The Plains of Talavera

by Martin McDowell

  Then came further thought, searching for facts with which to further defend himself.

  “Besides, it was written when we were in Mirabete, when things were a bit fraught!”

  Drake laughed.

  “Oh, I’m sure that will make all the difference! Can’t include anything about how much I love you, dear. Bad indigestion caused by Spanish beans!”

  The pained expression returned.

  “Well, I did say some of that romantic stuff. And, besides the letter’s gone off now.”

  Drake nodded.

  “Well, all I can say, is that when the time comes, you need to be well equipped with posies and presents and such as that.”

  Carr frowned.

  “Jane’s not one for all that. She’s more serious. Intellectual!”

  Drake appeared sceptical.

  “If so, she’s the first I’ve heard of that doesn’t appreciate a few flowers and a present all the way from the sunny Peninsula.”

  Carr folded his arms, his face pensive.

  “Well, we can take care of that, when the time comes. As you say, it will do no harm and will probably do some good.”

  Suddenly, he leaned forward on the table between them.

  “You should apply as well! We won’t be moving for months with the political situation as it is between Wellesley and the Don Government. Awaiting events from that would be like watching cold treacle run uphill!”

  Drake’s face brightened.

  “I do believe that you are right. It’s got to make sense to try to get to a healthier place than this is proving to be, even back to a cold Autumn in the dear West Country.”

  “On that subject, how are Shakeshaft and Maltby?”

  Drake shook his head.

  “Flattened! In no real danger, just flattened. No energy, just, you know, can’t cope.”

  The comment on health was one widely made throughout the whole army, garrisoned at all three towns. A strange, non-fatal but debilitating sickness was adding to the lists of those excused duty. It had certainly struck those now occupying an outlying barn, large enough for 30 souls, which included the messes of Deakin and Davey. Deakin was the most concerned as he returned with sacks of rations.

  “Any new today?”

  Davey looked up.

  “No, just the same. Zeke, Nat and George.”

  He pointed to the prone figures covered in blankets, lying alongside the rough stonewall. Deakin looked over.

  “Least ‘tain’t like what comes to those servin’ in the West Indies. I was there once and it near took the whole Regiment. I was spared, the Surgeon said, perhaps because I was raised on the Somerset marshes.”

  He became thoughtful.

  “On that, it seems to me that those as is bein’ took, is those as hails from the towns and cities!”

  Davey studied the lock on his Baker rifle.

  “You may be right, but then Tom Miles is out of the stews of Bristol. He’s alright.”

  Deakin guffawed.

  “What self respectin’ disease would have anything to do with him?”

  Miles, instantly much aggrieved, looked up from some distance away, where he was strengthening the fixing of a button.

  “I heard that!”

  Both Deakin and Davey laughed and Deakin reached into the sack of rations.

  “You heard that, did you? Then catch this.”

  A piece of Spanish sausage was thrown across the space, for Miles to catch one handed. Bridie was near, tending the fire in the barn chimney.

  “You leave him alone! Sure now, isn’t he bein’ as good as gold, now, these days. Not a peep out of place, nor a harsh word to anyone!”

  Deakin laughed again.

  “If not, if t’is like you say, then he must’ve got the fever!”

  Miles looked up again.

  “I heard that, too.”

  Weak laughter came from the three figures under the blankets. However, there was no humour in the simultaneous conversation taking place between Lacey and O’Hare, in the nearby farmhouse.

  “I’m thinking of moving us to higher ground. This fever is going through the whole Battalion.”

  O’Hare nodded.

  “Not feeling too clever myself.”

  He took a long drink of water.

  “Guadiana fever, they’re calling it. Not deadly, it just brings you down.”

  He looked at Lacey.

  “It’s only arisen since we arrived here. If it is to do with the river, then it must be some kind of marsh fever. There’s less shelter of any kind up on high ground, but getting us away from the swamps and reed beds and whatnot, can only be to the good.”

  Lacey studied his good friend.

  “Do you feel up to it?”

  O’Hare nodded.

  “Give me a horse! ‘Tis no worse than that damn ague that I get from time to time, since I quit Egypt with the 28th.”

  Lacey grinned.

  “A horse it is. And take Carr with you. Good experience for him.”

  He grinned as he reached for the nearby bottle and poured out two generous brandies.

  Also, at the same time, another even more serious conversation was taking place in Badajoz, in a cramped building inside the walls. It involved little humour, but an atmosphere of contented expectancy was building. The three participants were General Perry, Captain Lord Templemere and Captain Tavender, each now part way through a large glass of brandy. Tavender was well into his explanation as to why they were there.

  “Yes General. There is a big question mark over him, two in fact. As I say, the shambles at Casa de Salinas and, second, why did he run from his place at Talavera?”

  Perry’s eyes sparkled. His mouth curved into a smile and the ringed fingers of his right hand drummed on the table, as he thought.

  “So, what you are saying, is that the 105th Lights, with Carr in charge, were holding the Casa when Wellesley was almost captured and that, during the final French attack at Talavera, Carr ran from his place with the 105th.”

  His face brightened further.

  “This has real possibilities. Plainly, the Company under Carr’s command were unready when the French arrived. That’s the first. The second is why did he leave his men at Talavera at such a critical moment?”

  He now placed both hands on the table and drummed both sets of fingers rapidly.

  “This has real possibilities. Questions must be asked. After all, our Commanding Officer was almost captured. If our men and Officers cannot put themselves on their full mettle when asked to protect such as him, well, what hope is there? Questions must be asked.”

  He stared hard at the pair.

  “It’s our duty!”

  Templemere and Tavender smiled in unison, but it was Templemere who replied, him equally enthusiastic at the possibilities.

  “So what happens now, Sir?”

  Perry already had ideas.

  “This fully justifies a letter to The Times, asking just such questions, which I will write. A letter there, linking his name to such events will do him no good at all.”

  Perry savoured the thought, before continuing.

  “He already has a question mark over his conduct; his duel with you, Templemere.”

  A shadow passed momentarily over the Lord’s face at the memory, but the General continued.

  “Whatever the outcome, there will be an exchange of facts and opinions and Carr will not come out unsullied. ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.’ That sort of thing.”

  He looked from one to the other, now openly smiling.

  “Wellesley was nearly captured and Carr abandoned his men!”

  Perry reached for the bottle and poured three more generous measures, but Tavender had not raised the second reason why he was there. He considered this to be the perfect time.

  “Sir. I’m going to apply for leave and when I get back I intend to ask for the hand of your daughter, Jane. Do you approve, Sir? Do I have your blessing?”

  Perry’s face n
ow turned incandescent with joy.

  “You most certainly do, and with my sincerest blessing! Go to it, young man. She’ll be a fool if she turns you down and she will incur her Father’s deepest displeasure if she does!”

  He stretched across the table and clinked glasses with Tavender, then the same with Templemere. Between all three there now arouse an atmosphere of deep contentment and anticipation as Perry downed his brandy and then turned towards a half open door, where sat his Secretary.

  “Tiptree! Pen and paper. Now!”

  The days passed, and a week became two. Those without the fever had recovered from their near starvation of the previous month, but each morning they examined their own condition for signs of the Guadiana ague. By the end of the two weeks, on Lacey’s orders, the 105th had been moved higher up the surrounding slopes, these being more windswept with the onset of Autumn, but no-where near the Guadiana marshes. However, with the move, the 105th suffered from the increased exposure and all noticed a marked decline in their creature comforts, for closer to the mountains there existed fewer solid buildings, as O’Hare had predicted. With all now existing in lean-to shelters and both men realising that they were in for a prolonged stay, Jed Deakin and John Davey joined in conversation, Deakin posing the problem.

  “Now, if we had animals up here, an’ fixin’ for ‘em to stay the winter, we’d not leave ‘em out in all weathers. We’d build shelters, crude and simple, yes, but we’d build. If we didn’t, we’d not expect to find so many come Spring!”

  Davey nodded, whilst looking around.

  “We would, but that’s as ‘tis back home. There we’ve stone an’ timber. We’d knock up a roundhouse, where the stock could wander in and out. But for us? It’ll need a door and a chimney, for the cookin’ fire.”

  Both stood in thought, until Deakin offered his solution.

  “We have got timber, woods up above, and there’s some stone, these paddock walls, and what we do have is a slope. We dig into the slope, which gives us a back wall, with a slot for a chimney. Then build around that!”

  Davey’s face brightened.

  “Right. And the soil that we digs out is the base for the front, built up with the stone, to hold the roof timbers.”

  “What about the roof?”

  “Oh, whatever! Turf, thatch, a tent! All three! Whatever will serve.”

  “And the door on the lee side of the wind. Even if t’is only wattle!”

  Both nodded, and Deakin continued, looking at Davey.

  “You think that’ll serve?”

  “I do!”

  “Right. Tools. That’s a job for me.”

  Within a few more days the Deakin-Davey design was being used all over the hillside, turning the whole area into a Stone Age village, but, with all done, all slept warm and dry as the weather worsened. If a hut proved to be too crowded, then they simply built another. Conditions improved still further with Miles’ perpetual wish being granted, that for supplies, which duly arrived, of all types; new uniforms, boots and equipment. Even new Baker rifles for the 105th Light Company, which Ellis issued himself to ensure that the old were collected and not traded, which was the first thought of Miles when he heard of the new that was to come. Ellis was wise to the possibility.

  “I wants to see your old up on that cart, Miles. Afore you gets the new.”

  Miles carefully added his old Baker to the pile in the cart, before presenting himself to Ellis and receiving the new weapon. Ellis looked at him.

  “New pattern! A better lock an’ riflin’. But, as you can see, all covered in beeswax. Get it clean. Inspection afore lights out.”

  Miles gave Ellis his best scowl before slinking off, back into the hut, to begin the removal of the dust coloured beeswax. Once inside, Miles had not long sat down, before he had to stand up, accompanied by all the other occupants. Colonel Lacey and Brigadier Donkin had entered their hut, both tall men needing to stoop. Lacey waved them back down and both began to look around.

  “Didn’t I tell you, Donkin. Warm and weatherproof.”

  Donkin continued to study, but nodding agreement all the while. Lacey now turned to his men.

  “Have you your new rifles, men?”

  Davey, as Chosen Man, knew that it was for him to answer.

  “Yes Sir. As you probably saw, the old is out on the cart, Sir.”

  Lacey nodded, whilst looking around at the men of Davey’s mess, then he spoke enthusiastically.

  “All brand new. And a new pattern!”

  Davey gave a brief smile.

  “Yes, Sir. So we’ve been told.”

  Lacey nodded again and made to leave, but Donkin had his own observation concerning the hut they were in, spoken whilst he studied the roof, admiring branches closely placed over the rafters to hold the thatch.

  “You’re right, Lacey. Good and solid, both roof and walls. We’ve no worries with this, if here is our winter quarters.”

  “No. My thoughts entirely.”

  Lacey then gave his men a salute and then left, followed by Donkin.

  “Resourceful men you have, Lacey.”

  Lacey turned towards him.

  “Yes. All, or at least most, are from the fields of the West Country. A cow byre or even a dwelling such as that, for many is second nature. They could erect one in their sleep.”

  They walked on, but Donkin was changing the subject.

  “We are being re-organised, no surprise there, us having lost Mackenzie.”

  Lacey turned towards him, listening intently.

  “I’m rejoining my 87th as Colonel, and marching back to Lisbon. Wellesley has some scheme going around there. Major General Picton will be taking command of the Third Division. It will have three Brigades, Mackinnon, Lightburn and a Portuguese under Champlemonde. You will be in Mackinnon’s with the 74th and my old 88th.”

  Lacey nodded.

  “Thank you, Rufane, I appreciate that but neither Picton, nor Mackinnon are known to me. To you?”

  “No, can’t help there. Much. Picton has reputation for quick temper and bad language and there was a bit of scandal. He found himself in Court over ordering what some considered the torture of some girl accused of housebreaking, when he was in the West Indies. By all accounts he was lucky to get off. As for Mackinnon, to me unknown, but both are new to this affair. Just come out.”

  He then looked at Lacey, his face brighter.

  “Did I say Wellesley? Well, that’s now out of date. The newspapers that came up with the supplies are now calling him Lord Wellington, an award because of Talavera. I assume he’s pleased, now that he’s been elevated to the Peerage.”

  Lacey nodded.

  “No doubt. One can only hope that he appreciates what it took to turn that battle into the victory that gave him such a boost!”

  Donkin did not react to the tone of Lacey’s comment, for he had a more serious concern of his own. He reached into the pocket of his tunic and pulled out a newspaper cutting.

  “That wasn’t all that was of concern to us in the newspapers that arrived recently. There’s this.”

  He passed over the cutting, taken from The Times. It was Perry’s letter and Lacey read it quickly, before carefully reading it again. It was not a long letter. Lacey allowed his arm to fall down by his side, his hand still holding the cutting.

  “Can I keep this! I need to show it to Carr. That’s only fair, in my view.”

  Donkin nodded.

  “Yes, of course. Carr will want to discuss with you how he responds.”

  He paused.

  “On top I have news for Carr, both good and bad. I have granted his request for leave, just about my last decision, in fact, but I suspect that he will not be allowed to go. At least, not just yet. I suspect that there will be some sort of Enquiry. Perhaps even a Court Martial. After all, the French did almost bag our Commanding General!”

  Lacey sighed.

  “They did! This should be of no surprise, now that the dust has settled on that campaign.”r />
  Another sigh.

  “May I suggest that we get back down. I now need to see Carr at the soonest.”

  Donkin immediately turned to descend and they walked together, but not all the way, Donkin soon turned away to his own Headquarters building. Left alone, Lacey became very angry, cursing Perry for the destructive menace that he was but also feeling bemused as to why that obsessed General should still harbour such a hatred of the 105th in general and Carr in particular. Plainly it was unabated since Perry first made his feelings clear before their departure for Southern Italy in 1809.

  Once back at their Headquarters, Lacey found O’Hare, seated at a table, drinking what appeared to be some white medicine. He placed the cutting before him.

  “Read this.”

  O’Hare looked up at him as though expecting the onset of some disaster, then he picked up the cutting and began to read. He read it twice, as had Lacey. As he spoke, his anger grew.

  “Damn the man! What does he know? He made an utter, and cowardly, shambles of that command he was given at Oporto and now he thinks he can hold Court on the doings of others! Damn the man! Hell’s too good for him!”

  He looked up at Lacey.

  “We have to tell Carr. As soon as possible.”

  Lacey did not answer; instead he turned to the half open door to their room.

  “Bryce!”

  A muffled ‘Sir’ came through the opening.

  “Get Major Carr.”

  Another ‘Sir’ and then they heard the main front door closing.

  “Donkin thinks there’ll be an Enquiry. Even a Court Martial.”

  O’Hare nodded, resignedly.

  “I wouldn’t bet against it.”

  O’Hare read the letter again, then passed it to Lacey, who subjected it to another reading. By the time he had finished, Carr was in their room. Lacey handed the letter to him immediately, his face deadly serious, which sight brought a deep frown to Carr’s face.

  “You’d better read this.”

  Carr took the cutting and read it, a look of fury growing on his face. Once finished he looked at Lacey, his face writ with the deepest resentment.

  “But this just isn’t true, Sir. It was all in my report. At the Casa I went to the 87th to advise them to come to the alert. I said so to one of their Captains, Bryant I think he was, and when I came to our Lights, I got them up. And just in time.”