Swallowing Portugal Will Settle My Spanish Bellyache

by Geoffrey Watson

  He dodged a spray of liquid mud as the man reined in hard. He was still punctilious. “Compliments of Herr Meier, Sir. Another squadron like this one is expected in sight in twenty to thirty minutes.”

  Light suddenly dawned. The chasseurs in the village only made up half of the squadron. Perhaps the others had stopped to investigate another village and were now hurrying to catch up?

  No wonder the lieutenant had been so confident that he could browbeat a company of foreign auxiliaries. The trap needed to be sprung without delay and hopefully quietly and bloodlessly. He gestured for the wagon to block the road and gave three long blasts on his whistle to indicate great urgency.

  The chasseurs had stopped in the square and Vere was enjoying a furious row with its commander, using his barely adequate command of french and trying to make him lose his temper in the argument about foraging rights.

  Roffhack’s alarm call warned him of the sudden need for urgent action and the blocking of the road told him that the plan could go ahead as agreed. He broke off the argument and blew one long blast on his own whistle.

  The French had no time to react to this abrupt interruption of their argument. Every red-coated figure in sight was now pointing his musket at them. As if that wasn’t bad enough, brown-clad men stepped away from the cover of the buildings and they found themselves surrounded by more than double their own numbers, all within easy killing range.

  The only one to react aggressively was the hostile lieutenant who had led them in. He made a grab for a large pistol, holstered in front of his saddle, then froze before he could cock it. He was staring down the muzzle of Vere’s Ferguson and being invited in a very loud voice to keep still, dismount very slowly, raise his hands and line up against the church wall with the rest of his men.

  Ten minutes later they had been disarmed and shut inside the church; probably the largest congregation it had had for quite a while.

  The news that the other half of their squadron was on the way produced a quick burst of activity. By the time they were reported in sight, the wagon had been cleared off the road again; the chasseurs’ horses were getting to know the ones ridden by the Hornets and the village had resumed the exact appearance that it had assumed an hour before.

  Vere could hardly believe that the same plan would work as faultlessly again, but what they had just done might have been considered as a dress rehearsal for a patriotic play put on at Drury Lane.

  This opening night was just as successful and more than a hundred chasseurs were packed into the church, clad only in their small clothes. Uniforms, weapons, boots and horses would be redistributed to a more worthy cause.

  Vere planned to leave them shut up in the church when he left with the Hanoverians. He had no doubt that they would be able to break out without much difficulty, but without boots and clothes, there was small chance of them getting back to their friends in time to become a danger to his immediate plans.

  With this in mind he moved everybody out, a couple of hours before dusk. With enough horses to move everyone, they would be able to travel more quickly and make camp close enough to their compatriots to reach them by early the next morning.

  It would also mean that the terrifying experience for most of the infantrymen, of clinging to the backs of unhappy horses, would be of relatively short duration for what would be, in all probability, their first ever ride. It was inevitable that the horses would realize immediately when they had a complete novice in the saddle. It was also entirely probable that as a result, they would not travel as far as they hoped.

  In other circumstances it would have been hilarious. About half the men had never been on a horse before, but there were surprisingly few hopeless cases and these ended up riding in the wagons. Most of them tried their best, even if it meant clinging to the saddle and letting the beast follow the others of its own accord.

  Many of the Hornets had vivid memories of their own first and quite recent introduction to horsemanship and did their best to help, encourage and, if necessary, lead the novices.

  Their home for the night was another deserted village. It had been plundered most thoroughly and was in ruins, but it did provide shelter of a sort and clear spaces to pitch the two-man tents of the Hornets and the larger ones of the Germans, transported on half-a-dozen mules.

  Vere, Roffhack and Hagen sat together in a large walled space that had been roofed with canvas and was partially successful in keeping the rain off the area designated as the officer’s mess.

  Fischer and his two full lieutenants sat with them and told them everything they could think of about the French army positions, the location of their own camp and the observed characters of the French commander and his deputy.

  They confirmed what Vere had begun to suspect. Masséna had been driven to consolidate his army in the area where he was still able to extract some small amount of food for his hungry men.

  He had withdrawn the army northwards for nearly twenty miles from the allied lines. Following a certain amount of hostile activity, both armies were now effectively in winter quarters, with only the regular cavalry patrols to keep the commanders informed of anything unusual.

  The Germans were not nearly as well informed as the French soldiers about all the initiatives that Masséna was trying, but Fischer had heard that he had started a big boat-building programme near Santarem with the object of getting the army across the Tagus and onto the eastern bank. It would open up a route back to Spain through the unplundered but lightly populated areas east of the river.

  Vere made notes to inform Lord Wellington as and when they reached Lisbon, but he was more immediately interested in what Fischer could tell him about the two French officers who had been imposed on the survivors of the battalion and the dismounted squadron.

  Both had apparently been raised in rank by one step to lieutenant colonel and major to give them the authority they needed. They were inclined to use this authority quite arbitrarily to cope with the barely disguised hostility of the Hanoverians and particularly the dispossessed dragoons.

  The conversation between Vere and Roffhack was conducted mainly in english so that Roffhack could ensure that Vere was fully aware of everything that Fischer and his men were saying. They had long been aware that after the identical form of training they had received from Welbeloved, their military thinking and reasoning had become so similar that they might well have been twins.

  When Vere thoughtfully asked for someone to bring in a selection of the uniforms that they had taken from the chasseurs, Roffhack laughed out loud. “I was just wondering if the ‘intrusive officers’ would question a chasseur uniform if we added our dragoon helmets and heavier swords. A few obvious differences under the chasseurs’ green cloaks and I’m sure they would think it was just German idiosyncrasy.”

  In the morning, to the obvious relief of many of Fischer’s men, they were allowed to march away, leaving all the captured horses to be herded much later towards their camp by two troops of Hornets, dressed in the green uniforms kindly supplied by the chasseurs.

  All identifying badges and numbers had been removed and all the men had substituted their own brown shabraques for the green ones of the French. They hoped that the stylized hornet at the rear corners would be taken as another German peculiarity. Canvas-covered dragoon helmets and heavy cavalry swords completed the ensemble and the chasseurs’ cloaks would hide the lack of recognizable insignia of rank.

  The mules and wagons of the marching column were laden with bags of grain and other food, to give the whole camp evidence of their success as foragers and cause for immediate rejoicing before Vere arrived with the horses for the dismounted cavalry.

  They set out after the marching men, herding the saddled and fully accoutred horses at a walking pace. The vanguard scouts just kept the column in sight.

  When they came to the camp it was exactly as Fischer had described. Nestling into a shallow valley with trees and woods surrounding. Far less trees than when they had come here, only a w
eek or so before. Numbers had been felled for firewood and for the purpose of constructing close spaced, but evenly placed lines of wooden huts that had to be better at keeping the rain out than the tents that they also carried.

  The excitement was intense in the camp when the foragers returned with sacks of grain and other food that they were supposed to have discovered. The whole camp crowded round the wagons and mules as they came to a standstill. It was an hour before each company and squadron had been allocated its share and had rushed back to its own fires to get their ‘porridge’ on the boil.

  The Hornets waited patiently for the men to settle down again. They walked their horses forward, surrounding the groups of remounts and approaching slowly to avoid alarming the pickets, who alerted their sergeants and awaited their arrival showing no concern at all. Why not when there was nothing to be concerned about? Fifty or so riders herding twice that number of horses could not possibly have any aggressive intent.

  When they were greeted in german and even in their own dialect, asking for Captain Katz and their new commanding officer by name, they were immediately directed towards the dismounted dragoons. Captain Hagen led Lieutenant Weiss and 1 Troop, with all the horses in that direction. Vere and Roffhack, escorted by Lieutenant Bruch and 2 Troop, rode towards the well-constructed wooden shelter, built for the French commander.

  Lieutenant Colonel Grandjean and his deputy were curious enough to be standing outside their shelter, but beneath the wooden awning that had been built around the door.

  2 Troop dismounted and Roffhack used his more than adequate french to introduce himself by name and present Colonel le Viscomte Vere, using his own german pronunciation of the name, which made it sound like ‘Fairer’.

  “Le Viscomte Fairer, unfortunately”; and he made the word sound like a compliment; “speaks little french and I, Roffhack will be the one who shall be called upon to deliver the unwelcome news.”

  These opening shots, delivered with much false sympathy, got the attention of both the Frenchmen.

  Roffhack hurried on. “Marshal Masséna has only recently heard that his subordinate Marshal Ney has deprived the dragoons of the Légion Hanovrienne of their mounts. He wishes his Germans to remain as an independent force of cavalry and infantry.

  Colonel le Viscomte Fairer has therefore brought replacement horses and reinforcements from their sister battalion and will assume command of the combined battalion immediately. I have the honour to be named as his second-in-command.”

  Grandjean became extremely agitated as was only to be expected and protested violently. Roffhack inclined his head to hear what Vere was saying in his newly acquired german. He turned back and interrupted the protests. My Colonel does not wish you to be inconvenienced more than necessary and is prepared to be reasonable. Although we still lack some numbers of horses, he is happy to agree that you and your colleague do not need to leave yours with us.”

  Both the Frenchmen were so incensed by this blatant effrontery that they became almost demented and quite overlooked, as Vere and Roffhack intended, the fact that no written orders had been presented.

  They were too busy protesting that their horses were their own personal property and would never be handed over to these foreigners, that they were unable to think too clearly.

  That was not all. The news that there was a new commanding officer and more than a hundred remounts, had been spread about the camp by Fischer and Captain Katz. The outburst of cheering and rejoicing could no longer be ignored.

  Realizing that they were in all respects, strangers in a strange land, they were riding away within the hour. Two dejected officers, two French servants, two horses and two mules, carrying their effects. What their fate would be when they got back to Marshal Ney and realized that they had been completely duped, was impossible to say. It was enough to know that it would be tomorrow morning at the earliest before retribution could be on its way.

  Speed was nevertheless of the essence. Vere and Roffhack had to change the loyalty of more than four hundred men and get everyone moving away from here in the next three hours.

  An agreed signal was sent. A couple of Hornets were lurking within sight and the rest of the command would be arriving within the hour.

  Fischer was summoned and told to get his company drawn up around the two troops of Hornets who, like Vere and Roffhack, were busy changing back into their own uniforms.

  Word was sent out as soon as the rest of the Hornets appeared. All officers and sergeants were called to meet their new; as they thought; commander.

  They arrived to find Vere waiting for them, flanked by Roffhack, Hagen and Fischer. Fischer’s company paraded behind and the Hornets sat their horses, making two more sides of a three-sided hollow square.

  There were three captains, a dozen lieutenants and the same number of sergeants lined up, looking somewhat nervous between the two companies of mounted Hornets.

  Vere and Roffhack walked down the line, shaking hands with everyone and introducing themselves. They then walked back and invited everyone to form a half circle round them.

  Roffhack addressed them. “Gentlemen and fellow countrymen. With the exception of Colonel Lord Vere and myself, everyone around you is from Hanover. You are among your own countrymen.

  It is not what your French commanding officer thought, however. I confess that we have deceived him most grievously.” That confession brought forth a deep rumble of laughter. “We have come to invite you all to return to the service of your Elector, to whom, as King George of England, we have given our loyalty.

  Captain Fischer and his company are joining us, but they would only do so if we extended the invitation to your whole battalion.

  This I am now doing. Go back to your men and ask them. I want only volunteers. Those that want to join us must be ready to march in two hours’ time. On the third day from now we will be in Lisbon. You will once again be serving your own Elector and no longer mercenaries for the Corsican Tyrant.”

  The officers left and Roffhack nodded to Fischer who dismissed his men so that they could join the rest of their comrades and add their powers of persuasion to convince any doubters.

  It took fifteen minutes before the cheering started, as one after the other company decided unanimously to throw in their lot with the Hornets.

  CHAPTER 6

  Captain Gonçalves read the despatch handed to him by Lieutenant Colonel Bailey, the one-handed commander of the Hornets’ training base near to Oporto. His orders were unequivocal although he thought he detected a faint apologetic tone in the way they were worded. He was to join Welbeloved with his full company as soon as he could get his men to São Martinho and be prepared to go into action as soon as they arrived there.

  It was not the thought of action that bothered him. His men were all enthusiastic volunteers and those that had come through his tough selection regime were certainly better soldiers than most of the regulars that made up the bulk of the allied army.

  The quality of the volunteers had been so good that his company had the luxury of five platoons instead of the standard four of the rest of the Hornets. This was an acceptance rate of over half, with a reserve of sixty men who were good enough to join the wagon train.

  Gonçalves was particularly pleased as the majority of the recruits had never ridden a horse before and this talent had become an essential requirement for the new warfare of rapid movement that Welbeloved was pioneering.

  If he had any concerns at all, it was the shortage of officer candidates. In the last two years, the Portuguese army had been reorganised completely by Marshal Beresford. He had needed to get rid of more than half of its incompetent officer corps.

  British officers had been seconded to many of the officer-denuded regiments and the new organisation had rapidly proved itself worthy of being regarded as equal to its comrades in the British army. They had not only distinguished themselves but had shared equally in their casualties at Buçaco.

  At this time, competent Portuguese o
fficers were a scarce commodity and much in demand for the regular forces. Gonçalves was too proud to ask Welbeloved to provide any more English ones; invaluable as Lieutenant Dodds was proving as his second in command and commander of Number One Platoon.

  In common with Hornet practice, the company sergeant major; Ex-Sergeant Vidal was commanding 2 Platoon and two young twenty-year-olds, poached from the Portuguese rifles, were in charge of 3 and 4 Platoons.

  His choice for the commander of 5 Platoon could be considered a gamble. Acting Lieutenant Pom Bal Li claimed to be seventeen years old. He also claimed that he was the natural son of a leading Portuguese aristocratic family, by the daughter of a wealthy Chinese merchant in Macão.

  Whatever the truth of his claims, the fact was he was not a soldier. He had been studying at the University of Coimbra when the French sacked it. How he had discovered that the Hornets were training near to Oporto is not clear. He just turned up and volunteered to fight the French invader and despoiler. He didn’t ask to become an officer, but he did arrive with his own horse and was obviously highly intelligent, speaking english, french, spanish and portuguese, as well as whatever version of chinese that his mother spoke.

  Gonçalves grabbed him as a potential recruit even before he realised that he was a linguist. He then discovered that he had been taught to fence and shoot a pistol. When he took to the Hornet training as if born to it and when it was obvious that the men liked and respected him in spite of his strikingly oriental features, then the vacant position as commander of 5 Platoon was fortuitously fulfilled.

  It was Lieutenant Dodds who added the casting vote in the matter. Dodds had fought his way up from private to sergeant major in the Royal Marines and Hornets before taking a commission in the new Portuguese company. If anybody should be against the rapid selection of someone for a commission based on privilege, it would be Dodds.

  Yet suddenly, Pom was helping to improve Dodds’s command of portuguese and Dodds was commenting on how well Pom was dealing with this and that aspect of training and how good an example he was to the other recruits.