The Plains of Talavera

by Martin McDowell

  “Yes Sir, but supplies have failed, Sir, an’ all the dried fish an’ beef have all gone off in this heat, Sir.”

  “Gone off?”

  “Yes Sir. Smelled terrible. I even had to throw the bag away. Couldn’t put nothin’ more in there, Sir. Such as is perishable has to come up and then be ate quick, Sir, and hope for more to arrive. As soon as they opens the barrels for the givin’ out, well the clock’s tickin’, Sir.”

  Carr interrupted, he had some sympathy for Morrison, who had always preformed at his best for them.

  “Eat up, Nat. This is all we have, so this is all there is.”

  He looked up at their distraught servant.

  “Thank you, Morrison. I have no doubt that you have done your best.”

  Morrison brightened somewhat.

  “Thank you, Sir. There is a bit of sage in that, Sir.”

  “Good man, Morrison. You’ve done your best.”

  The same subject, but on a more universal scale, was being discussed in Mackenzie’s Divisional Headquarters, this being no more than a different tent shaded by a different tree, but it included Colonel Rufane Donkin, Colonel of the 2/87th Foot and acting Brigadier of Mackenzie’s second Brigade and all the latter’s Divisional Colonels, including Lacey, and Wallace of the 88th. The meeting had been called to discuss defaulters, of which there were a growing number, but it was Wallace who brought up the subject that concerned the Colonels most and was very much linked to the discipline problems that they were having.

  “The men have next to nothing to eat, Sir, and we’ve precious little to give them. As we speak, mine are eating army biscuit and weak tea. It is no wonder that they are out roaming, looking for whatever, found or stolen.”

  Mackenzie nodded, exasperation writ large on his face, there was little he could say, other than to shift blame.

  “Wellesley’s been made promises by the Spanish which have nae more substance, as we now know, as smoke in the wind. The Central Junta promised us food and transport to campaign here and they have provided neither. All gone to Cuesta, our Spanish ally, ah’d guess. What’s more, this part of Spain’s been picked clean by everyone, both French and Spanish. Go into Plasencia and you’ll find no one thing, in fact the Spanish hate their own armies as much as they hate the French! Both steal and sequester, without so much as a brass coin.”

  He slumped back into the chair, demonstrating a depression of his own.

  “Wellesley would never have come, had he known the state of supply. Our bases are too far back for the transport available, money and reserve ammunition are stuck back in Abrantes, with no wheels tae move them anywhere and what’s been promised by the Spanish has gone elsewhere.”

  He looked up and all around.

  “We’re stuck, lads! Nae moving anywhere, fore nor back, until there’s something in our bellies to march on.”

  Lacey now spoke up.

  “We hear that, Sir, but what’s to be done? We’re not so far off the level of starvation that’ll cause the army to fall apart. Without firing a shot!”

  “I know Lacey and ye’re right. The Provosts are out, but ah’ve given orders than any men who come back carrying a few rabbits, crows or even fish are nae to be bothered. Farm livestock, now that’s a different kettle o’ fish. We cannot afford to stir up the locals! That’ll get us nae place, they’d not even allow us the hire of a few mules and carts.”

  Donkin now spoke, him of erect bearing and an immaculate uniform.

  “What of the defaulters? Wellesley would normally hang the lot!”

  Mackenzie nodded.

  “Go easy! Lashes for farm stock, stoppage of rum for crops, but turn a blind eye tae the rest.”

  He looked around, to then sum up his feelings.

  “I’ve a strong yen that this campaign will be dogged by little food and transport. We’ll hit the French when we can, then come back out. No army our size can sustain itself here, but I’ll tell ye now, as soon as anything arrives, flour, beans or anything, he’s marching on. The promise has been made to link with Cuesta, somewhere by Oropesa and Talavera, and he’ll do it. Mark my words.”

  Thus discouraged, all filed out, to walk back to their respective Battalions. Lacey walked with Donkin, even though they would be together but a short while and they exchanged few words, mostly Donkin questioning Lacey.

  “You were in the Coruna campaign, were you not?”

  “Yes I was, and that army fell apart for nothing much more than want of food! They were as willing to fight as any army I’ve been part of, but we lost more to starvation and the weather than we did to the French. Dead from cold and starvation, and loss from desertion!”

  Donkin spoke, out of the gloom, before they parted.

  “Keep on keeping on, then!”

  “What else?”

  “Good luck, Lacey.”

  “You too, Donkin.”

  The following day was a grim day all round, the army eating whatever could be shot, gathered or fished, but the Rio Jerte, which circled the South of Plasencia was little more than a trickle in the June heat and the almost stagnant pools, which could at least provide eels and small fry, were quickly cleared out by Noon. John Davey and Tom Miles had other ideas, rather than fishing, for both sat throughout the morning using their clasp knives to carve lead bullets into small pieces of shot, then, with enough for a dozen shots each, they set off with their Bakers to try their luck in the woods to the North. They found themselves amongst many others with the same idea, for musketry was ringing out for almost all parts of the wood.

  “This place sounds like a right set-to is goin’ on all over, John.”

  Davey nodded his agreement. The sounds from the wood equalled that of a serious skirmish before a major battle, because as many soldiers had entered the trees to try their luck for wildfowl, rabbits or any other edible creature. He looked up at the sky, shading his eyes from the now fierce Midday sun.

  “Look, all that commotion is drivin’ birds out, but not so many as if they was bein’ beaten out for a shoot, clearin’ it, sort of thing. There’s still plenty birds in they trees an’ they takes their leave when the noise eventually gets on their nerves, like!”

  He looked again at the trees and the flight of the escaping birds.

  “Let’s go right. Get the sun at our backs an’ see what flies out.”

  They took their position and Davey was right. All kinds of flying fowl emerged in twos and threes and so, between them, both being excellent shots and with their special ammunition, they bagged well over a dozen. Their shot now used up, they tied their haul together and set off back to camp, with Miles voicing a thought that had been in his subconscious all along.

  “Be this poachin’?”

  Davey replied, in very philosophical vein.

  “Well, ‘tis much the same as poachin'. ‘Tis someone else’s farmed land, or much the same as, but you takes the chance, or you starves. With the last, you’m certain for to die!”

  Both grinned and increased their pace, neither concerned, both even content, at the carcasses colliding with each other and swinging into their own bodies as they walked, but it was the far-sighted Davey who ended their cheerful sojourn.

  “Horsemen! Comin’ this way.”

  “Provosts?

  “No, I’d say not. Can’t make out their ludicrous helmets.”

  Miles changed the subject.

  “Where’d you learn a word like that?”

  “Too long round Byford!”

  Miles laughed, but the horsemen were nearing and Davey could pick out more detail.

  “Looks like Officers, with Dragoons up behind.”

  Davey was proved right as the group came closer. The ploy they adopted for the Provosts the night of the potatoes was adopted again, to simply walk on, as though about ordinary business, only in this case they would need to add a salute. However, as in the case of the Provosts, the tactic was in vain, for the group reined in their horses some five yards in front of them and the pair h
ad no choice but to spring to attention and salute, just after a judgment from Miles.

  “Here’s trouble!”

  The order ‘At ease’ accompanied by a raising of a riding crop came from the central figure, a man distinguished not in the least by his clothes, these being a bi-corn hat, worn fore and aft, a plain blue frock coat, white breeches much discoloured by dust, and high black leather boots, also dusty. However, the questions came from a full Colonel, who had urged his horse slightly forward.

  “And what have you there, men?”

  It was Davey, as Chosen Man, who answered.

  “Rooks and crows and some kind of game bird, Sir.”

  The last said whilst pointing to a plump bird with striking red legs, which Davey knew full well to be a red-legged partridge, which he could identify at 100 yards distance, but ignorance seemed the safest course. The Officer folded his arms on the pommel of his horse and leaned forward.

  “That’s a partridge.”

  Davey nodded.

  “As you say, Sir.”

  “Whose is it?”

  Davey put on his most querulous face

  “Whose, Sir? Can’t say, Sir. I’ve no idea who owns this land, if anyone. Sir. ‘Tall looks a bit barren an’ unfarmed to me. Sir. More wasteland, like.”

  “If someone owns it, then you are poaching!”

  Davey took a deep breath.

  “Well, Sir, seein’ as we brought these down whilst they was flyin’ through the air, then ‘tis hard to say who they belongs to. Again, if anyone. Sir.”

  Another Officer, with even more gold-braid, then spoke.

  “So, you brought them down with your muskets?”

  “Sir.”

  “Having cut up the ball into birdshot.”

  This was stated as a fact, to which Davey gave no reply.

  “Destroying King George’s property! If I dug into one of those birds I’d not find a complete ball. Would I?”

  However, now, mercifully the central figure intervened.

  “Let it go, Stapleford. You too, De Lancey.”

  This frock coated Officer, just spoken, looked down upon the pair, not unkindly, but with no warmth.

  “I’ll give you a guinea for a brace of those partridge.”

  With this, Miles could keep silent no longer, but he knew perfectly the words to use.

  “Beg pardon, Sir, but right now, here, any food has be much more important to us than any coin. Our mess nor Followers b’ain’t had no decent meal in days. Sir.”

  However, Davey knew that they were caught and what the charge could be and so he was already loosening the tie on two of his birds, but Miles words had thoroughly incensed the first Officer who had questioned them.

  “You impudent scoundrel! Don’t you know I can have you flogged for this, even hanged!”

  The frock coated Officer again intervened.

  “De Lancey! Enough. I’ll call this honest foraging, such as keeps us all going, even at the cost of a few cartridges.”

  By now Davey was walking forward, holding out the two birds and the Officer took them, tested them for plumpness, then passed them back to what must be a servant until now fully at the rear. He then felt into his pocket for the guinea, which he handed to Davey, who took two steps back and saluted. Again the acknowledgement came via a nod of his head and a wave of the riding crop, then all spurred their horses forward, leaving the pair richer in coin, but poorer in provender. Davey looked at Miles.

  “Who’d you think that was?”

  Miles turned his head to look back at the receding group.

  “Well, I can’t see no reason to say that that weren’t Nosey hisself.”

  Davey’s eyes widened.

  “You mean Wellesley?”

  Miles nodded

  “I do. Remember when they ‘ad us on parade on the quayside at Lisbon after Vimeiro, when he took ship for back ‘ome. ‘Tis the same, I’d swear.”

  Davey now laughed.

  “And you told him that our food was more important to us than his coin!”

  Miles scowled

  “Yes. They all knows how scarce food is, but they comes ridin’ up, still, an’ happily uses their money and King’s Regs to get what’s the only thing as is keepin’ us this side of Death’s Door. I’d ’ve took a floggin’ to get that in.”

  Davey chuckled.

  “Right. Well. We’d best get these back, afore another parcel of Officers rides up and demands their share.”

  They both hurried forward and were soon back at their tents, where the birds were pounced on by Bridie and Nellie to be plucked and boned and for every piece of edible flesh and innards to by tossed into the pot. Soon the story was all around the Battalion that Tom Miles had told “Nosey” that everyone was starving and that take some birds took fairly, off men as was so hungry was wholly against natural law!

  oOo

  Chapter 4

  Over the Alberche

  The four who had, some days back, stood on the bridge over the Spanish border river, the Elga, now found themselves leaning on another parapet looking down at the clear flowing waters of another river. Drake now addressed the Senior Officer present

  “And what river is this?”

  Carr did not turn his head but instead rejoiced in the cooling sight of the waters below.

  “This is the Tietar.”

  Now he did raise his head to look right.

  “And that sorry collection of hovels, over there, is called Bazagona.”

  All four looked over to see a collection of tiled roofs, the number of which could be counted on the fingers of both hands. Drake passed judgment.

  “Nothing to be had here!”

  “No indeed!”

  “Then why did he come forward?”

  Carr turned towards him, leaned his forearm on the hot stone and pointed down to the flowing stream.

  “Well, not being privileged to be amongst those consulted by our noble Commander, I can only pass on what I have heard. Water! All are, or rather were, running low.”

  He then pointed to the horizon of the hills to their right.

  “And to keep faith with our Spanish allies. Somewhere over there…..”

  He swept his arm round in a short arc.

  “………. are about 25,000 under Cuesta, which our 20,000 odd are about to join.”

  He removed his forearm, now too hot.

  “To meet Victor’s army, which rumour has it could be pushing 50,000!”

  The impact of that fact on the faces of his companions immediately became apparent and he nodded.

  “Yes! There’s going to be a battle. A big one. And not too far into the future. He, Cuesta, is now in touch with the French advanced guard, so we are told.”

  At this, Shakeshaft made a stern face and turned to place both hands on the parapet, ignoring the heat, at least for now.

  “Well. Let them come, I say. Let them come. We smashed them at Vimeiro and Coruna and their performance at Oporto was the sorriest shambles I’ve ever heard of. Let them come. Whatever the odds.”

  All smiled and Drake slapped him on his shoulder.

  “Well said, Richard. We’ll face up to them. Whatever.”

  Carr, meanwhile, bit back what would have spoiled the moment, this being that, properly led, the same French troops had stormed all across Europe, and were probably burning for revenge, but he contented himself by changing the subject.

  “Come on, let’s see what Morrison’s cooked up. Now with fresh water. I sure it’ll be better than army biscuit porridge, which we’ve been dining on for the last three days.”

  Maltby now spoke up.

  “Yes. You know I’m sure I saw him coming back with rabbits, just as we left.”

  Drake looked at him.

  “Rabbits! Then perhaps a bottle or two would be appropriate. Claret, would you not say, should go well with such rich meat as that.”

  All laughed at the absurdity of such an impossibility being available and Shakeshaft pointed to t
he river again.

  “I’ll settle for clean, fresh water.”

  The four walked on, much contented.

  Such a mood was universal throughout the army. Although food remained scarce, all could now wash and bathe below the bridge, and gather fresh water above it. A canvas screen was set up for the women Followers and another for the few Officers’ wives who were present. Rocks were thrown at Tom Miles when some felt that he was in danger of swimming too near the enclosure of the former. The day’s rest and clean hose and underwear made all the difference for the march the following day, which saw the whole army march into Oropesa. However, here the mood ended. The British were met with sullen looks from people already half starved. The British were greeted with doors being slammed and backs turned. The men of the 105th, halfway down the column, set their heads further down into their collars and picked up the step, urged on by Gibney.

  “Up straight, now boys. Show ‘em oose come! British army, never been beat.”

  Arms perhaps swung a little higher, but soon it was clear why the population were so resentful of their presence. Cuesta’s Spanish army had arrived some days earlier and had practically stripped the place bare, right down to window frames and floorboards. In fact, it was Cuesta’s men who provided the only significant audience for the British arrival and they lined the main streets as Wellesley’s men marched in and through. At the sight of the watching Spanish standing and sitting idle at the roadside, backs did then straighten and arms swing a little higher.

  Wisely, the cantonments allocated kept the two armies apart, the Spanish to the North and West, the British to the South and East, but there were inevitably some points where they were near neighbours, and at one point there was a well, neither wholly Spanish nor wholly British. However, in the minds of the Spanish battalion beside it, there was a de facto boundary at that point, which placed the well within their camp. Their British neighbours were the 105th and the first to be repulsed were Nellie and Bridie. Such was not easily done and the resultant shouting and screaming brought Heaviside to the well. His Spanish was limited, but enough to impose himself on a Spanish NCO with simple words.