The Plains of Talavera

by Martin McDowell

  It was Drake who was doing all the talking, but this time the topic dwelt at home, mostly about his beloved wife, Cecily, now left behind in England and now pregnant. They had married almost as soon as they had returned to England from Spain. Carr was “sort of” or “practically the same as” engaged to Cecily’s cousin, Jane Perry, but the final nuptials were far from certain. Jane’s father, General Edmond Perry, was violently opposed to the match. The same General was on campaign with them, commanding a fine Brigade comprising four Battalions of Kings German Legion, German troops from the lands of Hanover, fighting for their Ruler, the King of England.

  The pair ambled down the road, avoiding wherever possible the effusive greetings of the locals. Drake continued to voice his anxieties about Cecily, to which came a reply chosen from one of three possibilities, “I’m sure it’ll be fine”, or “She’s in good hands”, or “She’s a strong and healthy young lady”. Soon they were in the main square of Lisbon, a large expanse, 100 yards by 200, but all was movement, a scene more in keeping with the hour after a passing carnival, with the orange light from the Westering sun, adding a cheerful glint to the windows on the South and East facades. The refined and the gentrified citizens of the city were filling the square, engaging in their evening perambulations, an essential of their social round. The scarlet of British uniforms stood out, especially against the sombre black of the men, but even more against the more colourful apparel of the women. Inevitably it was Drake who first remarked on the scene.

  “Henry, I say, this could be Pall Mall, or Bond Street, or some such, on a summer’s evening. You’d not think these people were at war, it’s all so….. so…… at ease and casual.”

  Carr nodded, and let out a deep breath, seemingly of exasperation.

  “Yes, as you say, at ease and casual. A people at peace, I’d go so far to say, or at least, very, very confident of what lies between them and Soult’s army. What’s up North is way down South within their minds!”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Henry. Don’t be too hard, keeping this up, helps them to face up. If you see what I mean.”

  Carr nodded again as they passed on, a smile of pleasure remaining on the face of Drake as they moved between the conversing groups of Lisbonese high society. Whatever they came to, to distract Drake, did nothing for Carr, his thoughts were elsewhere, dwelling on the teasing anxieties of what lay ahead, would the 105th live up to their reputation, the “Rag and Bone Boys” of Corunna? Yet his confidence in his own abilities did not enter the question. However, strolling around the beautiful square, beneath the buildings that had been added during a more opulent and successful age, was pleasant and distracting enough and his concerns did not surface sufficiently to mar the occasion, until an unpleasant nasal drawl came to his ears from behind.

  “Ah! Major Carr! Thought it was you. Surprised to find you here!”

  The justification of the final remark, with the accent heavy on both the ‘find’ and the ‘you’, was not forthcoming, whatever it may have been, but then Carr and Drake turned, during the sound of another utterance, this also spoken in the same dismissive tone.

  “And Captain Drake, the inevitable accompaniment!”

  Carr and Drake were confronted by two obvious society Officers dressed in the most gorgeous and expensive Officer of Cavalry uniforms, a dark blue, not navy but just light enough to be elegantly sober, the facings were a deep red, whilst the whole was shot both across and upward from knee to shoulder with white cords and arrows. Across one shoulder, suspended by its white cord hung the standard Light Cavalry pelisse, as short jacket, worn as a cloak. The sleeves were rarely filled by the arms of the owner.

  The gentlemen were Captains of Horse Lord Frederick Templemere and Lucius Tavender, neither any kind of friend to Henry Carr, because some time ago, Carr had threatened to kill Lord Templemere after meeting him in two duels, both of which he had won, but illegally. Lucius Tavender was the preferred match for Jane Perry in the mind of her Father General and also, Carr had rendered generous help to Tavender twice, during the campaign of the previous year, but Tavender’s attitude towards him had not moved one step from open animosity. Drake was immediately on his guard; years of society training had taught him that this would be no pleasant conversation, whilst a look of wearisome contempt spread across the face of Carr. He had noted immediately that he outranked both, but to “pull rank” in order to dismiss the pair and send them on their way, would simply be too close to a form of surrender, as he saw it. Confrontation was his natural reaction when faced with these two, but for the moment he’d give both their chance to keep the encounter polite and social, in which manner he would behave himself. He nodded once, determined to be terse but civil.

  “Tavendcr. My Lord.”

  Both infantrymen stood waiting, neither wishing to initiate any form of social conversation, much preferring to pass on. Both cavalrymen had noticed Carr’s badge of rank, a purple sash around his waist and the single gold epaulette on his left shoulder. It was Templemere who spoke first, the inevitable disdainful tone watching the mocking grin.

  “Congratulations on your promotion, Carr. I do hope that you are not going to insist on us both calling you ‘Sir’?

  A quizzical look came across Carr’s face, as though such were an idiotic question, but his tone was jocular.

  “Oh no! I do think that such can be dispensed with, especially amongst established acquaintances such as ourselves.”

  He allowed a pause to include the slightly disrespectful smile that he regularly employed what dealing with people that he little or no respect for, his head on one side.

  “Was there something that you wished to say?”

  It was Templemere who spoke again, whilst Tavender retained a blank look; stony, with a total absence of warmth.

  “Why no, not especially. Merely wishing to renew…. er……. relationships.”

  He turned to Drake.

  “Captain. I trust your new wife is well. She is with child, I believe.”

  Drake allowed his shoulders to dip slightly forward, but he had no idea how Templemere could have knowledge of such.

  “Thank you for your enquiry, my Lord. She is quite well.”

  “Not here with you.”

  A statement, more than a question.

  “Why no. For fairly obvious reasons.”

  Templemere nodded.

  “Just so.”

  This time Tavender spoke up, a question directed at Carr.

  “I understand Miss Jane Perry remains an acquaintance of yours?”

  It was Drake who immediately answered.

  “More than that, as I suspect you well know. Letters are exchanged regularly and I think you’ll find she wears a ring now, as given to her by Major Carr here.”

  Templemere grinned conspiratorially, as though possessed of exclusive knowledge.

  “That may have changed!”

  “If so we would have heard”

  A frosty pause, finally broken by Carr.

  “The last time I saw you two was on the stairs of the Pump Room at Bath, you had purchased Captaincies in the 20th Light Dragoons, if memory serves. Does that still pertain?”

  This time Tavender answered.

  “No. We’ve transferred. Done an exchange, if you understand. We’re now in the 16th Light Dags.”

  Carr allowed the insult to pass, that perhaps he had no awareness of Officers exchanging Regiments, but Tavender continued after a pause.

  “We’re both on General Perry’s Staff. Jane Perry’s Father. He’s a Brigadier here, in case you are unaware. In command of some rather good Battalions of King’s German Legion. Four to be exact, making his the largest Brigade in the army.”

  Carr laughed.

  “Yes, I am aware of the General’s presence. Army lists do reach us, down in the infantry.”

  He looked carefully into the face of each.

  “I’m sure you’ll all make a good combination. But now, I think we must pass on. Whole Battalion busin
ess and Major’s paperwork to attend to, you see. But, on the subject of proper form, I do think a salute is called for. To set an example to the Junior Officers hereabouts. Good discipline makes an army, you’d agree?”

  Anger came into the faces of both, but Carr looked fully into the eyes of each. Captains saluted Majors and eventually they came, sloppily from both. Carr responded, both with a salute and a rebuke.

  “You’ll need to come up sharper than that, if Wellesley comes near you. He’s totally one for the fully correct, so I hear. Also as I remember, when having him ride up to my picket before Vimeiro.”

  With that, both Carr and Drake diverted left and walked on. They made good time back to their billet, with the evening now somewhat soured.

  There was a far more convivial atmosphere outside the tent of Jed Deakin, amongst the Third Company. Many gathered there after having eaten, to go about their evening business; to check and clean equipment, listen to the musical instruments being played all around or simply to sit and talk. Deakin, before being made a Colour Sergeant had been a long time comrade of Tom Miles, John Byford and Zeke Saunders and was one of the very few who could give Tom Miles orders and instructions that were immediately obeyed. Deakin had also formed a very respectful relationship with John Davey whilst Davey was being marched to Taunton from Devizes gaol. It now made no difference to the veteran soldiers that they were now in the company of common criminals. ‘There but for fortune’ was their attitude as long as these did what was asked of them, which very much included holding their place in the firing line.

  Deakin’s common-law wife, Bridie, always had tea, hot and available, as did her good friend Nelly Nicholls, the legal church wife of Sergeant Henry Nicholls of the Third Company, this being the Colour Company in the 105th. Joe Pike came along with Davey and Miles, for he was married to Mary, nee’ O’Keefe, Bridie’s younger sister. All three ‘wives’ were Irish. Adding to the family atmosphere were the children of Bridie, these being Eirin, Patrick, Kevin and Sinead, Eirin being the eldest, an Irish beauty in her late teens, down to Sinead who was now twelve. All could perform duties around camp and on the march, as also could the three daughters of Nelly Nicholls, these being Sally, Trudie and Violet, aged 15, 13 and 11 respectively. Bridie had accompanied the 105th as a privilege to Jed Deakin, him being a Colour Sergeant, whilst Henry Nicholls had no such high status, but his wife did. If there was a Captain amongst the Followers, it was she and Colonel Lacey knew this full well and therefore she was ‘required’, he had decreed, something above merely being “allowed”.

  If there was ever any discord within this happy group, it was between Tom Miles and Nelly Nicholls. Nelly disliked Tom Miles for being a misery, Miles disliked her for telling him so, but tonight a truce pertained and besides, Tom Miles was sat some way away, talking with Davey, Byford, Saunders and Pike. All were trying to comfort Joe Pike, clearly saddened and morose and all knew why. John Byford was doing most of the talking.

  “She’ll be fine, Joe, your Mary. Especially being pregnant means she’s well out of what could be waiting for us in the next few months”.

  He looked at John Davey.

  “She’s with your Molly, John, is she not?”

  Davey nodded.

  “Sright. Mother’ll and family and whatnot will take care of the pair, both bein’ in the family way. Could be they’n well out of it, ‘specially if we gets a repeat of what happened under Moore”.

  He turned to Joe Pike.

  “And that’s another cheerful side of it Joe. They b’ain’t moulderin’ in some barracks someplace, waitin’ to catch gaol fever. That smallholding of ours is a fair good spot. She’ll be fine.”

  A ghost of a smile passed across the face of Joe Pike as Tom Miles chipped in, somewhat cheerfully for him.

  “You two be knockin’ out sprogs like pots from a chinaworks! This’ll be your third, b’ain’t it John.”

  Davey laughed.

  “Molly’s third. My second.”

  The group turned to reminiscing and laughing at memories from the previous time they were in Lisbon, but Miles was now indulging in pleasant memories of his own whilst looking at the St. George’s Fort, silhouetted in the dying light of the evening sky.

  “Wonder if that good looker is still livin’ down under that castle?”

  It was Saunders who answered.

  “You mean the one as did your washing?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Miles twirled his bayonet in the dust.

  “T’as only been a few months.”

  It was Davey who replied.

  “A few months, true, but long enough to get herself hitched up to some good looking Don”.

  Miles nodded whimsically.

  “You’m right, true, but that don’t mean I wouldn’t like to see her again. Consuela was her name.”

  More nodding and twirling.

  “I think she liked me.”

  At this point, the coquettish Eirin joined in, an insolent grin bright on her face.

  “I always thought you was sweet on me! Tom Miles!”

  Both anger and embarrassment competed across the face of Tom Miles, as all within hearing laughed, but he made no reply, for all the Redcoats in the group were springing to their feet. The Captain of their Third Company had arrived, making his evening rounds, this being Joshua Heaviside, a stocky and thickset figure, though not short and always in need of a shave. He was deeply religious and more often than not the first words that came from his mouth was a quote from the Bible. This evening was no exception, although, more often than not, his men had not the faintest idea what he was trying to convey.

  “Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Psalms 37. Verse 4”

  Being Senior, it was Deakin who answered, giving his stock reply.

  “Yes Sir. I’m sure all the lads sees it that way, Sir.”

  Heaviside nodded gravely.

  “Have you everything you need? He hath given meat unto them that fear Him. Psalms 111. Verse 5.”

  “Yes Sir, thank you Sir. We are well provided for. Rations is near and plentiful.”

  Heaviside nodded and passed on in the dying light, to dispense the same to the next tent. Within a minute came the four notes of Lights Out and all made ready for sleep.

  oOo

  The houses, bridges and even the trees could now be predicted from memory, both for the going out and the coming back. On each day when they were not needed for Guard Duty or such duties, Lacey marched his men out into the Campos to the North of the city, there to run, jog, and form into, at the greatest possible speed, every tactical formation from every other tactical formation. However, what mattered most to Lacey and O’Hare was their rate of fire when formed in line and, on most days, the men marched back with an empty cartridge pouch, having fired all fifty. It was much to the satisfaction of both that each Company could manage seven rounds in two minutes, whilst the standard for the army was six.

  On the days when the Line Companies of the Battalion was taken for Guard Duty, Carr and Drake took the Light Company out to practice their drills and this day was one such. Drake had ordered Ellis to break up the established file teams of three men to train the new recruits and so Davey and Miles had George Tucker with them, whilst the other newcomer, Nat Solomon, was with Byford and Saunders. They were practicing retreating by files and Tom Miles wasn’t happy. Tucker had fired off his round and then ran back to take his position behind Davey, leaving Miles now at the front. Miles fired his, and then retreated back behind Tucker, leaving Davey at the front. Davey fired and then fell back. By now Tucker should have reloaded, but he was still returning the ramrod to its guides, whilst Miles was already half way through reloading.

  “Bloody Hell, Tucker! What if some Frencher was close on up, or a bugger on a horse or somesuch? ‘Tis your job to bring’n down, not be still soddin’ about, pockin’ a ball down the spout!”

  However, Ellis has heard and ran over.

&nbs
p; “That’s enough Miles! What goes wrong is my worry, you get loaded and face up!”

  Miles was not one to keep quiet.

  “Tis my worry too, if I gets a Dragoon on top of I!”

  Ellis turned on him.

  “I said you shuts your gob and face up! We’re here to practice and spend time gettin’ it right. Now you finish loadin’ and come to the “make ready.”

  Miles did now hold his tongue and he held his weapon directly vertical, the trigger just level with his chin, ready to bring the rifle down the firing position. Ellis went over to Tucker.

  “His right. When you leading filemate runs back, puttin’ you at point, you’ve got to be ready. ‘Tis you that then has to down any oncoming Johnnies. Your filemate’s lives depends on it, besides your own.”

  Then he smiled, rare for him.

  “But you’n not far off. Another second or two and you’d have given him no cause. But you’ve got to be there!”

  Tucker nodded.

  “’Tis but a dose of nerves, Sergeant. I was fine back in Somerset, but here, well, within days, this could be the actual.”

  Ellis said no more but ran off, exchanging stoney looks with Miles as he passed.

  Thus it went on, all under the critical eyes of Drake and Carr, until darkness gathered across the dark heathland. Then they formed up and marched back, Miles again complaining to Ellis.