Lacey nodded.
“You have.”
The young Officer’s face broke into a broad smile, before relaying his message, both written and by word of mouth.
“General Anstruther, Sir, wishes you to march on, to the next defendable position and hold there, Sir. He leaves that decision to you and to hold until he comes up. Sir.”
However, his next words would severely limit Lacey’s choice.
“He expects you to find one and hold it before nightfall today, Sir.
Lacey opened the note and found the words to exactly echo what had just been said.
“How far back is the General?”
“About two hours march, Sir. His nearest to you are the 1st 95th. His others are further out, perhaps another hour, each.”
Lacey nodded again.
“Well done, Captain. Get yourself some refreshment before you return.”
The young face changed to surprise.
“Oh, I’m not to return, Sir. I’m to get on to General Baird.”
“Baird, you say? What have you for him?”
“That Soult is operating close to the North of here. We are mostly against cavalry, but Soult has moved his whole infantry towards La Romana, who’s holding the bridge at Mansilla. Sir.”
As the Captain moved off, Lacey looked at O’Hare.
“Mansilla! As I recall from our map, if Soult gets over, he’s just short of being across our route back.”
O’Hare nodded.
“I’ll get the men going.”
He departed, at an urgent trot.
The defensible position, when they came upon it, was a bridge over a stream. It was not a raging torrent, but it had carved itself deep down to create steep banks composed of either hard clay or soft rock. The 105th filed across the bridge straight into defensive positions, but Lacey’s first order was for them to prepare hot food. The Grenadiers and Light Companies were closed up at the bridge, either side both up and downstream, along the bank, with the Lights supported behind by the Third Company, these with The Colours. This gave the likes of Davey and Miles a chance to talk with Jed Deakin and Toby Halfway formed up behind them.
“Alright, Jed? How’s things?”
Deakin lifted his head that was leaning on his hands grasping the staff of his Colour.
“John, Tom, Zeke.”
He ceased his naming and smiled a greeting to the rest, these being Pike, Byford and Bailey.
“Could be worse, and it won’t be, not yet, as long as rations holds out. What do you know?”
“Not much more, bar there’s French cavalry feelin’ for our backsides.”
Deakin nodded.
“Knowin’ that, I feels better stood yer, with that stream in front an’ some commons about to arrive, soon, I hopes.”
Miles now spoke up.
“You’m right about the food, but for one, I’ve had enough of sloggin’ our way back through this mud. I’d not complain if we was to stand and fight this crew of Johnnies as is pushin’ us out of one place after another. They’m nothin’ special. We took ’em easy enough at Vimeero!”
Deakin nodded sagely. Such outbursts were not unknown from such as Tom Miles, but he knew he had a point, shared by the vast majority of the army. He levered himself off his flagstaff.
“You’m not alone in thinking’ that, Tom, not by a long chalk.”
The hot food arrived, mostly beans and something green, but they made no examination, merely wolfed it down. Now, they had the simple and tedious task of merely holding their positions, but fires were lit and they benefited greatly from their warmth. They had been there little more than an hour, before the cry came from a picket positioned beyond the bridge, shouted on the run, as they came back.
“Stand to! Stand to!”
All rushed to form their firing lines, but what appeared was a column of Riflemen, all in green, not the recognizably friendly red, all men formed in fours, trotting along the road and soon to reach the bridge. They crossed the bridge and halted on the road, to the right of the Grenadier column. Both Carravoy and D’Villiers studied the panting men, all dirty and dishevelled, many with uniforms parting at the seams, many tolerating minor wounds bandaged up, but all, nevertheless, were tough, intimidating soldiers, with their Baker rifles clean, maintained and ready. There was nothing of the societal army about these; there was no purchase of Commissions into their ranks as there was into those of more fashionable Regiments. They embodied the hard, dangerous world of life on the edge; of trusting themselves and each other in the extremes of combat but yards from the enemy.
Leading them at the run was a young Captain and he left the road as his men crossed the bridge but they remained on the road, holding to their column. He went immediately to Lacey.
“Captain Brotherwood, Sir, 1st 95th.”
“Lacey. 105th. Who’s behind you?”
“We believe French cavalry, Sir. Saw them from a distance. If they are coming for this bridge, I’d give them fifteen minutes before you see them.”
Lacey nodded.
“And the 20th and the 52nd?”
“The last I heard the 20th were to the North, the 52nd to the South, Sir. It’s reasonable to say that they’ll not come through here. My 95th are divided between the two.”
“General Anstruther?”
“No idea, Sir, I’ve not seen him for over two days.”
Lacey sighed and looked at O’Hare.”
“That bridge should come down. What do we have?”
“Nothing! Not even picks and shovels.”
“Right. We hold until night, then sneak off, leaving fires. That’ll give us a few hours grace at least. I’d say there were two more hours of daylight.”
O’Hare nodded his agreement.
“Hold positions?”
Lacey nodded, then looked at Brotherwood.
“Give your men a rest and some food. We’ll hold here. Do you have rations?”
Brotherwood drew breath to answer, but Lacey continued.
“No, keep what you have. Draw some from our wagons.”
He pointed.
“Over there.”
Brotherwood saluted then ran off to his Sergeants. Lacey went straight to Carr.
“Cavalry may well be on their way.”
Carr looked puzzled, so Lacey answered.
“French!”
Lacey allowed the word to sink in.
“Send one of your sections upstream, the other downstream, for a good half mile. Check that there are no other crossing points.”
Carr saluted and ran off to Drake and Shakeshaft. Lacey took himself to Heaviside.
“I’m sending the Lights off scouting. Bring yours forward into their place.”
Number Three Company had been stood guarding the bank for but ten minutes before their own pickets came running back again to the bridge, their urgency conveying its own message. Strangely, with all stood to, all was silent, to be broken by a single word shouted at a distance, in French.
“Arretez!”
A French Officer, of what seemed to be light cavalry, had appeared at a bend in the road, about 300 yards off. He rode forward but a few yards more in order to improve his view, then stopped. Many telescopes were on him from amongst the 105th, including Lacey’s, who lowered his and remarked to O’Hare.
“He’ll not try here. He’ll be off to the flanks, to see what he can find.”
Carr was with Shakeshaft and by now they were almost half a mile downstream. If anything the streambed was becoming deeper and beyond where they were, where the stream continued on, the ground was falling away steeply and the stream became a succession of rapids. He was just contemplating returning, when a soldier ran up.
“Sir. French cavalry, Sir, on the other side.”
The soldier pointed to where Carr should run and he did so, just as his men began to open fire. As Carr arrived, he saw one riderless horse, and the rear end of several more with the backs of their cavalrymen riders. They had seen all they w
anted to and, with the far bank held, they wanted no more of where they were. Carr stood with his men, waiting some minutes, before ordering their return. As they marched back, they heard the sound of more cavalry beyond the trees. They stood to, but the sound passed. Back at the bridge they found all space crowded by their own cavalry with the unmistakable figure of Lord Paget himself talking to Lacey, O’Hare and Drake. Carr walked up and waited his turn. It was Lacey who addressed him.
“Captain?”
Carr saluted.
“There is no crossing below us, Sir. We saw some French Hussars, and downed one at least, before they made off.”
Carr saluted formally and left, accompanied by Drake.
“What did you find upstream ?”
“A crossing, yes, but deep and easily defended. We saw no French.”
Carr nodded, then both saw and heard movement. The 95th were deploying along the bank and their own Regiment was now forming up on the road, prior to resuming their march. Carr looked at Drake.
“Right. Plainly, we’re moving on.”
Much was about to happen, not least Lord Paget leading his cavalry back over the bridge to the French side. Before he left he leaned over in his saddle to Lacey, who immediately came to the attention.
“Colonel. I’m informed that you are the 105th. I’m told that you had a bit of a set to at Maida.”.
“That’s true, Sir”
Paget nodded.
“Pleased to have you along.”
Lacey’s reply was accompanied by a brisk salute, punctiliously returned.
“Thank you, Sir.”
Their eagerness to leave and continue their retreat was giving the 105th both focus and energy, and soon their column moved off, leaving the Riflemen in possession of the bridge. The Light Company were the last to leave and all would have been a tranquil transition were it not for a disgruntled Rifleman, with holes in both his trousers and boots, feeling the need to make a comment to the passing 105th Lights.
“You can clear off now then, you lightweights. We’ll take care of this.”
Unfortunately, this was within the hearing of Tom Miles, whose own inner character immediately came to the surface.
“Leave it to you? Just like it worked out at Brilos? You thought different back then!”
The Riflemen frowned deeply, a big question forming in his mind.
“That was you?”
Miles fell out from his Company, just enough to display the lurid facings of his uniform and point to his cuff, for added emphasis.
“It were. The 105th Wessex, a wearing of the green, but perhaps you didn’t notice, on account of you bein’ too busy lookin’ out for what was comin’ up from behind!”
***
The sign said “La Baneza”, it clinging to life as an object of significance, its crosspiece bearing the word at the oddest of angles, it’s post closer to the ground than to the vertical. That it had not been taken for firewood was a miracle, perhaps attributed to its soaking state from the incessant rain, probably because dry furniture looted from abandoned houses made better kindling. The rain had continued throughout the previous night and into that morning. At this point roads joined and the 105th, as part of Baird’s Division, were now on the same road as that of Hope and Fraser, these termed the “main army”. They were now the last in Moore’s retreating column. The road had been churned into little short of a quagmire and it was obvious from the briefest examination of the fields to the side that many Officers had taken their men onto these whenever they could and there had also beaten the dead pasture into liquid mud. Inevitably wagons got stuck and men were required to fall out and run back to extricate their precious supplies using little more than shoulder power and a rope attached to any fixed point. However, what did impress Lacey and O’Hare was the ease with which their own pack mules negotiated the clinging mud, their hooves coming out of the deep mud with ease, as though they were on a paved road.
What did worry both Senior Officers were the signs they came upon, on each side of the road, of an army losing its discipline. Every building within half a mile either side of their route was wrecked and looted, especially for wood to make bivouac fires, and so nothing remained; doors, floorboards, furniture, even window frames had been stripped out. Distraught local inhabitants stood cursing the soldiers in the column, whilst trying to secure their homes from the wind and the cold using nothing but straw bales and sacking. Lacey had sent on a Lieutenant with a message to Baird that they were now close to the main column, but a reply came back that Astorga was crammed full and could hold no more. They were to remain outside for one more night, then march in, by which time Hope and Fraser would have marched out. Another night in the mud and rain, just above freezing, did not appeal, but, this close to Astorga, a main town, there was at least a decent selection of buildings, some more wrecked than most, some more dilapidated than others, but all could provide some form of roof that gave shelter from the continuous rain.
They marched for anther mile, then Lacey called a halt. It was almost Noon. The 105th, now ordered to halt, spread themselves around such buildings as could be found and cooked a meal from their dwindling supplies. Using all the tricks learned from his time as an “old campaigner”, Morrison managed a hot stew for his three Officers of the Light Company. Bearing the pot and three dishes he pushed at the stricken door of their billet, wondering how many more times he would be able to do that before it parted company with its doorframe. Having shouldered it aside, he entered and was about to make some cheerful remark to his three charges, but the words died in his throat; all three slept the sleep of exhaustion upon the earthen floor. He left quietly and returned the meal to the stew pot, still suspended over the fire.
However, no sleep, at least not yet, for Jed Deakin. He was stood outside at a well built, but now wrecked, cottage, it’s contents spread outside and spilling over the threshold, for there was no door remaining. He was examining the chimneystack from amongst the scattered furniture outside. Toby Halfway was with him.
“Get Tom Miles over ’ere.”
At a summons from Jed Deakin, Tom Miles duly arrived, saying nothing, but with a questioning and irritated look on his face. Deakin pointed to a small door, almost at the top of the chimneystack, set into the stonework.
“We needs to get you up there!”
Tom Miles still remained surprisingly silent, but his questioning expression became one of exasperation. However, Deakin was looking around.
“Come ’ere”
Miles and Halfway followed Deakin into what was left of the barn. All wood was gone, but of harness there was plenty and many loops of rope.
“Toby, get some hefty lads, Zeke Saunders, the “Twins”, and such.”
With Halfway gone, Deakin was measuring Tom Miles for size, but by now Miles had had enough.
“Now just what spatchcock idea be you dreamin’ up?”
Deakin ignored him. He had found a horse’s collar and laid it on the ground.
“Step into that.”
Miles did as he was bid and placed both feet inside the collar. Deakin then worked the collar up Miles body until it was just under his armpits, but would go no further. He nodded, well satisfied. He then began knotting together the lengths of rope and securely attached one end through the top rings on the collar. He then inclined his head towards the door and Miles followed, trailing the remaining rope. The “hefty lads” had arrived, all immediately grinning at the ridiculous appearance of Miles. A weight was attached to the trailing end and Saunders threw it over the apex of the roof and then it was brought round to the chimneystack. There was plenty of spare and so Deakin thought again. A length was detached and tied to Miles’ belt, as a “control”. With no more words, Miles was unceremoniously hoisted skywards. “Knew you’d end up at the end of a rope, Tom”, came from somewhere, but Miles was more anxious about the fact that he was describing circles against the wall. However, eventually he was at the right level, but too far over, so Deakin hims
elf pulled him over with the control rope.
“Right, open that door and see what’s inside.”
Unsure of his security within the collar, Miles was clinging with one hand to the rope above, but with his free hand he reached inside and his face changed to one of pleasant surprise.
“Hams! Three, perhaps four. This must be a smoke box.”
Deakin became impatient.
“I knows that! That’s why I sent thee up there. Now unhook ’em and send ’em down.”
There were, indeed, four and each ham was carefully dropped into the arms of Toby Halfway. Deakin walked over to examine each, ignoring the way that Miles was dropped by the “hefties”, who playfully released the rope a little too early to give Miles a less than comfortable landing, which gave rise to a bout of evil cursing which continued even when Saunders hauled him to his feet. Deakin had decided.
“One for each mess, the last two for my Bridie and all, when we gets into Astorga, tomorrow.
***
The dawn broke with reluctance, as if it were suffering from pangs of conscience that its day was simply another that was about to inflict yet more misery on the gathering of humanity spread within its dismal daylight. The 105th were already formed up in the first gloom that could be termed any point of daybreak and they marched on and, just within the span of the day, they were in Astorga, with their followers waiting at the side of the road, holding torches or candle lanterns. The “falling out” was a warming affair, a respite from the cold and wet of yet another exhausting march. Even Nelly Nicholls wrapped her arms around her Henry, then beamed like a bride at the sight of the ham. That night, united within family firesides, a good meal was enjoyed, a good stew of vegetables and ham, thickened with biscuit, for the followers had been better supplied than the 105th themselves. Jed and Bridie sat together, him plying her with anxious questions.
“Clothing and boots. How’re they?”
Bridie clasped her hands between her knees and smiled at him fondly.
“You’re not to worry now, we’ve extra. We’ve not used the stuff as was took up after Vimeiro, we can hold that back. And that travois thing that the Colonel showed us is a Godsend. We can take much more and the poles slides easy over the mud, and they stops us from falling over.”
Close to the Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regimen Book 2) Page 26
