the forests; he gave his consent.

  “Two companies in turn from each battalion, Sir Septimus. Give the Portuguese a few days to settle in and then we shall send one of theirs together with one of ours, for the experience of working together.”

  That was so sensible a provision that it irritated Septimus; it was his function, he believed, to make the practical, professional suggestions. As the largest of the battalions he proposed to go out first.

  “By all means, Sir Septimus. But not you in person, sir. You have no business at your rank to go playing in the woods!”

  Septimus smiled, trying to accept the order with grace; he did not give a convincing performance. He left the daily meeting turning over in his mind who to send out. He wanted a field officer to take out the first parties, to have the responsibility of identifying sensible ambush points with a sufficiency of visibility to make an attack, and at least two ways out if the affair went wrong. Major Perceval would follow the instructions he was given, but would display little personal initiative; Major Paisley would use his brain in the interpretation of his orders, but might be too concerned to achieve a degree of glory, willing to take too great a set of risks.

  By the time he had reached his tent he had plumped for Paisley – Perceval could and would purchase before too many years had passed, while Paisley must at least seek to have his brevet confirmed without spending the money he did not possess. The overwhelming problem was that such a promotion could only be made by Horse Guards; no matter how visible his virtue, Lord Wellington did not have the power to make him. Major Paisley must fight his action and then rely on a good report being sent to London and attracting attention there; it could, and did, happen, but not very often.

  Septimus sat back and framed his thoughts; it would not be appropriate to give Paisley a written order for a minor action of this nature; that would be to imply a lack of trust in him. Such being the case the verbal orders must be framed without ambiguity, and also without severity, again so as to give no implication of uncertainty about his ability or judgement. Displaying doubt of the man’s capacity to do the job might well undermine him, cause him in turn to lose belief in himself, and that was the road to disaster.

  “A small but not quite simple task, Major Paisley.”

  Septimus outlined the orders the brigadier had given him.

  “The aim is twofold, as you will have observed, Major Paisley. First, and as always, overriding, is to kill Frenchmen, and not be fussy about exactly how we do it. If we can achieve a tidy little ambush, twenty or thirty or forty of Frenchmen shot from behind with never a ball in return, be very sure that I shall be most approving! And I shall ensure that your name is known in the proper places. That is unlikely of achievement, as I am sure you will see; so the second aim is to reduce to the least possible the butcher’s bill for our men. Very often the sole means of avoiding all casualties to us is not to fight at all – and that, as you will agree, is not an option. So you have the unenviable task of deciding how many is too many; we will lose some men, but you must do all you can to keep the number low, while making sure the damage to the French is high. That is why the task is not as simple as it might seem, sir – we are many miles from England and many months perhaps from seeing replacements for our losses; there will be a battle at some time in this campaign, and we must have the numbers to stand in line usefully then. We cannot fritter our strength away, weakening ourselves almost as much as we do the French. The Frogs outnumber us - they will almost always do so, h
aving conscription in their lands while we rely on volunteers, more or less, that is - so we must spend our men carefully.”

  Major Paisley found the concept of ‘spending’ men to be unpalatable, as Septimus had hoped he might, but he was able quite quickly to grasp the concept.

  “You are saying, sir, that if I lose ten men while killing twenty French, then I will not be able to claim success. But if one hundred Frogs die then the loss of those same ten is no more than the necessary cost of a great victory.”

  “Quite right, sir! Men are the soldier’s currency, and we are so badly off as to be almost in the Workhouse at the moment, and with no prospect of relief from the parish!”

  Major Paisley did his best to show amused.

  “I shall be very close, sir, opening my purse only when absolutely forced. Should I lead a small patrol first, to identify a site, and take position with a full force next day, do you think? Or shall I be better advised to leave very early and seek out a proper location with all of the men?”

  “Your command; your decision, Major Paisley. It is yours to select which of your companies shall go with you – you must know them better than I can.”

  “I shall talk with my officers today, sir, and lead two companies out at dawn.”

  “As you choose, sir. If I might offer the advice, Major Paisley, some of your older sergeants will have had American experience of the war of ambush in the woods; they will have noted proper places to lay up almost without thinking about the matter.”

  “Very true, sir. A young soldier of that war would still be in his forties now, and a positive mine of experience.”

  Septimus watched them out in the morning, wondering briefly if he might not tag along behind, not to go patrolling himself, but as it were just to see what was happening. Reluctantly, he decided that the brigadier might have legitimate grounds for complaint was he to do so.

  “Breakfast, Cooper. We shall sit and eat our fill while the men fight and hopefully do not die.”