The 20th marched on, breaking formation as they picked their way through the remains of the French cavalry, then re-forming like veterans beyond. In no time they were level and then beyond the 5th Provisionals, pushing onto the flank of the main French line to their right. Lacey and Cole grinned at each other and shook hands, but O’Hare, from where he was, knew there was still fighting to be done.
“Fix bayonets.”
The firing lessened as his men obeyed the new order. He walked out to the centre of his men with his sword unsheathed in his right hand; he swept it back, then swept it forward.
“March on, boys!”
The whole line moved forward, not in a headlong charge but a steady inexorable advance. They could see the French before them begin to retire, not as beaten men, but in an orderly retreat, still facing the British at first, but then turning to march off. O’Hare took his men onto the French position, then halted. Ammunition was short, as was water, and French cavalry were still around. His advance was the last act of the battle. The French were beaten, everywhere they were in retreat
Deakin found his water canteen, he was the only one that had any left. He drank himself, then passed it to Gibney, who passed it onto Halfway.
“Where’s Pat?”
All looked around. Mulcahey was no-where to be seen, certainly not amongst those robbing the French dead, but there were several prone red coated shapes lying within the area they had just advanced across. Deakin looked at Halfway, his face grave.
“Take a look at those back there, will you, Toby?”
Halfway left the line and began his search. The third lifeless figure revealed what he didn’t want to see. It was Mulcahey, with the left side of his chest caved in. The French artillery must have changed to case shot to cover the retreat and Mulcahey must have been close on the last casualty that the 5th suffered. Halfway closed the eyes and laid him out, first removing the knapsack into which he put any items from the pockets and his ring. His kerchief was clean, but there was nothing else of any value that could be called personal and was not soaked in blood. He stuck a musket into the ground using the bayonet and placed a shako over the butt, then returned to Deakin and Gibney.
“He’s back there, Jed. They got him. Must have been the last shots they fired.”
Deakin draped his wrists over the muzzle of his already grounded musket and lowered his head, then raised it to look with hatred at the French, but all that could be seen of them was dust and a few wounded, limping into the distance. Then he turned back to Halfway.
“Did you fix on the body.”
“Yes, the one I marked. And I’ve got his bits and pieces, such as were of any value.”
oOo
Cole rode out to just beyond the point of the advance, but could see little more than anyone else. It seemed sensible to hold his position and the men stood for some while, drinking and eating, sharing also what had been found in the French knapsacks. He was relieved to see General Stuart and his Staff approaching at a fast canter. As he approached, Stuart looked at the casualties strewn all over, both British and French.
“Cole, good to see you. I had no idea that things were so tight over here. Well done, my word yes, well done. Evidently with you the French made a real fight of it, unlike elsewhere. Well done again, to you and to your men.”
“Thank you, Sir, but if you get the time, please pass that onto Lacey and his battalion. Provisionals, yes, but they conducted themselves as well as we could expect from any Regiment. Better. They stood and fought like hard biting veterans. They should be told.”
“If you think so. Yes, I will. Now, pull back. The French are gone, so we’re returning to the beach. To re-supply if nothing else.”
Cole saluted and instructed his Staff as Stuart rode off. The line began to retrace their steps, but Halfway and Deakin made a stretcher out of a French greatcoat and two French muskets and carried the body of Patrick Mulcahey back to their lines, but they didn’t add his body to the long row already assembled by the Drummers. Again the Battalion was told to hold and rest, and the lugubrious collection of Catalonians came to begin the task of interring the dead but Deakin sequestered two shovels from them and he and Halfway dug a grave themselves. Whilst Halfway and another dug out the last few shovelfuls, Deakin himself went to Sedgwicke.
“There’s a job for you, Parson. The bastards got Pat. We’ve dug a grave and need you to say the words. It’s just up here.”
Sedgwicke felt the same uneasiness he always felt with such as Deakin, but nodded all the same. His emotions were mixed, he felt pleased that they had called upon him, but also felt sadness himself, remembering the kindness that Mulcahey had shown him all those months ago back in that cold barn. Attended and helped by several others of their Company, Mulcahey was lowered in, his face covered, and Sedgwicke conducted the ceremony. All stood in reverent silence, a silence made more profound after the hellish mayhem that had existed only an hour before. Despite their own wounds and exhaustion, all joined in the familiar prayers and gave Amen. With that the grave was closed.
oOo
Stuart could see Lacey and O’Hare supervising the tending of the wounded, and Stuart, mindful of his promise to Cole, rode over to them. Both came to the attention and saluted.
“Cole tells me of the conduct of your men, Lacey. “Hard biting veterans” was his description and so I offer my thanks. This was clearly the point of decision and I knew little of it.”
Lacey made the reply.
“Thank you, Sir, that’s very gracious of you.”
“No, not at all. You held your ground until supported, and the support didn’t come from me. I confess myself as fortunate that it was such as yourself and your men on this side, or things could have turned out very different. Be assured, I will mention you efforts in my dispatch of the battle. I’ve named it Maida, by the way. St Eupemia sounds too much like some kind of Christian Festival. Right, get your men back to the beach.”
He touched his hat and rode off, but Major Willoughby lingered.
“Just thought you’d like to know. Elsewhere, the French gave practically no resistance at all. Over here was indeed the “point of decision” as the General put it. On our right and in the centre the French dissolved entirely, before you they remained intact. As the French collapsed, we on the right and in the centre ended up very disheveled. Had you given way, from here the French could have rolled up our entire line with their cavalry. I’d like to add my own plaudits.”
O’Hare shook his hand and added his thanks before Willoughby rode off. Lacey looked at O’Hare.
“Seems we’ve built a reputation, Padraigh, but at a price. What’s the “Butcher’s Bill”?
“48 dead and about as many wounded, and half of them will be amputees. That’s nearly a Company.”
“Yes. I’ll stay here and do what I can. You take the men back. Food and drink for them, if you can find it.”
The 5th Provisionals formed “fours” and marched back, their column soon parallel to that of the 20th and some water canteens were tossed across, back and forth. It wasn’t too long before conversation and comments equally crossed the space, the distance between them making for an easy exchange. The tone was genial, each had just witnessed the deeds of the other, but still with an edge; Regimental rivalry was never far below the surface.
“Who are you?”
“5th Provisionals. Who are you?”
“20th. So you’re not a Regiment?”
“No.”
“Then you got no nickname. Nor no nuthin’.”
“No.”
Someone in the 20th, perhaps with a brighter spark between his ears than most looked across and noticed the variety of uniform, the yellow of the Norfolk, the buff of the Somersets, and other various facings from ex-Militia.
“Where’d you get all they different jackets from? Off some army rag and bone merchant?”
No reply. If there was, it was drowned in the laughter coming from the ranks of the 20th.
> “That’s it then. The Rag and Bone Boys.”
At that point their paths parted company, the 20th up to St. Euphemia, the Provisionals and the Grenadiers on down to the beach. There they found themselves picking their way over whole rows of full infantry kit and clothing, including kilts and tam ‘o shanters; the 78th had got there first. A look into the sea told the story; the whole of Acland’s Brigade were splashing and jumping about in the sea, washing away the sweat and grime of the past morning, and not a few bathing minor wounds in the salty water. O’Hare led his men further along the beach, just as Acland’s men were quitting their portion.
“Come on then boys, your turn. Get off your kit and get in the briney.”
His men needed no further bidding. The idea of a wash and a splash in the clean ocean after the foulness of the day was too good to waste a second. In under a minute weapons and straps were off and down, boots and clothes soon followed, and the whole battalion was whooping and leaping down the beach to dive and crash into the clean and curling surf off the beach. The Grenadiers soon followed and half a mile of beach became a spectacle of naked soldiery, chasing and cavorting in the regular waves. O’Hare and Lacey looked at each other and within two minutes they, too, were out in the ocean, Lacey demonstrating powerful swimming technique that looked as though he was crawling through the water. However, the relief of the water on the bodies of everyone was more than matched by the relief in their minds, that the battle was done and they had survived, and this gave an edge to the screaming and high frolics that exhibited itself up and down the beach; diving through the waves, splashing each other and chasing each other around with large bundles of wet seaweed. But it was too good to last. A Major, as agitated as his horse, galloped onto the beach and continued, on to the nearest men, still cutting energetic capers in the crowded water.
“Where is your Commanding Officer?”
“Don’t know, Sir. Along here somewhere.”
“Who is your nearest Officer?”
“Him there, Sir.”
They pointed to Captain Reynolds, or his piece of ocean, him imitating an aquatic jack in the box by ducking under the water and then springing up and out as high as he could.
“I say. You. Are you an Officer?”
“Yes Sir. I am.”
“Get you men out of the water and formed up. The French have reappeared and are no more than musket shot away. There is absolutely no time to lose, they could catch you here. Form up on the other side of the dunes, immediately.”
Reynolds responded in kind.
“Pass the word. Out and formed up. No time to dress. Muskets and cartridge boxes. Move! The French are on us.”
Starting with those around Reynolds, the men quit the sea and ran to their clothes and equipment. Those who, out of modesty, tried to pull on drawers and trousers, were quickly persuaded otherwise by being pushed on up the beach. Most managed their boots, but nothing more. In minutes the whole battalion was drawn up, in two’s beyond the dunes, looking once again across the Plain of Maida, where, but two hours before, they had fought, what was for them, a most desperate battle. The Major was there before them, rising in his stirrups and shielding his eyes as he peered into the distance at a cloud of dust. The Grenadiers appeared to their left, as naked and dripping as they, save for a cartridge box across still wet chests. Other battalions added to the line to the left and right, but all in some stage towards complete dress. Orders came from the Major.
“Load and make ready.”
His order was being obeyed, when Lacey and O'Hare arrived, at least wearing cotton drawers.
“Report, Major.”
“There has been a sighting of activity out on the French positions, Sir. General Stuart has ordered that the army be drawn up in readiness.”
“The French have returned, you say? The last I saw of them, they were in no state to resume any kind of engagement. Unless, of course, they’ve received reinforcements.”
He turned to his servant, the one time Clerk Sergeant, who, dutiful as ever, had gathered up the Colonel’s effects and was standing close, awaiting orders.
“Walker. My Dolland glass.”
The spyglass was handed forward and Lacey trained and focused it upon the nearing dust cloud. He studied and re-focused for a minute.
“Well, Major. If they’re anything, they’re cavalry, and for another thing, the French must be desperate for mounts because what they are using have all got horns, and as for troopers, there are none mounted that I can see. If you want my opinion, our bathe has been interrupted because of a herd of buffalo!”
He handed the glass to O’Hare.
“What do you make of it, Major?”
O’Hare allowed himself a long look.
“Certainly some sort of cow, and all milling about in a most unsoldierly fashion. Would you care to look, Major?”
The Major did, but gave no opinion. He closed the glass and handed it to Lacey.
“I’ll report to General Stuart.”
He mounted his horse, face turning as red as his uniform, and rode off. O’Hare gave the order.
“Back to dress, boys, before the milkmaids show up!”
Gibney looked at Deakin.
“Well, there thee goes, Deakin, and that were about the only medal showing I and thee’ll ever be party to!”
oOo
Chapter Ten
Of Orders and Volunteers
“Captain Carr!”
Carr knew the voice, but the sounds of many approaching feet, crunching through the beach gravel, told of more. It was Kempt, just returned from his pursuit of the French, accompanied by General Stuart and Majors Greelish and Willoughby. Stuart spoke first.
“Carr. I need to know the status of the French, have they halted or have they continued away, to licks their wounds? If they have halted, then they still present a threat. I have no cavalry, at least not at present; therefore under the command of Major Greelish here, I want you to take your company along the road as far as Catanzarro, 20 miles East of here. You get yourself to Maida, then as far on again. Find out as much as you can, but go no further. Greelish here will be mounted, and two Dragoons from the 20th will be his escort. As soon as you have discovered all you can, he will leave you and return poste haste. Leave immediately.”
“Where will we find you, Sir, when we’re finished?”
“The army will be marching South, through Monteleone and onto the fortress of Scilla. It’s the major road South from here, from the one from here, that you are taking East. Returning to here and continuing South will bring you to us.
“Yes Sir. I’ll make my preparations immediately.”
Carr turned to Major Greelish, who swivelled his moustache down to Carr.
“I will parade my men back here in 30 minutes, Sir, if that’s acceptable?”
Greelish returned a curt nod, which Carr took as being the only answer he was going to get. Greelish left to make his own preparations, but Major Willoughby motioned for Carr to stay.
“The General has chosen you because you are the only Lights in anything like good order. Kempt’s men are still returning in dribs and drabs after gallivanting after the French as far as Maida and beyond. The General hasn’t said so, but he’s pleased with the way you handle your men. Get to Catanzarro, take a look, then get back. Find out what you can, but take no chances. Good luck, Carr.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Carr saluted and ran off, quickly finding Drake and Rushby.
“Nat, Barnaby. No peace for the wicked; Stuart wants us off on scouting duty. He wants us to find out what the French are up to, are they gone, or are they still around? If the latter, what are they about? Get the men back to the supply wagons and get them full with ammunition, water and food. After our walk to find the French, we then have to catch up with the army, who are moving South from here, so expect a lot of marching.”
Drake and Rushby ran off in their turn to find their Sergeants. Many men of the Light Company were stood washi
ng in the Lamato, but soon, all over their position, they could be seen replacing jackets and packs and arranging their straps and crossbelts, making comfortable for the forthcoming march. Miles began to question Sergeant Ellis.
“What be we about, Sergeant? The rest of the army is takin’ their ease. How come we’m movin’ off so soon?
Ellis’ reply was heavy with sarcasm.
“Why, the General has particularly requested that your precise talents, Private Miles, be applied in a special mission against the French. An’ if you goes, then we has to an’ all. So we all credits you with our selection for this particular piece of work. So get your kit on. We has to form up to get ourselves over to our supply wagons. So move yourself!”
Miles returned a black look and attended to the careful placing of his own equipment, his mood not lightened by Ellis’ caustic reply. Soon they were marching back and found the wagons and the Storesmen already waiting with ammunition, water, and biscuit. Each man was also to receive a ration of salt pork and peas, and the three items of food, wrapped in kerchiefs, each added to the bulk and weight of their haversacks. Water was being consumed copiously. It was early afternoon, ferociously hot and eye searingly bright, with dust everywhere, any movement raising a cloud that hung in the thick air. Deakin and Halfway were also at the wagons filling several canteens and so they joined up with Miles, Pike and Davey to talk in the small time remaining. Their pleasure at seeing each other was genuine. Deakin asked first, gallows humour, asking what each wanted to know.
Worth Their Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regiment.) Page 39