Keane's Company (2013)

by Gale, Iain

  ‘Of course I have, sir, but have you not seen what is below us on the cliff and also coming our way?’

  ‘If you are alluding, sir, to the men of your regiment who are making their way up the hill, then yes, I have seen them. But if we do not close the gates now then we will most certainly not be here to greet them.’

  ‘You cannot shut them out. They will be taken by the French, or killed. By God, man, the odds are four to one against them; more. That’s my commanding officer down there, Keane.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but if I keep the gates open then I risk losing the monastery. And that I cannot do.’

  ‘But you’re condemning them to death, man. All of them.’

  Keane looked at him and then looked down towards the men toiling up the track on the cliff. He turned away and yelled at Ross, who was closing the left gate, the right already being in place. ‘Sarn’t Ross, hold off there a moment.’

  Keane ran to the gate and out onto the road. The French skirmishers were only a few yards away and took careful aim at the English officer. Keane ducked as two bullets thwacked into the white walls behind him, sending chips and shards of stone and plaster up into the air. There were more shots now and he ran, half doubled over, along the south side of the wall. He was suddenly aware that another man was with him: Silver.

  ‘What the devil are you doing here? Get back inside.’

  Silver ignored him. ‘What are you doing, sir? Where are we going?’

  ‘I need to see if the others are here. The third boat. I can’t shut the gates on them.’

  Silver shouted over the bullets. ‘Look, sir, down there.’

  Peering down the cliff into the bushes, Keane saw the top of a black shako and then a bicorne and a dozen red coats. He cupped his hands and shouted. ‘Hallo on the cliff! Come on. Get up here. The French are at the gate.’

  The men looked up and doubled their pace as best they could. Keane turned and dashed back towards the gate. The French were there now, the skirmishers first, while to their left the column, an entire company with a mounted colonel, was deploying into three-deep line. They would have to get inside before the French opened fire or all would be lost.

  He drew his sword and plunged upon one of the voltigeurs who had reversed his musket and was using it as a club, trying to smash the already bloodied and broken hands of a young redcoat who was holding the gate. Keane raised his sword and brought it down on the Frenchman’s arm, almost severing it above the elbow. The man spun round and collapsed to the ground. Silver was in the thick of it too now, thrusting and parrying against the skirmishers’ bayonets.

  Then the British reinforcements reached them. Immediately Keane heard an officer’s voice giving orders. ‘Form up there. Form line.’

  A tall officer, presumably the major of whom Watkins had spoken, stood in their midst, sword drawn. He caught Keane’s eye and nodded before turning back to his men, who had done as ordered. ‘Present. Prepare to fire. Fire.’ A volley rang out into the mauled French ranks, killing one of the officers.

  ‘Thank you, Captain … ’

  ‘Keane, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Captain Keane. Major Danvers, the Buffs. Had we not better get inside this place before the Frenchies send more of their friends?’

  ‘Aren’t there more of you?’

  ‘More? There’s the whole damned army, sir. But not here. Not now.’

  Keane glanced towards the French column. They were readying their weapons now, reaching into their cartridge bags to bite open the cartridges. As he watched two of them fell, shot from the windows of the seminary. There was still time. Just.

  He sliced up with his blade into a skirmisher’s chin and felt a bayonet cut into the red cloth of his tunic, searing his forearm. Keane pulled himself away towards the gate and shouted, ‘Pull back. The Buffs, with me. Inside the gate.’

  Keane swung his sword down on the head of another Frenchman, severing it across the scalp. He shouted a command at no one in particular. ‘Inside. Get inside.’

  The major was locked in a fight with a voltigeur. As tall as Keane himself, he used his body weight to crash into the Frenchman and then before the man could recover, drew back his infantry sword and plunged it into his side. The close-quarter tactics of an old-school fighter, thought Keane. Dirty and effective. He yelled at the major, ‘Fall back. With me. Get inside, sir. There are too many of them.’

  Then, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, Keane held off the few remaining French skirmishers while behind him the major’s men pushed through the gate into the seminary. The French line beyond was at the ‘present’, their muskets raised and ready to fire, now. More of them had fallen, were falling, shot from the walls, but Keane knew what was coming next and that neither of them would survive it.

  He turned to the major. ‘Come on, sir. It’s our turn now.’

  Together they squeezed through the gate. Keane yelled to Ross. ‘Shut it, sarn’t. Shut the gate, man.’

  A lone voltigeur poked his musket through the gap, trying in vain to force it open, and was shot in the face for his trouble by one of the Buffs.

  Ross and seven men pushed the gate shut and as they did a volley rang out from the French lined up outside the wall. A bullet entered through the gap and struck one of the redcoats in the forehead, killing him. Other bullets struck the walls and the gate, splintering wood and stone. Meanwhile from the upper storeys the defenders continued their fire.

  Keane turned to the major. ‘What the devil are the French trying to do? Anyone knows that you can’t take a position with musketry. This is madness.’

  The major, doubling over to regain his breath, straightened up. ‘I’m in your debt, Captain Keane. Reckon you saved my life.’

  ‘It was a close thing, sir.’

  Lawrence walked over to them. ‘Well done, Keane. Welcome, sir. We’re in a bit of a hodgepodge here, as you can see.’

  ‘So I do see, Lawrence. What’s our state?’

  ‘Sarn’t Copeland’s just now calling the roll, sir. We’ve lost six, sir, all told, but there’s another five as won’t fight again today.’

  Danvers turned to Keane. ‘What’s your strength, Keane?’

  ‘I have seven men, sir, and myself.’

  ‘Seven men? You took this place with seven men?’

  ‘We took it and have held it with seven men, sir, yes.’

  ‘Good God. Seven men.’ Shaking his head, the major paused. ‘Well, we shall have to do as well as that, shan’t we, Lawrence? Now I am here I shall assume command.’

  There was another volley from outside the walls and a shriek from above as a redcoat fell from the tower. The major continued. ‘You’re quite right, of course, Keane. It is ludicrous to attack a fortified position in this way.’

  ‘They do of course have a field piece, sir.’

  ‘Yes, by God, so they have, damn them. By God, I vouch we shall feel that soon enough.’

  Keane smiled. ‘Sir, if I may suggest, perhaps we should regroup. We could distribute the remaining ammunition and so on.’

  ‘Are you telling me my duties, captain?’

  ‘No, sir, not at all. I was merely suggesting.’

  ‘Well, do not “suggest” any further.’

  He turned to Lawrence. ‘Captain Lawrence, where is that state report? And I want to know exactly how many rounds we have.’

  Lawrence went off in search of his sergeant and still the firefight continued outside the walls. And then suddenly both Keane and the major turned as they heard a strange noise. A great rush. The seminary shook as a six-pound cannonball smashed into the fabric of the bell tower.

  ‘Great heavens,’ exclaimed the major, holding his hat as shards of plaster fell about them.

  Keane brushed the dust from his coat. ‘Well, sir, now we know they’ve got the range. Not bad shooting for a first attempt.’

  It would take time for the single gun to reload. Time that they must now put to good use. Keane ran to the foot of the tower and yel
led up. ‘All of you get down from there. Now.’

  He wondered whether the French gunners would now do what he would have done. Move their target from the tower down to the windows of the upper storeys. He didn’t have long to wait to find out. There was another boom from the cannon and a ball came flying at them, but this time it hit the wall close to the left-hand window and continued into the building. The screams from the room rocked the air. Keane ran up the steps and pushed through the redcoats crowding the corridor towards the room.

  The cannonball had taken away half of the window and part of the wall, and with it most of the men who had been crowded around it. Two redcoats lay mangled on the floor while another, a headless corpse, was kneeling where it had been when the ball had struck. Of his own men there was no sign and Keane feared the worst, but just then Ross and Heredia appeared at the door.

  Ross spoke. ‘Knew they’d do that, sir. They was just finding their range. I told those boys to come away, but they wouldn’t.’ He looked with horror at the headless corpse. ‘Christ almighty.’

  Keane slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well done, sarn’t. Might have been you. Come on.’

  He guided them down the stairs, but not before noticing that the French line, whose purpose had been to entrap the men at the windows, allowing the gun to target them, were pulling back.

  He walked over to Danvers. ‘You’ve lost three more men, major. Up there. Oh, and the French are retiring.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘They mean to come on in force. It’s my guess they’re waiting for reinforcements. Then we’ll be in trouble.’

  One of the redcoats called from the south side of the building. ‘Sir, Major Danvers, sir. There’s more men coming up the hill. More of our men.’

  Together, Keane and the major went over to the south and peering through a crack in one of the shutters saw a cloud of red-coated men moving up the hill. Battalion strength, at least.

  Danvers smiled. ‘The rest of the battalion. Well, another company at least. Three more boatloads. That’ll show them.’

  Morris, who had been standing listening, turned quietly to Keane. ‘Between you and me, James, I think it will take more than another three boatloads to make the French quit Oporto.’

  ‘Allow the man his moment, Tom. Ours will come.’

  *

  The major moved to the front of the seminary and barked an order. ‘Open the gates. Allow our men inside.’

  Keane hurried across to him. ‘Is that quite wise, sir? At this moment the French are not far away; they might easily rush the gates before we had a chance. We could signal to the men on the cliff our situation. They could wait and take the French in the flank as they pull back. As the gates are now shut they have no alternative, unless they want us to pick them off. We’ve learnt our lesson from the cannon. Surely it would be better to get our men under cover. Their gun is sure to open up again.’

  Danvers laughed and shook his head. ‘Don’t be so foolish, Keane. The Frenchies won’t dare try their luck with us again.’ He called to his sergeant. ‘Open the gates, man. Do it.’

  The great gates swung open slowly and through the widening gap they saw the wall of blue that was the French. Danvers called out again. ‘Form up. Form up. Form line. We must give our fellows covering fire.’

  It was as if Keane was watching it happen in a dream, slow and unreal. The French had clearly been dumbfounded at first as they had watched the British open the gates. But now he saw their officer turn and wave them on, and then, slowly, the blue lines began to march forward, their bayonet-shining muskets levelled in the attack position, straight towards the open gates.

  Keane tried again. ‘Major Danvers, sir. This is not the way. There are too many of them and they are too close.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, captain, what is the right way and the wrong way to fight a battle. Go and mind your own men, sir, and leave me to defend this place like a soldier.’

  Keane walked away cursing, leaving Danvers to form two ranks of his depleted company. He found his men together, near the barricade. The French were nearing the open gates now and he wondered how long it would be until the new arrivals reached them.

  Ross had seen what was happening. ‘Christ, sir, the Frogs’ll be inside before his lads have time to loose off even one volley. We’ve got to stop them.’

  Keane nodded. ‘Get up in the windows. I don’t care about the gun. Don’t bunch together. Get every man you can who Danvers hasn’t got down there playing toy soldiers. Come on.’

  Desperately, Keane grabbed two lightly wounded redcoats and with Morris and Martin behind him ran headlong as fast as he could up the steps. He placed them in the left-hand window.’

  ‘Shoot down on the French. Stop them in their tracks.’

  He looked across the fields towards the French gun where it sat on the hill and saw that the gunners were re-laying. Soon another round would come hurtling into the palace. He realized, though, that it was not a howitzer and thus could not hurl the projectiles which would set the palace afire. But the French must also know that and it would be merely a matter of time, surely, before such a cannon would be brought to bear on them.

  Looking down from the shattered window, from the room still littered with dead and dismembered bodies, he saw that the French line had almost reached the gates and still Danvers’ redcoats had not fired a shot. The French stopped now, as he had known they would. He heard the sharp shout of their officers making their commands heard above the din. Danvers, of course, was doing exactly the same but Keane knew that the muskets at his disposal were barely a third of the French. When the volleys were exchanged at such a range, Danvers’ men would be decimated. There was one chance.

  ‘Quickly,’ he yelled. ‘Fire at whoever you can. Martin, you shoot the officer. The rest of you shoot at the sergeants.’ He raised his own musket and tried as best he could to take aim. ‘Fire.’

  There was a crash as their guns rang out, together with those of Ross and his men from the other window. And below them the bluecoats fell. Ten of them, plucked from the ranks. The French looked up, brought in their surprise to a temporary halt by the men in the windows. And at the same time Danvers’ men opened up, catching the French before they had a chance. But Martin’s rifle bullet had struck home and the officer had been dead before he had been able to give the command. Another nine Frenchmen went down, and at that moment screaming round the corner came the men from the boats.

  They crashed into the right flank of the French line, driving home their attack with the bayonet and pushing the French off their feet like skittles in a shy.

  The far end of the French line, officerless, turned and ran, while the others attempted to defend themselves as best they could.

  Danvers, standing in the courtyard below, yelled ‘Charge,’ and his men joined in the melee. It did not last long.

  Keane and the others rattled down the steps and watched as the French who had not yet been shot or bayoneted raised their arms in surrender.

  Danvers placed them in the charge of three of his men and turned to Keane. ‘You see, captain, that is how to fight a battle. And how to win.’

  Keane fumed but said nothing. He knew that any retort would be pointless. Silver came up to him. ‘Sir, you know and I know that wasn’t him that did that. That was us, sir. We saved him and all his men. If them Frenchies hadn’t been taken by us from above they’d have got in the first volley and that would have been that.’

  Keane smiled. ‘You may well be right, Silver, but Major Danvers is the senior officer and we must accept his word.’

  There was a sudden whooshing noise that sucked the air from around them and instinctively Keane and the others ducked. The cannonball smashed into the front of the building, shaking it to its foundations and knocking a hole in the wall. It caused no casualties, but it was clear to Keane that, even in the elation of victory, the redcoats were shaken.

  As the French prisoners were led away to the rear of the buildings, Kean
e began to wonder what their next plan of action might be. He wondered how much longer it was going to go on, this game of cat and mouse, played out with human lives. He wondered too who might have led the relief column up the cliff and to whom he might now be answerable. He hoped that it might be someone superior in rank and intellect to Danvers. A colonel at least.

  The gate was clear now, save for the dead and wounded, and as Danvers’ men dragged their fallen comrades into the monastery, the redcoats who had made the flank attack at last came through the gate. They were led by two officers. One, a captain, wore a stovepipe shako and on his shoulders carried the green wings of the battalion’s light company. The other, though, was different. He wore a bicorne hat on his head and on his chest a lanyard of gold bullion and the Garter star. He saw Keane and instantly gravitated towards him. Not a colonel, then, but a general.

  Keane snapped smartly to attention and nodded a greeting. ‘Sir.’

  The general smiled and returned the salute. ‘General James Paget. And you would be?’

  ‘Keane, sir. Captain James Keane, late of the 27th, now attached to the Corps of Guides.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Keane. You’re the intelligencer, are you not? Sir Arthur has told me of you. And Major Grant also speaks highly of you.’ He saw Morris. ‘And this must be your lieutenant.’

  ‘Captain Morris, general.’

  Paget nodded and Danvers, who had just noticed the new arrival, now came hurrying over to join them. He was in a state of some consternation.

  ‘General Paget, sir, good day. Major Danvers of the 3rd, sir. I command here. And this is my second in command, Captain Lawrence.’

  Paget smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, major, and a quite splendid job you’ve made of it. But I’m afraid it’s not over yet. The French do not as yet seem to have any notion of leaving the city, although I am told by Sir Arthur that is Marshal Soult’s intent. We have two companies on this side of the river and another on its way. The general has plans to make a further crossing downstream, closer to the city, but for that he will need more boats. Until then it would seem that we are on our own. Whatever they may throw at us.’