Talavera

by Griff Hosker

  I turned and ran. Sir Arthur had disappeared. I hurried to the stables with Sharp. “Saddle our horses.”

  I took Sir Arthur’s saddle and had the General’s horse saddled by the time Sharp had saddled his own horse. “Fetch our war gear and hurry back!”

  I saddled Donna as Sir Arthur, his aide and a servant appeared. He nodded at me, “Obliged to you, Matthews. Damned if I haven’t been humbugged again.”

  The firing intensified. I heard the shouts and cries as men were hit. Sir Arthur and I mounted our horses as the rest of his staff frantically saddled their own. I held the reins of Sharp’s horse and my sergeant ran in to the stables. He unceremoniously threw me my Baker before fastening our bags to our saddles. Sir Arthur put his heels in his horse’s flanks and galloped out of the stables. While Sharp mounted I primed my Baker. The two of us were just moments behind Sir Arthur. Even so, some French voltigeurs had broken through. I pulled up the Baker and fired. An officer fell, clutching his knee. Sharp joined me and we galloped after Sir Arthur. More red coats were hurrying to help the 88th which had borne the brunt of the attack. As we rode to the Portina we heard the crack of muskets.

  I deduced, from the attack, that Marshal Victor had been reinforced. There was no way that he would have attacked twice his numbers otherwise. Cuesta’s procrastination had cost us dear. Had he attacked when Sir Arthur had asked then the French would have been driven back to Madrid and we would have had a victory. The bugles which sounded ahead told me that the rest of the army knew of our dilemma. As we forded the Portina and climbed up the other bank I saw the Spanish troops streaming back too. Their attack had failed. It was we who were now on the defensive.

  General Mackenzie’s Division did their duty. They held up the enemy long enough for the majority of our troops to regain our lines. I found myself next to Sir Arthur on the Cerro de Medellin as he surveyed the allied army. The Cerro de Medellin was a plateau which had a good view of the valley below. Thanks to his meticulous planning they all knew where they should be but General Mackenzie and his division were still in disarray, having extracted themselves from the French attack. I dismounted and handed my reins to Sharp. He would take care of Donna for me as well as my war gear. I was still General Wellesley’s aide and so I waited just behind him. It afforded me a fine view. It was now obvious that two or possibly three French Corps had joined together.

  The Cerro de Cascajal opposite our position was a high piece of ground and I watched as a battery was set up on it. We had batteries already on our high ground and both sets of guns would ensure that any infantry which advanced across the plain would be subjected to a fierce bombardment. I saw Colonel Donkin and his men as they made their way up the Cerro de Medellin. They looked exhausted and they were depleted. They disappeared towards the reverse slope. I took out my telescope and scanned the battlefield. It looked to me as though the French were manoeuvring prior to an attack. General Wellesley did not appear concerned. It took most of the day for the French to advance to their chosen position and for our men to reach their allocated section of our thin line.

  At about seven o’clock I observed a couple of regiments of French Dragoons. They rode from the olive groves close to the Spanish lines at the southern end of the Portina. I knew what they would do. They galloped up to the Spanish and, before the Spanish could even prepare their weapons, they each fired a volley from their pistols and then retired to the olive groves. I knew that there would be little damage to the Spanish but the poor light, the smoke from the pistols and the sudden appearance of the French Dragoons must have added to the anxiety felt by the Spanish. Suddenly, the whole front erupted as half of the Spanish Army fired. To my amazement, I saw Spanish battalions turn and flee. I counted at least three battalions do so.

  Sir Arthur shouted for his horse, “Matthew, I need you to translate!”

  “Sergeant Sharp!”

  I was mounted before the General and we galloped down to the Spanish lines. It was now obvious that four battalions, two thousand men, had fled. There was little danger to the line for the cavalry who had attacked numbered less than a thousand and Dragoons are not fools. They had watched the flight of the Spanish from the safety of the olive groves. We arrived at the same time as General Cuesta. I saw him shout orders and two regiments of horsemen rode after the routed men.

  General O’Donoju apologized to Sir Arthur, “The General is ashamed of the men who fled. They will be punished. He has ordered that when they are returned to the line one hundred will be shot by firing squad.”

  “That is unnecessary, General.”

  “It is a matter of honour, Sir Arthur. They have disgraced the General and Spain!”

  We waited until the Spaniards were brought back, some of them with Spanish sabres encouraging them. Satisfied that the hole had been plugged we headed back to the Cerro de Medellin.

  “Matthews, I fear that when the French attack in force then many others will flee. We are in a precarious position. I would have you remain mounted as shall I. I do not think that this will be a night where we get much sleep!”

  His words were prophetic.

  Darkness fell but many battalions were still finding their place in the line. There was confusion. The Guards were now where General Mackenzie should have been and his Division was spread out to the north. They had been shoved into a space in the line. The light was fading fast. The first French attack, when it came, was a complete surprise. It was ten o’clock and darkness had fallen when we heard musket fire from our left. Our men were being attacked. That was where the exhausted King’s German Legion and Donkin’s Brigade had thrown themselves down when they had arrived. In a perfect world, they would have set sentries and been watchful.

  Sir Arthur said, “Matthews go and tell those Irishmen to behave themselves. I will not have random shooting.”

  “Sir!”

  I did not think it was a random shooting. As Sharp and I galloped through the darkness I wondered at the mind of the French Marshal. This seemed like one of Marshal Victor’s tricks. He was a clever man and a night attack, whilst risky, could bring him great rewards and, possibly, victory. We had almost reached the musket flashes when half a dozen Frenchmen appeared before us. I drew and fired my pistol in one motion. I drew my sabre and rode at them. Four Kings German Legion infantrymen rose from their bivouac and attacked the Frenchmen with their bayonets. I slashed down at the face of one of the Frenchmen. Two hurtled back towards their own lines.

  It was an attack, “Sharp, ride back to the General and tell him that the French have broken through the front line.” In an instant, I knew what had happened. The 1st Division had not realised they were the front line. They thought they were the second line. It would prove to be a fatal error.

  “Sir!” He wheeled his horse and galloped off. I saw that he had his spare pistol in his hand!

  I heard a German voice ordering his men to stop firing at shadows and wait until they saw a Frenchman. That was easier said than done, in the dark. It explained why there was so little firing. It was hard to see who you were fighting with and it would be sword and bayonet work.

  Above the cacophony of clashing metal, musket pops and the cries of men being wounded, I heard a familiar voice in the dark, “Grenadier Company, form lines, damn you!” It was Colonel Donkin. I rode towards the sound of his voice. I saw him hatless, sword in hand trying to form his men into two lines. All around there were French, British and German soldiers desperately fighting hand to hand. In many ways, it was fortunate that it was the Second Brigade. They were Irishmen and this was their sort of fight. Then the Colonel disappeared into a confused maelstrom of arms and weapons. This was not the place for Donna.

  I holstered my spent pistol and drew a second. Dismounting I tied Donna to a sergeant’s pike which was embedded in the ground. The dead sergeant lay next to it. The occasional muzzle flare of a musket helped me to find my way to the fighting. I could hear the cries of men as they fought. French officers and sergeants encouraged thei
r men to get at ‘Les Goddams’. I could hear Colonel Donkin and I joined some more of his Connaught Rangers as they rallied to his call. I saw that some of them were hatless and more than a few bootless. They had been asleep when the attack had begun.

  Even as I made the side of Colonel Donkin, I heard Sir Rowland Hill and a column of men coming from behind me, “Steady the 29th!” Reinforcements were on their way.

  I made the side of Colonel Donkin. He shook his head. “I have just three companies of the 88th here and some Germans. God knows where the rest of the Division is.”

  From below us, I heard, “Vive l’Empereur!”

  I shouted, in German, “They are going to attack with bayonets! Form two ranks.” I then turned to the Colonel, “Bayonet attack!”

  “Two ranks, 88th! Stand firm, Devil’s Own! Who will separate us?” It was the motto of the regiment.

  An Irish voice from the dark shouted, “No bugger, sir!”

  The French column raced at us. From the side, I heard Sir Rowland Hill shout, “Prepare! Ready! Fire!”

  As the blue-coated light infantry swarmed towards us out of the dark they were hit by the muskets of the 29th Foot. The muskets were fired at moving shadows. I levelled my pistol and, when the French were just ten paces from me, fired.

  Colonel Donkin shouted, “Fire!” The front of the shadowy column of Frenchmen disappeared in smoke as muskets, pistols and carbines fired. It was inconceivable that any had survived but, remarkably, many did. A bayonet loomed out of the dark and it was rammed through the skull of the Irishman before me. As the Frenchman tried to pull out his weapon, I lunged with my sabre and my sword went into his open, screaming mouth. I tore it out sideways. He was dead before his hat hit the ground. The 88th were not the sort of regiment to take such losses lying down. They broke ranks and tore into the light infantry. French Light Infantry were like their British counterparts, they were small, agile men who were quick. When moving across open ground they were hard to hit. Here they were fighting the grenadier company of the 88th and the French were butchered. The Connaught Rangers did not fear a wound. They were almost like the Viking berserkers. It is hard to face a man like that.

  Sir Rowland Hill was urging the 29th on and they initiated their own bayonet attack. Inexorably, the French were despatched or they fled. Long after the battle, we learned that originally three regiments had been sent for the night attack. Had they all reached us then they would have defeated the men who defended the line. Luckily for us, only one regiment made our line. The French 9th Light Infantry Regiment failed but not for lack of courage.

  As the French fell back Sir Rowland shouted, “Take prisoners! Take prisoners!” An Irishman gave a wild and primaeval yell and Sir Rowland’s voice said, calmly, “Colonel, control your men!”

  “The 88th will reform! Sergeant Major!” General Hill plugged the gap with the men of the 29th and 48th regiments. Prisoners were collected up. Sir Rowland rode over to Colonel Donkin and I. He dismounted. Sir Rowland was a quietly spoken man not given to histrionics, “Colonel, what happened? Why were your men not stood to and defending the line?”

  The Colonel’s head drooped, “Sir, we thought we were in the second line. We believed there were Germans ahead of us.”

  “Dear, oh dear! Somewhat of an error, eh Donkin?”

  I felt honour bound to defend the Colonel, “Sir, Colonel Donkin’s men were with the vanguard this morning when the French first attacked. They had been marching all day.”

  “Ah, I see. Still, it was close.”

  Just then Sharp rode up with Sir Arthur and two of his aides. He surveyed the scene then he dismounted. Lieutenant Close of the 48th marched some prisoners towards us. I saw that one was a Colonel. Sir Arthur needed no translation for he could speak French fluently.

  “Colonel, your men are brave but you are now a prisoner.”

  The Colonel saluted, “Yes, General, but had the rest of our men followed us then we would now be feasting on your breakfasts!”

  Colonel Meunier was a brave man and he was right. “Take the Colonel away. Colonel Donkin, send word to General Mackenzie. This is his sector and I would have it defended properly. It is one thing for our Spanish allies to behave badly but I do not expect it of my regiments.”

  “Yes sir, sorry sir.” He turned, “Sergeant Major, ask Captain Turner to send a runner to the General.”

  “Sorry, sir, Captain Turner is dead.”

  I had been offered breakfast by the Captain and his men. Now they were dead. Such was war.

  “Then find another to do so.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I recovered Donna and stayed with the two generals as they watched the red-coated infantry form lines and defensive positions. It was too dark to see my watch but I guessed that it was gone midnight. One of the sentries shouted, “Sir, I can see movement. The French are coming again!”

  We nudged our horses towards the sentries. We could hear noise from the east. Almost as though Sir Arthur had ordered it the moon emerged and we saw, across the Portina, the French battalions as they moved below the Cerro de Cascajal. The noise became clear. The French were working on their battery atop the ridge.

  Sir Arthur nodded, seemingly satisfied, “The moon is out. They will not risk it again this night. Sir Rowland be so good as to remain here until General Mackenzie stirs himself. Matthews, come with me.”

  We returned to view the rest of the army. Sir Arthur had been caught out. As we rode along the lines, listening to the occasional musket volley as men shot at shadows, he said, “Damned Spanish! I should have been on the Cerro de Medellin instead of worrying what the Spanish were doing. This should not have happened. I must confess, Matthews, I do not know if the Spanish will stand on the morrow. This ground is not one I would have chosen. Save for the Cerro de Medellin I have no reverse slope to shelter our men. When the French artillery gets to work tomorrow it will be hot work!”

  It took some hours to ensure that both our flanks were secure and that sentries were on duty. It was our infantry who bore the brunt of such duties. The artillery and the cavalry were in the safer ground behind the front lines. They slept. Perhaps the volleys in the night woke them but they were in no danger. As dawn broke, we made our way back to the vantage point which was the Cerro de Medellin. We saw soldiers from both sides making their way to the Portina to fill canteens drunk dry. Fighting was thirsty work.

  We rejoined General Hill who shook his head as he viewed blue and red-coated soldiers speaking with one another across the Portina, “Remarkable eh, Sir Arthur? There they are exchanging pleasantries at the stream and yet when the battle starts, they will try to kill each other.”

  “I have never yet fathomed it out, Sir Rowland.” He waved a hand at the enemy positions. The open nature of the battlefield meant that concealment was almost impossible. The olive and cork groves by the Tagus were the only cover and their regular lines meant men could be easily seen. “They have fifty cannons over there, gentlemen, and we have but eighteen. What is even more crucial is that the French are using twelve and eight pounder cannons. Our six pounders are tiny by comparison. When the French begin to fire have our fellows lie down. It would not do to expose them.”

  One of his aides, Colonel Masterton, asked, “Sir Arthur, will they not attack across the whole line?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “I think not, Masterton. Marshal Victor showed his hand last night. If they can drive us from this hill then the Spanish will fall like a house made of cards. The French saw them run when some Dragoons popped their pistols at them. He will want to humbug me and we must see that they do not. We rely upon the stout hearts of the red-coated infantrymen and the green jackets who will blunt their attack.”

  I knew that the Rifles were good but I doubted that the battalion we had with us could stop a French attack. As we waited for the attack, I loaded my weapons. I would be fighting, of that, I had no doubt.

  Chapter 17

  It was five in the morning when the singl
e cannonball from the Cerro de Cascajal announced the start of the battle. When all fifty guns fired it soon became obvious that their target was the British artillery. The Royal Artillery fired in reply but as Sir Arthur had predicted it was an uneven duel. Balls from the French, which landed short, bounced their way through files of red-jacketed infantrymen. General Hill shouted, “The army will lie down!”

  It did not stop men being killed but the balls could not take down whole files of men. The odd bodies which were pulverised by twelve and eight-pound cannon balls were just unlucky. The artillery batteries now began to be hit. As their fire withered so the French shifted their targets to the infantry below them. They ignored the Rifles. They were spread out like skirmishers. It would have been a waste of cannonballs.

  The firing continued for forty-five minutes. Smoke wreathed the battlefield. It was hard to see the effect of the bombardment. Men groaned and stretcher bearers dealt with the wounded. We heard drums beating and a column of five thousand men began to advance across the battlefield. Voltigeurs, like insects, danced before the column. The Bakers of the Rifles barked and the French fell but the balls merely slowed down the inevitable. If we had had artillery left then the columns could have been struck by cannon balls and they would have been hurt. We had too few and the damage they caused was minimal. The blue behemoth advanced, unscathed. It moved steadily up the slope. When it reached the Rifles, the 5th Battalion scurried back to the main red line.

  The Rifles, skirmishers and the occasional cannonball tore holes in the French column but there were so many men that it was hard to see the damage. Their officers and sergeants offered encouragement and cries of ‘Vive l’Empereur’ rang out. The drums continued their metronome-like beat.

  Some of the newer regiments were intimidated. I heard a Sergeant Major shout, “Steady lads! These Froggies are full of wind and piss! Wait until they get close. A couple of volleys and then in with the bayonet. You will see them run then!”