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

by Martin McDowell

  “What was it that Roman General said when challenged by another, him saying ‘If you’re a great General, come and fight’?”

  O’Hare knew and gave the answer.

  He replied, “If you’re so great a General, make me fight against my will.”

  Lacey nodded.

  “Moore’d rather not fight. He’d rather file onto the ships and go home. He has to defend the port and this is the ground he has to use. No choice! Wellesley chose Vimeiro very carefully, a luxury that Moore doesn’t have. Soult will be up tomorrow, with an army larger than our own. He has to be knocked back, or at least intimidated enough into leaving us alone. We could not hold off an army larger than ourselves and walk onto ships at the same time. We have to persuade M’sieu to be content that he has kicked us out. Let him call that a victory, and welcome, as long as we’ve fought him so a standstill.”

  Lacey swallowed from his own glass.

  “But no guns!”

  Lacey nodded.

  “He’s counting on the men to hold the ridge. If we fight them off, the job’s done, as I’ve described, but like you, I’d feel better with a couple of batteries either side.”

  This ended the conversation between these two, but at the Light Company the topic had turned to a lighter subject, as Drake asked of Carr.

  “Have you written?”

  Carr released all the breath in his body in a heavy sigh.

  “Ah, well, yes and sort of no!”

  On this particular subject, Drake spoke as the superior.

  “And that means?”

  “Well, it means that I kept up a sort of journal, whenever I could, but I needed some of the pages to keep me warm, they’re good inside your coat you know, to keep out the cold, and perhaps some have got a bit rumpled and one or two got lost.”

  Drake looked exasperated at his Captain, but Carr did his best to be reassuring.

  “But I’ve read what’s left and it doesn’t seem to make any difference! It’s all a bit of a ramble, you see.”

  Drake started laughing, as did Shakeshaft, and soon all three were sharing a thoroughly good hoot. When back in control, Drake looked at Shakeshaft.

  “Anyone waiting for you, back home, Richard?”

  Shakeshaft looked at the ground, slightly embarrassed.

  “No! No, not really. No-one.”

  Drake looked at Carr.

  “Well, we’ll have to put that right.”

  As Carr nodded, both looked at their Junior Lieutenant, and it was Drake who spoke, of how.

  “When we get home, you will be a veteran hero of, now let’s see, a heavy skirmish, two, no three battles, including this one coming, the occupation of a foreign capital and a fighting retreat. If that doesn’t get the girls hanging on your every word, then I’m no judge. We’ll have to order a few up, back in the Dear Old.”

  However, Shakeshaft was not convinced, in fact, he appeared even more embarrassed.

  “Well, I’m afraid things tend to get a little awkward when I’m in female company.”

  Drake came straight back.

  “Stuff! Having come thorough this lot, you’ll have no trouble whatsoever holding your own with a bunch of girls! And besides ……”

  He looked at Carr.

  “…… when it comes to being a bit of a dunce with the ladies, you’re far from the worst in the room!”

  The last word on the dying day came from Captain Joshua Heaviside as he knelt on quiet ground, out before his men, using the last of the light to intone his evening prayer before his Bible, his Cross and the two pictures of his wife and children. He had no need of written words; the words had been composed and re-composed several times throughout the day. He would have preferred silence, but there was none, not that the noise came from behind him, rather from in front, this being the rumble of French guns crossing the wooden bridge thrown across the river Mero at El Burgo and, bourn on the wind, the sound of French marching songs as Soult’s Divisions arrived on the hills opposite.

  ***

  With the dawn of the following day, most of the Officers in Moore’s army were eating their breakfast “on the hoof”, with their servants running back and forth with coffee and rolls. Almost all had taken themselves up to the forward slopes to observe the French and there they were, Soult’s Divisions already in place and more arriving from the crossing at El Burgo, down in the valley behind the French right. It did little to cheer any there, to see that the French hill, with their guns already on the forward slope, utterly dominated their own. There was little conversation, most circumspectly ate their breakfast and watched the French arriving, whilst occasionally looking along the line of their own position. Drake, ever the optimist, spoke favourably.

  “This doesn’t look too bad, you know. I’m told that we’re on something called the Monte Mero, so at least the Spanish recognise it as some kind of height, and that’s a long climb for Johnny and a tough job, with us waiting at the top.”

  He paused.

  “After they’ve walked down the long slope of their own!”

  Then he looked left and pointed, almost excitedly.

  “And isn’t that a pair of guns I see, just over?”

  Carr slowly turned his head to look himself and indeed there were a pair of guns, well back as yet, however, of small calibre, he noted, merely six pounders. However, he saw no cause to dampen Drake’s mood.

  “You’re right! They’re not going to roll over us, not before they’ve had the fight of their lives. Nothing’s changed, they’ll come on in their way and we’ll meet them in ours. If they’re to push us off this hill, it’ll cost, probably more than Soult wants to pay.”

  Carr allowed a silence and then spoke to finish, with no need to state the topic of which he spoke.

  “Perhaps today, in the afternoon. If not, certainly tomorrow.”

  With that he took his leave and walked back to their camp. Drake had noted the usual change in his Captain when in sight of the enemy, his tone was now grimly soldierlike, dour, determined and spoke of his proven capabilities. He and Shakeshaft took one last look and followed, but they were passed by General Moore himself, riding up to take a look in full daylight.

  It seemed to Drake that Moore must have taken a more troubled view of what he saw, for, within the hour he was ordered away from his coffeepot. The order came for Bentinck’s three battalions to form their firing lines and advance forward to the ground that they were to hold. The order included the word “immediate” and so there was little time for farewells back with the followers. Bridie and Nelly embraced Jed and Henry and kissed briefly, while Mary clung to Joe for all she was worth, until the very last; when Joe had to physically detach himself from her fierce embrace. Her face showed an utter wretchedness, which caused him to cudgel something to say from within his own distracted thoughts. He smiled down at her tenderly.

  “Now don’t I always come back. I’m with the best two soldiers in the Regiment, which makes me lucky. I’ve got the luck that brought me you! I’ll be fine.”

  Such tender words brought a profound change in Mary, this was the Joe that she knew, but then he was gone, soon to be lost in the multitude of Redcoats running to take their positions. Lacey stood in the centre, waiting for his line to form and watching Bentinck ride a short course up and down before them. Soon the 105th were ready and also the 42nd on their left and the 4th on their right. Bentinck looked around and, seemingly satisfied, he motioned his brigade forward. Lacey turned to O’Hare and nodded. O’Hare took a deep breath.

  “By the centre, advance!”

  The whole line moved forward, but O’Hare had more to say, which brought a smile to more than one serious face, as they heard the broad Irish accent.

  “Make it smart, now boys. Johnny’ll be watchin’ through his glasses. Let him know who he’s up against! Keep the step, now. Make him think you’re no one he’d want to ask to the dance. Sure, he’ll be sayin’ those boys over there look just too damn sprightly to be partners for any kind
of a jig or reel!”

  Elvina church grew before them, the village was fully in their front. When 300 yards above it, Bentinck called a halt and rode back to Lacey. He commented on what they could all see.

  “He’s up there, Lacey, strongest opposite us, and …..”

  He pointed across the valley.”

  “…..are those guns? A whole battery or more?”

  Lacey brought up his own telescope and a short adjustment of the sections brought the French cannon into focus, such that he could count them and he did so.

  “Ten, Sir.”

  Bentinck nodded.

  “He’s making us the soft spot!”

  Other telescopes were now focused on the French ranks opposite, including that of Captain Lord Charles Carravoy.

  “Guns! Ten in all.”

  He slammed his telescope shut.

  “Johnny got his guns up to this height, why haven’t we? Nonsense about no horses! Any number of men would have dragged our guns up to here last night, volunteered, never mind ordered.”

  He stalked off to no-where in particular, swearing and cursing to no-one in particular, but specifically about one person in particular. Meanwhile Lacey and Bentinck were exchanging opinions. The subject, although unspoken, was obviously their enemy opposite.

  “What’s he about?”

  Lacey found the answer from over on their left, on the French right, from where more French Brigades were marching up from the main road.

  “He’s still building, Sir. I suspect that he suffered as much over the past weeks as us. His units are still coming up, as you can see, and his stragglers are still arriving. I’d say not today, Sir.”

  Bentinck gave Lacey a serious look, then studied events opposite, through his own glass, which he trained both right and left and back again, Finally he closed it and turned to Lacey.

  “Elvina, down there. I don’t propose to give it as a present. So, two Light Companies in there, now, to fortify the place. Yours and the 4th. You’d agree?”

  “Agreed, Sir.”

  Lacey turned to O’Hare.

  “You’ll see to it?”

  Bentinck pulled his horse around viciously and cantered away. The “Headmaster” had returned. Left alone Lacey and O’Hare consulted, each looking down the slope to the village. Lacey spoke first.

  “It could be worse, Padraigh. We’ve the village before us and I like those stone walls, between us and it. It could be worse!”

  However, O’Hare had concerns of his own.

  “To defend here, Sir, yes, but what if we have to retake the place? And above the village puts us bang in the centre!”

  The two exchanged knowing looks, then O’Hare hurried away to soon reach Carr. The direction involved was indicated by a simple inclination of his head.

  “Henry. Get yours down there and fortify the place. You’re on the left, the Lights of the 4th will be on the right. You know the drill, block the roads and alleys leading up, make a strongpoint out of any likely buildings, loophole the walls, make them easy to set on fire, that sort of thing.

  He paused.

  “No tools, I’m afraid. Just do the best you can.”

  Anther pause, for an important afterthought.

  “And don’t forget to establish a quick way out!”

  Carr saluted and signalled for his two Lieutenants as O’Hare ran off and they ran over.

  “We’re to get down there…….”

  He pointed.

  “……. and strengthen it.”

  He walked forward, down the road that led directly to Elvina.

  “Bring your men down, I’m going on to take a look.”

  Carr entered the deserted village, the atmosphere in the innocent dwellings eerie and fearful. In each home, the evocative signs of family life, pathetic and helpless in the face of what was to come, were all around, now discarded and forlorn; a wheelbarrow with a rake at the backdoor, a coat on a hook, boots, now dry, placed toes up on the grate. He passed on, to a building he chose, the lowest building on the left side of the village, a low, block of a dwelling, with walls three feet thick. This would be a strongpoint in the beginning; he could enfilade both left and right from there. Some of Drake’s men joined him and he gave his orders, the first being to block the windows, save a narrow firing slit. He then left, to supervise what was happening elsewhere.

  Now content with the activities of his men, Carr took himself to the very top extremity of the village and had further thoughts. There was a lone and substantial farmhouse as the highest building of all. In that position it was protected by the rest of the village from cannon fire from across the valley and it had a field of fire all round. Impressed, he took himself further up the hill, where he had seen O’Hare. The two exchanged salutes, before Carr pointed back to the building.

  “Sir, that farmhouse nearest us. If held, it would break up any French attack directly up through Elvina and even one on this side of it. I am of the opinion that we should plan to keep it, even though driven out from the rest of the village.”

  O’Hare took a long look. The lowest windows were five feet above the ground, difficult to enter, and the floor above had twice as many windows, but the door he could see was wide, with two panels, not one.

  He nodded.

  “Agreed. But that door is your weak point. Don’t use it as a firing point, just pack in behind it, with whatever’s there.”

  He looked from Carr to the building.

  “What’s on the other side, where they’ll come from?

  “A kind of back porch and windows above.”

  O’Hare nodded and waved him away. Carr saluted and trotted off, to organise yet another working party.

  Davey, Miles, Pike, Saunders, Byford and Len Bailey, found themselves ordered to build a wall to block a main alley that led up between two solid buildings. The only materials they had were from the garden walls behind the two houses and so it became their laborious task to carry the stone, from the back to the front. Davey immediately took charge.

  “We can get it higher if we apply a bit of technique. I’ve done a bit of dry stone walling, even won a prize. So, you bring them up and I’ll do the placing.”

  Miles immediately took umbrage.

  “So now you’m sayin’ that you was some kind of champion wall builder, along with bein’ champion poacher, ratcatcher, ditchdigger and God knows what else?”

  Davey answered the challenge with a direct look.

  “That’s right! Yes! I happens to actually know a thing or two!”

  But Miles had changed the subject, he was looking at the Church at the top of their alley.

  “You reckon there’s any Communion wine in there?”

  At that moment the giant Saunders passed him, carrying an armful of stones.

  “Bollocks Communion wine! Get this wall built. Get some stone down.”

  Miles immediately rose into temper.

  “Alright! Alright! I’m just sayin’, like.”

  However, within 30 minutes even Miles had to acknowledge that the wall was looking like a very useful barrier to anyone approaching on the other side and was building nicely as the five brought the stone and Davey did the placing. One hour more and the six foot width of the alley was thoroughly blocked with a wall five feet high, but now Miles made his argumentative contribution.

  “Nice wall! But one cannonball and the whole lot’s flying back through the alley, into our faces. We need small stones, earth would be better, over on t’other side to suck up the ball, or at least send it up..”

  He looked challengingly at Davey.

  “This time brought by all of us!”

  Davey stared back.

  “All right! All right! Don’t give yourself a seizure. I hear you, and I’m not saying you’m wrong!”

  Leaving Miles to nod in triumph, he led the way back and all began what proved to be the most laborious of the whole task. They began with straw mattresses, but then it became a question of carrying the loose material do
wn to the wall in whatever could be found, from buckets to cooking pots, even blankets, so that slowly a slope before the wall built up. Miles tipped a bucket of painfully gathered soil and rubble over the front and immediately noticed movement further down the slope, then a shape he recognised. He turned to call back Davey, who was carrying his empty bucket back up the hill for another gathering.

  “John!”

  Davey ran back as Miles pointed.

  “One of they tassel swingers is down there. Two fifty yards I’d say, nosin’ about.”

  Davey looked, then saw for himself the French Voltiguer rise from a dip in the slope, to then take a careful look at what the British were doing up in the village. Davey had seen enough and ran into the building to return with his rifle. He carefully loaded it, wrapping the ball in the piece of thin leather used for extra accuracy. He checked the flint, set the sights and raised it over the wall. Miles looked at him quizzically.

  “What’s the point John? That’s well over two hundred yards. Gettin’ on for three!”

  Davey sighted along the barrel.

  “I’m not arguin’, but I’m going to show that noseyparker that he’s come as close as is worth it, if he wants to keep his head on his shoulders.”

  Davey sucked in a breath and held it, to take his final sight. Miles looked at him, then over the wall. The Voltiguer was stood at almost his full height, barely bothering to crouch. Then Davey fired, the wind blowing the smoke off sideways, so that Miles could see the soldier instinctively duck, then drop to his knees. The ball must have passed so close that he heard the buzz of it, alarmingly close. He stood, lifted his musket in acknowledgment of the fact that he had crossed “the line”, then retired backwards across the valley between the two armies. Davey nodded and waved his shako in return, well satisfied. He began to reload, but within a minute Drake arrived, anxious and not a little annoyed.

  “Who fired? Why?”

  Davey came to the attention.

  “I did Sir. There was a Frencher, one of them that has the tassel, creepin’ up to see what we’re about, Sir. I thought he needed discouragin’, Sir.”

  Drake looked at Miles, then over the wall.