He turned to Johnson.
“Sound ‘stand to’.”
The bugles sounded out what now seemed to be wholly mournful notes and the 16th mounted and formed up behind their Officers. Anson turned to Withers.
“We could use some Lancers against those Cuirassiers. What’s happened to those Spanish brigands, El Charro’s bunch of cut-throats?”
Withers shook his head.
“Wish I could say, Sir.”
“Wish I could say what would be a good outcome from this, come 30 minutes from now.”
“Yes Sir, but we’ll do our best.”
The sound of the oncoming French grew by the second, coming on at a canter as had their British opponents earlier, to then accelerate into a gallop for the final yards. Anson watched all carefully, precise timing was needed if they were to meet shock with shock, yet not to sacrifice the advantage of the slope. The time was near, he raised his sabre, and again came the eerie scrape.
“Trot. Canter.”
Then, after barely seconds.
“Charge!”
The 16th sprang forward to crash into the oncoming wall of Heavy cavalry, but a wall was the apt metaphor. Merely a few penetrated the French ranks, where they had to fight like Demons to preserve their skin, one of these being Templemere, whose good mount had carried him between two Cuirassiers and, once there, he was assailed from all sides. Luckily another Trooper came through the gap that he had made and, side-by-side they defended themselves, each the flank of the other. The combat itself was almost all between the front ranks, the 16th using the height of their position to stand in their stirrups and deliver crashing blows down onto the helmets of their opponents, but the outcome was inevitable. Rank upon rank of French cavalry were ascending the slope and, like a phalanx of old, they were pushing back the lighter and less numerous British. For Templemere and his Trooper companion, life within the French ranks was, besides extremely perilous, a blur of steel helmets, flashing swords, shining breastplates and angry, moustachioed faces behind thick brass chinstraps. He was defending himself well, but, outnumbered, could not land any kind of blow on any opponent. Then, above the din of combat he heard the notes to retire. His companion whirled his horse around twice, to make room and then spurred himself out, Templemere then following through the gap, breathless and in shock from what he had just endured. He was almost on the ridge when he finally came to notice the gash in his right sleeve. He anxiously pulled up his cuff to see but a graze, then, absurdly, he thanked his tailor for insisting on the thicker cloth of superior quality.
All of the 16th were pulling back, most in headlong flight. This was not to be a regroup over the ridge; this was now headlong flight to get back to the safety of Coimbra. At a gallop all rode down the rear of their ridge which was now impossible to hold, and all were grateful that their superior mounts took them away from the French. Templemere, in the midst of several Troopers felt the need to look back, to see to his relief that the French were now some way behind, still advancing, but at a steady canter. He felt able to slow his mount, as did those around and at a steady canter of their own they came to the outskirts of Coimbra, where, remaining as rearguard were Crauford’s Light Brigade, their redcoats forming a beacon of safety as they rode through the entrances of the roads and alleyways and into the suburbs. There they heard the rallying bugle call and all stopped, but all remained anxious for what may follow.
However, they were soon re-assured, not least being a full field-gun battery opening fire upon the oncoming French. Templemere’s duty as an Officer now prevailed and so he walked his horse back to the position of the infantry to gauge events, but there he was doubly re-assured, for the French had stopped. Stapleton-Cotton had sent back a message to Crauford detailing what was likely to happen and indeed now had, and the French Commander, General Sainte-Croix, did not relish the thought of combat with the dreadful British infantry, all secure behind walls and other useful enclosures, and also filling the doors and windows of prominent buildings. He had been present at Vimeiro and had more respect for British infantry than many of his fellow French Commanders and therefore saw no point in sustaining heavy casualties to no avail, attempting to take a town that would be theirs anyway, come the next day. In addition, more British field-guns opened up, the French began to take casualties and so it was not long before the whole long line of French cavalry turned their horses and withdrew out of range. Anson now rode up amongst his men, anxious that the French may bring up their own field-guns to batter the infantry, at that moment secure behind solid stonework. It was their role to prevent that, if they could.
“Rally and form up. We’re going back out.”
His men did as requested, although many were wounded and they were all mixed in with the KGL Hussars, but they followed Anson back out through the lines of the Crauford’s men. Then, weary, bruised and bleeding, six or seven hundred yards beyond, they re-gathered as individual Regiments and formed a sentry line, to then send pickets some more hundreds of yards further out. Half a mile beyond, the French did the same and thus it remained until darkness. With the full dark, came the message which was passed around in a whisper, this to Templemere from Major Johnson.
“Crauford’s pulling back. We’re to follow, now. Stapleton-Cotton wants us way past Coimbra before dawn.”
Templemere frowned into the dark in his direction.
“What about sleep and food?”
The answer was a funny noise, like a sharp exhaling of breath.
“For your horse, perhaps!”
Then he was gone.
oOo
For the men of Picton’s Division, many miles ahead and now clear of refugees, the morning had been one of little more than a leisurely walk, albeit at marching pace, through the pleasant Portuguese countryside, all enjoying the dry and warm October weather. The one depressing feature was any march through a farming area with its abandoned farms and villages, the burnt crop fields and the grassy fields with no animals of any description. With the Noon break, all Messes handed over their food to their cooks and a good meal was prepared and all ate heartily. There was no concern in any of them caused by the possibility of having to eek out rations. To end the privations of the previous days, a supply column had met them that morning, albeit with nothing like full rations, but they had every confidence that there would be another waiting sometime tomorrow. However, there had been carts laden with spare boots and trousers. For the Deakin and Davey messes the one glum spot was a downcast Eirin Mulcahy, but all, including her Mother, thought it best to leave her alone.
“Ah, sure, is she not amongst the lovelorn? Missing her Lieutenant and their time together at school!”
However, for the men of the 16th Light Dragoons the retreat was anything but a pleasant journey through peaceful country with plenty to eat. Concerns for creating an effective rearguard across a wide area and also the paucity of supplies, now caused Stapleton-Cotton to split his command, sending De Greys Dragoons by a more Westerly route, and Slade and Anson’s men more Easterly, to cross the River Mondego at the ford of the village of Alciada, this almost part of the city, just over a mile from Coimbra, now deserted and wrecked, not by any soldiery but by Portuguese scavengers. There, for them, the coin fell on tails, because all the way to the ford from Coimbra, the last Troop in the column, this being Tavender’s, had only to look back from any form of vantage point to see the bulk of the French cavalry. Those which they had held off the previous day, were now following them. As the 16th, the last in the cavalry column, came up to the ford they passed Anson, Slade and Stapleton-Cotton, all plainly anxious, this unease confirmed by the fact that a dozen of Anson’s KGL Hussars had been sent back the other way to report on the French. Anson followed the 16th through the shallow waters to catch up with Withers and they had not splashed through the final yards of the ford before Anson was pointing at a slope topped with an olive grove.
“Form yours up there! The KGL will remain where you see them. Expect to be in action.�
�
‘Where you see them’ was directly across the road out of the ford, about 100 yards back from the water. Templemere took this to be a sign that action was imminent, this thoroughly confirmed by the sight of Slade’s only Heavy cavalry, his 1st Dragoons, dismounted, carbines at the ready and divided between the upstream and downstream banks of the river. He had barely time to take this in before the dozen scouting KGL came galloping back to plunge into the ford and allow their horses to cross in a series of giant leaps, the water being too deep to trot or canter. Then the French appeared, first in the form of gilded Officers, their cavalry uniforms even more magnificent than most of their General Staff. However, Anson, still beside Withers, did not allow his telescope to dwell on the eye-catching sight, instead he was focused on the cavalry behind, who very likely would soon be their first opponents.
“I see Lights, Withers. You agree?”
Withers lowered his glass.
“I do!”
“Right! The KGL will hit them when they have one Squadron out of the water. That’ll make enough of a mess to block the rest. The Dragoon with their carbines will stop them spreading too far off the ford. The KGL may well be forced back, then you will charge again with half yours. The other half in reserve. Clear?”
“Sir!”
“Right. Get organised.”
Withers first took a glance at the French before ascending the slope, to see no movement as yet. By the time he had arrived at the top he had made his decision.
“Johnson. Take two Squadrons, Somers-Cocks’ and Mortimor’s. The KGL will go in first, then pull back for you, or more like be forced back. I’ll hold with Tavender’s and Templemere’s as a reserve.”
Johnson saluted briefly before pulling his horse over and riding to the two Squadrons nearest the ford, these being the pair selected by Withers, who was now free to trot over to Tavender and Templemere, the pair now sat conveniently together.
“You’re in reserve, under my command. Watch me. When I go forward, you follow.”
Anxiety resurfaced in Templemere.
“Against what. Sir?”
Withers was highly irritated, this not least stemming from Stapleton-Cotton, who, in Withers opinion, had been far too leisurely in quitting Coimbra. He should, Withers felt, have pushed his men on at a much faster pace to leave behind the oncoming French, whose infantry were lodged in Coimbra and would be for some time, gathering plunder. He took it out on Templemere.
“The French, damn you! The French that I will be riding at and expecting you to follow. Preventing them from crossing the ford, or has that objective escaped you!”
The charged air that remained after the outburst seemed to crackle, before Withers continued.
“Now! Ready your men and watch for me.”
Much chastened, this including even Tavender, the pair returned to their Squadrons, each passing their Troop Commanders and giving the simple order.
“Watch the Colonel. When he goes in, so do we.”
However, the tone of voice employed by Tavender conveyed much more confidence in the outcome of their efforts than that issuing from Templemere.
Meanwhile, there was little pause for extra thought, because the French were now into the water, a continuous column that stretched back even along the road. Those to the sides explored the depth of the water and some went too far and found themselves partly detached from their mount, now taken to swimming. Others, also on the edges, soon found themselves under fire from the Dragoons and thus the width of the French attack was limited to the width of the ford, but it was still 60 to 70 yards wide, almost the width of a whole Squadron, Johnson counting 50 men across. All Officers who could, were studying events intensely, none more so than Johnson sat before his wing of the 16th and also studying Anson, now before the KGL. The timing had to be perfect. 60 men out of the ford would not, even if broken, create enough of a barrier against their oncoming comrades, but significantly over 100 could probably create enough resistance to hold a bridgehead on the British bank for the rest of their column to exploit and cross over in force.
The first French were now over halfway across the ford as the KGL started forward, but the French Commander also knew his business and immediately accelerated his men. He wanted the 100 out of the water to hold the shock of the inevitable charge and it seemed to both Johnson and Withers that he had succeeded. The KGL themselves accelerated over the final yards and the shock was appalling to all who could only observe; the shouts of the men, the screaming of the horses and the raised sabres rising and then slashing downwards. But the French had their bridgehead, they now held enough of the bank and were far enough up from the ford for many of those following to squeeze past and get onto dry ground. They were arriving in force and their threat was very real.
Withers raised his sword and charged forward to take head on those that were spreading out onto his side. The collision, when it came, was equally sickening, but the French were in no formation and the solid line of the 16th, two and three horses deep, crashed into them. Then it was a matter of push between the horses, whilst their riders, sat above them and trapped by their legs, hacked at each other. The French advance was halted, so also was their progress against the KGL, the 16th coming in from the flank had made the difference. The leading French Squadrons were forced back into the water, to become a confusion of kicking and screaming horses with unseated riders doing their best to escape the flashing hooves. A bugle sounded and the French cavalrymen turned their horses and returned, whilst those who had been involved, but survived the recent combat, came back over to their safe bank as best they could, some swimming, some wading and some being dragged over by returning horses. The Dragoon skirmishers continued their bickering fire and some survivors fell to float downstream, but the action was done and soon there were none alive left in the Mondego, this now stained pink downstream of the ford.
The 16th and KGL helped their own wounded out of the water. The KGL had suffered most and Templemere, more concerned over such issues, counted four dead, all now laid out on the bank and several wounded. His own 16th needed to help but two wounded. The only sound now was of the waters rushing across the shallows, in deep contrast to the sounds of combat but minutes before. Even the Dragoons had now ceased their pot-shots as the French. Anson, Slade and Stapleton-Cotton came together on the road, all plainly relieved to have held the ford, but the mass of French cavalry, still threatening on the far bank, was plain for all to see. This gave concern to all, but their fears were slightly allayed by what they could hear coming for Coimbra, where all that was fragile was being smashed and all that could be eaten or sold later was taken. In addition many fires throughout the town were started and the smoke began to reach them, its acrid smell coming to them on the breeze. The three Commanders parted company and Anson rode up to Withers.
“They’ll not try again, at least not today, and if I’m any judge Johnny will be in Coimbra for days, wrecking and plundering. Their infantry won’t leave such rich pickings and these cavalry won’t want to get detached too far in front by chasing us some more. Which is now our worry, of sorts. Remaining here much longer could mean us losing touch with ours, infantry, I mean.”
Withers nodded but said nothing.
“So, stand your 16th down. We’re leaving as soon as it’s full dark.”
“Maintain a watch on the ford Sir?”
“What else? But ready yourselves for a hard march.”
For the remains of the day little happened and so Withers allowed his men to rest by Troop and so Templemere, both his Troops given their orders, found a tree, wrapped himself in his cloak and slept beneath its branches. Despite the activity all around of preparing for the forthcoming march, he slept soundly. The French disappeared to the comfort of their own bivouac fires, maintaining only a picket on the far bank, but the intervening river prevented any trade. The only life that crossed the ford were the last of the inhabitants from Coimbra, either the scavengers or the desperate, who had finally had t
heir merest hopes shattered by the marauding conscripts of two fresh French Battalions who had been on half rations for weeks. These last refugees were indeed desperate and in despair, carrying nothing, for they had been stripped of all by the French cavalry that they had to pass through.
With the gathering dusk, Withers came to Templemere.
“Seeing as yours weren’t engaged this morning, yours have the job of lighting fires at the waters edge, so that we can see any Johnnies sneaking up. We’ll build the fires up again before we leave. So, set your men to it.”
Templemere was now much puzzled and at a loss.
“What do I use for fuel, Sir?”
Withers pointed to the substantial group of houses on their bank, the major part of Alciada.
“Whatever’s in those, get it out. Rip all apart if you have to. Whatever will burn; doors, windows, floorboards. Ceiling beams if you can. And furniture, of course.”
With that he rode off to take his own rest, leaving Templemere to find his two Cornets of Horse and issue orders. Soon his whole Squadron were into the houses and soon after that combustibles of all descriptions were out and being piled into three heaps at the waters edge. Templemere, with his more privileged background, was somewhat of a connoisseur of furniture and many pieces that had been dragged out were obviously quality, evidently a family heirloom from over the centuries, but even these were soon in splinters from the Farriers' axes and soon recognisable only as fuel for the fires. One piece was a musical instrument of spinet size, which was played upon most proficiently by a Trooper, a scenario which Templemere found to be most macabre, before it also was smashed and the pieces tossed onto the fires. With the deepening darkness the light from the fires danced on the tumbling rapids of the ford and over onto the far bank, revealing merely the half dozen French picquets. With the full dark, the fires were rebuilt and Stapleton-Cotton’s cavalry rearguard took their leave, walking their horses quietly so as to make no sound that could be heard above the rushing waters of the ford. They left four graves by the roadside and a dozen French bodies at the waters’ edge. If they were buried or not was an issue for their foe.
The Plains of Talavera Page 57