Carr asked the first question.
“Are the ladders available now, Sir?”
“Yes.”
Carr again.
“Where can we practice, Sir?”
Kempt looked at him coldly, but he had anticipated the question.
“Wherever you go, be out of sight. There are some cliffs to the West of here, around the headland. That may serve.”
“When can we anticipate the assault, Sir?”
“Today is the 17th. Three 24 pounders are anticipated on the 22nd. They will join the breaching operations on the 23rd. So, three, perhaps, four days after that.”
The meeting broke up and Carr returned to his two Lieutenants.
“We’re for the ladders, when the time comes. We’re to assault the wall to the East of the main breach where there is a ledge part way up the rock. We set up our ladders there and mount an assault. Oswald may intend us to be a diversion or a genuine assault, only time will tell, when we get onto that ledge and see what can be done. Support will come from muskets back in the houses.”
Rushby was in a mild state of shock, but Drake spoke up.
“Light duties again! And what if this ledge is not practicable?”
“Then we are a bunch of done birds on a nicely exposed perch.”
He paused.
“You’re exempted, Rushby.”
“But, Sir!”
“No arguments, you’re still an invalid. Climbing up rocks and ladders is not for you. I’ll lead your Section.”
He paused again.
“We get our ladders tomorrow and practice around the headland to the West. We leave whilst it’s still dark. I don’t want the French to see what we’re about. I’m sure they’ve got spyglasses upon their loftiest towers. Now; tell the men to get some sleep.”
The following dawn saw the campground of the 5th Lights again deserted, but that had become common. The mid morning, however, saw Lieutenant Carravoy make a shallow climb to the tent of Major O”Hare.
“Sir. Might I have a word, Sir?”
Throughout the night Carravoy had remembered his words condemning O’Hare, after their examination in The Mess, “Irish lackey” came clear to memory, but now all was different. It seemed from another age in another world; life and attitudes back in barracks had been made irrelevant by his fear and shock of the recent battle and, after, it had been O’Hare that had offered comfort, that drawn from his long experience. He didn’t have to but he did because it was needed. Carravoy sought words drawn from that experience just now, but he was to be disappointed.
“There’s little I can say to you, Charles, but one thing. “Go on” doesn’t sound well from an Officer. It’s “Come on”.
Carravoy was taken aback, but O’Hare continued.
“You must lead your men. We took the Commission, we wear the uniform. The idea of assaulting a breach puts depths of fear and terror into anyone, but men do it. Men even volunteer, like the “Forlorn Hope”, the volunteers to be first into a breach knowing that the enemy will almost certainly have packed explosives under the rubble to blow the first wave to God or Perdition. They still do it. It’s little comfort, I know, but some. You have, at least, what most don’t. Close artillery support, firing grape at the defenders over your heads, as you climb. That’s a real bonus. But above all, lead your men. Your Grenadiers are amongst the best I’ve seen. They’ll get you through it.”
Carravoy wandered back, only marginally less despondent and realising now within himself, what else could O’Hare have said? He could only point out the obvious, remind him of his duty and emphasise the small comforts. He returned to his tent and poured himself a stiff brandy and, perhaps surprisingly, his mind lifted somewhat from his fears. The brandy was surprisingly good, taken from a dead French Officer at Maida. He promised himself another, before he went up the ladders, then he looked at his hand. It was still shaking.
Meanwhile, Carr and his men were puzzling their way through the problems of a two-stage assault on a castle wall. Drake made a start.
“We aren’t going to get all the men onto that ledge. The rifles should stay back and send fire through the embrasures. Keep the French heads down.”
Carr agreed and moved the discussion on.
“If we’re to assault the embrasures, we need a continuous stream of men going up, and coming up quickly. That means ladders up to the ledge and then up from the ledge. How many have we got?”
“Six, but we could get eight.”
“Right. Get eight. That means four routes up.”
“So, that means carrying a ladder up a ladder, to be set on the ledge for the next stage.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Ellis and Fearnley had been stood quietly and respectfully by. It was Ellis who spoke.
“Sir. May I suggest hauling them up by ropes, Sir. Four lads go up the first ladder, with ropes down to the second. Then they pull them up, Sir. Four lads should be able to manage the weight, then they holds it steady for the lads followin’ to use it and climb on up.”
Drake clapped Ellis on the shoulder.
“Splendid, Sergeant. That’s just what I was going to say. Do you agree, Sir?”
Carr spoke as Ellis and Fearnley grinned.
“I don’t agree that you were going to say it, but I do agree with the idea. We’ve brought rope, so let’s start with the six we’ve got. First question. Can four men haul up one ladder? Go and get the men organized.”
John Davey swung his Baker around his shoulder and held the sling taught.
“Well there you are, boys. I knew that volunteering for this bundook would do me a bit of good. I’m sent to the rear to give you covering fire, leavin’ you to the house painting.”
Miles looked at him with murder in his eyes, Joe Pike simply with wholesale concern. It was Miles who spoke, with his usual venom.
“Then just you make sure that you raises your sights when it’s us goin’ through the gap, or embrasure or somethin’. I don’t want a ball from your Baker goin’ through the back of my skull, nor nothin’, that’s all.”
Davey just grinned insolently and eased his crossbelts.
“I’ll be back over here. Ready with a fire goin’ for when you’re done.”
Miles’ brow darkened even more, but it was the inevitable Ellis who called them away.
“Miles, Pike. Over ‘ere. Pike. You’re one of the rope haulers. Miles, you follows the ladder up, then carries on up to the top.”
“Oh, now, b’ain’t that just fine. Up to shake hands with those friendly Frencher boys, waitin’ with a loaded musket, or somesuch.”
“Not quite. Before you shakes hands, we’n givin’ you a couple of fused charges to lob in first. They’m wrapped round with chain and lit before you goes up. One with a short fuse that you throws first, one with a long, that will have burnt short by the time you comes to throw it.”
“How do I carry two, if I’m to climb a ladder at the same time?”
“The short you carry. The long with the lad behind. He’ll pass it up.”
“Oh my, this be gettin’ better ‘n’ better.”
They found a cliff with a suitable ledge half way up and began their practice. Four strong men, such as Pike, could haul up a ladder to their ledge with more than adequate speed and on up went such as Miles to lob one pebble, then a second, further up the cliff. For the next day they took two more ladders with them, and practiced all, frequently exchanging roles. Carr and Drake were pleased and the men themselves took pleasure in slickly applying their newly acquired skill. On the 21st, having taken their meal on the beach to await the dark, they returned to camp. They were intercepted by Kempt.
“What’s your verdict, Carr?”
“It can be done, Sir, and I think effectively. I just hope the ladders are long enough and whoever worked it out got their sums right.”
Kempt expected a simple “Yes Sir”, not the comments nor implied criticism, but he gave Carr the benefit of the doubt. He w
as the first to train his men and deserved credit for that; nevertheless, stern Commander that he was, his voice had an edge.
“Yes Carr, but we all have to place our trust somewhere, in such affairs as this.”
“Yes, Sir.”
On the 22nd the three 24 pounder guns arrived. They had been taken from their supporting frigates and were plainly ex-navy, for two reasons, firstly, they were manned by sailors and secondly they were the long naval pattern. They were quickly set up in the battery behind the houses and lost no time in pounding the walls. The long barrels gave extra velocity and accuracy and their power was immediately apparent, the battlements crumbled under the rapid fire of the three guns. The crews manned the guns in relays and continued through the day and on through the night, making good use of clear moonlight and torches lit in the British positions opposite. The morning of the 23rd saw no cessation and the battlements were now a wreck, with the French battery silenced, all guns dismounted. There was now a definite cleft beneath the left hand bastion, which Oswald declared practical.
“Send for Carr. I want to try a small demonstration. I want him marching along the cliff, back to here.”
A Staff Officer galloped off and soon found Carr and his men shaving the last seconds off their times with the ladders; others, such as Miles, were practicing with real fuses in real charges. The Officer shouted down.
“General Oswald wants you back in Scilla. March back, carrying your ladders”
“But Sir, it’s broad daylight, won’t that give the game away?”
“Those are your orders. Immediately, if you please.”
“Yes, Sir. Right. Pack up, we’re marching back. Carrying the ladders.”
They left the beach, gained the cliff top and progressed back, ladders carried in plain sight on their shoulders. They reached the edge of Scilla to be greeted by General Oswald himself. Carr couldn’t fail to notice the new damage inflicted on the castle.
“Carr, take your company to the beginning of the beach, that being opposite the breach. The French have no cannon there any longer and you are at very long musket range. Make some kind of a demonstration to show the French what’s in store.”
“Such as what, Sir? Parade with the scaling ladders, and the like?”
“Yes. That sort of thing. Make a lot of noise. Try to give the appearance that you are looking forward to it.”
“Looking forward to it? Yes Sir. How long, Sir?”
“Two minutes should do it.”
“Permission to carry on, Sir?”
“Yes. Go to it.”
Carr returned to his men, Drake in particular, with Ellis and Fearnley nearby.
“The General wants us to make a show in front of the breach. I’m not utterly certain what he has in mind, I don’t think he has, but it must be something about showing the French what’s on its way, and there’s nothing they can do, and it won’t be pleasant. So, we get ourselves opposite the breach, show them the ladders and give them the impression that we can’t wait. So, forward, the Light Theatrical Company!”
Ellis took himself in front of his section.
“We are going to the castle to show the French our lovely ladders that we are going to climb to say hello. I want you bastards grinning like madmen, like you can’t wait to get up there and deliver them a bit of murder and mayhem.”
The Lights took themselves through the streets, still echoing from the sound of the two batteries pounding the walls even more, the acrid smoke from the heavy charges joining the echoes that bounced off the eaves and walls of the buildings. Eventually they emerged from between the last houses and the first shingle of the beach crunched beneath their boots. Ellis and Fearnley took over.
“Line up now, and lay them ladders out front. A bit of cheering won’t come amiss an’ all. And remember; grinnin’ like berserkers.”
They lined up and began their performance, cheering, grinning, and pointing to the scaling ladders. Their cheering was lost in the gunfire but it placed the necessary rictus grins upon their faces.
Davey and Miles were sharing the custody of a ladder.
“Tom. You got one of your charges?”
“Yes.”
“Well, knock off with the cheering and go out and toss it up a few times, make sure the fuse if showing, smooth it out like, let the Frenchers see that we know what we’m about.”
Miles did as he was bid. He drew out the fuse and, as much as his face could show joy, he looked pleased to be a “charger”, tossing up the canvas bundle with its protruding fuse, up to be caught, then tossed up again.
The spectacle lasted for its two minutes, when Carr called a halt and they ceased and began to file back. Ellis gave the last instruction.
“The French have their glasses on you, boys. Don’t forget to wave goodbye, now.”
All waved their farewells and it was Ellis himself who gave a last insolent grin and a wave before disappearing behind a corner. The guns continued.
Come late afternoon, Lacey, eye pressed to his Dolland glass, saw the main gate of the castle open and a group of blue-coated figures emerge under a large white flag. They walked forward across the causeway until they were lost from sight behind the roofs of the houses. Lacey spoke, to nobody in particular.
“Hello. The French have come out to parley. About, four or five, I’d say. Under a flag of truce. Here, take a look Padraigh, although now they’re on our territory, as we speak, but they’ve left the gate open.”
O’Hare looked but saw nothing but the gaping and defenceless gate. Nevertheless the pair kept a watch for about 30 minutes using the naked eye, until they saw the white flag and the blue figures re-emerge into the space before the castle. Lacey returned to the spyglass, but only to see the party disappear between the flanking towers of the gatehouse and the heavy gate close. Throughout the night speculation was rife and many arose early to view the castle. At 7.00 am the French tricolour came down to be replaced by a white flag. Cheering erupted all over Scilla and the encampment. Cheering for success but also from a relief that was tangible. None more so than within the chest of Captain Carravoy, he took himself into his tent and did his best to control his breathing. A brandy helped, despite this being before breakfast.
oOo
The whole army was required to parade, by battalions, to accept the French surrender. It was to be conducted with the full honours of war, and the 58th and the Swiss formed a Guard of Honour where the causeway from the castle met the town. The rest of the army was stepped up the hillside, the 5th Provisionals at the top, their Lights and Grenadiers now returned. With the cessation of gunfire, from the most unlikely of places, under houses, out of roofs, and in from the countryside, the civilian population returned. Stuart anticipated the kind of trouble that had arisen at Monteleone and ordered that the civilians be confined to the beach and side streets and not have access to the road out of the town. However, Willoughby made the point that standing them on the beach gave them access to a huge amount of pebble ammunition, so Stuart changed his mind. They would be allowed to stand alongside the road as it emerged from the town, but held well back.
At exactly 11.00 o’ clock, the heavy castle gates swung open and the French emerged, preceded by the Commander, closely attended by a Sergeant carrying the tricolour that had been hauled down the day before. Then came the Officers, then the garrison, with sloped arms. The artillerymen simply marched. General Stuart was waiting. Salutes were exchanged and the tricolour handed over. After further salutes, the French column marched on, through the silent streets, and then they emerged from the town, out onto the road that led South West to Reggio. Here the ranks broke up, with each man required to surrender his musket and add it to the growing pile of the same, and each Officer required to surrender his sword to a waiting British Officer, who added it to another growing pile on a table. The clatter of the surrendered arms being added to the heaps reached right up the hillside, for all were watching in silence, including, surprisingly, the closeby native Scillians. The
French then reformed their ranks and stood in silence; they were now prisoners of war. The British now all marched down to the road, battalion by battalion, and marched on. Scilla was finished with, and the French tailed onto the last battalion, followed by the supply train.
The army marched on through the growing heat, and the heightening sun, but all were in high spirits. The route was easier out of Scilla than the tortuous mountain road into it, and besides, all could deduce that they were marching to evacuation, back to Sicily. It was an easy coast road and a day’s marching brought them alongside the Straits proper, with a good detailed view of Sicily itself, even Messina, where they would disembark after crossing. High spirits and cheerfulness was the norm, but this did not apply to Corporal Deakin. He missed his friend Halfway. Miles was back with the Lights, as if he was any kind of company anyway, Stiles and Peters had their own friendship and Pat Mulcahey was dead. During a break from the march he approached his Company Commander, Captain Heaviside.
“Sir, beg your pardon Sir, but do you know what is going to happen to the sick and wounded, Sir?”
“What I heard, Corporal, and I’ve no reason to doubt it, is that they will be brought down from Monteleone to Scilla, and evacuated from there, sparing them the march that we are now making.”
“Back to Sicily, Sir?”
“Yes. Where else? Those that survived we will meet up with there. I’m able to tell you, Corporal, that swamp fever took its toll, nearly as many as battle casualties, and so they were given special facilities and cared for according to the needs of their special ailment.”
Worth Their Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regiment.) Page 46