I Think I Really Do Have an Ulcer

by Geoffrey Watson

  To the north of the road and west of Salamanca, Colonel MacKay was observing the corona of light around the town and also appreciating the almost ethereal beauty of the scene.

  As a Scot, he was inclined to be pragmatic and serious about his duties, while still uncertain about quite how he had managed to rise from sergeant to full colonel in the Hornets in the last four years.

  Naturally, he valued his well-earned status, but derived much more pleasure from his new status as a husband and father and from his close friendship with high ranking officers who had seemed like Olympian gods to him only a few years ago.

  The scattered campfires around the town looked to be divided from where he was watching, with a greater concentration on the north bank of the Tormes than to the south. This division was explained by the lack of light on the twelve-mile stretch of the river running from east to west directly towards him, past the southern part of the town.

  Everything seemed to be as expected. He had agreed with Welbeloved that the total effective strength of the Army of Portugal should be counted as forty thousand plus anything up to twenty thousand sick and injured after their escape from Portugal.

  Casualties and sick would most likely be crowded into commandeered monasteries and convents within the city. Lack of space for other than the garrison would explain the great extent of the halo of lights surrounding it.

  Possibly it was an illusion caused by trying to estimate the numbers by counting pinpricks of light in the dark from five or six miles away. Perhaps it was the markedly greater concentration of fires to the north of the river that gave him the uneasy feeling that he was missing something.

  He retired to his tent to sleep on the problem after he had challenged Algy Cholmondeley of A Company and Percy Tonks of D Company to estimate the number encamped using only the lights of the campfires.

  They argued that it was not possible to guess the average number of men at each fire and that there was a large arc of territory hidden from view behind the town. Unhelpfully, they agreed that there had to be tens of thousands, but not on how many tens.

  In the morning, the number and persistence of the bugle calls gave notice, before anything could be seen, that it was not just reveille that they were hearing. Some part of the encamped host was preparing to do something other than routine. Both Welbeloved and MacKay put their men on alert and waited expectantly for the relief column to Ciudad Rodrigo to take shape.

  CHAPTER 2

  The last week in September was the time when the daytime temperature began to fall by several degrees. In happier times, the harvest would now be stored away from the prying eyes of the tax collectors, both church and state. Only some of the later-maturing grapes for the sweeter wines would still need picking, perhaps for pressing or even drying to preserve them as raisins.

  These were no longer happy times. Last Autumn, up to a hundred thousand men of Marshal André Masséna’s Army of Portugal had passed through and stripped the area southwest of Salamanca bare of food to sustain them into Portugal.

  Anything that they missed was scavenged by the garrisons that they had left in Salamanca and Ciudad Rodrigo, until in the Spring, when the tattered remains of the starving French army came back and really started to search for anything they could eat.

  If they were sensible, French garrisons rarely took everything they could find. The peasants who produced the food had to be left with enough to feed themselves together with the seed grain to produce the next harvest.

  A passing army didn’t care if the peasants starved. They did not expect to come back this way and had no need of next year’s yield. They were worse than a plague of locusts, taking the seed corn as well and leaving deserted villages and untended fields.

  There had been no harvest to speak of in this region this year. Fruit trees continued to bear fruit and the vines had produced grapes that would most likely rot for want of villagers to pick them. They had all gone into the hills or moved away altogether; those that were still alive.

  Welbeloved appreciated the cooler days, but was grateful for his small brown tent and blankets during the chillier nights in the hills. He was up before daylight and shaved and fed by the time the distant and persistent bugles made him aware that the enemy was stirring to some purpose at last.

  Some of the autumn rain had already fallen, but not nearly enough to stop the clouds of dust rising from thousands of hooves or feet of an army on the move.

  Last night, his glass had shown a halo of lights around the town, thrown up by all the campfires. This morning he could see dust. Salamanca was obscured by a dirty, low-lying fog and it was not water vapour.

  There was nothing unexpected about that. Up to twenty thousand pairs of feet and a couple of thousand sets of hooves might be expected to stir up a lot of dust.

  However, this cloud of dust was already five miles across and appeared to be moving towards him rather like a frighteningly high, expanding tidal wave.

  He turned to Gonçalves. “What d’yew make of the extent of yonder dust cloud, Fernando? Should yew not expect a relief column to content itself with the main road, with perhaps a squadron or two of horse moving on its flanks?”

  Gonçalves had been moving his glass slowly across the face of the cloud and replied in a distracted way. “I should have expected that, Sir Joshua and I should have expected to see some infantry, whereas if you can direct your glass at the base of the cloud, it is possible to make out only cavalry hooves and reflections from the sun shining on helmets and harness.”

  Welbeloved studied the edge of the cloud and swore mildly. “Dammit Fernando, I didn’t pick up on that. Yew’re absolutely right though and they’re using all the tracks this side of the river from northwest to southwest.”

  He shut his telescope and glowered at the billowing dust cloud. “The Frogs rarely do things without a good reason, or at least a reason that they consider good enough. Now, why should they think that they need a cavalry screen that shall grow to ten miles either side of the main road if they continue on their present course? If they were sailors, I should think they were tacking into a strong headwind, the way they are becoming spread.”

  Gonçalves scratched his head under his bonnet. “I had considered that they might be foraging through the villages in the hills, but those are mostly deserted now and even the mice have moved on. Is it possible that they are ignorant of the extent of our army’s investment and suspect that Rodrigo is in imminent danger?”

  “Not for one minute shall I credit that. Marmont is too old a campaigner not to have had regular reconnaissance parties keeping him informed.”

  “Then I should wish to send Dodds and A Company to explore a little closer on this side of the road, if you are in accord?”

  Welbeloved’s eyes crinkled in amusement and his voice took on a tone of mild exasperation. “Fernando! Yew are now in command of your own battalion and I am riding with yew as yor guest and to get to know yor new officers and men.

  I should not interfere unless yew were to do something that was unwise to the point of foolhardy and even then I should hesitate, knowing that yew had weighed carefully, all the pros and cons.”

  Gonçalves’ face broke into a wide grin. “Thankyou Sir Joshua.” He dashed off to find Dodds; sending A Company trotting off towards Salamanca.

  * * *

  A few miles to the north of the road, Colonel MacKay was having a very similar conversation with Captains Cholmondeley and Tonks.

  The First Battalion had no regular, appointed commanding officer and MacKay was acting in that capacity at the moment over A and D Companies.

  Having exhausted speculation about French intentions, MacKay grinned at Tonks. “I reckon it’s your turn this time, Percy. Send a couple o’ platoons tae find out what they can. We shall move back level wi’ the main road by the time they come back tae report.

  Whilst they are gone, why dae ye nae take your other twa platoons and gae and hae a look at the bridge over the Tormes north o’ here? The
re is a better road running along the north bank and if I were Marmont I should send some o’ my baggage train that way. They could be crossing the river at Ledesma. Your first twa platoons only hae tae send a message back, then they can rejoin you.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Welbeloved and Gonçalves were still watching the dust cloud draw closer, without being much the wiser about what was following. Their bemusement was interrupted by Lieutenant Figueredo from Dodds’s company.

  “Compliments of Captain Dodds, Sir. He wishes you to know that there is a regiment of hussars and three regiments of chasseurs moving towards you on this road and for two miles on either side. Their scouts may be with you in thirty minutes.

  He has been able to make out that heavy cavalry is using the main road. Dragoons, he says for certain and he suspects that there are some cuirassiers.”

  That raised two pairs of eyebrows. “Cuirassiers? Are you sure?”

  Figueredo grinned. “Captain Dodds said you would say that, Sirs. He told me to say that he would wager that there was at least a squadron on the main road as he has not seen horsemen with breastplates before in Spain and they cannot be confused with others, even in a dust cloud.”

  Welbeloved grunted. “Did he indeed? Has he seen anything of the infantry yet?”

  Figueredo addressed them both, but directed his report to Gonçalves. “There are foot soldiers following, but the gap between them and the cavalry is too great to estimate numbers in the much greater dust cloud that they are sending up.”

  Gonçalves glanced at Welbeloved, but was not about to risk even a mild reprimand. He made his decision. “Now that there are enemy horse between us and your company, Lieutenant, are you confident that you can rejoin it?”

  Figueredo looked hurt. “Of course, Sir. We are only thirty and there are many woods and thickets still in full leaf that we can use to hide in. Do you wish to send instructions to Captain Dodds?”

  “Indeed I do. I wish him to leave a platoon to discover as much as possible about the numbers of the infantry, without taking foolish risks. The remainder of A Company shall then follow whichever force is on this road. Captain Dodds should hold himself ready to attack, if and when he hears us engaging them.

  I need one or two French officers as prisoners, to explain what is going on. If we have to discomfit an entire squadron to get them; so be it. Tell Dodds to be ready for whatever we do.”

  Figueredo saluted and dashed off with his platoon, grinning widely at the prospect of sanctioned mischief. Welbeloved, most impressed, but not surprised that Gonçalves was doing almost exactly what he would have done himself, said; “eminently sensible, Fernando! Let’s be about it then!”

  The men moved off, leaving a single platoon concealed in the trees and brush on the higher slopes. Lieutenant Oliveiro would determine exactly who was using the road and get the information back to Gonçalves.

  * * *

  The River Tormes flowed northwest from Salamanca for fifty miles until it joined the Douro on the frontier with Portugal. The road from Salamanca to Ciudad Rodrigo travelled southwest for fifty miles and the wedge of countryside between the road and the river was one of the more productive areas in Spain and its rolling hills made it excellent cavalry country. Mounted men could move freely almost anywhere except in the ten-mile square north of Ciudad Rodrigo itself.

  There were still woods and valleys that could offer concealment to clandestine forces such as the Hornets, but it meant that they had to work much harder if the enemy were not to know they were there.

  The farms, orchards and vineyards had, of course, been plundered for food and drink to a far greater extent in the past year, but Salamanca was a large, permanent base and it was in nobody’s interest that its larder should be made into a desert.

  Peasants and farmers in this region had been left with enough to plant and to stave off starvation while it was growing. Harvests had been gathered in and because the churches no longer had the right to claim a large share in tithes, these went to the French instead, with maybe a little more. Most of the inhabitants were not all that much worse off than they had ever been.

  It was really quite surprising how much food could be made to appear as soon as the villagers discovered that genuine silver coins would be paid for it. This, of course, the French would never do.

  Whether their period of relative plenty would continue now that the French army was once more advancing through the area, remained to be seen. Even in good times, a French soldier could barely exist on what was issued to him. It would be surprising if the locals had a great deal to live on during the coming winter.

  MacKay, with Cholmondeley and his company had been retiring discretely westwards and watching the French cavalry spreading out as it advanced. The more the troopers spread out, the less concentrated the cloud of dust became and the easier it was to get some idea of the number of horsemen in front of them.

  It soon became obvious that the number of French horse in this wedge of country alone was in excess of the two thousand that they had all accepted as the upper limit for the whole relief force. It was a matter of such concern that he had already sent a warning to General Craufurd and his light division in bivouac around Rodrigo, that a strong defensive position or a discrete withdrawal were to be recommended.

  Whether the notoriously irascible and hot tempered General ‘Black Bob’ Craufurd took any notice of the warning was a matter of conjecture; but the last time he had ignored a warning from the Hornets, he had lost part of his division, trapped on the wrong bank of the Côa by Almeida. MacKay suspected that he would be more prudent this time.

  He and A Company retired in front of the advancing tide of horsemen. In the more open country to the north of the main road, he thought it foolish to allow them to become isolated behind the enemy line during daylight, much as he would have liked to find out more about the infantry that had to be following on behind.

  He was even beginning to question the wisdom of sending D Company north to the Bridge at Ledesma; not that he was in any doubt about them getting into a scrape. It was just that he had divided his force out of sheer curiosity rather than for any sound military reason. Perhaps he was getting too complacent about the abilities of his command. In spite of their past successes, they were not invincible.

  Then he considered the overwhelming numbers opposed to him and realised that it was all irrelevant. Whether it was two companies or just one, the Hornets were never going to fight the whole army. All they had to be at the moment was invisible and they were very good at that. Percy Tonks had as much chance as he had of bringing back information about whether this was a single relief force or something more sinister.

  He made the same decision that Fernando Gonçalves had made on the hilly, southern side of the road. He would try and take a prisoner or two: officers who could be questioned about the excessive size of this relief force.

  An ambush was out of the question in this open country, it was simply too crowded with cavalrymen. Any discharge of firearms would bring swarms of angry horsemen to the scene in minutes.

  He would have to assume that a French army would take two days to cover the full distance between Salamanca and Rodrigo and that it would bivouac somewhere close to the halfway mark. It followed that squadrons of cavalry would be deployed in camps in a crescent in front of them.

  A Company retired warily towards Rodrigo, crossing the main road to avoid the wild country north of the town. They made camp and rested. All their energy would be needed for the coming hours of darkness.

  * * *

  The commander of D Company, Captain Percival Tonks had no idea that Colonel MacKay was slightly concerned about sending his company off on its own into the middle of a hostile army.

  He was just happy that he was off on an independent venture with a band of professional Hornets; a company of men that would have caused the faces of his old comrades of the 95th Rifles to turn as green as their jackets with envy and this from a regiment that
considered itself to be the elite of the British Army when it came to marksmanship and skirmishing.

  It had been an independent venture of another kind that had taken him from the 95th and placed him in command of D Company in the First Battalion of the Hornets. An accident that had placed him and his platoon on a different transport ship when the regiment had sailed to join the army of Sir Arthur Wellesley at Lisbon.

  He never discovered why his particular convoy arrived at the Tagus well before the rest of the regiment, but he and his men were the only greenjackets available when the army set out towards Talavera.

  By the time the regiment had landed and force-marched all the way to join the army, the battle was over and half his platoon, including himself were casualties. His own broken legs were caused, not by direct enemy action but by a mortally wounded horse that fell across them after he had shot the rider and his chosen man had shot the horse at the same moment.

  When the army left Talavera, there were no wagons available for the wounded and he would now be a prisoner of the French if the Hornets had not rescued him and so many of the wounded who stood a good chance of making a recovery.

  Having observed the extraordinarily exacting standards demanded by the Hornets, he still did not know how he managed to qualify, in spite of the pain he endured and the enormous strain on his legs while they were still healing.

  Even now, they were never entirely free of pain, but it helped that his horse took some of the strain out of travelling long distances. Only some of the strain, it should be understood: the standard of fitness demanded of his men ensured that trotting alongside the animals took up a greater or lesser part of each day’s travel.

  He was lucky today. It had been necessary to move quickly to get to the bridge in time to be concealed to observe what the enemy was doing. D Company now complete with the other two platoons had managed to find a good observation point before the enemy had started to cross in numbers. They had ridden all the way here and horses and men were both relaxing while they watched a few horsemen, although mostly infantry, wagons and artillery spreading west and southwest from the bridgehead.