This persisted for some minutes, during which Sanchez’ anxiety increased. The Dragoons were riding up in support and soon they were dismounted and, in a good skirmish line, they advanced on the Ordenanza. The Hussars withdrew to leave the conflict to the Dragoons, at which point Sanchez ordered a bugle call for retreat, but it did not happen as he wished, for many Ordenanza, carried away with their success, remained to kill yet more Frenchmen and so Sanchez watched, frustrated and helpless. The Dragoons fought their way into the wood to roll up the Ordenanza from their left flank and soon it was all over, the next act being Ordenanza prisoners and wounded being dragged out of the tree-line. An Officer arrived to scream at the terrified Spaniards before each was brutally beaten and clubbed and then the ropes arrived. Each Spaniard was hauled up a tree to kick and convulse until lifeless, even the wounded. Sanchez remained at the edge of the trees with three companions, made the sign of The Cross on himself and then again in the direction of the hanging bodies. Then they mounted and departed as yet more of the French column advanced down the road.
For the 105th, swinging their way down the Main Trunk in the best of spirits, life could not be much improved upon. Rations were regular and plentiful, all waiting for them each day at the end of a march. The only sour note were the looks they received from the locals of the villages that they passed through, and the frequent shouts from the depths of any alleyways or through open windows from inside the houses.
“Ingleses cobardes! Ingleses cobardes!”
Joe Pike, marching on the outside of Tom Miles, heard this more than most and so he enquired, if that was the right term, of his more experienced companion.
“What do you think they’re shouting out, Tom?”
“Blessed if I know, boy, but it ain’t ‘well done’ nor ‘good luck’ to you. Ask Byford, he might know.”
Pike turned to Byford in the rank behind, but from him he heard the same as Miles’ verdict.
“Can’t be sure, Joe, but they’re calling us something and it’s not a compliment.”
The day’s march ended at Ponte de Murcella, where they drew their rations and took themselves into the trees to cook, clean, gossip and chide each other, Tom Miles being the usual target for the latter. As usual Patrick Mulcahey arrived for a second feeding, having eaten once with the Officers, but, despite his Ensign’s uniform, none stood, nor saluted. He was simply shepherded to a place by his Mother and then given the leftovers from the pot, but he was growing apart from his fellow drummerboys, bar his good friend Henri Rasenne, who often came with him and was usually rewarded with something extra also. However, no one complained because he was a most accomplished fife player and the growing darkness often saw both of Bridie’s sons dancing a jig with two of Nellie’s daughters, to the sound of Henri’s fife and drum, this beaten by Patrick. Where Eirin was, no one knew, but few enquired as they danced and sang until lights-out. The next day, having been fed on bacon, dried fruit and bread rolls they attempted the steep ridge behind the village, moving away from the River Alva to cross the ridge and descend into the steep valley of the Mondego. Penacova was passed through, accompanied this time by different cries, openly shouted, of ‘Viva Ingleses!’, accompanied by enthusiastic clapping.
“These lot seems happier.”
However, Tom Miles was given no time for trading or bartering as they marched on again, up and along the main road towards the town of Luso, with the high Busaco ridge always on their right. After some time they were turned off this main road by a Staff Officer to then climb the ridge itself. The summit was soon gained and they found themselves on a long, bare ridge and perhaps they were at its centre, for it stretched a long and similar distance in both directions, away to their left and to their right. Below was a small hamlet and beyond that a clear and magnificent view to the Northwest. They were stood in admiration on the ridgeline when Ellis came to interrupt their period of sightseeing.
“Get back down, off the ridge. That track we just crossed, a short ways back over, camp either side of that. Here’s our place, watching over that dung-pile down there.”
He pointed to the hamlet, distinguished from the trees and fields by its dull thatch, but by then all were retiring back to cross the ridge-track and find any spot less steep on the back slope. All that remained on the summit of the 105th were the three Senior Officers, all mounted; Lacey, O’Hare and Carr, but soon they were joined by Mackinnon and Picton himself, with some of his Staff dutiful behind him. They all waited for Picton to speak, which was not long.
“See you’ve obeyed my orders, Lacey. Good, as ordained by The Peer himself.”
The soubriquet ‘The Peer’, was new to the three, but it must refer to Wellington, then Picton continued.
“He wants us back out of sight, for when Massena arrives, which will be 48 hours or more. We know he’s horribly bogged down around Viseu.”
All nodded to demonstrate that they were paying attention, as Picton continued again.
“But he’ll come, with all his force. This is going to be a big one, meant to drive us back to Lisbon.”
Again, rapt attention, as this time Picton issued orders as he pointed to the hamlet below.
“That’s San Antonio de Cantara. The place is not as big as its name! I want Lights down in there, to keep any nosey Frogs off this slope, but start tomorrow.”
He looked directly at Lacey.
“Yours are nearest, Lacey. Tomorrow yours are first in there, then the 74th and 88th.”
He turned to Mackinnon.
“What’s today?”
“24th, Sir.”
Picton nodded.
“Right. Expect them on the 26th. We’ll be trying conclusions on the 27th, if I’m any judge!”
With that, he turned his horse and rode on leftwards, towards Busaco, leaving Mackinnon with the three of the 105th.
“Hear that?”
He spoke no more, in order to maintain the silence. There came to them the unmistakable sound of guns in the distance.
“That’ll be Crauford’s Lights and Pack’s Portuguese up at Mortagoa, not two miles in front of Wellington’s Headquarters in Busaco Convent. Johnny’s already up on our left! He’ll be up here with us for the main event, exchanging volleys, a day earlier, on the 26th, is my guess.”
Lacey rose in his stirrups to gain a better view of the hamlet below.
“Best get our men in there now then, Sir.”
Mackinnon nodded.
“Engage any nosey cavalry and skirmishers and I’ll reinforce immediately, but fall back before a serious advance, I’ve no need to tell ye.”
Lacey looked at Carr, who immediately took the hint and needed no further bidding.
“I’ll see to it, Sir.”
Carr rode back to the road to dismount and hand his horse to Morrison. Nearby were Drake, Maltby, and Shakeshaft, with Ellis close by. The Officer’s camp was half on the ridge-track.
“We’re to hold that hamlet, San Antonio de whatever, until dusk tomorrow. Get the Company down there.”
It was Ellis who voiced a mild objection.
“The lads are just cooking, Sir!”
“Just so! Have the food sent down when it’s ready. That’s why we bring the Followers along.”
Ellis saluted and hurried off, leaving Carr with the three Officers. Morrison found a campstool for Carr to sit and then produced a mug of good coffee. Carr drank from it gratefully, before he realised that the three were watching him intently.
“What?”
It was Drake who explained.
“We thought that you might have some news.”
Carr took another drink.
“I have, but I doubt that it’s news. There’s going to be another set-to. A big one, same as Talavera. Massena’s on his way down with just about everything he’s got.”
However, it was Shakespeare who refused to have his spirits dampened.
“Yes, but not like Talavera. Then we were stuck on a flat plain and very exposed. Here, we’re
atop a big ridge, bigger than Vimeiro. There, we trounced them after ten minutes, so there’s no reason to think we can’t do the same here!”
Carr nodded.
“You may be right, Richard, and I hope you are, but perhaps the Frogs will have learned a thing or two since then, and not try us after they’ve had to climb to the top of a long slope. Perhaps they’ll try something different, with us fixed up here.”
“Possibly, Sir, but the fact remains; whenever we meet them, we beat them. I have total faith in the men!”
Carr smiled and drank the rest of his coffee.
“I share that with you, Richard. Indeed I do!”
As that conversation finished, so another began, within the Light Company now crossing the ridge-track, to then reach the summit proper and then descend to San Antonio. Miles was the major contributor.
“Now ain’t this just fine and dandy, this mornin’ we was in that Murcella place, we marches, gets up here, an’ we’n not even given the chance to eat our rations. An’ on top, there’s not even a Frog in sight!”
It was Saunders who, as usual, replied.
“Don’t moan. We’re going down to a nice village, where we can all eat in a civilised manner, and we’ll put you top of the table, with first choice from the knives and forks.”
Davey joined in.
“Don’t put him there, he might feel obliged to make a speech.”
Miles was by now wholly indignant.
“I’m just sayin’! ‘Tall seems a bit hurried an’ no need for, is all I’m sayin’, like.”
It was at that point, now descending the slope that they heard the same guns that their Senior Officers had heard not long previously. Ellis was walking nearby.
“There’s your answer! The Frogs is pushin’ some of ours back. Way over on the left, I grant you, but how far are they away from here?”
There could be no argument. The guns rumbled on, as, in open order, they swished their way through the low but thick gorse and scrub, but some of the Company had an easy route using the steep road that ascended the ridge from the village to the summit. Whilst avoiding some of the larger bushes, Joe Pike became thoughtful.
“They’ll have to climb this slope to get at us, won’t they, John?”
“That’s true, Joe.”
“They won’t have much fight in them by the time they’ve climbed all up through here.”
Davey looked affectionately at his young companion.
“You know, Joe, you’re beginning to talk like an Officer!”
Ellis chuckled nearby.
“That’ll be the day!”
It was not long before they came down to the upper buildings of the village, first a cottage and then the Church, this a low building, at right angles to the ridge. They progressed on, past but a handful of dwellings, with Maltby and Shakeshaft in the lead. A very old man and woman emerged from one of the middle hovels to peer terrified from under the awning of their ragged thatch. George Tucker pulled a half sausage from his haversack and thrust it at the old woman. She took it, utterly mystified, before the man managed a croaking “Gracias”. Tucker returned to his messmates.
“Seems the least we can do. Seeing as we’re soon going to bring the whole bloody place down around their ears!”
His comrades smiled at his generosity, but Shakeshaft was now giving orders.
“Byford and Pike, get further up, along the road, until you get a view that’s useful, then mount a picket. The rest of you, find what shelter you can. Apart from those two back there, obviously too old to move, the place looks deserted.”
The whole Light Company, now ninety strong since Carr’s reinforcements, hurried to claim the best billet, for all knew that they would be spending a night and a day there. Tucker, Solomon, Miles and Davey, all feeling both responsible and protective, entered the home of the old couple, who immediately looked terrified at four huge armed soldiers entering their home, but Davey took charge.
“Whatever you’ve got in your haversacks, put it on the table. There’ll be more rations soon.”
This was done and then Davey stood above the food with his hands open in an expansive gesture, moving his palms towards them, clearly meaning, “We give this to you.” Both of the couple smiled, then the old women gathered all and took them to the cooking stove, whilst the old man fetched a bottle of wine, displaying an almost toothless, but very definite, grin
Byford and Joe Pike had by now found the spot to mount their picket, merely five minutes beyond, after a short climb out of the depression that held the village. Byford was naturally closed mouthed and reticent, but Joe Pike’s innocent questioning often opened him up.
“Another bad battle coming on, in these parts. It doesn’t seen right.”
Byford turned his gaze from the far distance, his Baker in the crook of his arm.
“How do you mean, Joe?”
“Well, here’s a French army marching into Portugal. The people here don’t want them, nor those in Spain, so why are they here?”
Byford chuckled at his innocence.
“Well, Joe, the best I can say, is that it has always been so. If someone has more military might than someone else, sooner or later the lesser is invaded by the stronger. It has been like that since time began.”
“Is that how that Napoleon thinks?”
“Must do! Not long after their Revolution, he found ways to beat everyone that came at him and so he used those ways to attack and beat them instead, and build an Empire. The temptation was too great. He thought himself invincible and up till now he isn’t so far wrong.”
Pike looked at him as if to say ‘tell me more’, so Byford continued.
“I’m not saying he’s evil, I mean, from what I read, he’s done good things in France, such as education for all and making all equal before the law, but in other people’s countries, it’s different. He puts his relations on the Throne, like in Spain, even appoints his Generals to rule, and his armies do dreadful things. Remember what we saw in Catanzaro.”
Pike nodded. The memory of the slaughtered Italian village after the battle of Maida was always vivid in his mind. Byford continued.
“But we have the beating of them, which makes us an army more powerful than most, and so, when this is done, don’t be surprised if we go off and march into other people’s countries. We’ve already done that to India.”
Pike was now of a mind to change the subject.
“What will you do when all this is done?”
Byford pulled a face, as if he had no certain answer.
“Stay in the army and see which country we march into!”
He smiled at his own joke, but Joe Pike was thinking.
“You could come and live with me and Mary, on John’s smallholding. With them. You could be the local Schoolteacher!”
Now Byford did laugh.
“I doubt that I could assemble the necessary character references. But I do thank you for the offer.”
He turned and continued to study the far horizon, deep within his own thoughts, but he did find the time to make a kind suggestion.
“You have a sit down, Joe. Perhaps get some sleep. Who knows what this night and tomorrow is going to bring.”
“Thanks, John, but what I might do is run back and see if the food’s arrived.”
Byford smiled again.
“When are you never hungry? So yes, but be quick. None of our superiors like the idea of a one-man picket. Leave your rifle here.”
Joe Pike did as suggested and ran off. At the edge of the village, as luck would have it, he found Solomons at the well.
“Any food yet?”
“No, but soon, is my guess.”
Also, as luck would have it, Solomons was correct, for Bridie had just arrived down from their camp with two full cooking pots and three of her children carrying one each, these being Eirin, Kevin and Sinead. They were met by John Davey and all entered the home of the old couple and Bridie, with the children, immediately gained favour by gen
uflecting at the crucifix on the far wall. Davey looked at her.
“Is there enough for a portion for these two?”
Bridie nodded as she ladled out the stew into the arranged pannikins. Davey fetched two bowls from the shelf and Bridie gave each a portion. Davey looked at the old couple, and went through the motions of eating. The old man cracked again his gap-toothed grin
“Inglese comida!”
Davey grinned back.
“Si! Inglese comida!”
He turned to Bridie.
“We’ve two up on picket. Joe and Byfe. Some needs to go up.”
Eirin immediately volunteered.
“I’ll go. I’ll take theirs.”
She scraped off two of the pannikins into the pot and made for the door, but before touching the handle, she turned to Davey.
“Is Lieutenant Maltby up forward?”
“Yes, but more to the left, with his Section.”
Eirin finally left, but Bridie looked at Davey, her face full of concern.
“No good will come of that. Mark my words.”
Eirin met Joe coming from the other direction and the food was transferred and he hurried back to Byford. Eirin looked around, hoping to see her special Lieutenant, but could not, so she wandered over to the far side of the village and asked of a soldier.
“Is Lieutenant Maltby near?”
The soldier pointed.
“That house there.”
At this point, her nerve failed her. She could not just walk into the house on no pretext and so, defeated, she returned to her Mother, then all went back up the ridge with the empty cooking-pots.
The Plains of Talavera Page 49