The farmer stood aghast, helpless, there was nothing more that he could say and with that Carr started back, following his men. After their return and for the rest of the day, the task was to clear the battlefield of the British dead and bury them. Saunders, in charge of a burial party, began the task, but found it far from easy, the soil being rocky and none too deep. The dead could only be laid out in shallow graves and, after a few words from whoever was available, the earth was shovelled back over. The three ‘clerics’ named by Lacey, did as required, but it was only Sedgwicke and Heaviside who helped to place the bodies into the shallow trench, Albright stood and muttered pre-prayers before the closing of the grave. This being his first battle, he was clearly in a state of almost permanent shock, a kind of mental denial at the appalling consequences of the previous day’s battle. Some British wounded were still being found, dreadfully sunburned and almost dead either from their wounds or dehydration, but these were almost all hopeless cases and were brought back to die at least amongst those who could speak the last words that they would hear in their own language and administer water to help their raging thirst.
Night approached again and this time the men of Crauford’s Light Brigade went out into the growing dark on picket to discourage marauding locals still hoping to rob the thousands of bodies. The British trudged back after another exhausting day in the heat, back to sleep rather than to eat, for there remained little by way of rations. Carr, however, did not go straight to their re-erected tent, but instead to the Officer Hospital set up at the foot of the Medellin, conveniently off the track used by the 48th the previous day for their run down from that hill to help Mackenzie. Remembering what Morrison had told him and where Drake had been taken, he decided that the time had come to find out how severely his friend had been wounded. He soon saw many wounded Officers at the open-air hospital, each lying on their own blanket, or some on a straw-filled paliasse. Each Officer’s jacket was hung on a support of all types but mainly a musket stuck into the ground by a bayonet. He found a Surgeon.
“I’m looking for an Officer of my Battalion, the 105th.”
“Which Division?”
“Mackenzie’s.”
The surgeon smiled ironically.
“We’ve plenty of them, but try over that way.”
He pointed in a direction further up the slope, and Carr walked on. He spoke the word ‘Mackenzie’s’ several times to various Orderlies and each time was advised to walk on, but each time he was given good direction. With relief he saw the green facings on some jackets and one had Drake lying beneath it, but propped on one elbow and then, with equal relief, Carr saw that Drake had nothing missing. All that was different was a heavily bandaged right foot.
“Nat!”
Drake looked up.
“Henry! Good of you to show. You must be busy.”
Carr nodded.
“Yes. Things are pretty grim. But how’re you? Your foot, I take it?”
“Yes, but a bit of luck really.”
He raised the bandaged limb, as if that would help with his explanation.
“Bullet hit the toe of my boot. It went between two toes and lodged there, splitting them apart. The sawbones says there is nothing broken, but there’s an odd sort of cut down between the two, what’s left after he pulled the bullet out.”
Carr sat down, then looked from Drake to the bandage and back again, but Drake was now engaged in humour.
“Must mention this to my boot maker. The good leather and construction saved my foot, so I’ve been told. Do you think he’ll give me another pair, this time on the cheap, if I spread the word about? Do you think?”
Carr laughed.
“You can only try and perhaps if you give him the boot to hang up somewhere, in full view, with a note something like ‘Saved a customer’s foot at Talavera’ pinned to it.”
Drake smiled.
“You think!”
He reached behind him.
“Well here it is.”
He thrust his hand down through the boot for his finger to appear through a neat hole. Carr took the boot and studied the damage.
“Well, keep out of the water, when we come to any.”
“True, but I’ll be on horseback, at least for a week.”
He leaned forward.
“Talking of sustenance. What’s the food situation? Nothing’s arrived and I do mean nothing. Can you get Morrison to bring anything up?
Carr shook his head.
“I’ll try, but I can promise nothing. There are rumours of supplies coming from the Spanish, but that is utter stuff. We’ve had nothing from them since we crossed the border and that’ll not change. All I can say is, that we will be pulling back soon, we have to. If we stay here we’ll starve and be cut off by the French on top. Day after tomorrow, I’d say.”
He saw Drake’s face fall and he felt the need to be somewhat more encouraging.
“The men have found rations on the French dead. That’s what’s keeping them going. Johnny was better supplied than we were, so I’ll get them to share a bit with you, if only a bit of French cheese and a clove of garlic!”
“Sounds dreadful, but I’ll be grateful even for that.”
He suddenly sat up.
“By the way, did you know that Templemere’s here?”
“Here? He’s been wounded?”
Drake grinned and nodded.
“Yes. Got a cut up his leg whilst sat with the 16th Dragoons behind Sillery’s guns. Got it while still sat on his horse.”
Drake ran his finger up his own leg to show the line of the cut.
“How’d you know?”
“Cornet from the 16th told me. When I saw the Lord Fred carried past, I made enquiries.”
Drake then guffawed, almost in disgust.
“He screamed blue murder when a Medical Orderly tried to stitch him up. Said it had to be a proper Surgeon, and when one didn’t come, that for obvious reasons, he lay there fuming, for a long time, until the Orderly did it anyway.”
He pointed further up the hill.
“He’s up over there, should you wish to pay your respects.”
Carr breathed out something between a laugh and an ironic sigh.
“I think not! What I do think is that I need to get back.”
He patted his arm.
“And I will try to get you some food.”
Carr then stood up.
“Right. Best get back before it gets too dark and I get lost.”
The following day, early, Carr took it upon himself to find Sergeant Ellis, finding him in the camping grounds of the Light Company. Ellis was sat with Fearnley and, on Carr’s approach both sprang to attention.
“Sergeant Ellis.”
“Sir.”
“Your Captain is up at the Officer’s Hospital.”
“Yes Sir. We know.”
“No food is arriving up there. I understand that several of your Company have gathered food from the French dead.”
There was a pause, whilst Ellis pondered if that was a question or a statement.
“That seems to be so, Sir. Yes.”
“Right. I want you to get around your various messes and gather something for him. He is your Company Captain, after all.”
“As you say, Sir.”
Carr nodded in satisfaction.
“Can I leave that with you, and you will take it up to him?”
“Yes Sir. I’ll see to it, Sir.”
Carr walked off and Ellis looked at Fearnley and sighed in annoyance.
“You hear that? Take some food off the lads. An’ what have Shakeshaft ‘n’ Maltby thrown into the pot?”
Not in the best of humour, he picked up a spare haversack and began his rounds, which soon brought him to the mess of Davey, Saunders, and the rest.
“The Captain’s wounded and up on the hill. Major Carr wants a bit of food sent up.”
He sniffed loudly, indicating that what he was about to say he did not believe.
“Seems
they’re starving up there.”
He opened the haversack.
“So, what can you throw in? Don’t need to be much, so long as this is half filled.”
Jed Deakin was sat nearby.
“Be you tellin’ us, Ethan, that no rations is reachin’ the Officer’s Hospital?”
Ellis looked at him.
“That’s pretty much what Major Carr said and that Captain Drake is very hungry.”
“So he’s takin’ off of us! I’m not sure that’s legal! There’ll be nothing on that in King’s Regs as says that men has to give up food when Officers is feelin’ hungry. What if we’d paid for the provender out of our own coin?”
“I know, an’ you may be right, but a bit thrown in from each mess won’t hurt anyone too much an’ then Carr’s happy. You want to make a fuss, Jed, well that’s up to you, but a bit of French cheese, an onion, an’ some of their bread, that hard stuff, won’t be too much missed, an’ then the things over an’ we won’t have no Officers down on us.”
He paused, whilst Deakin frowned, unconvinced.
“An’ Drake’s not a bad stick. You know that, an’ we’ve both ‘ad worse. Remember Bishop, when we was in the Ninth?”
Deakin nodded, memories of a brutal, almost sadistic, Officer coming vividly back.
“Alright. Just to keep the peace.”
He looked around.
“Find something an ’throw it in. It doesn’t need to be much, ‘tis just for one man.”
The items were produced, all being much as Ellis had described. The contents of the bag were sufficiently increased and Ellis peered in, satisfied, but there were no thanks, instead orders.
“Right. Now, out. There’s burying to be done. And a few more lads to find, perhaps still alive.
In similar manner was that day also spent, again in the morbid collection of the dead and with these the sorrowful, almost pointless, collection of more wounded. Their Noon meal was their best, consuming French rations, but that for evening was no more than three biscuits and some thin coffee. However, by then all were too tired to care, both from hunger and the physical effort of digging and carrying bodies, both dead and nearly so.
Dawn saw the arrival of Lieutenant Shakeshaft, now Acting Company Captain. All sprang to their feet, bar the Followers. He addressed himself to Saunders, as a Corporal and to Davey, a Chosen Man.
“Orders for today are to continue with the burying; of ours, that is. Spanish are being employed to bury the French.”
He paused to look more carefully. He was genuinely concerned.
“Have you anything to eat?”
No-one answered, at least not immediately, but Saunders felt the need to give at least some answer.
“No more than anyone else, Sir.”
Shakeshaft nodded sadly.
“Well, we can only hope for some supplies to come up.”
Davey now spoke.
“Sir. Rumours are that we will soon be marching back to Portugal. How true is that, Sir?”
Shakeshaft smiled, pleased with the change of subject.
“Pure truth is hard to define, Davey, but I’d say that it is very likely.”
“Yes Sir. Very good, Sir.”
Shakeshaft passed on and they all picked up the tools which they had used the previous day and again took themselves out onto the noisome battlefield. After the heat of the previous three days, the stench was appalling, for the French dead had barely been touched and there were hundreds more French bodies than there had been British, who were now almost all gone. Scavenging crows now hopped and circled all over the battlefield and no dead body was without some extra injury from their sharp beaks. Davey, Saunders and their companions worked till Noon, digging two more graves, at which point Donkin did a tour of their area and pronounced the burial of the British dead to be complete. They walked back to their lines, watching the Spanish gather up the French bodies and throw them into farm carts. Joe Pike was intrigued and asked of their most experienced soldier.
“What happens to them, Zeke?”
Saunders did not need to turn his head.
“They won’t bother with diggin’ holes. They’ll be burnt, or chucked down some crevice or whatnot. Don’t pay it no mind.”
Saunders was right. Soon fires began all over the battlefield, the funeral pyres for those who were once proud French soldiers. However, the number of fires decreased when the supply of wood was exhausted, but the carts continued to leave the battlefield for areas beyond, all day and into the evening, only to cease with the full dark. Saunders’ prediction was coming true.
However, the respite caused by the final clearing of the battlefield now gave time for the feared calling of the Roll. The Battalion was paraded in the last light of the evening and the list of names of those that had been present at the beginning of 28th July in each Company Section, was given to their Sergeant. Although barely able to see the names in the poor light of candle lanterns, the names were read out to receive one of four answers, “Present, wounded, dead, or not seen.” For several minutes, after the mournful reading, the Company Captains merged both lists and found their totals. These were handed to Major Carr, who then made his own calculations from the ten pieces of paper he received and these were then merged into two groups, one for Officers killed, wounded and missing, which Lacey already knew, and one for ‘other ranks’. The numbers for ‘other ranks’ read; killed 21, wounded 102, missing 5. Lacey gave a sigh of relief, he had expected much worse, but the number of wounded immediately replaced the dread of calling The Roll with the deepest concern for these; ‘Where were they all now, could they be cared for?’.
Shakeshaft’s prediction of the previous day seemed to be accurate. Over a short and meagre breakfast, Lacey was looking at a note which had arrived by mounted messenger from Donkin, a simple, one sentence missive, ‘Likelihood of retreat tomorrow’. This blunt warning brought Lacey into a state of anguish, which O’Hare was equally helpless to alleviate. No word had come from anywhere that transport for their wounded would be available.
“Our own are in Talavera?”
“Most likely on the road to it, or lying in one of the streets.”
“How many are with Pearce? Do you know?”
“About thirty.”
Lacey thought for a few seconds.
“We could use travois, like we did on the Corunna retreat.”
O’Hare nodded.
“I’ll get some men off and around for the poles.”
“Yes, do that. When we know what we are to be given to carry them and how many, only then can we go around and make a selection.”
The thought mortified him.
“Leaving them behind will be a death sentence!”
O’Hare nodded and walked off, as did Lacey, the latter back to their tent, hoping for something to eat or drink. He passed the site of Deakin’s small camp and felt the need to enquire, albeit to gain but a small impression of what his Regiment’s situation may be. All of the usual members were there and all sprang to their feet at the presence of their Colonel and saluted.
“Hello, men. I was wondering how things are with you.”
It was Deakin who answered.
“Things could be better, Sir, but then again a lot worse.”
Lacey looked around and saw Miles.
“I see you have some wounded of your own.”
Lacey looked at the prone figure.
“Miles, isn’t it? And you’re old Ninth?”
Miles brought himself up onto his elbows.
“Yes Sir.”
“Not too bad I hope.”
“Bullet, Sir. But it was dug out.”
Lacey nodded.
“Well, I do hope you recover. We’ll be needing good men, especially old Ninth. At least you seem to have something to eat.”
“Yes Sir. Took off the French.”
At this point, Bridie intervened.
“We’ve a bit spare, Colonel Lacey, your honour, if you don’t mind a bit of a mixt
ure.”
The only one within hearing who was pleased with her offer was Lacey himself, but all held their peace, and their intemperate looks.
“Well yes, Mrs. Mulcahey. If it is spare. I cannot remember what I’ve had beyond raw coffee and biscuits for some days now.”
She spooned out a portion from their pot into a skillet lid and handed it up, with a spoon. Lacey took the lid, then the spoon and began to eat. He was surprised.
“You know, Mrs Mulcahey, this is rather good!”
Bridie smiled and curtsied.
“That’s kind of you to say, your honour, but ‘tis Nellie here, as is the one with the herbs.”
Nellie Nicholls, now on her feet, smiled and curtsied, but by now Lacey had finished the few spoonfuls.
“That was most generous, and I am duly grateful. So now, I can tell you. We leave tomorrow and we will try to put together some travois. Any wheeled transport will be for the wounded. You remember travois from the march to Corunna?”
Nellie now answered.
“Yes, indeed we do, Sir, and very workable they was too.”
Lacey smiled in reply.
“Let’s hope that they serve equally well now.”
With that, he left and all looked daggers at Bridie, but saying nothing whilst Lacey was in earshot. However, Nellie the Formidable immediately leapt to the defence of her friend. She knew what was coming.
“And sure, now, wasn’t that no more than a kind Christian thing to do, for a kind Christian gentleman. Sure, didn’t he look as starved as any of us? And isn’t he doin’ his best to find ways for us all to get out of here?”
This finished any argument before it started and all there, all now knowing what was coming tomorrow, began to prepare for the march, which would probably begin at dawn. Back at his tent, Lacey had a visitor, himself taking the opportunity to sit, rest and drink something hot. It was Donkin and he had some news, particular to the subject uppermost in the mind of Lacey.
“I can give you four carts, Lacey, and about a dozen horses. Ex cavalry, from that shambles in the valley at the end of the battle. You heard?”
“Yes I have. The 23rd and some KGL ended up in a ravine the other side of the Medellin and others were roughly handled by a French column.”
The Plains of Talavera Page 29