Worth Their Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regiment.)

by Martin McDowell

  This from Miles, but it was Ellis who ended the dialogue, and his tone matched the worry of the conversation he had just listened to. His words surprised many, they showed little faith in the Officers who had led them there.

  “Get back to your billets and get your food inside you. If your building is on the outside of the village dig a loophole through the wall, we may have to defend this place. Check your kit and flints before you turn in. I wants all of you up and ready way before dawn. My guess is that we’ll be fightin’ our way out of here or holed up defendin’ it. If you’re on sentry go, take a mate with you and keep yourself very awake.”

  They obediently did as ordered. The three found their place on the hard earth floor of their hovel and placed their kettle on the good fire alongside those of three other messes that were sharing with them. The pot was filled with their pork and peas, which was covered in water. This home itself had suffered little from the French depredations and all around on the walls hung the now heart wrenching remnants of family life, that once provided small comforts before the wars of nations descended on their small community. This was not lost within John Davey, he had been raised in just such as this. He saw the bunch of herbs hanging by the fireplace to dry, put there by whom, a Mother, a child, a Grandmother? But whomever, they would not return to benefit from this small domestic comfort. Davey ran his fingers down one stalk to gather a tiny bunch of leaves and said a quick prayer as he threw them into the pot and started stirring.

  The three Officers were attending to their own affairs when their food arrived, prepared by their own Servant, who, having placed it on the table, yet still stood anxiously shuffling about.

  “Beggin your pardon, Sirs, but what may be happenin’ in the mornin’? I needs to make my arrangements, Sirs.”

  It was Drake who answered. Carr was deep in thought, staring at the fire and fingering his medallion.

  “Why, Morrison, we wake up, take breakfast, confirm that the French have gone, then march back to the army.”

  “Yes, Sir. I hope so, Sir. I do so very much hope so.”

  The servant left as Carr came to the table and Rushby ladled out the food and the biscuits. When each was settled, Drake looked at Carr.

  “You know what may well happen, tomorrow, Henry. What’s your plan?”

  Carr toyed with his food, and then looked up, turning his face towards both.

  “We can’t leave until good light, because that’s needed for maximum visibility to give Greelish a good look. Then I hope we march off unmolested.”

  His voice became heavy with sarcasm.

  “If the French do come riding out of the dawn, as I strongly suspect they will, Greelish will ride off to convey to General Stuart the stunning and wholly unpredictable news that the French have cavalry patrols behind their retreat. That leaves us on our own. If they arrive at first light, we will have to hold here. We will have to stay here till dark and hope to sneak away, or, the cavalry will get worried that they are being left behind and give up. If the French come later, as we are marching back, Greelish will still ride away. On our way here I made a note of defensive positions between here and Maida. Almost every mile, there was something, a groups of rocks, a paddock, a farm, something. We march to each to minimise the time we are out in the open. What worries me most is that there are too many bits of woodland and also valleys off to the side so that some cavalry could get close, and once they’ve penned us in, they won’t let us out. However, I’m hoping they will decide that they can’t stay long or they’ll lose touch with their main army. Whichever happens, it isn’t much of a plan, but it’s the best we’ve got.”

  “You expect us to be fighting our way out, Sir?”

  “Yes, Barnaby, I do. The odds are not good; when have we ever ignored campfires? Ellis has already told the men to be up before dawn and doubled the sentries and we’ve gathered barricade material at entry points. As soon as the light is good enough to see far enough, I hope that Major Greelish will order our withdrawal, then we won’t need any barricades. Then we hope.”

  After eating, they saw to their rest and soon two slept whilst the third patrolled the sentries. Dawn came as a sudden clear blue that told of another blistering hot day to come and the light was growing rapidly, quickly pushing out the visible distance. There was no morning mist; all moisture had been burnt off in the heat of the previous days. Carr emerged from their billet to find Drake alone in the main street.

  “Morning, Henry. The men are at the defences. Greelish has ridden forward to his hill. He’s there now. Ah, biscuits and coffee. Well done, Morrison.”

  Carr took two biscuits and a mug of coffee and began his walk to Greelish, off in the distance and clear in the full daylight. Carr was able to announce his presence by saying “Good Morning”, but Greelish remained up in his stirrups, his telescope pressed against his right eye. Finally, it was closed and Greelish looked down.

  “Nothing. I can see nothing, Carr. My little ruse has told us a great deal. Had the French seen the fires, we would be seeing them, riding to investigate. We can ride back and report.”

  “If I may make a point, Sir. It’s plain, Sir, that the infantry have gone, they have abandoned two defencable villages, especially this one. They have been pulled right back to regroup. What we can confidently predict, and should allow for, are the usual cavalry patrols that any prudent General would send out. Cavalry will be in this area, Sir, either near or far.”

  “Your rank does not allow such high level conclusions, Carr. I am with you to make the judgement on what the French are about. We ride back.”

  “Yes, Sir. But may I respectfully suggest that you don’t part company from us just yet. I doubt the French would ride directly across open country at an enemy camp to their front, as that is. They will use what cover they can to get close to those campfires before being seen. There are valleys and woodland either side, and the French know this country better than we do. They may yet come, but onto our flank, even from ahead, cutting us off, if the country allows.”

  Greelish’s face fell. What Carr had said could not be argued with.

  “There may be some merit in what you say. I’ll stay with you an hour or so, and then take off. General Stuart needs to know what I know.”

  “Yes Sir. Of course.”

  Those mounted trotted back, leaving Carr to walk, but all was ready. Drake had already sent Ellis with three men out on flank picket to their right, and Fearnley the same to their left, and the column was ready to go. Drake ordered the march and they left, leaving Carr alone between the many blackened and collapsed walls, their charred and exposed roof timbers pointing accusing fingers at the clear, benign blue of the arching sky. He didn’t fail to notice that his men had placed three crude crosses before the still smoking ruins of the three cottages used to cremate the bodies. A line from Henry V came into his mind, one drummed into him at school. “I was not angry since I came to France until this instant.” He nodded in that direction and marched out himself, promising himself some form of revenge, large or small, but wholly personal.

  oOo

  The clear morning air, cool from the night, was gone, now twisted into unseen columns by a myriad of heat thermals that rose from the baking ground. Even at half a mile, for Carr pursuing them, the loose column on the road merged and danced into red shapes that moved in the heat haze in conjunction with their slow progress along the hard, dry road. At two miles the thick and swirling air turned the column into a red smear from which individual figures could not be discerned, even through a good Harris “three-draw telescope”, purchased in London by an Austrian General and taken from him as French booty at Ulm. However, it was clear enough to conclude that British troops were on the road.

  oOo

  Carr did not first catch up with the column, instead he ran out to Ellis and his three pickets, these on the side of the decoy camp. Ellis had placed himself at the rear.

  “Ellis. You and Byford, concentrate on the flanks, but mostly to the re
ar, you especially back towards the decoy camp, for as long as you can see it. Your front two concentrate on the flanks and to our front. If you see anything you don’t like, fire a musket and halt. Pass that on. I want your best watch, mind, your best.”

  “Sir.”

  Carr loped off to convey similar to Fearnley and his men, then he took himself back to Ellis. His unease showed in everything he did, checking his pistols, adjusting his sabre, but above all, jogging to any vantage point that became available.

  Time passed. The Company maintained close order on the road, whilst the pickets, frequently changed, remained out wide, ever watchful, mindful of Carr’s explicit order; “Your best watch”. Whilst the tension lessened with every step, the impatience within Major Greelish grew. Mounted on a good horse and tied to footbound infantry because of the remaining small possibility of cavalry appearing, which he needed to witness, he fumed at allowing himself to remain beholden to Carr’s anxiety of cavalry arriving unseen out of some hidden valley. He told himself that the miles were stretching out between them and the retreating French and they were going in opposite directions. His patience finally snapped and he summoned Lieutenant Drake to the side of his horse, Carr was again out with Ellis.

  “Drake. I’ve decided I know enough, I’m leaving now. Pass that onto….”

  A musket went off over on the right and all looked over to see the white smoke still hanging over the solitary figure, the second in the picket line, but Carr was already closing up to him.

  “What did you see, Hoskins?”

  “Over that ridge, Sir. It looked odd, Sir. It could have been birds flying low, but it was too, well, crowded Sir, sort of. It looked like black things, Sir, small and lots of them, moving just beyond that ridgeline. There were a few bits of sunlight glintin’, too, Sir.”

  “What about horsehair plumes on top of cavalry helmets. Could that have been what you saw?”

  “Yes, Sir. I reckon that could explain it as much as anything else.”

  “And you’re certain you saw something?”

  “Oh, yes Sir. There was something out there, alright.”

  “Well done, Hoskins, first class. Now reload and get back to the column.”

  Carr closed up to each picket and shouted at them to rejoin the column. He began his own run; 300 yards back to the road and the rest of his men. He stopped once and turned, but saw nothing, but the second time he turned, he saw them. Their Commander must have heard the shot and decided that they had been seen. No point in delaying the attack any longer to give the British time to prepare some kind of defence. He had wheeled his troopers left and came on at a fast canter, up over the last ridge that had concealed their attempt to get ahead of the British and, with that, the Commander saw that their charge would cut their quarry off, anyway.

  Carr had 200 yards to go, the cavalry had over 600, but on fast horses. Carr would regain his line, but what then, how far to the nearest of his refuge points? He could see that Greelish had taken his own decision and, with his escort, was spurring his mount away along the road, rapidly attaining a gallop, Dragoons and servant behind him, with the bundles on the pack horse bouncing to alarming heights in the rush to be away. As they rode by, Miles left the ranks to get near to the scarred Dragoon as he rode past in pursuit of Greelish.

  “All right, mate. Johnny’s arrived, so off you go. We’ll cover your backside for you!”

  Any reply was lost in the dust and the pounding hooves and Miles now had his own orders to attend to. Carr was shouting orders, despite his laboured breathing from his long run.

  “Close up. Rallying square. Fix bayonets. Rifles to the front, out here now. On me.”

  Carr had halted just off the road and he held out his sword to show where he wanted the line. The cavalry were still some way off, but his worst fears were confirmed. It was half a Regiment of cuirassiers, French heavy cavalry, 400 or more. They had body armour and long swords, but worst, heavy horse pistols which, from under 50 yards were as accurate as a musket. As his riflemen formed up on their position, Carr made a quick examination of where they were and the worst of his fears, at least, fell away, their chances were close to good. A dilapidated paddock that he knew was their next safe haven was not too far, but no time to ponder, the growing sound of hooves called his attention away.

  “At 200 yards. Get the Officers, or their horses. I don’t care, just bring them down.”

  He looked along his line, just over 30 men, some adjusting their sights, but most stood with their weapon, at the “make ready”, bayonet challenging upward. Still time, so he looked for one of his Officers.

  “Rushby, keep in close order and get the men behind those walls.”

  He pointed to the paddock, reassuringly closer to the Company than himself. Rushby saluted and turned, shouting orders. Carr returned to his major concern.

  “Present”

  The rifles all came level. He gave them time to settle onto their targets.

  “Fire.”

  The rifles exploded as one, and the smoke drifted across their front, but not enough to prevent Carr seeing that almost 20 riders had been downed and all but one of the leading riders. The French now had a barrier of struggling men and horses before them, but not enough to substantially check their charge forward. They avoided their fallen and came on. They had received a check that they didn’t expect at that range, but they soon recovered.

  “Retire.”

  All ran to catch up to the small square, each side three deep, that Drake and Rushby had formed and, still holding good order, was running on to what worryingly now appeared to be little more than a series of short walls, with scattered stones in between. The riflemen merged into the outside rank and their run continued. Drake took his own decision. It was over 100 yards range, but his men were loaded and a volley, if delivered quickly, would keep the cuirassiers at a distance, giving more time to reach the paddock. He had seen for himself that they were faced with heavy cavalry and if they were allowed to catch up and simply ride around and use those damn pistols, then there was little hope. A quick volley and then move.

  “Halt. Face your front. Second rank. Present. Fire.”

  Again the explosion of fire and more horses and riders fell.

  “Rear rank. Present. Fire.”

  The same effect, and all turned to the walls that were now quite near. They all tumbled over and through the gaps, but the paddock was no kind of a defensive work, there were as many gate wide holes in the walls as solid stonework, and the whole was too big for the 80 odd men to man sufficiently. However, there were the ruins of a small building in a near corner, probably a feed store, with all walls intact at least to chest height. Drake led the way and all crowded in, but it was too small for them all, and the floor was covered by stones from the collapsed walls with as many fallen stones outside as in. The last men were coming up, including Carr, which added to the crush, but the French were also urging their horses through the gaps. Drake gave his orders.

  “My section, back outside, get these stones piled up, make something you can lie behind from this corner to the wall. Lieutenant Rushby, your section man the walls, give us covering fire. Anyone left inside and doing nothing, throw stones out for the wall.”

  The work began, fear giving strength to those that had the task to throw, lift and pile the awkward stones. There was no hope of building a careful wall, but a long heap grew out from the corner of the hut to join with the main wall. A few brave or foolhardy cavalrymen charged up to the hut, but were brought down by the muskets and rifles of those within, but with their demise came the pistol fire. Some cuirassiers, perhaps those with more battle experience, dismounted their horses and began sending pistol fire at the building, using the paddock walls as cover and, with the number of men they had, it was a heavy weight of fire. The Light Company began to take casualties, very soon there were two dead and three wounded, four of these amongst the work group outside. Carr took command, and gave his orders. The pile of stones was now su
fficiently high to provide cover for anyone lying down.

  “Stop work and take cover. Reload and wait.”

  He looked around. The men inside the hut were answering the pistol fire that continued as heavy as ever, continuing to smack and buzz against the stonework, but with all now behind the walls, it was wholly ineffective. The siege that he had foretold was now upon them.

  “Cease fire. Rifles only and pick your targets carefully. Conserve ammunition.”

  What worried Carr now, was the French edging along the outside of the paddock, up to their ruin and making an attack over the wall; they certainly had enough men. The remains of a narrow window, only the lower half, the top half defined by a lopsided dry and rotten frame, looked out over the open ground outside, but that told them little of what was happening immediately under the wall. What to do, make an exit so that they could climb out and fire along the wall, which would expose those venturing outside to pistol fire, or hold what they had? He looked out through the window, gingerly easing his head around the dried out frame. Cuirassiers were riding around the outside, pistols held up to their shoulders, looking for targets. Two pistols balls sang through the opening to smack against the inside wall, but he had seen that the outside level was nearly three feet lower than the inside, making the wall a high enough obstacle to any attack. Carr decided; they would take the risk and hold what they had. He turned to those sheltering along the wall.

  “I want firing positions over the top of this wall, one yard apart, one foot down, like a castle. Use the stone to raise this window, the rest add to the inside wall.”

  The work continued. Firing positions were made and they began a serious defence of their small enclosure. The number of wounded mounted, but none serious, as all were from flying fragments of stone or spent bullets; now it was the French who were suffering. They could make no progress across the paddock and several of those riding around outside were being picked off by the accurate fire from the rifles, but Carr was still worried about French creeping up below the wall of the hut. He drew his pistols, cocked both and looked out through the heightened window. He waited for a gap in the cuirassiers riding around outside, then put out his arm followed by his head to see that there were indeed some cavalrymen crouching down to the right. He fired his pistol at one, then shot back in as a cavalry pistol was fired at him. He took his other pistol, eased it around the window frame and fired it, unaimed and blind, but down at where he thought the troopers were. He looked at the inside wall of his command and saw more with rifles there firing across the paddock than at the outside wall. He tapped five of them on the shoulder.