“The Hampshires are one of the larger battalions, Sir Septimus, and also one of the better equipped, I believe.”
Light dawned; Septimus finally realised what the Brigadier had in mind.
“Yes, sir. The city of Winchester raised a subscription when the invasion fear was at its height and soldiers were popular. As a result we have tents, sufficient for all the men to sleep dry. We are also well set up for our field kitchens, sir. We are short, however, of animals for the baggage train and that will limit our capacity for movement in the short term. A mule train, or possibly ox-carts, would see us well able to march out, sir.”
The staff had been able to lay hands on a number of draught-animals during the previous months and had kept them together after Wellesley's campaign had ended.
“That need has been foreseen, Sir Septimus, and you will discover your quartermasters to be in possession of mules and Portuguese muleteers.”
“Excellent, sir! Would there perhaps be an interpreter, or even two? I am quite sure that none of my officers speak Portuguese; a number of the ensigns, indeed, have difficulty with the English tongue!”
There was an appreciative snigger among the staff officers, many of whom had noticed, and deplored, the recruitment of junior officers from the lower orders of society.
“I believe that we can discover a man for you, Sir Septimus. You should march out on the road towards Santarem, following, more or less, the valley of the River Tagus. Say two day’s march, Sir Septimus, will take you clear of the environs of the city, but not too close yet to the Spanish border. You must, I am told, take great pains not to destroy the living of the peasantry, who are allied to us and will provide us with men and foodstuffs. Do not cut down olive trees or despoil grape vines of their stakes and trellises for firewood – that is of the highest importance, sir!”
“The men must eat, sir.”
The brigadier agreed that to be so and said that the demand had been sent home to England for firing – charcoal and sea-coals both would arrive, ‘soon’.
“For the while, Colonel Pearce, it would be as well to buy in firewood rather than allow the men to cut their own.”
“Most certainly, sir. I presume one would be talking of cash payments, sir.”
The brigadier agreed to attach a member of his commissariat staff to the Hampshires to make such arrangements. It would be possible, he understood, to find merchants who would supply the soldiers’ needs and accept paper in payment.
“Bills of Exchange, to be drawn on London at six months, or even a year, Sir Septimus. Local merchants will discount the Bills in the banking houses of Lisbon and they will arrange for their eventual redemption, probably against imports of goods from England, or so one trusts. The rate of interest demanded will probably be vast!”
Septimus nodded wisely; while his battalion obtained the supplies it needed he was not at all concerned with the financial legerdemain that made it possible.
“If I might advise you, Sir Septimus – when you take a brigade of your own, you will need such knowledge, sir. Two thousand hungry infantrymen will not fight well for you, sir!”
It had not occurred to Septimus that he would be in consideration for a brigade, still less that he would then need a staff of his own and a degree of administrative skill. It was a disquieting thought.
‘Still, one campaign at a time, for the moment’, he consoled himself.
The Hampshires moved out, putting on a great show for the benefit of the watching Portuguese, who included numbers of very pretty girls. The men marched in perfect ranks and the unwed officers swaggered on their horses and the sun shone to the delight of all. It was a wonderful beginning to their great Iberian adventure.
“Do we know what the plans are for the campaign, sir?”
Major Carter was missing the company of his wife and wondered if it might not be possible for her to join him, and whether their daughter could come too.
“I am not at all sure that there are any, Major Carter. From the little that I have been told, the intention is for the army to cooperate with the Spanish in driving the French back across the Pyrenees. As we are assisting the Dons, it is our function to go where they send us, within reason. It is by no means clear who is in charge in Spain at the moment, or, indeed, whether anyone is in charge at all. The Royal Family has run away and the old administration with it; they may, or may not, be in France, and the country seems to be governed at a provincial level by things called juntas, and what they are I am not at all sure – they sound vaguely like town councils on a larger scale.”
“Then what does General Moore intend, sir?”
“I do not know. The information is that he is attempting to develop a strategy. He is a very able soldier, as all know, but I am inclined to suspect that he is not ideally suited for the highest command. Perhaps he is one of those major-generals who are wonderfully apt in the command of a division, but wholly inept when it comes to controlling the fate of a corps. There is a letter-post within a day or two, Major Carter, and I am writing to Lady Pearce to bid her to stay in England; I cannot be sanguine in any assurance to her that she should settle herself in Portugal.”
Carter accepted that he must not call his own lady out to the wars with him.
They stood in front of Septimus’ tent, surveying the camp of the Hampshires, within reason pleased with all they saw.
The tents could not be pitched in the straight lines they considered desirable because of the nature of the terrain, but each company was together and showed a good order.
They had marched along the valley of the Tagus, fertile land and well cultivated by a large population, and had made their camp on a hillside some twenty miles from Lisbon. The slopes were rocky and infertile and dry, covered in a thin scrub that had rapidly gone to the men’s fires, boiling the tea-kettles that seemed to be in permanent use. Within a day the men had used the loose rock to make drystone walls around their tents and fires and, particularly, to provide seats of ease for their latrines. By the second day they had discovered that the local villagers lived a life of self-sufficiency, feeding themselves and seeing almost no cash from one year’s end to the next; silver sixpences bought remarkable quantities of the little that was available to sell – mostly wine.
By the end of the first week there was a market at the bottom of the hill, peasants from miles around bringing in fruit and fresh-baked bread as well as their own wine and small amounts of brandy. The first local girls had arrived in camp as soldiers’ wives and a number of others had set up on a commercial basis on the outskirts. Septimus had noticed a small group of washerwomen who had appeared to service the needs of the officers; some of the girls seemed younger than was to be expected in the laundry trade, but they seemed happy enough and no doubt the experience would do the young men good. The surgeon voiced no complaint to him.
“Surprising to find village girls in the way of loose behaviour, Doctor?”
“There was a French army through here before us, sir, and they are no respecter of person. I have not asked, but I would wager that all of these girls were raped and can no longer expect to marry in their own communities. They have been dishonoured and must make their way as they can – it is a hard world in these villages!”
“It is indeed. I shall make sure that the word is passed among the men that they will pay for their pleasures and that I shall hang any who think to follow the French example. More than that I cannot do, I think. God help the poor girls when we march away, as soon we certainly will.”
“Many will follow in our train, sir. There will be no place for them in their own villages and so they will have nothing to lose by following along behind us.”
“I still say God help them, Doctor.”
They were nearly a month in their camp before orders came to march north across the border and into Spain. The winter was upon them and the men marched in their greatcoats, rags wrapped round the locks of their muskets to keep them dry and protected from rust.
; The first few days were within reason easy, the country still low and with tracks wide enough for wheeled traffic; they could manage their fifteen miles within five hours, set up their camp and eat a meal in daylight. There was fodder for the animals and the men were able to spend the few pennies remaining in their pockets.
They moved into higher and more rugged hills, the tracks becoming rougher and narrower, the ground more inhospitable and producing less for the horses and mules to graze. The Quartermaster started to dig into his supplies of grain and beans for the animals; the men began to collect dry sticks and twigs as they passed through in loose order.
Two weeks and they were slowly passing through mountains, cold and unwelcoming as they marched through December. The land was almost empty, a very few villages in sheltered valleys having no surplus of food or drink to sell, no hay for the beasts. It was poverty country.
On a certain day they received orders to march towards the east, further into Spain, only to have the order countermanded within hours; they were to head north towards the French border, to cut the lines of communications of Junot’s invading army. Two days after that the word came that Bonaparte in person was in the country, leading a huge army to subdue the whole of Spain and Portugal.
Septimus sat in his tent that night, poring over a small-scale map of Spain and trying to work out where they were and, importantly, where they might go next. The weather had turned cold in the mountains, sleet storms every day and there was a threat of snow. He called the Quartermaster to him.
“How much are you carrying, Mr Black?”
“Eighteen thousand rations, sir. Less than three weeks of food for the men. Much the same for the animals. Four hundred and twenty rounds per man, sir.”
Three hundred miles of marching at standard pace; that should bring them to the sea, even allowing for shorter days in the mountains.
“Collect all of the firewood you can, Mr Black. As you empty pack saddles replace with any wood you can lay your hands on.”
“Not much about, sir. The cavalry in front of us clear the sides of the track before we get there.”
Septimus ordered foraging parties to go out to a greater distance from the route of the march. They had to have firewood in mountain terrain in December.
A staff galloper brought orders to head west; suddenly they were in retreat. The battalion had not seen a Frenchman or heard a gun; they had not been in contact with the cavalry for two days. Local men pointed them onto a track that led, it was said, to the highway leading to Corunna.
They marched downhill through snow, warm enough, just, while marching but knowing that the night would be bitterly cold. Even with a heavy greatcoat they were not well enough dressed for such weather. Septimus rode downhill at first; he lost both chargers inside an hour, slipping on patches of ice and breaking a leg. He swore as he shot the second; they had been good horses but totally unsuited for war in the mountains. He sent Moffat, hunched in the cold, to join the quartermaster's party, ahead of the battalion and hopefully safe.
They came from their side track into a valley bottom, a stone bridge humped over a river, no more than twenty yards wide but deep and fast flowing over rocks, a useful obstacle to pursuit.
General Moore was there, ordered the Hampshires to hold the bridge for at least a day while the army crossed. A battery of field artillery, small six pound guns, was emplacing as well.
“The infantry will cross this afternoon and through the night, Colonel Pearce. Cavalry will follow. Two regiments of heavies will hold the village here when you pull out. They will keep the French cavalry off you while you make a few miles up into the hills and find a place to hold. The cavalry will fall back on you then.”
Septimus saluted and looked about him, peering through the increasing snowfall.
"Destroy the bridge, sir?"
"Oh no! It is the only crossing for miles, we cannot do that! It would cause so much harm to the local people."
Septimus could not disobey a direct order, even though it seemed cross-grained and eccentric to the point of crass idiocy.
A village had grown up around the bridge, as was to be expected; there was an inn with a pair of large barns.
“Major Perceval, your companies to take post around the bridge. On this side; do not cross. Put up breastworks as well as you can – there are rocks in plenty to pile up. Try to shelter the men from the wind. One company up at a time, the others to find shelter and build fires. There are stacks of firewood behind the inn there – take all you need and we shall argue about paying afterwards!”
Perceval set to work, passing the orders quickly. It was too cold to delay.
“Major Carter, your companies to reserve, get them into shelter and warmth. Use the barns if possible. Mr Black!”
The Quartermaster stepped forward.
“We are to hold here for the rest of the day and tonight. Feed the men well, this evening and in the morning. The French will be here tomorrow so you may requisition any stores you may discover – they will steal them if we do not. Send the Doctor to me, if you please.”
The Regimental Surgeon reported that he had forty men sick, mostly with chest ailments, the cold too much for them. The majority of them would recover given a week of warmth and rest; all would die if they were forced to march long hours across the hills through the snow.
“We will be marching again tomorrow, sir. There is nothing I can do about that. Take over one of the barns – with so many I doubt you could fit them into the inn. Build them a good fire, feed them all you can.”
“That will not save their lives, sir.”
“Then they can have one warm night before they go, Doctor. I can offer no more. We have no carts; we have no extra clothing or blankets. I cannot afford to lose your services, so you must not stay behind to go into captivity with your patients. All I can offer is the opportunity for them to remain here, with the hope that the French will care for them rather than slaughter them out of hand; I would not, myself, choose that risk.”
Septimus made his way inside the inn, found Cooper there before him, a hot drink waiting in front of the fire in the single downstairs room.
“I had a look upstairs, Colonel. It’s a bloody flea-pit! You don’t want to try for to sleep there, sir. What about your baggage, sir?”
“Dump it, Cooper – it will do no more than take up space on the back of the mules. Pick up firewood in its place. Lady Pearce put up a dozen of woollen vests, did she not?”
“And unmentionables, sir, in wool and down to the ankles.”
“Good. Heave ‘em out and I shall try for three or four sets of each, man. Better on my back than going to waste. What I don’t use, you will, as an order! Anything you can’t wear can go to someone else – one of the drummer boys perhaps – the youngsters will not take cold as well as men will.”
Septimus’ heavy wool coats, stripped of their badges and marks of rank, were as good as greatcoats for the boys, gave them a few extra days of life, in some cases enough to get them to the sea.
Septimus took a grateful swig at the mug Cooper put before him, choked and coughed and wiped the tears from his eyes.
“What the Hell was that, Cooper?”
“Tea, sir, but I added a little something to it, sir. It might be brandy. The bloke here got a big black bottle of it.”
“Make sure it’s not sheep liniment, man! My God, but that is strong stuff! I can feel it down to my toes! How much booze has he got here?”
“Half a dozen barrels of wine, sir. Two or three of brandy.”
“Call the sergeants in from each company; divide the brandy between them, equally, every man to get a tot. If we don’t some of them will get into the barrels and will be rotten drunk by morning.”
“What about the wine, sir?”
“Stick some in each man’s mug at breakfast. It won’t do them any great harm, might warm them up a bit for the morning.”
The bulk of the army came in sight soon afterwards, marching down the slope
from the east; the first battalions were still in fair order, though their ranks were thinned. They continued onwards through the village, glancing at the rearguard with a mixture of pity and thankfulness that it was not them. The army stretched for miles, its quality deteriorating as the end of the columns appeared.
Septimus stood next to Major Perceval, watching sadly.
“Stragglers, Major – men who could not keep up the pace at the front and who are slowly dropping behind. Dead men walking. Talking of which, walking that is, I have thrown away my baggage, Major Perceval, as so much deadweight. I am wearing every piece of clothing I can force on. Two pairs of stockings over another two pairs of Long Johns; four woolly vests; two linen shirts and a pair of linen stocks wound round and round my neck. Waistcoat over that and my uniform frock overall and greatcoat as a cape, tied with string! It ain’t handsome, but I am almost warm. My man Cooper is wearing much of the rest of my clothing and the drummer boys have shared out the remains.”
“I shall do the same, sir. It is not as if I am likely to be seen by any person of fashion, sir! I shall tell my young men, sir.”
“Do that, and pass the word to the sergeants that the men should wear all they have – there is no gain to keeping clothes in their knapsacks. Tell them to put firewood inside in their place – a few logs of wood may keep them alive for another night.”
The Spanish peasants of the village had disappeared by dusk, carrying all they could on their backs, abandoning their huts; where they had gone was unknown, they had not left any messages. The interpreter thought they would have headed uphill, illogical as it sounded, to the small pastures where they had sheep- and goat-folds, hidden and to a great extent protected from the weather. They would have no fires but the animals would provide warmth.
The soldiers took over the empty huts, and made free of the little that remained in them. A few goatskins were salvaged and made into dry capes; a few sacks of flour were added to the quartermaster’s supplies.
The last of the mob of stragglers, the bulk of them on their last legs, staggered into the village. Many of them pushed their way into the barns and towards the warmth of the fires.
Fire and Folly (Man of Conflict Series Book 3) Page 19