“What of their cavalry, Sir Septimus?”
“Vastly better than ours, sir! They have officers who know their trade. They hold their men together and keep them in order even after a charge. The French have smaller horses and look after them less well very often, but the French are dangerous in the field. Always be ready to receive cavalry, sir, but know that they will never break a square except they are aided by artillery. They have good guns, and generally more of them than we do.”
“I saw our cavalry years ago, Sir Septimus, and was not much impressed by them – good for a single charge and nothing else!”
“Still the same, sir. Their officers lead – if such it may be called – from the front and there are none left to call the troopers back to hand, to regroup and if necessary charge again. They are useful once in any battle and after that are not to be seen, scattered in disorder over ten miles of countryside!”
The Devonshires marched at dawn, Septimus rapidly outpacing them, courteously saluting their colours as he passed them by.
“Good battalion, Cooper.”
“Got some learning to do yet, sir. Be good enough given a few weeks. The mess-servants told me that Colonel Whitehaven is a good officer – knows how to give an order and when not to see what’s going on.”
Half a day at little more than a walk and they came to the rear of the army, saw it to be unusually well-organised. There were supply dumps, under guard, and wagon parks with lines for the horses; there was a hospital, or so it might be called, the regimental surgeons brought together in the one location; kept well separate was a mob of sutlers and camp-followers of various sorts, mostly sellers of liquor and women, the quality of each varying more-or-less with the price.
“Provosts keeping the whores out of the rations – makes a change for an army!”
Septimus spotted a group of provosts, some in full uniform, the rest idling, off-duty, next to a tent which he presumed was their officers’ quarters. He angled his horse across, leaving Cooper with the pack pony at the side of the track.
“Sergeant! Which way to Lord Wellington’s headquarters?”
“To the east, a few miles, near the village of Fuentes de Onoro, sir.”
“I had thought he was at Almeida?”
“The Frogs, sir, coming this way, attempting a relief, sir, or so I am told. His Lordship is setting a block in their way, sir.”
“Then I suspect I must hurry if I am to lead my battalion. Thank you, sergeant.”
The sergeant let his surprise show on his face; he was unused to thanks from officers.
“Ha, Sir Septimus! Recovered, sir?”
“I am, my lord, and ready to lead my battalion at your command, sir.”
“Good. Massena is bringing his people on in a straight line, will be in contact tomorrow. So it would seem. Unusual, one might have expected more in the way of manoeuvre. The word is, from the people who know these things, that he has been told to win or go home, in quick time. If he cannot present Bonaparte with a victory by the end of the week, clear-cut at that, then he will go to the inactive list, will never command again. Such being the case, I believe he is staking all on an old-fashioned assault. He has the edge on us for men and horse; unusually though, not in guns, from all I hear. Much depends on whether he has support from the other armies in Spain – and that I do not know.”
“So, my lord, a battle in the morning.”
“I believe so, Sir Septimus. We are holding a line at Fuentes de Onoro, which is a village built mostly on a hillside. There is a ridgeline with a church looking down to the village and the river in the valley bottom. The village is stone-built, every house a strongpoint, and the lanes wind at apparent random – no such thing as a village street there! Narrow alleys full of blind corners.”
“Interesting for the defence, my lord. Has Massena a siege train to hand? Two batteries of eighteen or twenty-four pounders could cut a straight line through the village.”
“Twelve-pounders only, Sir Septimus, and, I am told, no more than six batteries of them. Our nine-pounders will be on even terms with them for once, having the advantage of height.”
“The river, my lord – is it easily forded or are there bridges?”
“Both, Sir Septimus. The French will be able to cross, taking some losses, but achieving the bank on our side. I am minded, in fact, to allow them into the village, thus to hold them in position. If Massena once puts a brigade across the river then he will be unable to withdraw and try a right or left hook at me, or not without losing that brigade in its entirety. Bring him into the centre and then let him wear himself out, Sir Septimus, that shall be the plan. We do not have the men available to make an attack ourselves while he is tied down, more is the pity, but we can break his spirit, and let the garrison at Almeida know that there will be no relief for them.”
“Thus, my lord, Almeida is the overwhelming aim. We are to prevent any relief of the garrison and are less concerned to destroy the French in the field, you would say.”
Wellington confirmed that to be the strategy. The purpose of the year’s campaigns was to secure the Portuguese frontier, and that demanded the control of the major fortified towns.
“Not for public knowledge, Sir Septimus, but there is a strong Peace Party in Portugal and they might be inclined to negotiate with Bonaparte if he still holds Portuguese soil to offer as a bargaining card. Was Lisbon suddenly to announce neutrality then we would find ourselves in a parlous situation, sir!”
“We would have no choice, my lord, other than to turn around and conquer Portugal ourselves, or at least that portion lying between us and the nearest port, so that we could run home with our tails between our legs. I was driven out of Corunna, my lord, and did not like the experience. I would be most unhappy to be chased home from Oporto! Almeida must fall, my lord!”
“And to that end, Sir Septimus, we must, and shall, hold Fuentes de Onoro. Your Hampshires are to be found on the left of the line, Sir Septimus, not so far from the church. Hold the crest, of course, but have no hesitation in pushing downhill if the situation warrants, taking care of your flanks, as goes without saying. Remember, Sir Septimus, that our left and right are held only lightly; the French must be pulled into the village, forced ideally to commit more and more troops there.”
“Thus, my lord, if need be, to make a fighting retreat, pushed slowly uphill so that the French general may send back to Massena to tell him that another battalion or two will serve to rout us.”
“Exactly, Sir Septimus! That business out of the way and I have a task for you and your battalion, a mite out of the ordinary run of things and one that will require some little determination to carry out, or so I suspect. I intend, or hope at least, next year not this, to make a push for Madrid and then north to the Pyrenees. That will leave French armies active in the south of Spain, to my rear. Many think it might be wiser to face to the south first, to clear the country steadily and gradually and leaving no armies to suddenly gird their loins and attack while we are pushing north. It would take ten years! Better to cut them off and let them wither; the Navy will prevent them receiving supplies and reinforcements. The Spanish and Portuguese will deal with them then, and will have victories of their own to celebrate, which will be a good thing in itself.”
Septimus glanced at the map on the wall of the commandeered farmhouse, nodded his comprehension.
“The Portuguese are organising themselves into an army - and showing very competent, too. The Spanish are primarily fighting in their armed bands, their guerrilleros, and are short of muskets, powder and ball. We are supplying some of the armaments they need, but they still require more. South of here by nearly one hundred miles, in the hills between Alcantara and Badajoz – a week of hard marching in this country – there is, or until recently was, an arsenal, well stocked with all the needs of an army, or so I am told. The materials of war were held there against the possibility of a conflict with Portugal, or so I am informed, hence the location, well away from the mai
n roads, or what pass as such in Spain, but served by a network of tracks east and west.”
“I am to secure that arsenal, my lord?”
“You are, Sir Septimus; that is the first part of the task. You are then to hold it until a Spanish band, probably the one led by a gentleman known as the Black Friar, which operates in the country close to hand, shall arrive and relieve you of the weaponry. Then you may retire into Portugal or return to this army, whichever is appropriate at the moment.”
“Not an impossible task, my lord.”
“Probably not, Sir Septimus. There will be guides to assist you, and I shall discover an interpreter, if such is to hand. What I have not told you, I do not know, sir. Is the arsenal occupied? By whom? Is it fortified? Is there a village serving its needs? Are the French aware of its presence? Does it truly exist? I can give you no answers, Sir Septimus.”
Septimus grinned, said that it made planning easier – when they knew nothing they could make no provisions against eventualities.
“Very philosophical, sir!”
“I must, I think, join my people while there is still daylight, my lord…”
“You must, Sir Septimus. A busy day tomorrow! For the while you are attached to General Picton’s Third Division, Colonel Mackinnon your brigadier. I shall send your further orders with one of my family, after this affair is over.”
A general’s personal staff was commonly called his family – a collection of young lieutenants and captains whose main function was to act as gallopers, carrying orders on the field. In past times it had been common for all of the family to be just that - brothers, sons, nephews and cousins of the general; now it was more common for them to be members of politically or socially powerful clans allied to the general’s interest.
The battalion was easily spotted, for having tents, a rarity in the army. They were well located, the tents all below the line of the ridge, out of view from the valley. Two companies were standing-to along the crest, the remainder were taking their ease around their cookfires, with the exception of pickets along the road leading into their part of the village.
“Present arms!”
“Thank you, Sergeant Klopp! Your men are well turned out, sergeant. As always, of course.”
“Sir!”
Septimus walked his charger slowly through the battalion lines; Klopp’s salute had been made primarily to warn the remainder of the battalion that an important officer had arrived and it was only polite to give the men time to respond.
By the time he passed all of the visible men were fully uniformed and standing in their platoons, saluting. Most of the platoons were very thin, the ununiformed hiding away in the tents, but almost all had a corporal or sergeant standing to the front.
“Shows willing, Cooper!”
“Quite right too, sir. The word’s reached the mess, sir – the officers are forming up outside, sir.”
It was not regulation but showed a deal of courtesy on the part of the battalion, a welcome from them on his return.
Cooper and Peter took the pack horse and set about raising the tent while Septimus allowed Major Perceval to invite him into the mess.
“Bit rough and ready, sir – only been here for the one day and this barn sort of place was empty and big enough for us.”
“Good enough for a few days, Major Perceval.”
Septimus accepted a glass and answered the normal kind enquiries before leading the way up onto the ridge.
The village stretched down below him for a furlong or so to the winding river bank. Alleys led down to the river and resumed on the opposite bank, suggesting fords between them; there was a single large stone bridge and two at least of smaller wooden constructions.
“Not a straight line in the whole village, Major Perceval.”
“None, sir. From what they have told me, new houses have been built all over the place, just fitted in wherever there was a space, even if that took up the half of a roadway. Should be possible to defend each house separately, sir; they are all stone built. Be better if we destroyed the bridges, sir – more difficult to get guns across a ford.”
Septimus shook his head, peering out at Massena’s army as it assembled opposite the village.
“Four brigades of cavalry, at least. Six batteries of guns, as we are told… Six or seven divisions of infantry, perhaps more. The bridges are to be left untouched, Major Perceval. Lord Wellington wishes the French to commit themselves to the village, to throw men in and be held there, unable to get past us or to retreat without losing a lot of men. Hold ‘em, kill ‘em and above all, stop ‘em from reaching Almeida.”
“Let them come in, and then stop them from going out again, sir? There are Scots battalions down in the village, sir, and up on the ridge here. They will not like the idea of giving ground to the Frogs; it ain’t a habit of theirs.”
That, Septimus admitted, could present a problem – but it was not one for him to solve. Their brigadier or major-general would have his orders from Lord Wellington and it would be his responsibility to enforce them.
“We shall form a double line of companies on and behind the crest here, Major Perceval. Yours to hold, and not to be pushed back at any price! Major Paisley to advance his people down the slope as may be practical and to fall back upon you if necessary, as it probably will be.”
“And you, sir?”
“Oh, I shall be with Major Paisley. There will be orders to give, decisions to take down the hill.”
“So be it, sir. I think, sir, that it may be wise to dig a trench, or build up the walls, certainly to block off the tracks that wend their way across the ridge. Most peculiar, sir, this local habit of allowing villages to grow without a proper street; it would not happen in England, sir!”
“Johnny Foreigner, Major Perceval – one need say no more. Where is the brigadier located, do you know?”
The brigadier was just two hundred yards away, having taken over a small house behind the church. He welcomed Septimus, told him that he was to use his sense next day, there was no point to giving detailed orders as there were so many possibilities available to the French.
“Lord Wellington told me that I was to allow the French to take a foothold in the village, sir, so as to prevent their retreat while we punished them and rendered them incapable of relieving Almeida. I reported to him at his orders, sir, returning from sick.”
“General Picton has told me the same, again direct from Lord Wellington. You may well meet General Picton during the day, Sir Septimus; he is very much a man for the fighting line and I have heard the same said of you, sir.”
Man of Conflict Series
BOOK FIVE
Chapter Two
Politeness demanded that Septimus should discover the general in command of his division and doff his hat to him. It was even more the case in the Third Division to which the Hampshires had been attached; General Picton was a man of uncertain temper, according to reports, and inclined to resent any slight offered by an officer. The more senior the officer, the greater the resentment, so it was said.
Septimus walked across to General Picton’s quarters, found him busy at his desk, swearing in an unceasing growl at the papers littering it. Interesting to note that the man was working, not preparing for dinner in more comfortable surroundings to the rear; it said much that was good about him, Septimus thought. He waited while an aide announced him, sought permission for him to interrupt the flow of paperwork, blasphemy and inventive obscenity for which the general was renowned.
“Sir Septimus Pearce? Glad to meet you, sir. Tell me just one thing, are you part of my bloody Division, or are you not?”
Slightly disconcerting as an opening courtesy, Septimus thought.
“As I understand the matter, sir, the Hampshires are, as you might say, passing through this location and have been delayed to offer additional men for the battle that is expected. Lord Wellington informed me this morning that I was to take the Hampshires down to the south a hundred miles or more, there to
clear up some matter of an arsenal that may, or may not, exist and must be placed into proper hands among the guerrilleros, whoever they may be! Such being the case, sir, we are additional, supernumerary, pro tem, as you might say, but wholly under your command until we receive the orders to take us away.”
“Are your men in fighting order?”
“I would be most surprised were they not, sir. I have been away these two months while my head repaired itself, but Major Perceval, my second, has my fullest trust. He will not have allowed discipline or skills to fall below the level I expect. The battalion was busy overwinter, sir, and has experience and to spare, I believe.”
“That makes a change after some of the nonsense I have seen, Sir Septimus. Some of the battalions are very new, very green!”
“We have been lucky, sir. India then Denmark, followed by Corunna and the winter in the Lines here. My men are many things, damned rogues not least, some of them, but they have smelt powder, sir.”
“Good. They will smell more tomorrow. You are to hold the crest and will not be driven from it while you have a man who can still fire his musket, sir! You may press forward into the village if the situation merits it, but you will not jeopardise the ridge by so doing.”
Septimus smiled confidently, not realising that there was little more likely to irritate the general.
“The aim, as I understand it, sir, is to allow the French into the village, but to make it impossible then for them to move either forwards or back. To create a killing ground, in effect. That should not be too complicated a task, sir.”
General Picton had heard fine, confident words before; he tried to assess Septimus, to decide whether there was anything behind the brave speech.
“You have a name, I am told, as a fighting man, Sir Septimus.”
The odds were that Picton would have gained that information from Lord Wellington himself, Septimus thought – there were few others in this army who would know him.
“I have some experience, sir. I have to say, however, that I have never been involved in a great battle before. I do not think that Koge counts as such, and the fights in the Sugar Islands between two or three battalions certainly do not. I have seen my share of skirmishes and minor bickerings, and was in the rear-guard in the retreat to Corunna, but have not seen a major affair involving tens of thousands of men, such as tomorrow promises to be. I shall be most interested to take part and discover what it is like.”
Spanish Tricks (Man of Conflict Series, Book 5) Page 3