“Is there a road up through that?”
Drake had no answer and so all marched on. The road became steeper and steeper and seemed to disappear directly into the cliff wall before them. Carr called a halt, albeit a brief one, but plainly what they were about to attempt was going to need all of their much reduced strength. After a rest and some water, they began again and now they could see that the road climbed into what was little more than a cleft. They entered and all felt the shock of the chill from cold stone in deep shade. Above them was less that a quarter of the sky that they had been used to, with steep, boulder strewn slopes either side. It was Drake who stated the obvious, using two deep breaths.
“If we’d been pushed back, off the river, we’d have come back to here and that would have been that for the Johnnies.”
He took another breath.
“He would have packed up and gone back, tout suite!”
Carr nodded as he laboured with his own climb, but the gradient did lessen and after but 20 minutes more marching, they saw the roofs of Mirabette, then, soon after that, the swarms of Redcoats now calling the village their home. Once in the village Carr took himself off the road and waited for his two Captains of the 45th and 24th to come up. They halted in the tiny square and he shook the hand of both.
“Well done, Gentlemen. We can now only hope, with some justification, perhaps, that things will improve. Good luck to you both.”
Both saluted and then they left him to find the campgrounds of their respective Regiments, something that he had to do himself. He sent Ellis and Byford off to do just that, whilst Drake and himself sat on the edge of a horse trough, which somehow continuously poured clean water into itself from a brass spigot. After some time of silence brought on by weariness, Byford returned alone to lead the way for the whole Company. As they passed a fairly shoddy building, with Ellis stood outside, Byford pointed to the door.
“Our Officers are in there, Sir.”
Carr and Drake peeled off and Ellis led the Company on to join the rest of the Battalion. The two Officers soon found Lacey in the second of the two downstairs rooms and he stood to greet them.
“Welcome back, you two. I trust all is well.”
It was Carr who answered.
“Both well, Sir, thank you, but is there anything to eat?”
Lacey shook his head.
“No! Unless you count those damn orange beans as food. Otherwise, no!”
As a Brigadier and with his Divisional Commander absent at the bridge, Lacey found himself, on the evening of Carr’s arrival, summoned to a meeting with Wellesley himself, in a building which fronted onto the square and seemed to serve as a Town Hall. All stood as their Commander entered but he waved them back down onto their crude benches. He looked as haggard and worried as he had been on the road to Meza de Ibor and began by addressing the obvious questions, which he knew they all must harbour.
“First, supplies. I have asked that some be sent from Merida and Badajoz, but it seems that none are there sufficient to our needs, but what little is there will arrive soon, I hope. Our main depot is at Abrantes, but Soult has cut us off from there. Second, why are we remaining here? The answer is both military and political, as ever. Our own Government would wish us to stay to support the Spanish and it is true that by remaining here, in this undeniably strong position, we can threaten central Spain and keep the French very much on edge and persuade them to leave Portugal alone. The Spanish Junta in Seville want us to remain and, as if to emphasise this, they have sent me a present of six fine, white, Andulusian horses. I’m not sure if they intended them for riding or eating, but they arrived this morning.”
He paused to allow the faint laughter to die down.
“There is a promise from them of some flour coming up from Truxillo, but we’ll believe that when we see it. They are making us promises, which, as we all know by now, will probably count for nothing. The supply situation is not made any easier by the fact that the Spanish army were beaten back from the bridge and ford at Arzobispo. It is now at Meza de Ibor, which we know well and they have taken up a position there as strong as ours here, which is why the Junta want us to remain; from here both armies pose a continuing threat to the French. However, this area was picked clean by the French when they were here and now it has to support two armies. I hope that this is a comfort, Gentlemen, but I have written to the Junta making it clear that, unless supplied, we cannot remain here. Today is the ninth and I have offered eleven more days, that being the 20th. We are either fully supplied or we march back to Badajoz. So!”
His face grew hard.
“The rules of foraging must be relaxed. Any theft remains a capital punishment, but anything outside of an enclosed field or building is fair game. But, warn the men. They will encounter Spanish foraging parties and any injury inflicted on our Allies counts the same as any inflicted on our own.”
His shoulders fell and he gave a deep sigh as his face became melancholy.
“I know this is cold comfort, Gentlemen, but this is the game we are in. If there is any benefit from our remaining here, we have to take it. From here we pose a very real and potent threat to the French. Here, we are unassailable and could advance forward either North or East. This will last for eleven days more and then we will know, one way or the other.”
With that he reached behind him for his hat and walked up the left side to the door. All stood, but he was soon gone. Lacey returned immediately to O’Hare and Carr, waiting in their allocated building. He came straight to the point.
“For food, we have to forage. Just like the French. There is a Spanish army over at Ibor doing just the same. So, we compete with them, but not violently, we must hope. Allow the men to break all the rules, bar theft. On that Wellesley remains adamant. So, allow them to cut up as many bullets into birdshot as they like, what food there is around here is on the hoof and on the wing!”
Carr was not convinced.
“How long, Sir, and what about desertions from any party we allow out?”
“Eleven days, Henry, and as for desertions, we have to take the chance. We can only hope that the men see things as I do. For a start, where do they go for food? There is nothing out there, this place was picked clean by the French six weeks ago, so the only hope of food rests with remaining with the army. They didn’t desert on the way to Coruna and so my faith remains constant for the here and now.”
Carr made no reply and so Lacey continued.
“Right. I want all Officers in this building within 30 minutes.”
They were assembled within 15 to fill the small space and so Lacey stood on the staircase where he could be both seen and heard. His face was stern and determined.
“You may remember my saying such as this in a place called Bembibre on the way to Coruna. What I said then applies now. Without food, armies fall apart as it did then and it is more than likely that it will again, to us, over the next days. Wellesley wants to hold here for eleven more days and expects the army to hold together. I’ll leave any judgement on the likelihood of that to yourselves. After eleven days we are either supplied or we march back to the border. There are eleven days before us, during which we have to hold the 105th together. Over the retreat to Coruna the 105th had a desertion rate as low as The Guards. We held them to The Colours, so what I said then, I say now. First, your men! Not you, them! What we have, we share, equal rations, if nothing that night then you go hungry before they do. If they think for a second that you have extra privilege, morale suffers and then discipline and then we descend into a rabble, as we saw all around us at Coruna. So that’s your watchword, Gentlemen, and I mean it. First, your men!”
He paused for effect.
“Dismiss!”
They filed out, any conversation low and mumbled, or if not that, then they were occupied in deep thought. Carravoy, returning to their Grenadier Company with Ameshurst and D’Villiers alongside him gave vent to his aroused anger,
“So, we’re to starve, whilst they ea
t!”
Ameshurst looked at his angry Captain.
“Who are ‘they’, Sir?”
“The men and the Spanish!”
Ameshurst had his own thoughts.
“Well, Sir. Regarding the men, it may not come to that. Part of a bargain, as it were. If we show that we are playing our part, and receiving no more than them, less even, well, then I feel sure we’ll get a fair share of whatever they bring back from foraging. No holding back, as it were. I feel that I can count on their sense of fair play.”
Carravoy was unappeased.
“You can believe that if you choose, Lieutenant, but my experience of such as our men tells me very much otherwise.”
D’Villiers held his peace. He knew that Ameshurst dwelt in the highest esteem with his men and he could only hope that such also applied to himself with his own men. They came to their camp, but D’Villiers walked on, to his own Section. The least he could do was to ask how they were.
The following day brought news which caused a mixed reaction, both relief and puzzlement, the word being brought to the Grenadier Officers by Ameshurst.
“The French have gone! Left Almaraz and Arzobispo, too. They’ve gone back behind the Tagus.”
This time it was D’Villiers who was unconvinced.
“Well, hooray for that. But it gives even less reason for us to be up here, starving and falling apart!”
So it proved for the following days, which stretched towards a week. The only topic of conversation was supplies and none were forthcoming. If telescopes were used at all, they were used to study their supply road back to Truxillo, but it remained depressingly empty, after a lone delivery of Spanish flour on the eleventh. The road remained empty even of local Spanish going about their daily business. There came more days of increased hunger, with even the betanzos now running out. The conversation amongst the Officers was usually concerned with the deterioration in the men, which was becoming obvious, many were now listless and uncaring, and so standards of appearance and discipline were dropping. Also, the most disturbing reports were of men making off in groups of their own, to find food, from whatever source. Lacey’s prediction was coming true, the army was falling apart. The one blessing was that the men were not required to march, which slowed the process of disintegration, and reserves of energy could be found if they were allocated to a foraging party. Hope of food gave energy to tired legs.
On the 15th, however, the situation worsened. The word came first to Drake, who took it to Carr.
“Bad news. A foraging party of the 45th have come back battered and bloody and empty handed. They were a dozen men, sent to escort one of the ‘once in a blue moon’ flour convoys, and they have been ambushed and roughly handled by a large party of Spanish. Needless to say, they made off with the mules and the flour.”
Carr put down the pen with which he was writing a letter to Jane.
“By ‘roughly handled’ you mean attacked, so that they could take the convoy?”
“Yes, I mean exactly that.”
Carr’s brows furrowed.
“So, it has finally come down to both armies fighting each other for food.”
He pushed the letter to one side and slid the edge of his left thumb between his two front teeth, his normal thinking pose when he was agitated and deeply concerned.
“We have to keep sending out foraging parties. We’ve five days to go before we may have to attempt a serious march. If the men aren’t fed now, we’ll never get them on the road!”
Drake had been doing some thinking of his own.
“We send them out in Sections, which for us is 35 men, about. Enough not to look like an aggressive patrol, but enough to take care of themselves.”
Carr nodded.
“That’s a good notion, but no Officer. They go out with a Sergeant in command. What they will be doing will inevitably be illegal and something which an Officer cannot possibly condone. However, they must come back with something. By hook or by crook.”
Drake nodded his agreement.
“Most likely crook! Then what of the Provosts?”
Carr stared straight back at him.
“I don’t care! This is where we are. We get something to eat or there will be nothing to mark our presence here bar bleached bones bundled together by red rags. I don’t care!”
Drake took the hint and left, to search for Ellis. At the sight of his Captain, Ellis came to ‘Order Arms’ and saluted.
“Sir!”
“You’ve heard.”
There was no need to specify the topic.
“Sir.”
“Right. Take out Lieutenant Maltby’s Section, tomorrow. Ready the whole Section. See what you can find.”
He looked fully into the weathered face of the competent veteran.
“No revenge! But defend yourselves and defend whatever you can bring back.”
“Yes Sir. Understood, Sir.”
Ellis hurried off to the mess area of his best men, Davey, Saunders, Pike and the rest, to spread the word. Soon the whole Section, 41 strong, were opening cartridges and cutting up the lead bullets into as many pieces as their clumsy clasp knives would allow. They slept hungry, but that was now the norm, and, after a dawn breakfast of biscuits and water, Ellis led them out of the camp, with Davey at his side.
“What do you think, John? Where’s our best chance of something?”
Davey answered quickly.
“Well, off this ridge for a start. Animals aren’t stupid. They needs food and shelter same as us and that’s most likely in the lowland. So, I’d say, follow the road downwards, South, then see what the lie of the land is down there.”
They walked on, a loose column and, within an hour they were descending off the Mirabette ridge, which took them out of the upland conifers and into deciduous woodland. With the change Davey gave the order to spread out and shoot for birds, of any description and so, in a skirmish line, they pushed through the thin undergrowth and soon the woods were ringing to the sound of musketry as the men tried their luck with whatever large bird they could see. After an hour, Ellis called them in to examine their haul, but it was mostly rooks, crows and squirrels, with one or two game birds, nothing like enough to take back to camp and be judged then as a success. Ellis looked at Davey.
“Keep on?”
Davey nodded.
“What else? There must be some kind of decent animal in these woods: rabbits, hare, deer, boar, or even badger, if they has them in Spain.”
Ellis looked appalled.
“Badger!”
Davey was unmoved.
“Yes. Badger. Tastes like pork. You’d be surprised.”
Ellis was unconvinced.
“Damn right I would, but we’re now some miles from camp and past Noon.”
“Agreed. So, we comb these woods some more, but no further, and hope.”
For the next hour came the same as those before and the shots continuously rang out. Pike was beside Miles, both with their birdshot gone, so both were now loaded with solid, in the hope of meeting something bigger. It was Pike who heard the rustling in the undergrowth, so he held Miles back.
“Tom. There’s something big in the bushes over there.”
He pointed and Miles looked at him, then at the bushes indicated. Miles hatched a simple plan.
“You go right, I’ll go left, but keep yer bundook pointin’ forward. I’ve already had one bullet.”
They advanced slowly and it was Pike who gained the first sight of the animal, its hindquarters, and it was plainly a pig, by the shape of its tail. Pike stopped and cocked his Baker rifle. The pig was still rooting about in the undergrowth, wholly preoccupied, so Pike took sight on where just to the rear of the shoulder would be, although this part was hidden by the screening bushes. He held his breath and fired and all between him and the pig was smoke. When it cleared there was nothing of the pig to be seen and Pike sighed, but only for a moment, for Miles was yelling in triumph.
“Well done, Joe. You go
t’n, just past the shoulder. Clean kill. Go get Ellis and John. I’ll find a good branch what we can sling this fat bugger from, an’ then get’n back.”
Pike ran over to where he thought Ellis and Davey were and after a few enquiries, he found both.
“John, I’ve downed a pig. Just over there!”
His words were heard by many others, and all ran over to where Miles had lashed the legs of the animal together and was passing the branch through, ready for it to be carried. However, it was Ellis who first noticed where they were, this being on the very edge of the wood. He peered between the last trees.
“This here’s no family animal, more like a boar of some kind, looking for sows and there’s the farm. This’n have come in here for that or to root about in the woods. Still, we’ll call this a good piece of luck.”
He looked again.
“Get this up and let’s get gone. Might just be some odd breed as belongs to yon farm.”
The nearest four shouldered the branch and they hurried back through the wood. It was a relief when they came to a track, which led in the direction of Mirabette and they took it, all in good spirits, because the pig was a good find and, with all the other kill, their time out had been a major success. The track led to the main road and they hurried along in the last yellow light of full day, the pig prominent in the centre of the their loose column.
It was Davey who saw them first, coming over a slight ridge to their right, the light blue uniforms of Spanish infantry.
“What’s this?”
Ellis looked and his face set in a frown.
“How many would you say?”
“Not far short of a hundred.”
“And they’ve seen us and are comin’ to see what we’ve got. And, from what we’ve heard, it won’t be to offer any kind of a bargain.”
He looked at his men, who by now had all seen the oncoming Spanish forage party. Miles passed judgment.
“Sod ‘em! I’m not givin’ up one dead crow to that mangy crew!”
The Plains of Talavera Page 35