1808: The Road to Corunna

by Griff Hosker

  We had almost made it back to our starting point when I voice shouted, “Halt.”

  I mimed for Sharp to drop his overalls and squat.

  The question was repeated.

  As the question had been asked in French I answered in French, “We are cavalry! My companion has the shits!”

  Two infantrymen emerged from the direction of the camp. They had bayonets on their muskets and they were pointed at us. “What are you doing out of camp?”

  “Jean here has a taste for mushrooms and we were about to look for some when he needed to crap. I blame the cook.”

  They both laughed at that. Then one of them said, suspiciously, “Where are your mushrooms?”

  “I told you we didn’t have time yet to find any.”

  Sharp moaned and then began to pull up his overalls.

  “Where are your shakos? What regiment are you?”

  I could see that they were not taken in. I knew it was not my accent. They must have noticed that our uniforms did not look like theirs. They had, however made the mistake of closing with us. Their muskets were barely three feet from us and close enough for me to see that they had not cocked their weapons. That made sense. Sentries rarely walked around with a cocked musket; if you tripped and fired it would bring down the wrath of the duty sergeant upon you. I gave the slightest of movements with my head.

  I half bent over and groaned. It allowed me to reach the stiletto in my boot. “What’s the matter?”

  “Now I have the shits!”

  Sharp played his part and moved towards me his left hand held out as though to aid me. The two sentries were still suspicious and came closer. I grabbed the musket with my left hand and pulled the sentry to me. I ripped my stiletto across his throat and he died silently. Even as his companion watched, Sharp had taken his own knife and plunged it into the heart of the other.

  “Grab their bodies and we’ll dump them. Hopefully they will think the locals have done it.” I slung the body over my shoulder and we trudged down the hill. When we reached the horses I emptied the pockets of the soldier to make it look like theft and took his musket. Once mounted, we headed back to our camp.

  “Who goes there?”

  “Major Matthews.”

  We dismounted and led our horses into the camp. I dropped the musket down on the floor. Captain Goodwin walked over. “Is that French?”

  I nodded and took the piece of bread Sergeant Smith proffered. “A couple of sentries disturbed us.”

  “We heard no shots.”

  I pulled out my stiletto. “I used this.”

  Goodwin looked shocked, “It is a dagger!”

  I laughed, “And it is quiet. An Italian bandit once tried to use it to emasculate me. He died.” The captain walked off, offended, I think by the crudeness of the weapon.

  Sergeant Smith said, “Could I have a look at that sir?”

  “Of course you can Sergeant.”

  He balanced it in his hand and then drew it down his cheek. He looked at the hairs in his hand, “By Christ sir, but that is sharp.”

  “A blunt weapon is of no use to anyone.” He handed it back and I slipped it inside my boot.

  “That’s very handy. I shall have to get one.”

  I pointed to the musket with the bayonet. “If you take the bayonet then the blacksmith can make it shorter and thinner. It will then fit inside your boot.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He took the bayonet and then nodded to Sharp who had finished feeding and watering the horses. “Sharpie said you weren’t like most officers. He was right.” He cast a dark glance in the direction of his own officers. I noted that. It was not good. My men would never have dreamt of implying such criticism at me.

  The next day, as we headed east, Lieutenant Hart noticed my jacket. “Sir, there is blood on your tunic.”

  I nodded, “It was the sentry I killed.” He had a look of horror and revulsion on his face. “Lieutenant, have you been on active service yet?”

  “Yes, sir, I was in South America two years ago.”

  “And did you see much action.”

  “Action sir?”

  “Yes, fighting. Have you used your carbine or your sabre against someone who was trying to kill you?”

  “No, sir, but I know what to do.”

  I pulled out my sword. “I took this from the dead hands of a man who had been trying to kill me almost fifteen years ago. Let me tell you that there is a difference between knowing what to do and actually doing it. When you have fought your first Frenchman come and talk to me about it.”

  Chapter 9

  We arrived back at the beach two days later. We had seen no other French troops. To my relief most of the troops and supplies appeared to be ashore. “Captain, see to the men and make sure they rub down the horses. They need looking after in this country.”

  I received a peremptory, “Sir” and a look of disbelief. I do not think the young captain liked me. He did not need to. He just had to follow orders.

  Colonel Lake accosted me before I could report to the general, “Well, Major, did you find the French?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Well, where are they then?”

  “With respect sir my orders were to report to Sir Arthur. You may ask him once I have reported.”

  “For God’s sake, Matthews, we are all on the same side!”

  “Yes sir.”

  I strode past him and approached the sentry. The marines had returned to the sloop and been replaced by the Northumberland Foot. “Tell Sir Arthur that Major Matthews has returned.”

  “Sir!”

  His accent reminded me of Geordie my seafaring friend from Newcastle upon Tyne and I smiled. I heard Sir Arthur say, “Come in, Matthews!” He was poised over the map and asked, eagerly, “Well?”

  “We found their main camp at Torres Vedras. We swept to the east and saw nothing.”

  “Any sign of their scouts?”

  “No, sir but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out there.” He gave me a quizzical look. “The troops you have here sir, well the cavalry we rode with at least, are not experienced in this type of warfare. They will take time to gain the skills. Sharp and I have the experience necessary but not the 20th. Not yet anyway.”

  He nodded, “And your 11th are with Sir John Moore on their way to Lisbon.”

  The news pleased me, “They have left England?”

  “Yes which means we have to get to Lisbon and secure the port so that the rest of the troops can land.”

  “We will leave tomorrow and head for Leiria. I intend to march down the coast.”

  “The roads might be easier sir.”

  “We only have eighteen guns and two wagon trains. We need support from the fleet until we reach Lisbon.”

  I understood his dilemma. “The men will find the march hot and hard sir.”

  “Perhaps but it will allow them to build up their land legs again.” He seemed to notice my bloody uniform. “Been in action already?”

  “Sharp and I had to kill two sentries.” I saw the look of alarm on his face, “Oh don’t worry sir we made it look like the work of the partisans.”

  He shook his head, “The Spanish are calling them guerrillas. It is an ugly war between them and the French. It may come back to haunt Bonaparte. You had better be off and get yourself cleaned up.”

  “Oh by the way sir, Colonel Lake wanted to know what I had discovered.”

  “You didn’t tell him did you?”

  “Of course not sir but I wanted you to know as he did not look happy.”

  Major I do not give a fig for my officer’s happiness; just so long as they follow my orders.”

  As I headed towards my tent I saw a uniform I didn’t recognise. It was an all blue uniform which looked vaguely French. The officer held out his hand, “I take it you are the infamous Major Matthews. I am Nicholas Trant, Colonel of the Portuguese troops.”

  I shook his hand. “Pleased to meet with you.”

  “Come to my tent and we
’ll have a drink. “

  I could smell the alcohol on his breath. I later discovered he liked a drink. Sir Arthur once said of him, "A very good officer, but a drunken dog as ever lived."

  I was keen to talk to someone who commanded the Portuguese, “Of course so long as you don’t mind someone in a bloody uniform.”

  He put his arm around my shoulder, “Unlike most of these officers it shows you are a soldier who knows how to fight.” In his tent he poured me a healthy goblet of wine. “Cheers!”

  “Cheers!”

  He nodded at the tent walls, “Most of these look down on me. They think a Portuguese Colonel is the lowest of the low.” He smiled at me, “But you are a Portuguese Colonel too, I hear.”

  “Purely honorary and I doubt that I will ever get to used it.”

  “Do not be too certain about that. You speak Portuguese and I have heard that they are appointing Viscount Beresford as a Marshal of Portugal. It might be worth taking up the appointment full time.”

  I shook my head, “I think I will stay with the 11th.”

  “Your loss, still at least I have someone to drink with here.”

  “I think we will be moving soon and heading south.”

  “Good, my lads are itching for a fight. Listen, I understand from his lordship that you have led cavalry in engagements before.”

  “I have.”

  “Sir Arthur seems to think it might be a good idea to brigade your Light Dragoons with my cavalry. There are only two hundred and fifty of them but your knowledge of Portuguese might come in handy.”

  “Quite happy to but I am not certain how Sir Arthur wants them used.”

  He shrugged, “We will all find out soon enough how he works won’t we?”

  We saw the bad tempered side of Sir Arthur the next day as it took a whole day to cover twelve miles. The three hundred cavalry which were under my command were spread out in a thin screen before the army and I did not see his angry outbursts. I heard the reports of them that evening. I knew why he was so anxious. When Sir John Moore arrived he would be subordinate and Sir John was on his way. However, at least Sir John Moore was a soldier like himself. The other two commanders who were on their way, Generals Burrard and Dalrymple, had not fought for over twenty years. Sir Arthur wanted a victory before they arrived.

  That evening I was invited to dine with Sir Arthur. “This is going to take forever, Matthews. I want you to take the cavalry tomorrow and keep pushing ahead of us. I want to know where the French are and we must bring them to battle.”

  “Yes, Sir Arthur.” Something had been playing on my mind. “Sir Arthur, the lady I told you about, Donna Maria d’Alvarez is being held in Lisbon. She is a friend of the Queen of Portugal. I would like permission to take some men and try to rescue her.”

  He peered down his beak like nose, “I can see it is important but you are too valuable to the army. Until we get Paget here with the cavalry I need you as a cavalry commander. Once they arrive with Sir John then you have my permission but until then I want you to be the eyes and ears of my army. If the French twitch I want you to know first. Understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You are a good fellow, Matthews, but you need to get your priorities in perspective.”

  As I led off the three and a half squadrons the next day I reflected that I had never led such a large force before. As Colonel Trant had predicted the Portuguese were impressed with my language skills. In addition the story of my killing of a sentry had been circulated and exaggerated. The Portuguese are always impressed by someone who can handle a knife is held in great esteem and I had their respect. Sadly I did not have the respect of the two officers of the 20th. They viewed me as some sort of assassin. I hoped combat would change their opinion.

  Behind us we had the support of two companies of the 95th Rifles. They were reassuring in their green uniforms with their Baker rifles slung over their shoulders. I was not certain if the carbines of the 20th had ever been fired. The Portuguese did not even own a carbine. Unless we met cavalry we would have to run.

  It was on the second day out to Leiria that we met our first Frenchmen. I was with Captain Luis Moreno of the 6th line regiment when we saw a flash of blue in the woods ahead. The Portuguese knew of my honour from their Regent and the captain said, “Colonel, my men say there are blue uniforms ahead.”

  “Sharp, my compliments to Captain Kincaid of the 95th and tell him there are French ahead and we may need him and his rifles.”

  “Sir!”

  “Captain, have your men form a skirmish line and follow me. Be ready to retreat if I so order it.”

  We trotted forward. I had no telescope with me. That was with my carbine and the rest of the luggage with the squadron but I saw that they were light infantry and they were in the woods. French light infantry were not afraid of cavalry if they were in woods. They knew we were helpless. I hoped that our presence would drive them back but the crack of a flurry of muskets told me that I was wrong. One of the Portuguese troopers clutched his arm. “Captain, order your men to fall back.”

  He did so, albeit reluctantly. Captain Kincaid and his riflemen appeared behind me. I dismounted. There was little point in giving the enemy target practice. “Sharp, hold my horse. They are in the woods, captain. Light infantry.”

  He shielded his eyes from the sun. “About two hundred yards. Let’s see if we can shift them then eh sir?” he turned to his men. “Right lads, use the cover we have here and let’s see how many Frogs we can knock off.”

  The captain took his rifle and used the back of my saddle to rest it. He squeezed off a shot. The horse barely moved. It had been trained well. I saw a blue figure fall to the floor.

  “Good shot, captain.”

  “It’s unfair really. These Bakers are accurate up to three hundred yards and my lads are better than I am.”

  The rifles cracked away irregularly and I saw more and more figures fall. Some of them began to move back.

  “Right, Captain Moreno. Get your men up here. Let’s see how they handle their swords.” When they formed up behind me I said, “Forward.”

  There was a hollow below the woods and we dropped into it. I drew my sword. The rifles were able to continue to fire as we approached the wood. I turned to the bugler. “You stay close and captain when I order recall I want your men to stop. Is that clear?” He nodded. “Good. Sound the charge!”

  The eighty troopers all screamed their own war cry as we hurtled towards the woods. They were spindly woods which would not hinder us and the French were fleeing. The hardest job we had was avoiding the tree roots which threatened to trip unwary horsemen. I did not ride the strange horse too hard. Badger was surefooted in woods; this one I did not know. I saw a musket suddenly appear behind a tree some twenty yards away. He could not miss. I lay flat against the horse’s mane and felt the ball as it creased the crest on my helmet. Unless he has time and is calm a man firing a musket will always shoot slightly high. That knowledge had just saved my life. He tried to spear me with his bayonet but I flicked it aside and plunged my sword into his throat.

  We had come far enough. “Sound recall!”

  The bugler had stayed close to me and the notes rang out. Captain Kincaid appeared next to me. “Well that is unusual.”

  “What is?”

  “Cavalry actually stopping when they are ordered to.”

  I laughed, “I know. Thank God these are Portuguese and scared witless of what I might say if they disobey me!”

  It did wonders for the Portuguese morale. Colonel Trant was delighted when we returned to camp with the news that we had found the French. “They think you are a lucky charm, Major. The first victory and it has fallen to the Portuguese.”

  I didn’t like to spoil his party but it had been the rifles which had driven off the enemy and ten dead Frenchmen hardly made a victory. But there was an exultant mood in the camp that night. Colonel Trant was always ready to celebrate and he involved all of the others. The officers of th
e 20th felt snubbed and they wondered why I had not been with them. I could not wait for Paget to come and take them off my hands.

  We continued to harry the French as they retreated south. Sir Arthur was frustrated for he wished to bring them to battle. When I reported their numbers at the end of the second day of chasing he became even more excited. “There are less than five thousand you say? By God sir, I can have them. Tell me Matthews are there any hills close by?”

  “Yes sir, close to the tiny village of Roliça.” I pointed to the map. “There are four gullies leading up to it. There are plenty of woods in the surrounding hills.” I anticipated his next question. “The woods are too thick for artillery but horses and men can pass easily through them.”

  He smiled and patted my back, “Good fellow! You know my mind.” He thumped the map. “Go and bring in the senior officers. I have my plan!” They were all enjoying a cigar and wine in the cool of the early evening.

  Sir Arthur Wellesley had the quickest mind of any man I have ever met save for Bonaparte. He could gauge the way the land would aid or hinder him and use it accordingly. His one weakness appeared to be when working with troops and officers he did not know. This would prove to be crucial the following day.

  I brought them in and Sir Arthur started without any preamble. “Gentlemen tomorrow we rid ourselves of this little force which is holding us up until Marshal Junot can reach us. There is a hill here,” he jabbed his finger at Roliça, “close to the village. It controls the roads to Lisbon and our French opponent will try to hold it.” Such was the power of the general that no one asked where he had gained his knowledge.