I Think I Really Do Have an Ulcer

by Geoffrey Watson

  Ingredients were added to the kettles. Only the French knew what, but not a lot was added and there were many mouths to feed. Wherever these troops had come from, they were in the middle of the Estremadura and eating rations that they had carried with them for at least three days. No food at all was available for foraging in this desolate area at this time of year and the voltigeurs had not even attempted to go out looking.

  Ribs were quite prominent on the draught and pack animals. Prominent enough to ensure that everyone would need to be moving on at daybreak and heading rapidly for fresh supplies. If they were sensible, they would go south. If not, they would be very hungry indeed in another three day’s time.

  Everything pointed to a small army on the move. They couldn’t afford to linger. All their animals had been unharnessed and set free to graze overnight on the sparse, Spring vegetation. Müller was certain that they would not find enough to do more than stem the pangs of hunger.

  Reveille sounded at dawn and his watchers drew his attention to unusual activity below. Someone had discovered something to provoke a deal of discussion at the start of the track up to the fort.

  Faces were turned to look up at the fort. It was not what Müller had been anticipating. There had been no movement behind the remains of the walls to draw any attention. In any case, it was not the fort that was causing the excitement, it was some other discovery that they had made on the bottom of the track up to the fort.

  Then a distant cry was heard from a man who had climbed higher than the rest. They trotted up to him and clustered round, looking at something on the track.

  Everything started to move more quickly. He could hear orders being shouted and a bugle call brought a company together. They started moving towards the track with the obvious intent of finding out if the fort was really deserted.

  Müller’s theory that the whole brigade would have to move on quickly was starting to seem a little tenuous. He swore softly as he suddenly realised that the only evidence of their presence that the French could have discovered, could only have been two-day-old horse droppings.

  Two days ago was the last time horses had been ridden up the track, but their droppings would still be fresh enough to give things away. He doubted that any of the French were skilled enough to be sure from looking at the droppings that the horses were indeed moving towards the fort, but they were coming anyway, so it was only a petty conceit. The Hornets would normally clear away such evidence when they were hiding in the middle of enemy forces. There had seemed no point on this occasion, when the only danger was to be expected from entirely the opposite direction.

  However, there was no point in worrying over horse droppings. He was going to have to make his resistance last as long as possible. For years, the fort had not been impregnable against a large, determined enemy. The track upward was quite another matter. It wound up the side of the hill and in several places was only a few yards wide, with a rock face on one side and an increasingly vertical drop on the other.

  The voltigeurs had to be accomplished skirmishers, but they were attacking and the attack was only in company strength. Four to one was nothing to the Hornets in a strong position like this. He gave quiet instructions and Lieutenant Meier led his men at a trot to contest every difficult position from about half way up.

  Müller remained in the fort and turned his attention to the rest of the French brigade. It was breakfast time. Whether they were still eating well or making do with short rations, no one was paying much attention to the voltigeurs, who had been in the vanguard yesterday and presumably could be in the rearguard today.

  He swung his glass onto the bivouac. They also were still feeding and paying little attention to their comrades who were toiling up the hilly track. It was possible that whoever was commanding the regiment had assumed that they had only flushed out some of the hated guerrilleros and decided that a single company was more than sufficient to clear them out and hopefully, capture their supplies.

  He was still watching the camp when the climbers ran into the first ambush. It hardly sounded impressive. The track was barely wide enough for six men to march abreast and so the company was in six files when they turned round a bend onto a stretch where Meier had positioned a dozen of his men.

  The range was less than a hundred yards and the waiting Hornets fired two volleys, each of six shots, that hit the two leading files and sent a dozen men sprawling.

  Without waiting for orders, the voltigeurs reacted as they had been trained. They rushed round the bend, saw the cloud of powder smoke at the far end of the track and started to shoot back from standing, kneeling or prone positions, in accordance with individual preference.

  In open country, the Hornets would have been happy to accept such a challenge. On this narrow track, there was hardly any cover and they were so concentrated that even haphazard musketry, all directed into a small area, was going to hit someone.

  Meier blew his whistle to bring his men back round the bend and they sprinted fifty yards to where the track rose and turned back on itself in a zed shape. From there, the whole troop could spread itself on the outer rim, looking down on the fifty-yard stretch and showing only the tops of their heads.

  It was quite possible that their powder smoke had hidden their rapid departure, as the voltigeurs kept shooting for nearly a minute before they advanced again.

  It was the sheer volume of the French musketry that attracted the attention of the commander down below, from where he could see almost the entire length of the track to the fort. Müller could see glasses being used to study the small cloud made by the Hornets and the large, thick cloud in front of the voltigeurs. It must be obvious that the defenders were far fewer than the attacking column, as no immediate action was taken.

  The French advanced quickly until they could peer round the next bend and see a clear stretch of road, rising to a zigzag. The two ‘zigs’, stretching away from them looked to be clear of skirmishers, but of course, they were unable to see up onto the ‘zag’, as their commander was able to do from below.

  It must have been difficult for him to believe that the few shots that they had heard from the enemy should have claimed so many casualties, but they were sufficiently convinced that there were only a few men against them that they advanced along the first ‘zig’ at a trot. Their loose formation might be described as a disciplined mob, but in reality they were only in skirmishing order on a narrow front.

  The Hornets waited patiently until the whole company was in view on the lower level before Meier blew his whistle. Split volleys of fifteen aimed shots at a time were then delivered every seven seconds.

  All the French could see of their opponents was a long cloud of powder smoke above them, slowly dispersing upwards on the morning breeze. Within half a minute, they also knew that half of them were down without any possibility of an effective reply.

  Those that were able turned and fled back to the relative safety of the last bend. The Hornets turned to cleaning their weapons and checking their ammunition after firing no more than two shots each.

  The last bout of firing had certainly fixed the attention of the watchers below. They could almost count the number of shots aimed at their column, but they could also see the bodies scattered about. Nothing could add to the depleted number of unwounded men huddled behind the shelter of the bend.

  Bugles sounded again and two companies of voltigeurs paraded and moved toward the track at a trot. Müller was disappointed. He realised that French tactics relied hugely on columns of men punching their way through all opposition, but that was in battle.

  This was more like storming a small breach in a small castle wall and the first attempt had been repulsed bloodily. Perhaps it was a question of honour that made the French commander send double the number after such a resounding rebuff. It was not really a thoughtful response, but to Müller’s considerable chagrin, it did stand a better than even chance of succeeding.

  Three hundred Frenchmen would be attacking thirty
Hornissen and would lose dozens of men. However, if they persisted, Müller did not think his men could fire quickly enough to prevent being overrun.

  It was time to consider withdrawal to the upper valley. His men could thin out the voltigeurs at the zigzag and then sprint back to another strong position past the fort and thin them out again.

  It would be very, very expensive for the voltigeurs. Müller hoped that possession of thirty horses and a wagon would be seen as a suitable exchange for up to two hundred deaths.

  He turned his glass back to the bivouac in time to see the arrival on horseback of a considerable amount of gold lace and fancy headgear. Possibly a high ranking messenger from the commanding brigadier general? Maybe even the general himself, coming to find out what all the shooting was about?

  The outcome of this visit could be most interesting. He settled down to watch when another unexpected but welcome interruption came. A quiet voice behind him. “Can you find it in your heart to let us join in your fun, Herr Rittmeister?”

  He recognised the voice and forced himself to turn slowly and calmly. “I cannot think what took you so long, Ernst, but you know I am always happy to share my Crapauds. Is it just your own troop that you are bringing?”

  Bruch’s face beamed, although it was not easy to tell under his enormous, if wispy, moustache. “If you have to defend that narrow track from the valley, Helmut, then I am sure you shall not need even my small contribution. Judging by the noise you have been making, I am right in thinking that the Crapauds know you are here, nein?”

  Müller grunted and swung his glass back to the bivouac, to find an array of telescopes trained on the track and the two additional companies just beginning to march up the first slope.

  “What you can do, Ernst, is to take your troop and flaunt yourselves as you go to join Meier, where he is waiting for that column. Take your time and light your pipes as you stroll down. I want that French general, who has only now arrived, to realise that we don’t give a shit, however many voltigeurs he sends. Can you put on a show for me?”

  “Jawohl Helmut! Consider it done. Doubtless it shall not be for long. It is intended that Oberst Vere shall bring the Vespãos to attack through the northern pass, hopefully at the same time as Oberstleutnant Roffhack engages from the west.” He turned and spoke briefly to his men, who laughed delightedly, lit up their long clay pipes and swaggered as unconcernedly as they could down the track to join Meier’s troop.

  Müller made himself comfortable while he watched the French below him. He needed to be comfortable while he was thinking. He could watch them almost disinterestedly after the revelation that five hundred Hornets; the Portuguese Vespãos; would be committing themselves to an attack on the French below him very soon.

  If Oberstleutnant Roffhack were to reach the western end of the valley in time to contest the way out, then the French could be trapped and should lose all interest in a small squabble over an insignificant fort.

  What he needed to do now was to be ready to help the attackers and start thinking aggressively, rather than defending this spur of rock.

  * * *

  Strictly speaking; when d’Erlon detached a brigade to make sure that Marshal Soult did not march past him on his way north; the Vespãos ought to have split their battalion into two halves and followed both the brigade and the main body in accordance with their orders.

  Fortunately, as far as Fernando Gonçalves was concerned, Colonel Vere looked carefully at the strength of the detachment and guessed that d’Erlon was looking for Soult and would take no initiative on his own. He could have detached a company himself to follow the main French force south, but wanted to keep a full battalion of Vespãos together in the hope that they might meet their German battalion farther west and catch the whole French brigade between them.

  The odds would be two to one against the Hornets, but that was considerably less than they had encountered in many a lesser skirmish in the past.

  Now, the four companies of the Second Battalion of Hornets; the Portuguese Vespãos; were concentrated around the entrance to the wide pass, through which the tail end of the French brigade had now passed.

  Their forward scouts had reported that the enemy was spending the night in the valley they had entered and that the entrance itself was posted thickly with vedettes from the regiment of chasseurs-à-pied, camped just inside and part of the original vanguard, behind a squadron of cavalry and a regiment of voltigeurs.

  Vere and Gonçalves had their heads together. “This detachment, coming from an unexpected direction, has caught the Hornissen with one of their squadrons in the valley and all we know is that at least one troop is using an old fort, close to this pass.

  As you know, Fernando, I have sent the troop; that Günther left here to report; over the hills on foot to reinforce them. It has left the Hornissen down to about three hundred and fifty men and Günther left a note to say that he is attempting to ride north and west around this range of hills, to cork the other end of the valley before the French leave tomorrow morning."

  Gonçalves wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. He considered how his own battalion would perform when they advanced through the pass in the morning to put a cork in the rear end of this valley. “I am unfamiliar with the country to the west of here, George. Do you confide that Günther shall be able to block the other end of the valley before the enemy moves on?”

  “There’s the rub, Fernando. They have to travel quite far north to break out into the river valley. If they cannot manage it before sundown, they shall have to start at first light and cover maybe thirty miles. I fear we shall have to attack soon after dawn and hope that the enemy delay their advance to deal with us. Should they refuse our challenge, most of them may escape.”

  “Whether they accept our challenge or not, George, I shall need to deploy our skirmish line all the way across the valley. Every man has to have a clear line of fire. I must ensure that my company commanders know of our intentions, fight within their parameters and be ready to support the other three companies.”

  Vere nodded. “We know that the enemy detachment is mostly light infantry and light cavalry. I suggest that you keep one company mounted and skirmish with the other three. When you talk to your officers, I shall be pleased to give them all the intelligence we have and tell them what we hope to achieve. After that, it is up to you. You are commanding a battalion and deserve your step to lieutenant colonel. I have already recommended it and do not doubt but that a satisfactory outcome here shall confirm it.”

  “That is most generous of you, Sir. I shall be talking to officers and sergeants in one hour and shall welcome your address to them before I allocate duties.”

  .

  CHAPTER 16

  The French division that had been left to contain Ciudad Rodrigo was hungry. Although they had only been in position for ten days, they had left Salamanca over three weeks before and had been living on the supplies that they had brought with them, plus what they had been able to forage in the country, some twenty miles away to the north of the Salamanca road.

  All their forage had stopped nearly a week ago, after those thrice damned, dirty-coloured horsemen had broken out of the town and the ragged remnants of three foraging parties had returned without food and without weapons and tunics. Several hundred unarmed men who were now contributing nothing and eating the rations that were needed for those who could still fight.

  They had been assured that a convoy of supplies was coming down from Salamanca. It had not arrived, but because it was expected, Marshal Marmont had taken all their reserve of food to help him stay in Portugal for a few days longer.

  Everything that happened in this damned peninsular seemed to be dependent on food and fodder and there was never enough of either, except perhaps down in the south. Even there, they had to carry it all with them when they needed to take an army outside their borders.

  Four days ago, four companies of light infantry had left before dawn to make the dash to Salamanca and b
ring back supplies and reinforcements. Five hundred men had disappeared into an early morning drizzle and not been heard from since. A forced march should have taken them to Salamanca by nightfall and some relief ought to have arrived by today. The division would not have the strength to march back themselves if supplies did not arrive soon.

  * * *

  It had been a busy couple of days for Hickson’s and Evans’s companies. Hickson in particular had a large area of country to cover and did not want to go too far into it for fear of missing one or other of the returning French foraging parties.

  It came down to a choice between sending out a couple of his platoons, searching for the French and leaving himself with fewer men than he wanted to tackle a large party, or getting the co-operation of the local guerrilleros.

  His men were all Spanish. Some of them had been soldiers in the battle of Albuera and had fought bravely: bravely enough to have been invited to volunteer for training with the Avispónes.

  So many of the guerrilleros had also been soldiers, but all of them were deserters who had fled after being defeated, or who had decided that the easier and more profitable life in a guerrilla band was better than forced service in the army.

  Some of the guerrilleros were patriots, who harassed the French at every opportunity, but they all needed to eat and food could only be provided by the peasants. Peasants never found it easy to feed themselves adequately and were also being subject to requisitions by the French.

  Other guerrilleros were quite simply bandits who preyed on anyone weaker than themselves and had only the desire to survive and prosper in these difficult times.