“You piece of shite! Wher’s the gain in liftin’ such as that, other than ‘twer the best and only thing in the house, an’ you felt the need, so’s you just ’ad to walk out the door with somethin’?”
Such was his anger that he tipped the whole contents of the Frenchman’s rucksack onto the pile of confiscated spoils, then thrust the empty object back at the Frenchman. His action was immediately supported by Halfway, who pushed the offender away with the butt of his musket. The Voltiguer then let loose a torrent of French, but this was terminated by Colour Sergeant Harry Bennett, who added his weight to the argument in the form of a two handed shove. Faced with three, very angry Englishmen, the Voltiguer held his peace and slunk away to stand in the next group for escort. The men engaged in searching were growing more angry and more likely to confiscate. So, a huge French Grenadier, similarly found with a meagre brass Altar cross, was relieved of almost all he had, including some coins. In response, he moved forward to menace the smaller Deakin, but he was immediately halted by four bayonets leveled at him, three besides that of Halfway.
Albeit slowly, the French battalion was searched and the last soldier passed morosely on, lighter in his pack and hating all that was English. The pile from both men and Officers had received their last additions and those in charge stood looking at the mound of objects, mostly Churchware, but many plainly personal to the particular family they had been stolen from. They all stood in silent anger, silent until the inevitable from Heaviside, but this time, all within hearing, being faced with the clear evidence of the misery inflicted, responded with “Amen”.
“If ye shall still do wickedly, ye shall be consumed. First Samuel, verse 25.”
He turned to his Ensigns and Sergeants.
“Gather this up, careful now, no damage and take it into the Cathedral. I suspect you will find plenty there already, waiting for what you are about to add.”
The valuables were bundled into blankets and it took almost a whole section to carry it into the Cathedral. There was, indeed, already a substantial amount spread over much of the long aisle and the transepts, but on the way out, Deakin could not remain silent at the sight of the incredible opulence all around, for, in addition to that of the Chancel and the main Altar, were the chapels and shrines all along the side walls, each containing bejeweled statues, each surrounded by golden challises and ornaments. He spoke to no one in particular, but he simply voiced his own thoughts.
“I ain’t never seen the like. Not no-wher’, such riches in here, an’ so many poor out there.”
He referred to the crowd of beggars always present at the main doors, but he was overheard by Ensign Rushby.
“Best keep such thoughts to yourself, Sergeant. Here, as in many other countries, their Religion is everything. Did we not see similar in Sicily?”
Deakin nodded.
“Indeed Sir. Yes Sir, we did.”
He spoke no more, nor looked any more as they passed out of the main doors, but, once outside, Deakin threw a Portuguese coin into more than one beggar’s cup.
Meanwhile, back at their Headquarters, Carr and Drake, having been summoned, were entering the room that was serving as Lacey’s Office. Lacey looked up at their entrance and began immediately.
“Carr. Drake. We have a problem. General Loison has been discovered by a patrol of Number Two, or, more accurately, he found them. They were called into a house by a French Officer, and Loison was there and he surrendered to them. He’s terrified, more so than most French are; it was his Division that massacred the town of Evora before we landed, and news of that spread across the whole country. He may get away unrecognized, on the other hand, so he reasoned, he may not, in which case he’d be torn apart, hence the reason why he holed himself up in a house until the main army arrived and he feels he can sneak out, lost in the throng as it were.”
He sat back.
“But we still have the problem. The Convention gives the French our full protection. If he is recognised, we are honour bound to protect him, which may involve us in wounding, even killing, any Portuguese assailants. We need to get him down to the harbour and onto a ship, without an attack on his person. The problem is, he’s a distinctive looking cove, well filled and well upholstered, but what’s more so, he has only one arm. The Portuguese know him as the “One Armed Assassin.” If they see a one armed Officer amongst the French, much adorned as they tend to be, they’ll assume it’s him, immediately.”
He sat forward.
“Any ideas?”
Both Carr and Drake looked blankly back at him, then Drake’s eyes grew wider and he grinned.
“We could disguise him as a British soldier, Sir.”
Lacey sat up as Drake continued.
“Yes Sir. As an escort for the next lot of French.”
He paused as Lacey continued to listen.
“Which arm, Sir?”
“His left.”
“So, we put him in the middle of a rank, towards the rear of the column, with his left side, close to the centre, where a missing arm won’t be noticed. Sir.”
Lacey nodded.
“As good a plan as I can think of. See to it, the pair of you.”
Within an hour they were at the house, accompanied by Sergeant Ellis, and then up into an upstairs back room where Loison was hiding. It was small, damp, dirty and dingy, with cracked and peeling plaster disfiguring an outside corner. It contained but one chair and small table and a child’s bed. Carr needed but one look.
“How are the mighty fallen!”
His tone and expression meant that they took an instant dislike, one side to the other. Loison was above average height and corpulent, just as Lacey had described, but exuding deep disdain and contempt for the British before him, all of minor rank relative to himself. Drake explained the plan; it needed one simple sentence.
“Nous vous obtiendrons vous est déguisé hors en un soldat britannique.”
The General’s face screwed up into a look of intense distaste and offence, perhaps to preserve his honour, but Carr was having none of it. Because of this General’s attitude and his heinous deeds, he was angry to a level rare even for him.
“Tell this snotty bastard that if he’s a better idea, let’s hear it. This is the best we can come up with to save his rotten hide. We know what he did at Evora and we saw some of the like in Sicily, a place called Catanzaro. This is how we’re going to get him out, so he can shut his French mouth and swallow it. If I had my way, he’d be dangling from a rope!”
It was Drake’s face that now became distorted but, in his case, from deep anxiety and no little embarrassment.
“I don’t think my French is quite up to that, Sir, and, I’ve a sneaking feeling, that they understood most of it anyway.”
Drake was correct. All the French in the room were looking daggers at Carr and he was staring back at them, one at a time. Drake intervened, speaking to the French.
“Nous obtiendrons un uniforme. Nous retournerons dans une heure.”
Carr understood enough to turn and leave, followed by Drake and Ellis. Outside, as they descended the stairs, Drake asked two obvious questions.
“Can we get one that fits? He’s rather rotund.”
Then another.
“What about his Staff Officers?”
Carr answered the second question only.
“They can take their Godamned chances!”
But Drake was persistent.
“We should escort them down as well. It could be a good thing. Any Portuguese watching will be looking at them, not at the soldier escort, where he’ll be.”
Carr nodded, reluctantly.
“You’re right. That’s what we’ll do, but we’ll have the bastards in step, not wandering down like a bunch of “hard bargain” recruits!”
Ellis followed them through the lower passage and into the street, grinning from ear to ear, as he had been since they left the room. Such was music to the ears of so stern an NCO, but he was “ranker” enough to relish the discomfiture of
so senior an Officer.
A large British tunic was found, in Seth Tiley’s cell, where he was locked up for safe keeping, therefore he had no need of it, and the other items for a British uniform were obtained from stores. Drake’s Section assembled and so, in less than an hour, they were back at the house, with Drake’s men remaining outside. The three entered the room to find all as before and Ellis laid out the items on the bed and on the table and stood back, but none of the French made any move, until one of Loison’s Aides stepped forward and spoke, in perfect English.
“The General wishes for some privacy, whilst he changes from his uniform.”
Carr looked at him, then at the General, with all the contempt he could muster.
“What makes you think that we want to look at this tub of lard anyway?”
With that he left the room and then the two followed to sit on the stairs. Drake asked the next important question, the subject still in the possession of Ellis.
“Should we give him a musket? We brought that spare, but, I mean, can he carry it?”
Carr nodded.
“He’ll have to, carried at “Shoulder arms”, cupped in his right hand”
He turned to look at Drake.
“How’d he lose an arm? D’you know?”
“Haven’t a clue.”
Carr turned to stare down the stairs.
“Wish whatever did it had gone a bit more to the right!”
His audience chuckled, including Ellis, who was still enjoying every moment, but soon the door above them opened and out came the Aide.
“The General is ready.”
All three stood, climbed the few stairs and entered. The General was now dressed in the uniform, with all the other equipment, including a shako. Being so similar to a French uniform, there was little out of place, but Carr was not going to waste the moment.
“Sergeant Ellis, get this defaulter into a proper state to join a Section of the 105th Foot, Prince of Wales Wessex!”
Ellis grinned, propped his musket against the wall, and walked forward. He then stood before the General, hands on his hips, to slowly look him up and down, whilst continuously shaking his head. His mouth was screwed into an exasperated twist. Carr and Drake had to make strenuous efforts to maintain the correct deportment, but then Ellis walked forward to pull, prod and adjust the figure that had once been a General of Imperial France. Loison went red with anger to almost match the colour of his tunic, but he had no choice but to remain submissive until Ellis stood back and gave his face a “just about” expression before turning and nodding to Carr and Drake. Carr took charge.
“Give him the musket.”
Ellis held the weapon out, such that Loison could carry it with his right hand.
“Right. Sergeant. Get the men outside, formed fours, right shoulder arms, two sections, and the rear with a hole ready for the General here. In the middle of the back, that is, and tell whoever’s on his left to stay pressed up to him.”
He paused.
“And I want a file ready to form down the outside of these Officers. They have to be given some protection as well.”
Then he looked scornfully at the group.
“Though not from my choice!”
Drake and Ellis left the room, leaving Carr to indicate that they should all leave, making himself the last. They clattered down the stairs and Loison’s Aides took their places in the centre, carrying their own bundle of possessions, whilst Loison was pushed into place by Ellis, who then spoke to the soldier on Loison’s left.
“Mercer! This ’ere French gentleman has no left arm, but we don’t want that made obvious, so you keeps up close to ’im, to hide it. See?”
Mercer nodded and Ellis stepped outside the parade. Carr was at the front, Drake at the back and so Ellis took his place on the outside of the right files where he could see Loison. Taking his cue from Carr’s previous words he ordered the parade.
“Parade. Attention!”
All feet came together, bar those of the French. Drake spoke from the rear.
“Sort them out, Sergeant.”
Ellis went first to Loison and kicked his feet together, the same for his French Staff. Back in his place, he continued.
“Parade, by the left, quick march.”
Within a few steps, the parade was marching in unison; the French had taken the hint that they were to behave in a soldierlike manner and, in fairness, this did not sit uneasily with them. They came out onto the main road that led down to the harbour and progressed on. Such a body of men in scarlet red soon drew attention and, soon after, the Lisbonese that were stood watching, quickly noticed the hated French uniforms, then they noticed that they were Officers, therefore some picked up anything that could be thrown. However, the British uniforms ranged on the outside, deterred any from actually throwing anything, so instead they hurled what they could; insults and curses, emphasized by shaking fists.
Then, suddenly, came a threat that they had not thought of. A young girl, pretty and very excited, ran forward to the Redcoats, carrying a flower. She came in from behind Ellis, and so there was nothing he could do, as she came, by pure chance to the rank that contained Loison. He was second in, and for the first soldier she tucked the flower under his crossbelt, but for the second, this being Loison, she had nothing, and so she kissed him. Luckily, the first soldier who received the flower was Byford and, with his free left hand, he eased the girl out and spoke, so that she turned her attention immediately to him.
“Obrigado, Você é muito gentil. Senhorita.”
So she kissed him as well, then fell behind, laughing and well satisfied. Byford gave himself a glance at Loison. His face was of stone.
They reached the harbour and the French filed aboard a ship. No one noticed Loison, for, with Ellis in accompaniment; he looked no more than a member of the soldier escort. Ellis followed him to a cabin and remained outside, as Loison changed back into his General’s uniform, which had been carried by an Aide. Ellis waited until the Aide passed out the British uniform to him, but the Frenchman spoke as he did so.
“The General hopes that you and him will meet again, Sergent.”
The remark dripped with contempt, this not being lost on Ellis, who saw no point in his reply being delivered by proxy and so he passed the bundle to a waiting soldier and pushed violently past the Aide to enter the cabin. At this commotion the General turned round and Ellis fixed him with a stare that fully conveyed all the loathing he felt. He paused to emphasise the black look, then spoke through a jaw he had to unclench.
“Yes, I ’spect we will, an’ we’ll be waitin’ for you. Me and my mates, atop some hill, all mindful of dead wimmin and childs. An’ if you wants to find us, you only has to look for our Colour, ’tis green. Green, like this!”
He pointed to his cuff, then deliberately barged into the Aide to better make his passage out.
***
Loison’s journey to the British warships had been amongst the last for any of the French, at least a journey which could be described as organised, because the formal searching had ended, but this did not mean that there were no more French heading for the harbour. Several had remained hidden, not wanting to be searched, for they still hoarded valuables, of such quality as could see them set for life back in France. Therefore, they waited for the dusk and even deeper darkness, hoping that, in the dark, they could sneak down back alleys and board the British ships not yet sailed. When some were caught by British patrols, Lacey saw the need to send out his own men to patrol the warren of narrow streets within their area and, perhaps, find these last with their cosseted treasure. Besides these were also plain stragglers, just arriving at Lisbon, and so a patrol led by Jed Deakin and Toby Halfway had now, in the dead of night, found a few of the latter and were searching their belongings, before forming them up to march them down to the harbour.
The business was conducted in a filthy alley, lit, if such a term could apply, but by the paltry candlelight that somehow contrived to penetrate
the curtains of nearby windows, and their own single candle lantern. Deakin and Halfway were stood together, watching Stiles and Peters search one Frenchman, a straggler it would seem, for he had no valuables.
“I don’t like this, Jed. There be more abroad this night than we, all lookin’ for French, but some for to do ‘em in.”
Deakin nodded, ineffectually, in the enveloping gloom.
“You’m right, but what can we do, but get what we finds down to the ships, keepin’ ‘em in one piece through the journey.”
He pointed at their latest French captive.
“I’d say this poor bugger’ve ’ad a fright somewher’. Look at the state of him.”
The Frenchman was plainly shaking and, with the search ended, he was thrust by Stiles over to the other three that they had gathered. Gratitude for his safety and wellbeing, soon poured out of him.
“Merci, merci, mes amis, mes camarades. Vous êtes mes sauveteurs.”
Deakin patted him comfortingly on the shoulder, but not understanding a single word.
“Yes mate, yes. I’m sure you’m right. But you just fall in with us now, an’ we’ll get you down to the harbour.”
He began to leave the alley which movement was taken up by the other three British who pushed their French charges forward. They wended their way for some minutes, following no route that they knew, only choosing by the need to go downhill to reach the waterside, when they crossed the entrance to an alley, which joined that which they were using. From within its black reaches came a cry.
“Aidez moi! Aidez, pour l’amour de Dieu!”
Then came the sickening sound of a bubbling gurgle, followed by the sound of running feet, but lessening, going away from them. Jed Deakin immediately faced the way they had come, bayonet “en guarde”, whilst Halfway adopted the same pose forward.
“Alf. Sam. Get up there. See what’s happened.”
Their French charges flattened themselves against the wall as Stiles and Peters took their lantern into the dark depths of the alley, which was little more than a tunnel. They soon returned.
“Two Frogs, Jed. Both with throats cut. I d’reckon they was bein’ took away for some extra treatment, but that shout to us got ’em their throats sliced.”
Close to the Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regimen Book 2) Page 19
