Talavera

by Griff Hosker

  I nodded, “Don’t worry, sir, I know my business. There are two divisions of troops waiting in the city, sir. A toehold is the best we can do and General Hill will be with the fourth wave. All I need to do is hold for an hour or so.”

  “Well, he holds you in high regard.”

  I was surprised. He had never intimated to me that he thought well of me. That was Sir Arthur’s way.

  We parted and I returned to the barges. Dawn had begun to break while we had been speaking in the tent. I strode over to the Portuguese. “We are going to attack as soon as the men are assembled.”

  They began to cheer when I told them. António rubbed his hands, “Now we fight back!”

  “I think you should leave it to the men who wear red, António.”

  “If this was your land, Roberto, would you let others die for you? We are men of honour. We will do our part and besides, we can do what you cannot. We can slip through lines and appear in their rear, as though by magic. This is our city and we know it better than any. My father died fighting for Portugal. The least that I can do is to fight for it!”

  They were adamant and would not be gainsaid. I prepared for battle. I had no Baker but I had my pistols and my sword. I put fresh powder in the priming pan and reloaded. Then I waited for the men I would lead into battle.

  Chapter 11

  Colonel Rufane Donkin was just five years older than me but, considering he led a brigade of Irishmen, was a remarkably calm and measured man. Perhaps that was why he had been appointed. “You are Major Matthews?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I understand, from the General, that you are to lead my brigade?”

  “Just until we establish our defences, sir. I speak Portuguese and I have been on the north side. It is just local knowledge which necessitates the arrangement.”

  He nodded, “Be careful with my chaps eh, Matthews? They are as mad as a bucketful of frogs but they are good chaps.”

  “Don’t worry, sir.” I realised that it was my Light Dragoon uniform which inspired his worry. “I am not a hunt to hounds sort of cavalryman. I was with Sir John on the retreat to Corunna. I know the mettle of the men you lead.”

  He looked relieved. “Good. I suggest we load the two light infantry companies first and then the grenadiers. I shall be with you, of course.”

  “Of course. But if I might suggest we send the rifles too?”

  “Good idea. I will get them loaded. Sergeant Major!”

  I clambered aboard António’s barge. “There will be some engineers coming aboard. They will sail the barges back. If you would let them know the tricks to sailing these ships.”

  “They are simple! My grandmother could have sailed one!”

  We had with us twenty-two Royal Engineers. Sir Arthur used them whenever he could not think of the perfect soldier to perform the duty he required. The Regimental Sergeant Major of the 88th also knew his business. These might be largely Irishmen, but he knew how to handle them. He loaded the ten riflemen who would be travelling with us. I did not know the Lieutenant but he seemed to know what he was doing. He ensured that the Bakers were loaded before we left land but not primed. The river crossing might damp the powder and make for misfire.

  I nodded as he saluted me, “I served with riflemen at Corunna. I even have a Baker rifle.”

  Lieutenant Hay looked surprised, “A cavalry major who can use a Baker? I am sorry to sound so surprised, sir, but that is unusual!”

  “Let us say, Lieutenant, that I am often placed in a position where being able to shoot enemies who are some distance away is a distinct advantage.”

  He smiled. Riflemen appreciated that advantage, “Will we be able to land unopposed, sir? What I mean is should we be ready to fire as we approach the shore?”

  I pointed to the north-west. “There is a gun emplacement over there. I would have your men with weapons ready to prime but if we can land without firing a shot then this endeavour has a half decent chance of success. Our job is to gain us a bridgehead. The brigade holds until we can bring over half a division. The terrain should suit your chaps. There are narrow alleyways and buildings which look down on the enemy.”

  “You seem to know how to fight, sir.”

  I tapped my epaulettes, “As I was given these and did not buy them, one would hope so, eh?”

  His eyes widened. Such promotions were rare. They were reliant upon a mixture of ability, luck and bravery.

  We were loaded first. Colonel Donkin was the last to board. He left the Regimental Sergeant Major to load the other barges. We also had six engineers aboard our barge. I said, “Watch how the Portuguese sail. If you need to ask them a question then I will translate.”

  “Right, sir!”

  “Push off, António.”

  The sail was unfurled and the breeze caught us. The tide had turned and we just had to fight the current. As we emerged into the river, I realised that we were leaving the safety of the convent. I tried to calculate how long it would take for the French to range their guns and begin to sink us. We had just a few hundred yards of the river to cross but the closer we came to the other shore the bigger the target we would make. They would spot us and a sentry would summon a sergeant who would look at us and then send for an officer. He would make a decision. The guns would be loaded and re-aligned. Each minute that I saw no activity made it less likely that we would be fired upon. When we sailed close to the cliff and the dead ground, I breathed a sigh of relief. We would have four boatloads of some of the finest soldiers in the British Army on the northern shore of the Douro. We had a chance.

  I leapt ashore and, drawing my pistol and cocking it, ran up the steep cobbled slope to the street above. I heard orders being shouted behind me. It seemed impossible that the gun crew would not hear us and then I realised that there was a cliff between us and they were a good three-quarters of a mile away. The local markets were open and there was the normal street noise. Perhaps we had a better than average chance of survival. I heard the rifles and light infantry behind me, their boots pounding on the cobbles. We emerged on to the street. It was busy for the Portuguese did not know that an attack was taking place. They saw the red and green jackets and they cheered.

  I held up my hands and shouted, in Portuguese, “Return to your homes I beg of you.”

  In response, some of the women ran up to us and began to kiss us. I know not what might have happened had not António shouted, “This is the day we retake our city! Return to your homes. My brothers, arm yourselves! Today we stand shoulder to shoulder with our British allies!”

  It worked and the crowd dispersed. Colonel Donkin asked, “What did he say?”

  “He told the men to arm themselves and join us.”

  The Colonel groaned, “That is all we needed. Orders, Major?”

  “I suggest we let the rifles and one company of the light go as skirmishers with me. We get as close as we can to the gun emplacement. We need to build barricades and barriers. The ones who are following should collect as much material for barricades as they can. There will be plenty of barrels. Portuguese for barrel is almost the same as in English, barril. The Portuguese are on our side. They will let you have them. There are at least ten thousand Frenchmen in Oporto. Our men might be the best but they will struggle against those sorts of numbers.”

  “Quite. By my estimate, it took fifteen minutes to load the barge and reach here. It will take us an hour to bring one battalion over.”

  “It will be quicker than that, sir. The current will take the barges back quicker but I think you are right. We have an hour to build our defences.”

  He nodded, “I will organize the chaps as they are landed.”

  “Lieutenant Hay, with me. Have your men pair up and head along the street. Captain Turner, we need to get as close as we can to the French without alerting them to our presence.”

  “Yes, sir.” The Connaught Ranger officer was English. Most of the officers would be.

  The streets looked different in the
daylight. I had to translate the black shadows I had seen in the night into the buildings I now saw. The Rifles and Light Company were doing what they did best. They were working as individuals and as pairs. They scampered through side alleys. I kept ahead with the Lieutenant and his Chosen Man. I smelled the pipe smoke and I held up my hand. Immediately the men I led dropped to one knee and aimed their weapons. Then I heard the tramp of feet. It was infantry! Gesturing for the others to remain where they were, I ran to the corner of the nearest building. I could see that the gun emplacement had been built on an open area or perhaps they had demolished a building. It had a good field of fire down the river. The road to the centre of the town turned to the right and I saw a company of French infantry. Their officer halted them.

  The artillery officer shouted, “There are boats filled with soldiers in red!”

  The infantry officer laughed, “Do not worry, they will be the Swiss. Les Goddams will be busy getting drunk on Le Casse-Poitrine. This will be another easy day. It is tomorrow they will bleed and the river will turn red. Carry on, Sergeant!”

  The Sergeant shouted, “Piquets to your positions, Lasalle, get some water on to heat!”

  Happy that they would not be investigating, I went back to my men. I waved over the Lieutenant and the Captain. The rest of the battalion had yet to arrive. I spoke quietly, “We make a barrier here. Lieutenant, get your men into the buildings and on to the top floors of the buildings. If they can get onto a roof then so much the better. There is a gun battery around the corner. Find somewhere you can fire down on them. Do not fire until you have to. We need to get as many men over as we can. Target officers and sergeants first.” I knew that he would resent the extra command. The Rifles knew their business. However, I did not know the Lieutenant.

  “Sir!”

  He waved over his sergeant and led his fifty men into the buildings on both sides of the road.

  Captain Turner asked, “Won’t they tumble to our presence, sir?”

  Shaking my head, I said, “They think the men in the boats are Swiss! I want every road blocking. Build barricades and have your men line them. Each moment brings us closer to battle.”

  “Right, sir!”

  The barricades took shape. It was bizarre. The French were less than a hundred yards from us. All they had to do was to turn a corner and they would see us. An hour passed and they had still not reacted.

  “Captain Hay, I want ten men to come with me. We will risk building a second barrier at the corner. Good men, eh?”

  “Sir.”

  “Sergeant McMahon!”

  The sergeant and nine men appeared. “Grab material to build a barrier and follow me. Keep close to the wall!”

  We were just five paces from the wall when I heard a French bugle. The command to fire was given and the three guns belched forth. They had realised that they were under attack. It was the barges they had seen and not us. The French infantry officer shouted an order. Their eyes would be on the far shore and I took my chance. As the Bakers barked above us, I shouted, “Quick, lads. Build a barrier here!” I waved Captain Turner forward. “They will soon realise that they are under attack from above. Be ready.” The smoke from the guns helped disguise us and I stepped into the open. As I had expected all the attention of the infantry and the gunners was across the river. When men fell in the gun emplacement and amongst the French infantry they thought the balls came from the four barges heading across the water. The Irishmen worked like demons. I had my two pistols aimed at the French while they laboured to build a second barrier across the corner.

  The first shell from the British howitzer landed twenty yards to the west of the gun. The shell sent pieces of metal towards the infantry. At the same time, the officer of infantry pointed upwards and shouted. He had seen the Rifles. It was his last command as a lead ball hit him. The attention of the infantry was now on the roof. I looked and saw that there were twenty Connaught Rangers in position.

  “Light Company, prepare muskets. Ready! Aim! Fire!” Their balls decimated the infantry and the howitzer had the range. One artillery piece was struck immediately. The Baker rifles thinned out the artillerymen and then a lucky howitzer shell hit the French powder. I was knocked from my feet by the blast and when I recovered, I saw that the guns were disabled and the French infantry was retreating.

  One Connaught Ranger stood and shouted, “Away lads! Let’s have the bastards!”

  Sergeant McMahon’s voice cut through the cheers, “Hold your positions or I will lay your backs open! They quailed. “And McIroy, you are on pan bash for the next week!”

  “Sorry, Sarge!”

  Captain Turner helped to brush the dust from my jacket, “What now, sir?”

  I turned and saw the grenadiers from the brigade arriving, “Have the light company occupy the French gun position. They will send men soon enough.” I turned, “McIlroy, is it? Come with me!”

  “Sir!”

  I ran to the guns with the Irishman behind me. “You want to do something useful? Stand on the parapet and wave your shako!”

  “Wave me shako, sir?”

  “Can you think of a quicker way to let them know we have taken the position? The last thing we need, Private, is for our own artillery to start dropping shells on us!”

  “Right, sir.” He ran to the sandbags and clambered up them. He began to wave. I counted on the fact that there would be spotters and the sight of a British soldier in a red jacket waving his stovepipe shako would tell them that we had taken it.

  Suddenly a musket ball struck the sandbags close to McIlroy’s feet. As the Irishman jumped down, I turned and fired both pistols at the tirailleur who had appeared. I hit his arm and he dropped his weapon.

  “Open fire!”

  Captain Turner’s voice sent a volley towards the French light infantry. I saw that half of the company were already with me and they levelled their muskets for a second volley. A different voice ordered a volley from the position at the corner of the road. The grenadiers had arrived. The Bakers continued to fire and take out officers as Sergeant McMahon shouted, “Sir, with respect, get your head down!”

  He was right. I dropped behind the cannonball caisson from the eight pounder. “Thank you, sergeant!”

  The light infantry duelled with the tirailleurs. I heard the tramp of feet as heavy infantry marched towards us. I had no idea how many men had landed but we had attained at least a toehold. It was a frenetic few minutes as the 88th, 89th and 60th all formed lines around our defences. The French were trying to do the same. I was busy trying to reload. The air was filled with smoke and both sides fired, almost indiscriminately at each other. Colonel Donkin took his life in his hands as he almost dived behind the damaged trail of the French Artillery piece. His bugler and the colour sergeant of the 88th followed him.

  “Well done, boys.” Raising himself to his full height he shouted, “Rifles and Light Companies continue firing. Brigade, form two lines.” All around him musket balls zipped. There was so much smoke that little could be seen. They were not aiming at him. The French skirmishers were just firing blindly at chest height in the hope of hitting someone. The only one who was standing close to us was the Colonel but he seemed to bear a charmed life. His bugler and the colour sergeant stood with him. The colours of the 88th fluttered but few would be able to see them through the musket smoke. I stood and prepared my pistols. They would be of little use unless someone was close but I felt the Colonel and his men should not be the only ones who stood.

  “Front rank, fire!”

  “Second rank, fire!

  The Colonel and the colour sergeant shouted out their commands twice more. There were fewer balls coming our way. “Cease fire!” The volleys had been kept company by the individual shots of the 60th and the light companies. Now the light companies ceased firing but the Bakers, in the lofty nest, continued to pick off the officers and sergeants who were beyond the smoke.

  Glancing behind me I saw that the Guards were now being ferried ove
r. The elite of our army would be in action within the hour. What had seemed like a long shot at dawn, now seemed a distinct possibility.

  I heard moans from the smoke and then, in the distance, I heard the trumpet call which announced more battalions coming to attack us. We had broken the attack of the first men but the French would come again. In many ways, this was the perfect terrain for them. They were happy charging in a column which was eight men wide and up to a hundred men deep. That was the width of the road ahead.

  Colonel Donkin shouted, “Reload!”

  Just then I sensed, rather than saw the four French infantrymen who sought glory. They loomed up out of the smoke and ran at us with bayonets fixed and murder in their hearts. I fired my two pistols simultaneously, threw them to the ground and drew my sword. The Colour Sergeant used the standard to deflect one bayonet downwards. I slashed my sword across the face of the fourth man. The Colonel had an old-fashioned claymore and he drew it and hacked down so hard at the soldier whose bayonet had been deflected that he almost took off his head.

  “I am obliged to you, Major, Colour Sergeant. Damned unsporting of them!”

  The smoke had begun to clear and I heard the drums marking the beat as the next French column came from Oporto. This attack would not be piecemeal. The skirmishers would be like flies before the column. They would be trying to do what our light infantry were doing and picking off the officers. It was brave of the Colonel to be where he was. It was exposed but it allowed him to judge the moment to begin to fire better. The breeze had almost cleared the smoke and I saw the skirmishers. They operated like the Rifles. One man fired while the other ran. That might have been effective but for the men on the roof. Lieutenant Hay and his men had plenty of time to load their rifles properly and to keep up a withering rate of fire. The occasional ball got through but none hit flesh. I heard one ball ricochet off the artillery trail. The tirailleurs lost the battle of the light infantry and they moved to the side.

  “Brigade, prepare to fire!”