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

by Martin McDowell

  “Well Sir, I’m using a base of biscuit and ground acorns, with main ingredients of horsemeat and turnips, seasoned with a little pork barrel salt, and what I believe to be sage, Sir. We’ve all been eating it for the past few days with no ill effects, so I feel confident about continuing. Sir.”

  Drake slapped his hands onto the dirty cloth of his breeches.

  “Excellent! Most splendid! My favourite, “Potage de Corunna”. I trust you will be able to repeat the recipe when we entertain our Generals back in England.”

  Morrison now laughed out loud.

  “Yes Sir, mostly Sir, although it may be a struggle to obtain horsemeat, days old.”

  “Oh, I’m sure any old knackers yard could provide the necessary. We’ll all enjoy it around the mess table, I feel sure. It’ll bring back warm memories. Who’d want to forget such as this?”

  Shakeshaft was laughing as was Morrison, but Carr sat with his hands on the pommel of his sword, his forehead resting on his forearms, staring at the snow between his feet. He was making no sound, nor attempting to join in the conversation. His Lieutenants made no effort to include him and so it remained, whilst they talked about their respective home lives, seemingly on another planet, until the stew boiled and Morrison declared it edible. All four shared it, eating in silence and eating quickly. The heat in the food was as important as its nourishment.

  Watched by Lacey and O’Hare, the 52nd and their attending battery came across the bridge just after midnight. Their Colonel passed by them and Lacey asked the usual question.

  “How many did you lose?”

  “Four and four wounded.”

  “All accounted for?”

  “Yes. All from enemy action. No desertions.”

  Both Lacey and O’Hare touched their hats, as the 52nd’s Colonel followed his men off to their campsite. Paget then joined them and the two sprang to attention, but, at Paget’s first words, they stood at ease.

  “We’ll blow the bridge just before dawn. M’sieu won’t attempt anything serious before then, and we may gain a few more stragglers, such as those.”

  He pointed to the bridge approach where three Redcoats were now entering the torchlight, one without a weapon, one without a shako and one without any equipment, bar his musket. They were immediately bawled at by a Sergeant of the 91st , before being kicked further into the camp.

  With the 20th standing picket, the Reserve Division slept easy. There were no incidents to disturb their cold slumber, save the crying out of men in their sleep, holding conversations with images in their dreams, of both comrades and combatants, forming pictures of events best not recalled. At the hour before dawn, all were awakened and moved back, out of the way of any flying debris. Paget and his Staff watched the Captain light his fuses and then run back. Within two minutes came the explosion, muffled and second-rate, such that Drake found cause to observe the same to Carr.

  “That doesn’t sound up to the mark! Not enough to send that bridge down into the depths.”

  Carr looked at him and hefted up his rifle so that the barrel rested on his shoulder.

  “It wasn’t. Go around and check weapons and ammunition. We’ll be here for the day, with Johnny for company.”

  Carr was correct. The central arch was still in place. In fact most of the bridge was still in place, bar a section of the downstream parapet, which had been dislodged. Whilst Paget screamed at the distraught Captain, one of his Aides came to Lacey. He was the same that had arrived at Bembribre and this time his salute was punctilious.

  “General Paget sends his compliments, Sir, and would you be good enough to deploy your men to hold the bank downstream of the bridge. The battery will crossfire onto the bridge and the 95th will be holding the bank upstream.”

  “Very good, Captain. I take it we will be here until nightfall?”

  “I think you can safely assume that Sir, yes.”

  As the Captain made off, Lacey looked at the lightening sky.

  “Full daylight in half an hour, I’d say Padraigh. Get some men over to the far bank, the Grenadiers. Get them to cut away as much of that thicket as you can. Why give the Johnnies some cover, when we have none?”

  Thus, it was a very disgruntled Captain Lord Carravoy who led his Company over the still reeking bridge to clear bushes and brush from the bank that would be opposite them. The men of the 95th soon copied them, but there were no tools. The undergrowth had to be cleared by main strength, several men simply pulling the bush apart. Carravoy stood and watched, his bad mood growing as he watched his men at their difficult task. He spoke to no-one in particular.

  “Gardening! Sent over to do damn gardening! Us! Grenadiers, an elite Company!”

  His mood worsened to see Ameshurst working beside his men, using his sword, the only blade they had, to hack through the branches sufficient for his men to pull them away and cast them down into the deep river course. He felt even worse, when D’Villiers similarly joined to aid the efforts of his own men. Carravoy’s hand went to his own sword hilt, but the sword remained firmly sheathed. With full daylight Lacey called them back over and they took their place to the right of the 105th’s firing line, making them the furthest of the British right, furthest from the bridge. Carravoy’s mood lightened somewhat when Binns presented him with a mug of hot coffee, the first since gaining new supplies from the Spanish waggontrain. He was still drinking it when the French arrived, but the taste was too good, so he carefully finished the mugful. He had plenty of time, because the first to arrive were cavalry, who halted well out of effective range. Thus began the performance, the first events of the drama, being the Officers studying each other through their telescopes, Paget spending a long time with his. He saw what looked very much like an argument between the cavalry commander, these plainly being Dragoons, and some other ranking Officer. Lacey and O’Hare watched through their own instruments and O’Hare chuckled.

  “There’s certainly some kind of disharmony over there!”

  Lacey laughed his own agreement and then looked over to his left and slightly back, he knew why there was dispute on the far side. In plain sight to the French, were six guns covering the bridge, three each side of the road, so that the six would set up a crossfire that met on the bridge. In addition there were his men and the 95th, in even plainer sight, ready to add their fire. Lacey looked behind to see the last of the 20th marching away; the 52nd and the 91st had already gone on before, so those remaining were now on their own. However, their position was immensely strong and yet, or so thought Lacey, were it not for that bridge still being there, we would also be on our way.

  The two sides stood staring at each other for long into the morning. Paget ordered that one member of each mess was to fall out and make a hot drink for his fellows, thus all the men in his firing line were soon stood watching the French whilst drinking tea, many mugs being raised towards the French, but this was long finished when events finally developed on the far bank. The Dragoons turned off the road for marching infantry to then appear. Deakin, stood beside Rushby, saw all and felt relieved when the column halted, but his thoughts were interrupted by Heaviside, stood just in front.

  “Colours!”

  The two Colours were uncased to hang limp in the still air, and all around, on both banks, was still and quiet in anticipation of what may yet come. Heaviside turned around to check on his Colour Party and felt approval, but there was no quote, merely a nod. All felt oppressed by what seemed likely to ensue, however, few were watching their Captain, least of all Deakin, now speaking out loud to Halfway to his right.

  “Be we in line for a repeat? Didn’t these damn heartless Devils learn anything from the last time they tried a bridge? That one at Cacabellos or wherever it wer'!”

  His friend shared his concerns and spoke his own thoughts

  “Seems not. Brave, no question. Stupid, no doubt.”

  Such eloquence came rarely from Halfway, but Deakin did not notice. O’Hare was running up the firing line giving orders. He so
on came to Heaviside.

  “Joshua. Hold your men here, in reserve. The Nine, Eight and Seven will support the artillery at the bridge as a firing line. The rest will be to your front in skirmish order, the Lights immediately before you. Send in men as you see fit, when it comes, as I fear it will.”

  Heaviside saluted as O’Hare ran off, but he immediately returned to watching developments on the French side. Things were already happening; the infantry were advancing forward, in large numbers. Lacey and O’Hare had rejoined each other and stood watching the same scene.

  “What do you think, Padraigh?”

  “That’s a whole Regiment, two battalions. French Regiments have two, sometimes three. So, that’s one for the bridge, the second to keep us busy from the far bank.”

  The accuracy of his prediction was immediately confirmed. The first battalion formed a thin column, only a little wider than the bridge, whilst the second extended out in skirmish order, dividing itself between the riverbanks above and below the bridge. Soon they heard the drums and then the shouts of “Vive l”Empereur!” Lacey’s mouth clenched into a grim line before speaking.

  “Haven’t they learned anything, about us, after what we did to them at Vimeiro.”

  They both heard the Battery Commander order to load grape, to hold grape for the second discharge, and to have case standing by. O’Hare took another look.

  “Right. Nothing else for it, but to get our men ready.”

  Lacey watched him run off to their three Companies at the bridge, drawing his sword at the same time. Lacey elected to walk to the nearest file of his own men where he could see all and it was not long in coming. He just had time, as they came close enough to see their faces, to marvel at the men in the front ranks walking to certain death. When the head of the column was at the centre of the bridge, a six gun discharge blew apart the leading quarter of the column, men being cast backwards like helpless effigies. As the next ranks came on, O’Hare ordered whole Company volleys to match those of the Rifles above the bridge. This held the French back until the guns reloaded, then a second discharge completed the work, so that there remained less than half the column still advancing. The French soldiers miraculously remaining alive on the bridge tried to fall back, but they were held there by others coming on, so, unable to escape they jumped into the river, a fall of some 12 feet into the deep bed. For a minute the British assault on the column continued, the Company volleys, then the guns. Soon the riverbed was a mass of men who had jumped to escape the appalling weight of fire, whilst above them on the river banks the two sides exchanged skirmishing fire across the deep divide. The fugitives waded or were carried downstream through the icy water, trying to find a way up the steep cliff, but there was none.

  Carr’s Lights men were lying prone on the bank, which slowed the reloading of their rifles, but they made a much smaller target for the inaccurate French muskets. They had suffered but one wounded so far, whilst they had already downed a dozen French. The French who had escaped off the bridge were soon carried down the river to where they were, almost filling the riverbed and all still vainly scrabbling for a way up. Many of their fellows above, skirmishing on the bank now ceased combat with Carr’s men and lowered their muskets down to their comrades and many eagerly seized the butt of a musket to allow themselves to be hauled up. Many French tried to raise up their own wounded, far enough for an arm or a tunic collar to be seized and the man then hauled up to relative safety. French Officers were running around, shouting, but it seemed that none were pointing at their enemy over the gulf between them. Almost 100 Frenchmen were trapped down in the deep watercourse.

  The 105th continued to fire. The sight of blue uniforms, their enemy, and instinct, were enough to cause them to fire and reload as fast as possible and soon many French dead were floating away on the river. Fire from the French side had all but ceased and it needed Sergeant Fearnley to approach Carr.

  “Sir. This is murder!”

  The powerful words drew Carr’s gaze to immediately look at his remaining Sergeant, then he looked again at what was happening down in the river and within that one brief look he saw two Frenchmen fall away from the steep bank, hit by the accurate fire from his rifles. The recent loss of his men still festered and so hatred and humanity competed within him, but the sight of so many helpless men eventually brought him to his decision.

  “Cease fire!”

  This shouted at the top of his voice caused all around to stop firing and Fearnley ran off to carry the order further. Above the bridge the 95th were still exchanging fire bank to bank, but through the bridge arch no French could be seen, the stream had carried all fugitives down to the 105th. What applied to the 95th skirmishing above the bridge, also applied to the Companies of the 105th below Carr’s Lights, which included Carravoy’s Grenadiers; for them the fight continued. The French opposite them were still maintaining fire, so they did also, but the French ensnared in the river had not floated down beyond Carr’s men, who remained inactive and watching as their enemies were pulled up to lie frozen and exhausted amongst their own comrades. Whilst the sounds of conflict continued all around, including the artillery, at that place there existed a small truce. A French Officer, probably a Major, stepped forward to the bank and brought his sword up in salute. Carr acknowledged in the same manner, as did Drake and Shakeshaft. Meanwhile, their own men lay in the snow and awaited orders.

  None of Carr’s Light Company fired another shot. Desultory skirmishing continued up and down the banks until the light began to fade, but neither side on Carr’s front broke the truce. The three Companies of the 105th supporting the artillery at the bridge had long ceased firing, but remained in position in case of another attack, however that was now the remotest of possibilities. Paget came to stand with Lacey and O’Hare and all three looked across the bridge and beyond, the whole now carpeted with French dead. Paget spoke first. French casualties had been appalling, whilst his own had been negligible.

  “Perhaps we should make a ploy out of failing to blow bridges?”

  Both Lacey and O’Hare detected the irony in Paget’s voice, but it was Lacey who replied.

  “It’s the game we’re in, Sir.”

  Paget nodded.

  “Well, we’ve now held them up for some while, at great cost to them, but Soult’s right up to us, with his full army.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Come full dark we’ll be away. Make sure your men are ready; it’ll be a forced march through the night. Johnny’s only been held up for a short while, he’s plenty more to replace these.”

  He waved his hand at the charnel house of the bridge, then walked away and both Lacey and O’Hare punctiliously saluted as Paget walked to the 95th.

  Other salutes were being given along the British line. There was still sufficient daylight for each side to see the other and, in particular, the French Commanding Officer, whoever he was, could be seen sitting on his horse, surrounded by his Staff. Some in the 105th were motivated by the fact that they had given the French a very bloody nose, but others, like Deakin, had been appalled at the hopeless and murderous task that he had driven his men forward to attempt. Thus, as the French Commander in the gorgeous uniform studied his opponents, pondering his next move, he was treated through the lens of his telescope to the sight of several two fingered salutes, as had been delivered centuries before by the yeomen ancestors of those in red to the foot soldier ancestors of those in blue.

  ***

  The 105th marched through the night, their guns before and the 95th behind. Troopers of the 15th Hussars bearing lanterns guided them on their way, but all were too weary to attempt any conversation. Dawn saw them pass through the village of Lugo and then three miles further, to the British lines drawn up on the heights beyond, there to collapse with exhaustion, not caring even to cook a meal, but instead to sleep with any shelter, be it a low wall or a leafless tree. Paget passed on the order that they were in reserve of what was now the main army and Lacey spoke his than
ks to the Aide de Camp, then took himself off to his tent, the erection of which had to be completed around his sleeping figure. The followers heard of their arrival and came back to sit with their men and be there when they awoke. This coincided with the Noon meal and Deakin and Nicholls were well content to sit, eat and rest within the bosom of their families, all now with more energy and in better spirits than they had seen them in for some time past. Lugo had contained a depot of provisions that would last about four days for Moore’s whole force and so it was well fed and clothed followers that they awoke to see, smiling and content, at least for now.

  Having eaten, Carr and Drake returned to the main British line at the top of what proved to be a long slope and each surveyed the scene, leaning on a stonewall, before Drake broke the silence.

  “Is this to be the long sought after battle, do you think?”

  Carr studied the British position. It was immensely strong; the right ended at what looked like an unfordable river, the left finished at a collection of rocky outcrops, whilst the front was covered by low stonewalls at the top of a gentle and very exposed slope. He shook his head.

  “That I doubt. This is a good position, but our army is in too much of a shambles, Moore’ll not risk a set piece. He’ll fight off any advanced French units, but fall back before their main army. If they concentrate here, he’ll fall back, he’ll have to.”

  They watched a battery of guns pulled by teams all walking past at leisurely pace, before Carr continued his theme.

  “The army’s all over the damn place. I took coffee with a Captain of the 20th who told me that Fraser’s Division marched off on the wrong road and had got 20 miles before being told to return. They’re not yet back and that’s not untypical. He’ll need more than a day to pull us together. More like three!”

  Most Officers of the 105th came to the hilltop to watch for the arrival of the French. This proved not to be the case, but what did arrive were hundreds, even thousands, of Redcoats from all directions; stragglers, deserters, or those simply lost. During the next night this was the main topic of conversation, between Deakin, Halfway and Nicholls. The latter seemed to have gained the most information.