Close to the Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regimen Book 2)

by Martin McDowell

“Ah tends not to question the decisions of my superiors, Sir, beggin’ your pardon, but ah’d say that Deakin here has just about the balance of it!”

  Later that evening the argument did become more balanced and more heated. As they neared Lisbon, the 105th were encamped near a large mansion and all Officers were invited by the incumbent Grandee to avail themselves of his numerous rooms for the night, prior to marching on further and, on top, they were to make full use of his extensive dining room and his serving staff. The food and wine also was to be at his expense. Lacey could barely understand a word of the invitation, but he understood the continuous pointing into the dining room and very much understood the emotion behind it when the good Portuguese said the word “Franchez” and simultaneously spat on the floor!

  The room was most pleasant, low and cool, with plain white walls, decorated simply by small alcoves halfway up, each containing a silver double candlestick. Remarkably the ceiling was the same as the floor, polished red cedar, whilst the table was unadorned, of polished black oak and, very obviously, extremely old. Lacey, seeing such a salubrious venue and anticipating no small level of luxury, had identified a good opportunity to invite Brigadier Fane and he duly arrived, dressed in full Highland fig; Clan McNeil, he explained when asked; the Fanes were a sub-clan. The dinner was most convivial, the food justified Lacey’s faith, and Brigadier Fane, so lugubrious in the field, proved himself to be very genial company at table.

  However, come the nuts and port, the topic turned to recent events and it was Fane himself who introduced the topic for debate.

  “So, Gentlemen. What’s our opinion of the gentlemen we’re opposed to?”

  Most looked at each other, perhaps seeking inspiration, but it was Carr who formed an opinion first.

  “They’re very confident, Sir. Too confident. I’ve now met them twice, and both times they seem to think it quite sufficient to simply march up to the muzzles of our guns for their job to be done, and they are then surprised to find themselves blown back again. That’s their undoing. Bold and capable they may be, but the way they go about their business gives them no opportunity to show it. In my opinion, they behaved best at Rolica, manoeuvring well, holding us off, even though greatly outnumbered, and then conducting a controlled retreat.”

  Several nodding heads around the table showed that few disagreed, but Carravoy, now somewhat “in his cups” from the good wine and with his self regard restored by his conduct against the Grenadier column, felt secure enough to broach the topic that dwelt prominently within most minds.

  “Which makes this Convention even more shameful. The French are very beatable, we should beat them again and make an end that way.”

  He looked up and down the table for support, and got it; more nodding heads. Thus encouraged he continued.

  “The terms are an absolute disgrace! The Portuguese are absolutely livid! Why even the French settlers who stole land and farms can remain for a year, then sell the property and keep the money! And that’s besides all the booty they are allowed to depart with, under the title ‘personal wealth and possessions’. Why, even Portuguese traitors are to be protected by us.”

  He looked around, feeling that perhaps he had said too much, too vociferously, but heads were still nodding. Nevertheless, he thought it best to bring his polemic to a close. He then spoke much more sotto voce than before.

  “I personally feel sullied by the whole affair.”

  He sat back in his chair and took a drink, but it was Carr who replied.

  “I hear you, Charles, and am in some inclination to agree. But, if it came to another battle to clear them out and finally defeat them, I can’t see them making the same mistake again, to walk up a slope and give us the perfect opportunity to come over the crest and blow them to Kingdom Come. They now know, that their tactics which worked all across Europe, won’t work with us. The next time will be a very bloody affair. We’ve cleared them out of Portugal, a whole country, with two battles and a Treaty. That has merits which I for one can see.”

  Carravoy lowered his glass, now empty, but his confidence had returned.

  “And I know who’s grinning all the way to our boats. Johnny Frog, that’s who, him with his arms and his guns and his ill-gotten gains!”

  Fane, sat at the table just up from the pair, sagely nodded his head, then puffed out some smoke and removed his pipe.

  “You have a good point young fellah, you too, Carr. It is Carr?’

  Carr nodded.

  “Yes Sir. You sent me across to fight that other Grenadier column, the one on the road.”

  Fane nodded.

  “I remember, but my reply to you both is, that while we have but 14,000 men here, our French opponents still have 25,000, still in Portugal. On the counter, our job is to fight our country’s enemies and see them off. One thing is for certain sure, we’ll be meeting the likes of M’siers Junot, Loison, Dellaborde and Kellerman again, and not before long, but at least not here.”

  Lacey took that as a very opportune time to end the meal before the argument became any more entrenched. He knew too well the potential for acrimony between Carr and Carravoy and so he stood up.

  “Gentlemen, with those wise words, I think we are done. We must prepare for tomorrow’s march, for tomorrow, we enter Lisbon!”

  He grinned at his men, then turned to General Fane.

  “I will now convey our thanks to Brigadier Fane for giving us his company at our table.”

  Fane waved his pipe dismissively.

  “Och awa’ Lacey. It’s been ma pleasure, I’ve grown a soft spot for ye. And ye’re crew of villains! Ye’re guid lads, all.”

  This brought much appreciative applause from down the table and voluble reciprocations, accompanied by raised glasses, their owners using the good excuse to refill and drain to the bottom.

  ***

  The following day saw the whole army out on the road when the sun was barely edging the horizon, this in obedience to Wellesley’s orders, to enable them to cover a good number of miles before the heat became so oppressive that it could actually cause casualties from heat-stroke. With the Convention signed there could be no threat from the French and so Fane’s Brigade were sent to the rear, to “rest and recuperate”, but this meant walking through dusty air, along a road already broken into powder by thousands of heavy boots and feet. Nevertheless, the simple business of marching on, anticipating the next rest, lifted all their spirits.

  They were following the army though a valley, shallow, but steep enough to make all feel enclosed, when there came a sudden shout of alarm from the rear, to be turned into screams and cries of dire alarm from the camp followers.

  “The French! The French are upon us!”

  Carr looked back and saw, that indeed, the crest of the valley slope was now crowded with French uniforms. He reacted instantly.

  “Lights! On me! Skirmish line as you go.”

  He ran back down the column and out from the road, to lead his men between the helpless camp followers and these newly appeared enemy. His men rapidly formed a skirmish line behind him and he waved them forward, grateful to hear the shouted orders for the rest of the Regiment to form a firing line behind. They walked on and Drake joined his Captain.

  “No guns, nor cavalry.”

  There was no reply, Carr was assessing the military situation and he did not like it, they were still coming over the valley edge in numbers, with the ground in their favour, but Drake’s next words gave him pause.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but if my eyesight has it correct, they’re coming down with arms reversed.”

  Carr looked questioningly at Drake, then found his telescope and extended it in one movement. A quick study confirmed what Drake had said, for the “French”, if indeed French they were, were coming down the valley side, with the butts of their muskets out first, muzzles facing back.

  “You’re right. They’re surrendering, or some such.”

  He turned to his men, mostly out to his left,
all stood with weapons at the final readiness to open fire.

  “Close flintlocks. Shoulder arms!”

  As his men stood down, Carr halted and watched the long line of “enemy” continue to approach, several men deep. Lacey and O’Hare soon joined them.

  “What do you think, Carr?”

  “They are coming down with arms reversed, Sir. I don’t think they mean us harm.”

  He looked again.

  “Now I’m sure.”

  Lacey had seen it as well. A leading Officer had a white handkerchief fixed to the point of his sword and held aloft. Lacey studied the scene.

  “I think I should speak to them.”

  He then turned to Drake.

  “You speak French, after a fashion, do you not Drake?”

  Nathaniel Drake swallowed hard.

  “After a fashion, Sir, usually enough to get by.”

  “Then accompany me, if you please.”

  He took one pace forward.

  “O’Hare.”

  Drake and O’Hare followed and soon they were within easy talking distance and both sides halted.

  “Ask him what he wants.”

  “Ce que vous fait veut?”

  The Officer lowered his sword with the attached white kerchief.

  “Wir sind Deutsch und Schweizer. Wir wünschen, den Dienst des Französisches zu verlassen.”

  Drake turned to Lacey, clearly unsure, but Lacey grinned.

  “It’s all right, Drake. I think I can take over from here.”

  He turned to face the Officer.

  “Wir wünschen, den Dienst des Französisches zu verlassen?”

  “Ja.”

  He turned to face O’Hare, Carr was beyond him.

  “They’re deserting the French and they want to join us. They’re Swiss and German.”

  He paused.

  “Carr. Send a runner, we should get one of our Generals; Wellesley, Burrard or even Dalrymple back here. They’ll want to question these immediately”

  Carr nodded to Drake, who trotted back, carrying his sword at a safe angle.

  “Miles!”

  Miles grounded his rifle beside his left boot and came to the attention.

  “Miles. Catch up with the column and find any Officer on a horse. Tell him that about 500 Swiss and Germans want to desert to us and are at the rear of the column. Say that your Colonel is of the view that one of our General Officers should come back to supervise. Do you have that clear?”

  Miles eyes narrowed with impatience, but this was unknown to Drake, the angry slits being hidden under the peak of Miles shako, in deep shadow.

  “Yes Sir. 500 Swiss and Germans want part of us, Sir, and a General should come back to sort things out, Sir.”

  Drake nodded, just about satisfied with Miles’ synopsis and so he motioned him on his way, thus sending him to make his way back through the ranks of his grinning comrades Many took the opportunity to take advantage of his discomfiture, but Miles’ belligerent response was immediate and contained words rarely heard in a Sunday Sermon. His exposure to antipathy continued as he passed the camp followers, now progressing on, following the departed army. Nelly Nicholls spotted the lone soldier as he ran past.

  “Ah now, Tom Miles. Sure now, didn’t you look a fine sight, just now, runnin’ out to put your bothersome self between us and them murderin’ French Heathens!”

  The look she received in reply would have curdled milk, but Nelly Nicholls was thoroughly enjoying the moment and grinned insolently back. Miles ran on and it was some minutes before he found a mounted Officer, who listened and then galloped off, leaving Miles with no coin. To add to Miles distemper, Wellesley himself galloped past with a squadron of Light Dragoons, covering Miles in dust as he returned to his Battalion. The unpleasant experience of Miles was complete when he was required to endure yet more ribaldry as he set himself back within the ranks of his Company, still at the rear.

  ***

  Their supervision of the deserting Germans and Swiss caused the 105th to fall way behind the rest of the army, causing them to be the last Battalion to enter Lisbon. Their camp followers had halted to wait, and then tailed on at the rear, as they passed by, but, as they marched through the thickening numbers of houses on the outskirts, much of the celebration of independence had died away and, what was worse, none of the inhabitants had much left to give in greeting. Clapping and cheering were all very pleasant, but something to add to the contents of their knapsacks would have been a good deal more substantial. Soon, they found themselves marching along the bank of the Tagus and, slowly, on a hill above the city, a large fort came into view to dominate the horizon. An Aide de Camp rode up to Lacey and all at the front saw the Aide point to the very same citadel and soon they found themselves leaving the river bank, gratefully, for it was growing more noisome by the yard, then for them to ascend and approach the walls. These grew more impressive with each foot climbed, being Moorish in parts, but, newly incorporated, were all the modern defensive features of the age.

  The climb ascended through a maze of twists and turns, some wide, some narrow, until finally, they came before the walls that glowered down intimidatingly at all stood before them. They wended their way through a series of intimidating gates and frightening tunnels which led through a whole series of walls that brooded above them, clearly designed to kill as many attackers within the walls as were out, trapped within a “killing zone”. Finally, they entered a large courtyard where Lacey found Colonel Webster of the 95th waiting for him. They shook hands, then Webster spoke, somewhat apprehensively.

  “You’re in here with us and Blake’s Royal Americans, and that’s not all.”

  Lacey’s brows narrowed in question.

  “Half the place is filled up with French! Nigh on 1000, most left behind as garrison when Junot marched out to meet us. They’re terrified of going out into the city without an escort, and that won’t happen until our ships arrive to take ‘em off. Being here some time, they’ve spread themselves out, to take their ease at maximum comfort. Blake and myself crowded our portion of the barracks to the maximum, but there’s not much left for you, you being a whole Battalion.”

  He paused and shifted his feet. The implication was obvious.

  “If you need our help to move them out, you need only ask.”

  Lacey looked around, French uniforms were to be seen in many places, their wearers stood looking curious or suspicious or both, at the new arrivals.

  “Any wounded?”

  “There’s an Infirmary close to the gate. Their worst are in there. What’s in the barracks are mostly hale and hearty, bar a few walking sick, with ailments of one sort or another.”

  Lacey nodded.

  “Other than barracks, where are there? Gun galleries?”

  Webster nodded.

  “Yes. Two tiers, besides the battlements. And empty stores and cellars, down deep.”

  “Access to water”

  “By the kitchen, same as for the rest of us.”

  Lacey nodded again and turned to see the last of his men enter the inner gate. He offered his hand to Webster who took it.

  “I thank you for your offer of help, Webster, but we’ll take care of this ourselves.”

  Both saluted simultaneously and Webster walked away, as Lacey looked around for Sergeant Major Gibney. Conspicuous by his bulk, he soon saw him.

  “Sar’ Major!”

  Gibney came trotting over, halted two yards away and circled a blistering salute.

  “Sir!”

  “Sar’ Major. There are hundreds of French in the barrack rooms, rooms meant for us. We will be remaining here for some time, whilst they will not. Get the Grenadiers and Lieutenant Drake, who can speak a bit of the necessary. Also, involve the Grenadier Officers, they will wish to be anyway, I feel sure. Move the French down to the cellars and gun galleries and any other empty place they care to go, they know this place far better than ourselves, I feel sure, but the barrack-rooms are for us.”

&nbs
p; Lacey paused to give the next phrase emphasis.

  “There is to be no violence! None. Lieutenant Drake tells them what they are to do, and they are to be given the chance to do it. If any resist or complain, well that is obviously a different matter.”

  Gibney took one pace back and saluted, before turning on his heel and marching off, straight over to Lieutenant Drake, then both went onto Captain Carravoy. It did nothing for Lacey’s apprehension about violence when he saw the Grenadiers fixing bayonets and then see four half sections of them disappearing into any likely doorway. Some of the rooms contained Riflemen and so they immediately re-emerged to move on and scour the other barrack-rooms. Then, soon, accompanied by bellows and shouts that contained much English bad language, came irate, sulky, and dishevelled French emerging into the sunlight, carrying packs and other items in their arms, whilst weapons and other equipment dangled from necks, shoulders and elbows. It wasn’t long before other French possessions appeared in the courtyard also, but this time expelled through the doors and windows. The French disappeared through similar doors, but ones that led to the stairways penetrating down into the citadel and some even went out through the gate, so that, after 15 minutes, Gibney came running back over, to halt and salute in the same manner as before.

  “Barracks now cleared. Sir.”

  Lacey permitted himself the slightest smile.

  “Very good, Sergeant Major. Report to Major O’Hare who will undertake the allocation.”

  ***

  Within Fort St. George, the name they soon discovered, barrack life was soon established, the veterans of the 105th and their equally veteran camp followers immediately turning the barracks into a home from home; family and mess cribs being quickly established by suspended blankets and soon all were sat at tables, or taking their ease on the straw palliasses along the side. Then the gamblers of all Companies soon added the sound of their gaming and rolling dice to the general hubbub. Many stood and compared this barracks with their own, back in Taunton, and the comparison was favourable, the reason perhaps identified by Byford who had noticed the Royal Coat of Arms on the end wall of each.

  “I would not be surprised to learn that this was once the barracks of the Guard to the Portuguese Household.”