Talavera

by Griff Hosker

He answered my unspoken question, “We will sleep, milord, but let us use the cool of the evening to cover as much ground as we can. There will be no Frenchmen out this night. They fear having their throats cut.”

  Again, as a concession to our horses which were weary beyond words, we walked and it was that which saved us. We heard, galloping along the road behind us, a rider. We heard him from a long way away. Juan said, “He must be French.” He cocked his pistol.

  I restrained him, “But he may be English. Before you open fire let me speak to him in French. If he is English and a despatch rider, he will answer me in bad French and I will know.” I took out my own pistol. “If he is French then I will help you to take him.”

  “Very well, milord. Sergio, come with me.” They headed to the drainage ditch on the other side of the road.

  The hooves galloped closer. There was no moon. It was a pitch-black night. I saw the shadow that was heading down the road but, because we were still, I did not think that he would even know that my horses and I were there. It was obvious that he was alone. When he had passed the place where Juan and Sergio waited, I moved my horses across the road and said, as he jerked his horse to a halt, “Can you help me, my friend. I am a little lost?”

  His voice was angry, “Out of my way, fool! I am carrying despatches from Marshal Soult!”

  That was all I needed to know, holding my pistol out I said, “Then I am afraid he will never receive them. You are my prisoner.” I shouted, in Spanish, “Juan, he is French!”

  In answer, he drew his own pistol. Even as I raised the pistol to fire at him, and, no doubt, alert the nearest French patrol, a figure leapt upon the back of the Frenchman’s horse and dragged his knife across his throat. Sergio threw the body into the ditch. He said, “And this is a much better horse.”

  Juan ran to the body and retrieved the man’s purse, sword and pistol. I grabbed the leather despatch case. Juan was pleased, “Soon we will have a horse for every one of my men. We had better mount now and head across country. We will make camp soon.”

  When we made camp, we had cold rations but they were washed down with good wine taken from the Chasseurs and despatch rider. He had been a colonel. I desperately wanted to read the despatches but I dare not risk a fire. We left the camp in the middle of the night and headed for Talavera. I did not have time to read the despatches for we needed all of our eyes to keep a good watch. We descended from some rough ground and saw the road below us. I recognised the 16th Light Dragoons who were on patrol. One of their squadrons was riding along the road. Juan said, “Your men?” I nodded. “Then we will leave you here. Good luck, milord. We have helped each other, I think, and that is how it should be.” He clasped my arm in a warrior’s grip, then turning his horse, he and Sergio headed back up to the hills.

  I turned as hooves galloped up to me. It was a sergeant and a trooper. The sergeant recognised me, “Major Matthews! Should we get after those fellows?”

  “They are friends. I have despatches for the General. It is vital that I get to him!”

  It was after noon when we reached Talavera. The town was asleep but not Sir Arthur. When I entered, he looked pleased to see me, “Your fellow, Sharp, was most anxious about you, Matthews! I damned near had to clap him in irons to keep him here. Well?”

  I handed him the despatches, “I took these from a Colonel last night. They are from Soult!”

  He grabbed the bag, tore it open and began to read. It did not take him long, “By God, Matthews, but you are a magician.” He flourished a piece of paper. “Five French Corps are converging upon us with a sixth in reserve. There are more than one hundred thousand men heading for Talavera. They mean to cut me off from Spain and destroy me. Baird!”

  An aide rushed in, “Sir Arthur?”

  “Send a rider to General Wilson. Tell him to get to Portugal anyway he can. All previous orders are cancelled.”

  Sir Rowland Hill, clearly wounded, came in, “What is amiss, Sir Arthur?”

  “We are surrounded and about to be destroyed. We leave tomorrow. Matthews here can fill you in. I must ride to General Cuesta. This time I do not need you. General O’Donoju will have no choice but to translate my words exactly as I say them. We are heading back to Portugal. This fiasco has ended.”

  Sir Rowland shook his head as Sir Arthur left. He took in my dusty clothes, “More adventures, eh Matthews? Tell me all.”

  When I had finished, he said, “Well I can see what has caused the General so much concern. There are still over one thousand five hundred men in the hospital. They will have to be abandoned. You had better get some rest. I think when Sir Arthur returns, he will give us all a myriad of tasks.”

  I went directly to my quarters. Sharp met me outside, he had been watching for me, “Sir, you had me worried.”

  “I will tell you all as we pack. We leave tomorrow and that means, I think, before dawn. Tell me, have you had a chance to visit Fenwick again?”

  “He left yesterday, sir. He is a tough one and the surgeon let him go.”

  “Good. The rest are being left here. The French will be here in days, if not hours.”

  “Poor sods, sir.”

  He was right but there was little we could do for them. The French had good surgeons and, in my experience, they respected the English. We began to pack our bags. It was a long way back to Portugal and at least two French Corps would be in striking distance of us.”

  Chapter 19

  The road back to Portugal was long and it was torturous. We had, thanks to the French occupation of Plasencia, over three hundred miles to travel through the August heat. We were lucky that General Crauford’s men had recovered and were able to act as a rearguard. The first sixty miles, which took two days to travel, were the most nerve-wracking for they were within striking range of the French columns.

  I had heard that the meeting between the two allied generals was acrimonious. Sir Arthur was accused of abandoning the Spanish. The Spanish marched with us as far as Arzobispo. There was a bridge there and General Cuesta hoped to defeat Soult’s Corps at the river junction. He outnumbered the French but I was not hopeful. The single action by the El Rey regiment was an oasis in a desert of incompetence. However, once we had passed the bridge, we knew that pursuit by the French would be unlikely to catch us. Even if the Spanish lost the bridge and town, it would take Soult some time to negotiate it.

  We were three days beyond Arzobispo when the news of the twin disasters reached us. General Venegas and his army of La Mancha was destroyed at Almonacid in the east of Spain. Three days later General Cuesta lost the battle of Arzobispo. His army was not destroyed and, although he lost over a thousand men, he was able to retire in good order.

  My exploits at Talavera meant that Sir Arthur’s generals were happy to talk to me. I had been responsible for the two sets of despatches which had saved our army from a battle we could not have won. They thought me something of a lucky charm. Sir Rowland Hill, who had seen me close up on the battlefield was especially chatty as we headed towards the border fortress of Badajoz.

  He pointed ahead to the solitary figure of Sir Arthur, “Damned lonely leading an army, Matthews! The weight of the world is on his shoulders. I must confess that I, for one, will be glad when we reach Badajoz. It means that Portugal will not be far away. I thought the mountains and passes of Portugal were hellish enough but,” he waved an airy hand, as though to fan the sun, “this heat desiccates a man. You know we have lost five men already and that is when we are not under attack? This is not like Corunna, the men are not deserting, they are dying from the sun.”

  “And yet the French cope, Sir Rowland.”

  He cocked an eye at me, “You are a clever chap. I suppose France is a little more like Spain.”

  His aide, Major Carruthers said, “The question is, Sir Rowland, does Boney want Portugal too?”

  “He might. What do you think, Matthews? Sir Arthur seems to think you know the French mind better than most. Certainly, Colonel Selkirk does.”
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  This always made me uncomfortable. I was not lying to my new comrades but I could not tell them that I had been as close to Napoleon as I was to Sir Arthur. I decided on obfuscation. “Napoleon will not be happy that Sir Arthur has bested his marshals. Now that General Venegas has lost his army then Spain is at his mercy but he went into Portugal in the first place to punish the Portuguese for supporting Britain. However, he is in Austria.”

  Sir Rowland nodded, “Aye, he has trounced the Austrians at Wagram. There are just two countries now which do not bow their heads to him: Britain and Portugal.”

  Major Carruthers frowned, “Then he has a huge empire already. Why bother with Portugal? It is just full of rocks and mountains as far as I can see!”

  I knew more than a little about the Emperor, “His title, Major, is Emperor. He has yet to lose a major battle as Emperor. He chased Sir John and the British out of Portugal. He sees Portugal as being lost. He will want it returned, as he sees it, to the Imperial fold.”

  “Then he will return?”

  “Perhaps, Sir Rowland, but the one thing in Sir Arthur’s favour is that the marshal who now commands in Spain, Soult, was defeated at Oporto by Sir Arthur. Victor and Jourdan were beaten at Talavera; they retreated and we held the field. Their confidence will be low. I think Sir Arthur has time to have more men sent from England and build defences. When the French come they will want a huge army to ensure that they defeat him this time.”

  Sir Rowland snorted, “The debacle at Walcheren means that there will be fewer men available to us.”

  “We have the Portuguese, Sir Rowland. I think they are a better soldier than the Spanish or, more likely, they are better led.”

  The general looked at me, “What do you mean, sir?”

  “The Portuguese are brigaded with us, sir. General Beresford commands their army. They fight like we do. The Spanish are good soldiers. I met many guerrillas and they are brave and resourceful. However, they are poorly led. If they had been well led would two thousand of them have fled in the face of a regiment of Dragoons?”

  “Interesting, Matthews. I can see why Sir Arthur holds you in such high esteem. If you were the general of this army, what would you do?”

  “The French will come again. Napoleon will appoint someone who has yet to be defeated by Sir Arthur. He has many young generals who are eager to catch the Emperor’s eye. Until we are reinforced then we have to defend. I would defend the area around Lisbon. General Wellesley could make it a fortress. Look at the problems we had in friendly territory. We could not get supplies and our men went hungry. We are marching an army of skeletons back to Portugal. There, at least, they will be well fed. We build up the army and when we are stronger then Sir Arthur is the man to defeat the French.” I shook my head, “That is unless he has accidents like the ravine which destroyed his cavalry or reckless charges such as those made by the Guards.”

  “Aye, you are right there. But for those two mishaps, we would have lost few men! That is our task, Matthews. The senior officers must impress upon this army that discipline will win the war!”

  We rested for two days when we reached Badajoz. Sir Arthur invited me to dine with his senior officers in the fortress. It was cooler in the thick-walled castle, after the heat of the road and we ate at a table with a cloth laid upon it. We had well-prepared food served upon fine plates. It felt like a different world from the one we had endured for most of the summer.

  Sir Arthur pointed at me while we waited for the main course to be served, “I hear, Matthews, that you have an idea how we can stop Boney!”

  I glanced at Sir Rowland, who shrugged, “Sir, I am a lowly Major. What do I know?”

  “A damn sight more than some officers who bought regiments.” I saw some of the senior officers squirm uncomfortably. The comment was too close to home. “Out with it. I am in need of a diversion!”

  “Well sir, we do not have enough men to guard the borders of Portugal. By the time the French are ready to come once more, it will be winter. Those of us who retreated, just a year ago, to Corunna, know that the roads in Portugal can be almost impassable. There are two places to hold up the French, at the Douro and north of Lisbon. The problem with the Douro is that the French could take the route we are taking and simply outflank us and our troops would be thinly spread. The land north of Lisbon is mountainous and full of passes. A small number of troops could block those passes. Frontal assaults are hard. The French would have no fodder for their horses. As a cavalryman, I can tell you, sir, that seeking fodder constantly occupies our minds.”

  The main course arrived and it was as though the General had not heard a word I had said. He ate silently while his senior officers discussed my idea. When the plates were taken away he leaned forward and pointed at me again, “And have you a particular place in mind, Matthews?”

  I sighed. I had hoped my interrogation was at an end. “There is a fortress at Torres Vedras. It has proved crucial before. It dominates the main road to Lisbon, sir. I know it is a starting point. I am no engineer. I am a cavalryman and I have to tell you that cavalry would be stopped by the fortress and if there were smaller fortresses alongside then we might be able to slow down the French.”

  “Hmn. Then let us hope that Colonel Selkirk can discover who the French will send and when.”

  Sir John Sherbrooke said, “Just as we have to rebuild, Sir Arthur, so will the French. If they had not had to fight in Austria then I would have feared that Bonaparte would be here sooner rather than later. I believe we have a good six months to recover.”

  “And I believe you are right.” He stood, “Gentlemen I give you a toast, the King and confusion to his enemies!”

  “The King and confusion to his enemies.”

  The next day Sir Arthur detached a squadron of the 16th Light Dragoons and with his senior engineer, Colonel Richard Fletcher, he took Sharp and I away from the army to the fortress of Torres Vedras. It took some time to reach the fortress and we spent four days assessing the potential of the site. You have a good eye, Matthews but, as you said the other night, you are a cavalryman. Colonel Fletcher, what can you do with it?”

  “It strikes me, Sir Arthur, that we could build a string of small forts radiating to the coast and to the mountains. With a garrison of, say two hundred men to each fort and a pair of guns then an enemy would bleed to death on the defences.”

  “Good, then you and your engineers remain here and draw up plans. Bring them to Lisbon when you are done.”

  With that, we left with our escort. Riding south Sir Arthur confided in me that he hoped the French would give him time to build his defences. “It will take us at least six months, Matthews, to build a half decent line of defence and bring more men over from England. In a perfect world, we would have nine months. It all depends upon Bonaparte. How quickly will he react?”

  “I concur with Sir Rowland, sir. The Emperor will enjoy the pomp and ceremony of conquering Austria. By the time he has done, it will be winter and Paris is a long way from Lisbon. I believe that you will have your six months.”

  “And you, Matthews? What of you? Would you go back to your regiment?”

  “I confess that I miss them but I suspect they are more likely to be sent here, to Portugal, than I am to be sent home.”

  “Very astute of you. And now we await Colonel Selkirk. I will be happier when I receive his intelligence.”

  “If you do not mind me asking, Sir Arthur, where exactly is he?”

  He laughed, “You, of all people should know the answer to that! He is behind enemy lines. Perhaps he is even in Paris. He is a gifted actor, you know. Another David Garrick perhaps.”

  I had never seen the famous actor. He was dead before I was born but I knew he cast a long shadow and was the standard by which all actors were measured.

  “Colonel Selkirk will wheedle out the information I need to know. Knowing what your enemy is thinking is most of the battle. The rest is largely luck.”

  “And the very last part
, Sir Arthur?”

  “Why skill, Matthews. Boney has it and so do I.”

  When we reached Lisbon Sharp and I were dismissed. The town was packed. There were ships arriving with the materiel of war and the very same ships were being used to take the wounded home. I discovered that the three from the 23rd had all returned to England and for that I was happy. I met Colonel Hawker and it was he who gave me the good news. The 23rd had been billeted outside of the city with the rest of the cavalry. Soon they would be taken to winter quarters further north where there was grazing. He was busy going over lists of casualties with his adjutant and the Regimental Sergeant Major. I saw that his arm was still in a sling. He had been wounded by a shell in the charge but his rank meant that he did not have to return to England to prove that he was still fit for duty. He saw my arrival as a welcome diversion from paperwork.

  “Matthews, let us take a walk by the horse lines.”

  I turned to my sergeant, “Sergeant Sharp, you may return to our quarters. I shall be safe enough.”

  “Are you certain, sir? You tend to have mishaps when I am not there to watch you.”

  Colonel Hawker laughed, “Impertinent fellow, what?”

  I laughed, “But truthful, sir. I will be fine, Sharp. We are in Lisbon and not in the mountains of Spain.”

  When we reached the horse lines, he took an apple from his jacket for his horse, “It was deeply upsetting to see so many horses destroyed, Matthews.”

  “And the men too, sir.”

  “True and I not denigrating the sacrifice those chaps made but they chose the life of a soldier. These poor beasts did not.” He waved a hand down the line of horses. “We have less than two hundred and twenty horses fit for duty. When the new draft reaches us from home then the troopers and officers will bring over more horses than the men to ride them. A sobering thought.”

  “Can you fill the ranks, sir?”

  “Not sure! We can replace the officers. There is a line of chaps desperate to buy a commission in a light dragoon regiment. The ladies love the dash and uniform. The non-commissioned officers we can promote. That Sergeant Parkinson will be the new Troop Sergeant when he and Captain Minchin return to active duty. It is a nonsense that they have to return to England to prove themselves to a bunch of civilians who wouldn’t know one end of a sword from the other but that is how it works.” He leaned over, “You are a chap in the know. Are we likely to fight again soon?”