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

by Martin McDowell

  O’Hare looked at him testily, showing no small measure of his own impatience.

  “I know the subject, Charles, but I can spare you only a little time. Nevertheless, you’d best come in.”

  They both entered and Carravoy closed the door, but O’Hare was already speaking.

  “It was a joint decision! By both the Colonel and myself. We needed a replacement Major and no-one can say that Captain Carr is not worthy of full consideration. Since we landed at Mondego he has barely put a foot wrong and it is for that reason that he got the nod over you.”

  He paused.

  “We know that Carr will do the job! It’s a question of trust, and that’s built by performance, and his has been good enough. Well good enough!”

  O’Hare paused again.

  “I’ve just heard that Captain Carr has noticed that the French have occupied a fort that commands the bay, found out all he could about the guns there, made sure that Headquarters knew, then organised floats and such for the wounded, should we be sunk. Why didn’t you think of that?”

  Carravoy was utterly dumbfounded and had no answer. He knew that he had spent the first of his time aboard defending his space in the tweendecks. Instead he cleared his throat.

  “I am the Captain of the Senior Company, and by the common practice of seniority, the Brevetcy should come to me as the next in line.”

  O’Hare leaned slightly towards him. At that moment he did not much like Carravoy.

  “We decided that Carr would not let us down. With him, what needs doing will get done, from his own initiative, and that is what we need, now, as we speak!”

  He paused again, but, despite the next words being encouraging, he did not smile.

  “However, it is a Brevetcy, it’s temporary. Everything may change when we reach England. It does not lie within the compass of either the Colonel or myself to confirm it. You know that, as well as I do.”

  He turned to pick up a document, which was his real reason for coming down to his cabin.

  “Now, leave it there. We have a battalion, our wounded and our women and children to keep alive on the journey home. It would be the biggest tragedy if they were to starve having come through the retreat and a battle! Would you not agree?”

  O’Hare left the room leaving Carravoy standing there and not caring if he remained in the sparse, even desolate, cabin or not. Carravoy, for his part, felt the blood rising from his collar to his hairline. He was seething with anger, firstly at being compared so unfavourably to Carr, with evidence, and secondly, to be spoken to thus by an “Irish come-by-chance” as he viewed him. He did remain for some minutes in O’Hare’s cabin, before recovering himself to leave and then shout at Binns, that their clothes and equipment were still in disordered piles on the deck of their allocated place.

  At that moment, in nothing like a cabin of their own, but in the hold directly above the stinking bilges, Nelly was examining Bridie’s foot in the hopeless light of a candle lantern, but even in so worthless a light she could see that the first section of the centre toe on Bridie’s left foot was black, with an open sore at the very end. Nellie did not look at her friend, she was too worried.

  “Bridie, that’s mortifying! You should see the Surgeon, so you should.”

  “And how much time do you think he can spare me? Sure is he not the busiest man on the ship right now? Perhaps tomorrow, when we’re out at sea. I’ll ask for a moment of his time then.”

  Nelly knew that it was useless to argue. Bridie had made up her mind, both about what would happen to the toe and about the timing of her visit to the Surgeon. Nelly responded in the best way that she could.

  “Well, at least we can put a clean sock on that foot, now!”

  With that she pulled a clean pair of stockings from her own bag and carefully put them on, noticing, but pretending to ignore, the pain on Bridie’s face. With the stocking in place, she looked concernedly at her good friend’s face, but it was Bridie who spoke.

  “Sure, ’twas just a bit of frostbite. I’ve had worse. We’ll just have to see.”

  At that moment the thoughts of both were distracted by shouts and yells, seemingly from above and from the side, then both could feel movement in the hull. This time Nelly spoke.

  “Looks like we’re on our way. Now, would it not be nice to go up above and take a last look? I’m sure the children would find that a desirable thing.”

  Bridie nodded, then scrambled to her feet, wincing slightly as her weight went onto her left foot, then she turned to the brood sitting patiently in their portion of the hold, sat beside Beatrice Prudoe.

  “Come on up, you lot! We’ll go and take a last look at this place. Perhaps not of Spain, but surely of this Corunna boghole!”

  Beatrice grinned at the blunt language as the children eagerly gained their own feet and it was Nelly who led them up a companionway from the hold, then to another ladderway to take them from the tweendeck to the weather deck, but only Nelly emerged into the daylight. She was confronted by an Officer she had little experience of, but he was giving her a strict order.

  “Back! Go back down.”

  Then he asked a question, which caused her to pause on her return journey.

  “Have you been given anything that floats?”

  He paused.

  “Just in case.”

  Nelly nodded.

  “Yes, your Honour.”

  “Then keep it handy, or better still, get it fastened to you.”

  He saw the crowd just behind.

  “That applies to you all!”

  He saw her anxiety and smiled and nodded.

  “Just in case.”

  Carr watched Nelly turn again on the companionway; he heard the protests of the children, then he lost interest. A strong and very convenient Southwesterly breeze was easing them perfectly away from the quayside, as it had done for several ships before them, all now almost out into the anchorage of the harbour. Carr took himself to the bows, drew out his telescope and focused on the object of his fears. The angle was too shallow for him to see through the main embrasures of the fort, which was what he particularly wanted to do, but he was distracted by the roar of gunfire from beyond the houses around the harbour. From the walls, he concluded, meaning that the locals had begun the defence of their town, or, more likely, the French had begun their attack. His attention was further drawn away by the sight of many of the local women, stood on the rocks where the town wall met the sea, stood there to wave farewell. Many men of the 105th were along the ship’s side and giving an answer, waving their battered shakoes in slow circles. Carr himself was moved to go to the side and wave his own bicorne. Was it really a genuine goodbye and thanks for their efforts? He liked to think so, then came the answer to his uppermost question; an immediate volley from the fort. He immediately looked forward beyond the bows and, even from what he could see with the naked eye, he felt justified in giving a long sigh of relief. There was no smoke from the embrasures, only from the field guns positioned above. However, the French guns were well served by their crews and soon sent another volley quickly across the bay. Carr was joined by O’Hare. Force of habit added the first word, which Carravoy often omitted.

  “Sir, where’s the Colonel?”

  “On the Teignway! What do you make of this?”

  “Not much, Sir. They’re only firing field guns. We should get through and away.”

  O’Hare was looking forward.

  “Don’t speak too soon! What’s that all about?”

  Carr looked himself and saw the leading four vessels going through a drastic change of course. Instead of standing on Northeast for the harbour entrance, they turned Northwest to sail directly away from the fort. Both men watched, but O’Hare voiced the thoughts of both.

  “I hope they know what they’re doing!”

  The anxiety in both grew, it not being eased by Carr’s thinking aloud.

  “Perhaps this is their first time under fire. If not, then surely they would know that their
ship could take a few knocks from a six pounder, even a French nine!”

  O’Hare was still looking. The four were still holding to a course West of North, then they finally made their alteration to resume Northeast. This lasted but minutes, before, one by one, each came to an abrupt stop.

  “It would seem not.”

  They had run aground. Carr was incensed.

  “The French must be laughing themselves silly! For a bit of popping off with their field-guns they’ve sent four ships into the shallows!”

  Their own ship, the Dauncy, was altering course towards the stricken vessels, with their consort, the Teignway, following astern. The crews of both were in frantic activity, altering the set of the sails for the new course. The French were, unsurprisingly, serving their guns for all they were worth and Carr heard a loud thump from the hull of their own vessel. He ran to the side, but could see nothing, but then another hit just down to the left of him and there was a splash in the sea. The ball had bounced off! Of whatever calibre, at that range it did not have the power to penetrate the thick timbers, but, impervious to the cannonballs as she may be, the Dauncy was sailing to where four ships had already run aground. However, their Captain was taking no chances, for one hundred yards from the closest stranded vessel, the sails were cast loose and the anchor dropped. The Dauncy immediately swung on her anchor into the wind, to face back to Corunna, however, unused as they may be to being under fire, these sailors did know their business. Longboats were being launched from all ships involved and, sheltered from the French cannonfire by their main vessels, they were taking out towing cables. Some cables led back to vessels still afloat; others remained with the longboats, which would attempt to tow off the stricken vessels from the rocks using oar power alone. After an admirably short time, there was a towing cable from the stern of the nearest transport aground to the sterns of both the Dauncy and the Teignway, and the transports’ own longboats were out, poised and positioned.

  Orders rang out, utterly unintelligible to the soldiers, but the sails fell again from their yardarms and were sheeted home to draw the strong wind. The anchor was rapidly regained, mostly using the muscle power of some men of the 105th and the Dauncy turned in the wind, then moved ahead to take up the slack. Carr looked over at the vessel they were attempting to pull off to see the stern crowded with red coats; the soldiers were using their weight to lower the stern and lift the bows. Two shots sailed between the rigging, parting one rope, to then land in the water beyond, bounce across the surface and sink. No other harm was done and the parted shroud was quickly re-joined. The slack of the towrope was used up and rose out of the water with a hiss, for the water contained within its strands to then be squeezed out in fountains as the thick cable tightened. The Dauncy stopped with a judder and did not move, and the wind, now trapped in the sails which did not yield into a forward motion, began to sound alarmingly louder in the rigging, but worse, the sails began to shiver and strain. On the quarterdeck telescopes were ranging all around, not so much to look at the ship they were attempting to tow, as to look at reference points on the shore to indicate if they were moving, or not. The Dauncy was held for an age, whilst more cannonshot hit her sides, then, at first imperceptibly, she began to move and they all saw the angles change between themselves and the ship in their charge. Ingloriously and ignominiously stern first, they towed their rescuee to open water. The tow rope was cast off and gathered in, but by then it could be seen that they alone had been successful. The other three were stuck fast, on a dropping tide. There was now but one recourse and that was to take off the crews and soldiers and transfer them to other ships. All to be done under fire from the shore.

  Carr drew O’Hare’s attention to a whole cloud of signal flags that had broken out from the yardarms of the largest vessel in the fleet back in the harbour, she being yet to leave the quayside to reach the anchorage. Then they heard words that they both understood from voyages past.

  “Start all sheets and furl! Drop anchor.”

  The Dauncy was once again being brought to a halt, obeying the order sent by her Commodore. Another ball hit her side and another hummed through the rigging, its sound the only sign of its passing until it skipped across the surface, just missing a longboat. Within minutes there was a flotilla of longboats either heading for, or arriving at, the stranded three vessels and, but minutes later, boats full of soldiers, their followers and sailors were being sculled over the intervening water to pull up beside any convenient transport. D’Villiers and Carravoy were looking over the side, the latter still in a foul temper, made worse by the continued sound of French gunnery and cannonshot either hitting the side or splashing across to sink amongst the hurrying longboats; gunnery that was beyond their power to answer. Whilst Carravoy could scarcely speak on any subject other than himself being passed over for Carr, the good D’Villiers could, at least, discern some merit in the scene before him as yet another six pound ball sang past, just off the stern where they were.

  “I’d say the way they’re evacuating those ships is about the only admirable thing within this whole affair.”

  Inane as it was, it was well meant and plainly held some truth, for rescue boats were arriving and departing at the three vessels, with admirable speed, but Carravoy was in no mood to dispense praise upon anyone, well merited or otherwise. He pushed himself away from the rail.

  “I’m going below. Why should I watch any more of this farce, and risk losing my head to a half-spent cannonball?”

  He left and, having absorbed Carravoy’s last words, D’Villiers took himself below decks also.

  Not so the 105th Light Company, now with Drake in command as Senior Lieutenant. They were required to be on hand to help onboard their share of the evacuees and these could now be identified as three longboats that had remained heading directly for them whilst others had steered elsewhere. As their tillers finally came hard over to bring them alongside, they could see that one contained mostly soldiers, but contained therein were also some followers, whilst the remaining two carried only men in uniform. Cargo nets were thrown over and the occupants of the longboats began their climb. Miles positioned himself above the one containing followers, in that place being able to justifiably lay his hands on female flesh was too great a temptation, but first came the soldiers, most with nothing but a haversack, all else had to be left behind. The first soldiers ascended and Miles took himself over the side to position himself at the top of the net, the better to ‘help out’ as he termed it to himself, but as he and others climbed out over the rail, their bright green facings, albeit dirty and faded, were plainly to be seen by those below and the first comment came up.

  “It’s the “rag and bone” boys! We’re back with the “rag and bones”!”

  Miles was immediately incensed.

  “That’s right! So you’d better come up on the cart, but scrap iron first, ’cos it’s worth more than all you lot of pauper waifs and strays put together!”

  He drew breath for a good shout.

  “’An if you don’t fancy a voyage in our company, then you can bloody well paddle yer ownselves home!”

  Drake had heard all.

  “Miles! That’s enough. Get these aboard. There’ll be a second helping and no-one has time to waste on such as that.”

  By now the first were coming over the rail, the very first helped by Davey and Pike. They recognised the facings of these through the dirt, a light buff, almost yellow, but their number was plain on the badge of their crossbelts. Davey, as was his nature, managed a far more warm and considerate greeting.

  “20th! All right boys. Come aboard. Come on up!”

  The affinity between the 105th and the 20th was sound and genuine and so, with obligatory and routine insults finally dispensed with, once on deck, canteens of brandy were passed around and men already exhausted from marching and battle were helped up the steep climb of the cargo net. Miles went down into the longboat to help the followers, but even he was moved by the fear and exhaustion h
e saw on their faces.

  “Come on, girls! Yer safe now! Let’s get you all up into the warm and dry.”

  He helped many over the longboat gunwale and onto the net, but several had to be hauled upwards by Lights positioned at various levels, being pulled up by the army crossbelts that most of the women wore. Immediately that the boats were empty, they left to obtain more from the three grounded vessels, but they soon returned with a complete mixture, 52nd, 56th, and 14th. Also some wounded, but none that were amputees, at least so far. There were fewer followers in these last and so all were soon embarked and sent down to find a space in the already overcrowded decks. The Dauncy’s two longboats were recovered, by this time in peace and quiet, for the French had finally realised that their cannonfire was doing no damage, merely wasting shot and powder. They were content with the damage that had already been done, three British transports gone aground and lost. This was confirmed when they were fired, their burning hulls adding a second sunset to the horizon, as the British fleet, three vessels fewer, finally made a heading Northwards and the coast of Spain slipped away.

  ***

  Another waterfall came over the edge of the companionway, cascading onto the steps, which further enabled it to spread further the soaking it administered, the remainder finally joining the noisome mixture of stale water and vomit that swilled around the sodden planking of their deck. The deck was a dark, foul smelling dungeon of moaning, slumping figures, most stood erect, for lying on the flooded deck meant an immediate soaking in the chilling, noisome water. The one aspect to the good was that the deck was warm; stuffy and noisome, but warm. The Light Company, customarily close to the Third were in the bows of the hold, one level above the bilges and one below the tweendeck, which was one below the weather deck, but still the sea found its way down. Surprisingly, there were few complaints, but at frequent intervals came curses as people found soaked what they had hoped to be dry, both clothing and food. However, the sounds most discomfiting came down through the deck above, from the surgeon’s sickbay, him still at work at his table, if not now so frequently.