Swallowing Portugal Will Settle My Spanish Bellyache

by Geoffrey Watson

  They had started by renaming their units as squadrons and troops and Vere had brought Colonel Anstruthers to help with the mounted training while the rest of his own regiment was resting behind the Lines in Lisbon.

  Roffhack, only just gazetted Major, was now made Brevet Lieutenant Colonel and Hagen had become Brevet Major. Bright colours were still forbidden, but all wore a canvas-swathed brass helmet when mounted and a short green plume had somehow found its way onto each helmet.

  All this left Captain Gonçalves in something of a predicament. He had a hundred and fifty; mostly recently trained; men to cover the whole of the Estrella range. Snow covered and the tallest mountains in Portugal, they were the gateway from Spain to Coimbra and Lisbon and had already seen one French relief column stopped in its tracks.

  It was inevitable that the French would try again in strength and all he would be able to do was to direct and support the bands of Ordenança, the official Home Guard levies, who were largely undisciplined and armed with muskets supplied; if indeed they had any at all; by the British army or from captured French weapons from the spoils of Oporto and Talavera.

  While Pom and his men perfected their technique with their new Bakers, the other four platoons were making sweeps eastward through the mountains, watching the roads around the French-occupied towns of Almeida and Celorico.

  The bands of Ordenança scattered throughout the region were naturally priority concerns. They were sources of information about enemy movements and providers of sheep and goats cheeses and the occasional animal itself, from those shepherds who had taken their flocks into the hills while the enemy had been passing through.

  Lieutenant Dodds and his platoon were searching for one band that previously they had supplied with British muskets and ammunition. They were not to be found at any of their known hideouts, but some of their women were still maintaining one of the camps and told them that everyone had gone south to attack the French.

  That was the most they could get out of them. All they could say was that their men had been quite excited and had rushed off south, early yesterday morning.

  Dodds didn’t know what to make of it. The partisans had been asked to notify the Hornets about suspicious French movements and may indeed have sent word. Someone could be on the way to São Martinho while One Platoon was looking for the latest camp.

  He took his platoon south, sending a messenger to warn Gonçalves that something, unspecified, was happening between the Ordenança and the French.

  Dodds was a very competent soldier. More than that, he was a very competent Hornet and three years with Welbeloved had nurtured ambitions that he would never have dreamed of before then.

  MacKay was his ideal and it was MacKay who had helped him to learn to read and write; something that was essential before he could become a sergeant, never mind a commission officer.

  He had always been inclined to be cautious and his lack of an early education had not helped to form an active imagination or even the insatiably enquiring mind that he found so fascinating in young Li. Lieutenant Pom was the sort of son he would have given anything for, if his relations with women had been other than carnal ones in the few periods of free time that the Marines had allowed him.

  He permitted himself the luxury of speculation about what the Ordenança had found. Fairly obviously it must be a force coming into Portugal. The Hornets would have known all about anyone escaping back to Spain.

  If the French were trying to get someone through to Masséna, it would have to be either reinforcements or massive convoys of supplies, or both. There again, it might be that General Foy who had gone out, coming back with instructions and orders from Napoleon or Joseph Bonaparte.

  Whatever it was, they were not following the route that Masséna had used. They had to be taking one of the roads south of the Estrella Mountains; one of the roads that Wellington had had ploughed up or built defences across. The defences were still there of course. There simply were no defenders other than the Ordenança or one company of Hornets.

  It wasn’t until the next morning that they passed through a village where the Ordenança had been and got the news that all the partisans to the south of the Estrella Mountains were joining with their friends south of the river Zezere to harry a massive French convoy.

  Dodds and his men crossed the river and followed the road south towards Sertã. All the villages and towns along the route were deserted and showed signs of looting.

  Most of the inhabitants had taken their possessions and gone towards Lisbon before Masséna had started his campaign. Others had gone into the hills and returned when the French had chosen another route. Some of these had been caught by this second incursion. Many had been tortured and killed, almost certainly to find out what food they had hidden.

  The few bodies to be found showed that most inhabitants had escaped, but also; strange if the French were carrying food as well as ammunition; that the enemy was foraging assiduously for food and drink

  The next town had a group of Ordenança. They were inclined to greet the Hornets with levelled muskets, but quickly identified the famous tan uniforms and led them to the church to show them the large grave that they were digging. There were nine bodies laid out for interment, all Ordenança and all shot by firing squad and left by the church wall used for the execution.

  Apparently a band of them had been caught in the open by a troop of cavalry and these were the ones that had surrendered. Summary execution had been their fate in the same way that Masséna had been executing any captives not wearing regular army uniform; quite overlooking the fact that at the beginning of the revolutionary wars, the only French soldiers wearing uniform were those from the old royalist forces.

  Dodds was angry. His platoon was furious. The victims may not have been wearing military uniforms, but they were all wearing the same short brown cloaks and calf length trousers that was the unvarying dress of the Portuguese mountain peasant, a uniform in itself. Moreover, they were an armed and official home guard that was always mobilised when the country was invaded. There was really no acceptable excuse for the French acting like this.

  His platoon was just as disciplined, if rather more volatile than their English colleagues, but he had to be concerned about their attitude should they have any French pleading for quarter. The Hornets had developed a reputation for leniency in such matters that had saved many French lives. Not only French but Hornets because the French no longer fought to the last man when facing the Hornets and when they were in a no-hope situation, as they certainly would if they were faced by Spanish or Portuguese irregulars. The Lord help any Frenchman falling into the hands of these Ordenança!

  The burial detail gave them directions and they set out to try and get ahead of this relief convoy, leaving instructions for any of the Hornets that might be coming this way.

  By nightfall they were in the hills overlooking the guarded camp that the French had set up and were able to make an estimate of the size and composition of the force that they would have to try and stop.

  It was a formidable problem. There were hundreds of heavy wagons and squadrons of mules. No estimate could be made about what they were carrying. It didn’t matter, it was relief supplies for the French army that was starving and desperately short of ammunition.

  The escort of infantry and cavalry could not be far short of five thousand, which was almost divisional strength and the man commanding this second invasion was high enough in rank to have a vast and sumptuous tent for his night’s rest.

  The leader of the two or three hundred Ordenança was a frustrated man. His men had been harassing the column ever since it had first been spotted. For all the effect this had had, they might well have been annoying flies on the back of a thick-skinned elephant. They had fired into the convoy from ranges that even the Hornets would have considered doubtful and they might have wounded half a dozen men, certainly no more.

  They needed to be able to get much closer to the column to have any hope of disturbi
ng the enemy. They had tried it at the first of the two strong points built along this road, but it had been designed to be held by up to a thousand trained soldiers and four cannon.

  The cannon were no longer there and it had taken the French less than an hour to storm through two hundred Ordenança with losses of twenty on both sides and scarcely a pause in the pace of the convoy.

  To be fair, the French had caught everybody looking the other way. Profiting from lessons learned during the first attempt to break through, this convoy had started out from Ciudad Rodrigo in Spain and had turned onto the southern road while everyone watched the area around Almeida.

  A third of its journey had been a clear run and the Ordenança were still calling their people in from miles around. If it hadn’t been for the rain, snow and simply terrible conditions that had turned the roads into axle-deep mud, the whole convoy would probably be through the mountains by now.

  There was only one more defensive area that could be contested and even if the rest of the Hornets put in an appearance, there was no artillery and they would be outnumbered by more than ten to one, even if one counted the Ordenança.

  Given a good defensive position, his platoon was quite capable of killing up to two hundred of the attackers, but that would be at the cost of all their lives and the convoy would still go through.

  If asked, there was no doubt that his men would do it, but Dodds certainly wouldn’t ask. The object was to stop the convoy, not trade thirty Hornets for five or six times that number of cannon fodder.

  In the morning he sent Sergeant Santos on ahead to report on the suitability of the position for holding back the convoy while the Ordenança and whatever Hornets were available, ambushed the extended wagon train with the evil intention of killing as many draught animals as possible.

  The convoy got under way shortly after first light. The weather was giving hints of relenting somewhat, but only to the extent of a light, persistent, sleety drizzle instead of a heavy downpour. There were soldiers alongside each wagon, ready to put their weight against a wheel in mud up to a foot deep, more than that at the rear of the column.

  The front of the column had easier going, but only enough to benefit from undisturbed mud. By the time the vanguard of cavalry, followed by a company of infantry and the first dozen wagons had passed, the road was treacherous with churned up and glutinous mud concealing granite rocks that could never be anticipated.

  Those at the rear could not maintain the same pace and the vanguard had to slow down or risk a mile of wagons becoming two miles or more.

  Dodds watched their struggle to keep going at less than walking pace. The Hornets had much experience in the business of ambushing convoys and he was letting his mind wander over the usual alternatives.

  At this height in the mountains there were so few trees that it was useless to consider blocking the road with them. The same applied to rocks and boulders that were in plentiful supply, but the valley was broad enough over the next many miles and any that were sent down the slopes would be stopped by the mud at the bottom before they were any danger to the convoy.

  The dreadful conditions were extending the convoy, but the large numbers of escort troops could deal effectively with anything that the Ordenança; even with the help of his few Hornets; could bring against them.

  He couldn’t even blow holes in the road. It would be like trying to fire a musket under water. Even if he succeeded, the French would fill it in quicker than the time taken to make it.

  It was pointless wasting time merely keeping pace with the French. He had a word with the Ordenança, who agreed to follow him on foot to the defences on the road farther south. It was probably the only place where they could do any real damage before the convoy came out of the mountains. After that, the only real obstacle would be the River Zézere, between them and Masséna’s army; desperately in need of the food and ammunition it was carrying.

  His decision was a good one. They met Sergeant Santos and his men where the river wound between rugged hills and the road ran alongside, then through a double line of stout, eight-foot high walls.

  The valley was still quite broad though the hills rose more steeply. The walls could be destroyed by cannon fire, but the cannon would have to be brought round the river bend when they would be within close range of the defending guns on raised platforms cut at each end of the wall.

  All quite theoretical now, as the guns were no longer on the platforms and fortunately the convoy did not appear to have any artillery. There again, he only had thirty accurate flintlocks to defend it against almost five thousand French soldiers. If the infantry attacked en masse, he couldn’t hold it for ten minutes. Even if he put all two hundred of the musket-carrying Ordenança behind it, he suspected that they would be less effective than his thirty marksmen.

  The French couldn’t possibly reach here before tomorrow, so it was with a great deal of relief that he welcomed Captain Gonçalves and three more platoons of Hornets, an hour before the sun went down.

  Gonçalves was mildly apprehensive about the prospects of going to war against five thousand Frenchmen. He was sufficiently confident by now that the thought of taking on ten times his own strength held no terrors at all. Odds of forty-to-one were another matter entirely and Lieutenant Dodds was proposing to hold these pathetic defences against them.

  Nevertheless, Dodds was one of the original band, all of whom were held in enormous respect, even by such exalted newcomers as Lieutenant Colonel Roffhack of the German battalion. If Dodds said it could be done, it probably could. Gonçalves just hoped that Dodds was being realistic about the abilities of the four platoons present. Only twenty of the men were rated as Hornets. The other hundred were Wasps: fully trained but now gaining experience in action. It looked likely that a lot of experience would be gained tomorrow.

  “I can see that you have given a great deal of thought to this venture, Mr. Dodds. I suspect we may be biting off a bigger piece of meat than we can digest, but you have my full support. Oblige me by taking command of the company while you make your dispositions and instruct the Ordenança in the part you wish them to take.”

  ***

  The defences in this valley had been meant to deter. Wellington had needed to force the invaders to use other roads and his strategy had proved successful. The Militia units he had used to garrison this strong point had not been in action, but they had made life as comfortable as they could for themselves while they were here.

  Many of the ramshackle roofs were still in place and with the judicious placing of canvas from their bivouac tents, F Company was able to sleep out of the wet. The Ordenança were also spared a soaking, but only because it snowed during the night and they were able to huddle against the lee side of the wall, while a moderate amount drifted against the side facing towards the direction of approach of the enemy.

  Dawn saw a frenzy of activity. Dodds and his sergeant had explored the approach road to the defensive wall and had marked five places over the last mile where there were steep rocky outcrops on the side away from the river.

  The rock was granite, but parties with levers and kegs of gunpowder sought for any large masses that might be persuaded to separate from the rest.

  Always willing to find an excuse for giving instruction, a score of Ordenança were taken along to help out with the hard work and to learn something of the esoteric art of destroying things with gunpowder.

  Many of the rest of them were given a quick refresher course on the handling of their muskets. They all knew how to load and prime their weapons, of course. Few of them had been taught how to aim and fire. In fact, the majority of the muskets that they were using had no rear sight.

  They were using the ‘point and pull the trigger’ principle and the Hornets showed them how to line the musket up with the targets’ knees and squeeze the trigger.

  The weapons were notoriously inaccurate, but aiming low would do wonders in correcting the inevitable upward jerk as the powder ignited.

&nb
sp; The arrival of the convoy was signalled by a squadron of Chasseurs à Cheval, the most numerous of all cavalry regiments in the French Imperial Army.

  The rain had given way to scattered flakes of powdery snow and the horsemen were a little more animated in consequence. Their horses were trotting quite briskly as they came round the bend of the river and suddenly saw the barrier in front of them, stretching six hundred yards from the deep, fast-flowing river to the rise of the valley wall on the far side.

  The squadron halted abruptly and surveyed the obstacle, only a hundred and fifty yards away. They didn’t really need to advance any farther. It was quite obvious that this was a task for the infantry. Horses simply were not equipped for storming fortified walls.

  Cavalry were required to report back however and a troop was detached to move forward cautiously and find out, firstly if it was defended and secondly by how many and what sort of soldiers.

  Only two platoons of Hornets were in position at this moment and they were quite still, spaced evenly for fifty yards either side of the double wall, where the road bent through the defences. Only their bonnets and eyes were visible and those hardly noticeable.

  The advancing troop was unconcerned. Spread out and walking their horses forward slowly, they all knew that they were safe from any but the most unfortunate shot until they were within fifty yards of the wall.

  Those of them that had been in a battle would be aware that a full volley from the side of a defensive square at twenty yards was unlikely to kill or wound more than one in five.

  Dodds was quite happy to indulge their confidence until they got to fifty yards, when he blew his whistle and half the Hornets fired one shot.

  Some of the men must have fired at the same target as three only, horrified chasseurs watched all their comrades blasted out of their saddles. A few seconds hesitation for the unbelievable to be believed and they galloped back to notional safety, crouched low in their saddles.