“If you don’t know each other, then make your introductions outside.”
With that he spread a map over the sturdy, thick-legged table.
“We’ll be there within the hour.”
He stabbed his finger on a particular point.
“That’s the bridge and my scouting party tell me that there are no French there, at least when they left it, last night. It is three miles South of the town of Almaraz and broken, at least in part. There is passage across for only two men abreast, which makes our job very much easier. There are already fifteen hundred Spanish there, which we did not know about. They’ll remain in reserve when we take over.”
He paused for breath and to change the subject slightly.
“What Wellesley’s counting on, and there is every reason to hope, is that the French will have pillaged every town and village on their way to here, to gain supplies, which will have slowed them up. So, I’m hoping to find the bridge still unoccupied.”
He moved his finger.
“There’s a ford, just downstream. We have to deny that, also.”
He looked up.
“I don’t know, but it could be that we will find ourselves in a race, with the Johnnies coming at the bridge from the same distance as ourselves. Be that the case……..”
He pointed to Donkin.
“Yours, Colonel, will march straight for the ford. Find it and hold it. Expect no order from me.”
Donkin nodded, then Crauford looked at his own three Colonels, each in turn.
“Mine will hold the bridge.”
He began to roll up the map.
“Any questions?”
Initially Carr did not dare to speak in the face of so brusque a manner, although he was unsure if he was to be part of Donkin’s Brigade, but eventually professionalism held sway.
“I assume that I am with Colonel Donkin, Sir.”
By now the map had been handed to an Orderly.
“Assume yes, but I may change my mind!”
“Sir.”
“Now. Out! And let’s get to the bridge.”
The sleeping men were immediately roused and the march resumed. Soon they were on a bleak, seemingly pitiless, dry upland plateau, devoid of all life, even of the hardy, goat-like Spanish sheep. The road began to dip downwards and Carr assumed that they were moving into the basin of the Tagus drainage system and so it proved. Crauford had placed Carr’s Battalion between his own Brigade in the lead, and Donkin’s in the rear and, as the gradient gradually steepened into a valley, he could see over the heads of Crauford’s men to finally see the bridge off to the right, at the end of the shallow valley they were descending into, which ended at the Tagus. They all assumed the last stretch of road that could be seen in their shallow valley lead onto the vital bridge over the channel that contained the Tagus. Telescopes were immediately raised to bring the bridge into focus. It was Drake who spoke before Carr.
“Deserted! Not one bit of French blue in sight.”
Nevertheless, Crauford maintained the pace. Details grew beyond the river of a high bank where the French would appear, also a road running parallel to the river for a short length, after arriving at the river edge to turn left, then right to cross the Tagus, which proved to be down in more of a gorge than a river valley. As they approached nearer, a green uniformed Captain came back to present himself at attention before Carr.
“From General Crauford, Sir. There are no French at the bridge. Please place your men just downstream of the bridge, but set back where you can act as a reserve for both the General and Colonel Donkin.”
“We are not crossing the bridge?”
“No Sir.”
The Rifles Captain saluted and ran off. Carr turned to Drake.
“Halt the men here. Crauford can march on and Donkin’s can come up past us and go downstream to their ford. Then we’ll follow and take our own ground.”
Drake called a halt and Donkin’s Brigade swung off the road and marched downstream along the summit of their own high bank. Whilst stood waiting, they could hear the Spanish withdrawing, marching behind them, but out of sight beyond a low ridge. With all completed, Carr spoke again, whilst pointing to the highest ground back from the river, covered in small trees.
“Deploy the men along that slope, behind and between the two Brigades. When they are in place, let them sleep. At least this place is not short of shade.”
However, it was not long before orders came for changes, in the form of a Major of Crauford’s 52nd. On foot, he rapidly climbed the slope to Carr’s men.
“Major Carr.”
Carr stood up and offered his hand, which the new arrival took.
“Jessop. 52nd. I’m afraid the General has decided that the ford is the weak point, not the bridge. It really is almost useless, so, he wants to hold that with his Rifles, that’s his 95th, Donkin’s 60th and the Lights of your 105th. The General’s Line troops will go down to the ford, but the Lights of the 45th and 24th remain in reserve, up here.”
Carr nodded.
“Very good. Leave it with me.”
As the Major departed to gather the Companies of the 60th from Donkin, Carr turned to Drake.
“Did you hear that?”
“I did.”
“Right get yours over.”
Thus for the next half hour, the Companies passed each other in opposite directions, the 52nd and 43rd moving downstream, Donkin’s and Carr’s Rifle Lights moving upstream to the bridge. Drake’s men were not pleased at having to move from so comfortable a spot, but above the bridge proved to be equally tree covered and so they picked the best places to sleep before the 60th arrived. Drake set his pickets and soon was fast asleep himself.
Meanwhile, several miles back, the rest of the 105th had now passed through Meza de Ibor, but their trials only worsened. Every yard of road had to be fought for if they were not to abandon their guns and the wagons full of wounded. RSM Gibney came to Lacey. Even he was concerned.
“Sir. With respect, Sir, and ah knows that there is not much as can be done, but the men can’t take much more of this, Sir. Men are droppin’ out, Sir, an’ turnin’ in same as wounded. Ah tries to get ‘em up, but they just lies there, exhausted, like.”
Lacey nodded and looked at him with neither anger nor disagreement.
“I know, Sergeant Major and you are right. For the men, there is nothing other than to pull a rope, push a cart, march, or make the road. I know.”
He studied Gibney further, but spoke with the utter weariness that he felt himself.
“I know!”
Gibney knew in advance that informing his Colonel would gain no respite for the men, but he did have one question
“Can th’say how much longer, Sir? End of today, or into tomorrow?”
“No, Sergeant Major. I’m afraid I cannot.”
Gibney took this as his answer. He took one pace back, saluted, turned and walked off. Within a minute he had a pickaxe in his hands and was joining a work-gang of Number Two Company. After another minute they were joined by O’Hare, him with a shovel in his hands.
“Ah now, move over boys! Now, does it not take an Irishman to show youse all how to make a road!”
Weak laughter came from all within earshot, but the work-gangs had to be changed frequently by rotating the Companies. None could labour for more than one hour, before being overcome by dizziness brought on by lack of food. Wellesley rode back and forth, as gloomy and depressed as anyone, but saying nothing. Encouragement was pointless and, in the circumstances, seemed like deepest sarcasm. The Noon meal came, but it was filled with nothing other than sleep and hot tea. The army inched onwards, such that they could now see the village that was their destination; Mirabette high up on its ridge, on the far side of the same valley that Crauford had recently descended into, but had turned North to the bridge of Almaraz. Finally, onwards but also downwards, into the same dry valley, where there came relief, of sorts, for here was the main road that served the bridge and now no work
was required to repair their way. It was now but a task of marching and helping the exhausted and starving horse teams to haul the guns and vehicles up the frequent slopes. Wellesley rode past, now smiling and exchanging pleasantries with his Staff, which was noticed by Deakin as they marched at the head of the 105th column.
“Somethin’s cheered him up!”
Halfway watched the Staff party ride on.
“Don’t take much, the state we’re in.”
However, Halfway was only half right. Wellesley now knew that Crauford was holding the bridge at Almaraz and that his own force would next day be safely up in Mirabette, albeit after a steep climb up the ridge. Mirabette was at the top of a deep and impregnable defile that held the road down from this village to Crauford’s own force. His army was safe.
At the bridge, safety was far from the minds of Davey, Pike and Saunders as they made their way, hunched down, back into their camp. Each opened their tunic to let fall two or three fish. All around eyes widened with delight, and Davey explained.
“That river’s full of ‘em.”
He paused, for now was the time for a small amount of self-embellishment.
“If you knows where to look!”
Miles was having none of it.
“Gallows bait poacher! Shut your gob and get ‘em gutted!”
It was the best meal that they had had in days, weeks! Fish, army biscuits and hot tea, but they felt it prudent to save the orange garbanzos. As the night fell, so sleep claimed them again, but this time a good sleep, undisturbed by the gnawing pangs of hunger. However, they were awakened not by the sounds of ‘reveille’ but the alarm of ‘fall in’. The French had arrived and as their blue and white uniforms took possession of the slopes and banks opposite, Major Jessop again ran around the Rifles’ positions and then to Drake’s Light Company, whilst Crauford galloped over to Donkin. Breathless from his running and then up Carr’s slope, Jessop rested on his sword and drew breath.
“The General wants a demonstration, to show the French that we are here in strength. So, please to form up your men, in full view.”
Carr’s brows came together.
“In full view! What if M’sieu over there gets his guns up on that high bank? At this range we’ll be massacred! Even as we fall back!”
Jessop nodded.
“I think he knows that, but, from the beginning, he wants them to know that we are here in strength. So, please to form your men up and advance them forward.”
Carr nodded, his face showing that he was far from happy, but orders were orders. He found a bugler of the 24th, the only one remaining from before Talavera.
“Sound ‘form up’.”
The notes sounded and the men of the 45th and 24th hurried to form two firing lines. Carr placed himself before the centre and led them forward, but he halted at the first point where he could see the French and they could see him. Immediately to his left were the 43rd, his men had joined onto them perfectly. Perhaps all were a little far back to be perfect for Crauford, but evidently the 43rd Colonel had the same concerns as himself. They stood in place for a good hour, observing the arrival of what was a considerable French force, but it could quickly be seen that they, or at least their General, were not in a warlike mood. Instead, as each French Battalion arrived, so they made camp, felling trees, lighting fires and cooking food. Carr found himself beside the Captain of the Light Company of the 45th, Captain Wood. They had now been stood observing the French for two hours.
“Seems like no battle today, Sir. Or perhaps this is a different kind of warfare, them over there cooking food, in front of us over here starving.”
Carr nodded,
“The kind of warfare that preys on the mind, you mean? Could be, but what matters more to me is that he has not brought up his guns onto the top of that bank opposite. From there he could blow us all to Kingdom Come, if we stay standing here, that is.”
As if in answer, Jessop arrived again.
“You can stand your men down and pull back. But hold them in readiness, he may try something after he’s eaten.”
The men immediately behind had heard Jessop and the line dissolved for all to follow their lead and take themselves back into the shade of the trees, where sleep again claimed them. Carr remained alone still watching, still anxious about French guns. As he pondered he did not notice Crauford himself approach from behind. Carr had no time to come to attention, nor salute before Crauford began his questioning.
“Carr. What do you think?”
“Sir?”
“What do you think? You’ve faced these Johnnies more than anyone here. What do you think!”
Carr drew a deep breath.
“Well, Sir, I have no idea who their General is over there, but I have no doubt that, if we were all Spanish, he’d be over and into us. So, perhaps they’re a lot more worried about facing us than we think. Perhaps they now realise, after Maida, Vimeiro, Corunna and now Talavera, that what we deal out is more than they can take. Someone over there knows that any column crossing that ford, would be allowed over, just so far, then a firing line would come over the ridge, where they had been protected from cannon, and send them back, with heavy casualties. Very heavy, with them having their backs to the river.”
He looked directly at Crauford.
“I don’t see them trying. Sir.”
Crauford nodded.
“I’m much of the same opinion. So, we stay, presumably each at our ease, perusing our foes through various telescopes.”
Was that humour, Carr thought, but he decided not to take the risk and did not laugh in response.
“Just so, Sir.”
Carr felt emboldened.
“But what will force us back is hunger, Sir. We’ve virtually nothing to eat.”
Crauford’s face grew thunderous.
“I’m of the same opinion, Major.”
With that he mounted his horse and walked it off towards the bridge. Suddenly, Carr felt utterly weary. He turned and walked back to where Byford had a fire and was boiling some garbanzos. He sat and waited for his servant to judge them as edible, but long before that, his head slumped forward and he was fast asleep. Byford took his own share from the cooking-pot, left the remainder and kicked out the fire. If overcooked, the garbanzos turned into an insubstantialdiscernible, tasteless soup.
There was little more cheer to be found within the men of the 105th marching with Wellesley, as Lacey finally led them into Mirabette, their laborious climb completed, but the whole was merely a collection of low novels, even devoid of a Church. Apart from a central square, there was no discernible attempt at a road pattern; it was as though a child’s collection of wooden houses had been emptied onto a carpet. The atmosphere was as gloomy and cheerless as a winter’s day; in fact, after but a few minutes, it was obvious, that the village had been all but abandoned, bar a few hardy and overly optimistic souls. This was not lost on Toby Halfway.
“I’m sure we’ve been in more dead-alive holes than this, Jed, but blessed if I can remember when!”
Both in front and from behind, the army poured in, and on through. Staff Officers did their best to allocate buildings, but there were so few that the vast majority of the army were out in the fields and some were even ordered to march the extra six miles to the next village, Jaraceijo. However, veterans that they all were, soon they had fires going to cook what was left of their rations and then the men slept, despite the bright sunlight. Lacey and O’Hare looked out over their now sitting or sleeping command. As light-headed as anyone, Lacey sought the words to sum up their situation.
“All is in disrepair. Boots, equipment and stomachs.”
O’Hare looked at him puzzled, but Lacey continued.
“Today’s the eighth. We left Talavera on the third. That matches anything on the way to Corunna.”
“Bar the cold!”
“Yes, but this weather creates its own problems.”
O’Hare took a deep breath, ever the optimist.
&nb
sp; “Well, it’s done now. If we march out, it’s on a good road back to Truxillo, 20, 25 miles.”
He smiled at the thought.
“And beyond that, 50 miles is Merida and 30 more Badajoz. Supply wagons can do 30, 40, miles a day, so, I’m hoping that some food may be arriving after two days or so. Merida’s a base of some sorts and Badajoz even bigger!”
Lacey nodded and even smiled.
“Well, yes, keep those hopeful facts in mind. Meanwhile, let’s go and see what Bryce has concocted for us.”
“No need to speculate. I know exactly. They’ll be round and orange!”
Both laughed and walked to their allocated headquarters building.
oOo
For the rest of that day and throughout the night, Wellesley’s army was at rest, bar the sentries, mounting a prudent guard. Wellesley’s men awoke to no change at all in their situation, but not so Crauford’s. Supposedly after a leisurely breakfast, on the French side Battalion after Battalion began to form up on the road back to Almaraz and march off. By Noon the bank opposite was deserted. Crauford came back to Carr’s vantage point and watched his green uniformed 95th Rifles cross the bridge to carefully climb the bank and see what was there, or was not. Their reaching the top, to then blatantly stand up looking at the disappearing French, told the whole story, that they were now unopposed. Crauford turned to Carr.
“I have no more need of your men, Major. I cannot feed you. Gather them up and march back to Mirabette.”
To Carr’s surprise and shock, Crauford held out his hand.
“Good luck, Carr, and thank you for your opinions. I’ve appreciated your help.”
Carr took his hand.
“Thank you, Sir. Pleased to have been of some service.”
Crauford nodded and walked away, leaving Carr to instruct Byford to run to Captain Drake at the bridge and bring him and his 105th up directly. Within minutes the men of the three Regiments were formed up and marching off, to immediately ignore the junction with the painful road back to Meza de Ibor, but soon their route was climbing a gentle slope which soon topped a ridge and then they descended into a shallow valley whose far side was a seemingly endless array of steep cliffs, both to the left and right. Carr looked at Drake.
The Plains of Talavera Page 34