by Griff Hosker
The whole of the hillside was wreathed in smoke as volley after volley rang out. This time the resolute grenadiers were giving as good as they got and were aided by the slope. I heard a French voice ordering the charge.
“Colonel Anstruther, they are about to charge.”
“Are they by God! Fix bayonets!”
I drew my pistol and my sword. Turning to Sharp, I said, “Ask Captain Moreno to bring his men up to the cemetery wall. They can add their fire to ours.”
“Sir, you watch out for yourself now!”
“You sound like my mother, Sharp!”
Suddenly a huge grenadier launched himself from the smoke. I barely had time to pull the trigger on the pistol. The bayonet scored a line across my cheek as my ball, fired from no more than a foot took his head off. His body fell back and I slashed at his companion who was taken off balance by the dying body. My blade ripped across his nose and into his skull. As he put his hands to his face I stabbed him in the stomach.
The 9th were being forced back into the narrow village. The grenadiers were bigger and stronger men and they had the advantage of numbers.
I heard Anstruther, “Hold them 9th! Hold them!”
I watched as men fought with bayonets and knives for they had no time to reload. Suddenly I heard a ripple of pistols and muskets. I turned and saw the Portuguese horsemen above the wall with Sharp and Moreno exhorting them to reload and fire. The extra firepower finally broke the grenadiers who began to slowly fall back.
“Push them back!” An officer stabbed at me with his sword. It was shorter than mine and I deflected it easily. I gave a riposte and then my blade flashed forward. It pierced his shoulder and he fell to the floor. I stepped over him and brought my blade in a wide arc to clear a space before me. A bayonet suddenly lunged at my middle and I grabbed the barrel and thrust it aside. I punched the grenadier hard in the face with the hilt of my sword and he collapsed in a heap at my feet. And then there was no-one before me. Before I could celebrate Lieutenant Smith found me. “Sir Arthur asks you to order the 20th to pursue the French.”
I nodded and turned. It was like walking through a charnel house. There were bodies in blue and red littering the narrow streets. Sir Harry Burrard was talking with Major DeVere.
“Major DeVere, General Wellesley asks you to take your squadron and harass the French.”
He nodded and said, “Now you will see real soldiers at work.“ I was not certain if the comment was aimed at me or General Burrard. He raised his sword as though he was a knight in shining armour. “20th follow me. We ride to glory!”
The squadron was on the side of the village without obstructions and the two hundred and forty men thundered down the slope in straight lines. The grenadiers were no fools and they formed a square. Unfortunately for the brave men they had not reloaded and the horses ploughed through the square. It broke and the 20th hurtled down the hill sabring all before them.
By the time I reached Sir Arthur they had almost completely destroyed the grenadier column and I expected them to sound the recall and return up the hill. To my horror DeVere turned and began to charge the infantry who had earlier charged. They had reformed and also reloaded. Even worse there was a regiment of Dragoons close by and they were charging their flank.
“Captain Moreno, have your bugler sound recall!”
The strident notes echoed across the hills but it was too late. The French were inside the cavalry. With blown horses and outnumbered they stood no chance. The bugle had gone silent. Sir Arthur shouted, “Keep sounding the recall, damn it!”
“Keep sounding the recall!”
The bugler carried on and, thankfully, I saw knots of horsemen disengage from the disaster and make their way up the slope. I could see the bodies of the horses and troopers of the 20th littering the field.
“Fane, give the fools covering fire!”
The rifles discouraged the Dragoons and the one hundred and twenty survivors, led by Sergeant Smith rode into the village. Sir Arthur was incandescent with rage. “What a waste! It is not as though we have hundreds of horsemen to waste.” He shook his head, “I should have sent you and the Portuguese, Major Matthews. You might have been tired but at least you know how to obey orders.”
One of Fane’s ensigns came up to the general. “Sir, there are about three thousand French and they are attacking the eastern ridge.”
Sir Arthur turned to me, “Tell General Hill he is in command here until I return. Then follow me, we will see how General Nightingale fares.”
Sir Harry Burrard did not look happy about being ignored but I obeyed orders. I had found that it was the best way to stay out of trouble. General Hill’s men had not seen much action hitherto. “How is it going, Matthews?”
“We have repulsed their attacks General. Sir Arthur is going to the eastern ridge for they are trying to flank us. Sir Arthur wishes you to command until his return.”
‘Daddy’ Hill, as his men affectionately referred to him, took off his head and rubbed the sweat away. “Just stay put eh?”
“Yes General,” I lowered my voice. “General Burrard is in the village.”
“Ah. Thank you for the information. I will try to keep out of his way.”
The other ridge was but a mile from the village and I soon caught the general. He did not acknowledge my presence as he hurried to the lower end of the ridge. We reached the centre of the ridge just as the attackers were driven off, leaving three guns there to be captured.
“Well done, Nightingale, well done.”
In answer the general pointed to the north eastern end of the ridge. “If you look there my lord you will see that General Ferguson is about to be flanked. Should we turn the line?”
He shook his head, “Major Matthews, ride to Crauford and Trant. Have them bring their fellows up and attack the column in the flank.”
“Sir.” I could see the reserve force not far from Ribamar, just half a mile away. Caitlin Crauford had the 91st and the 45th. Both were, as yet, untried but so far none of the regiments had let us down.
It was less than half a mile and we soon reached the Portuguese and Light Brigade. I saluted both Colonels. “Sir Arthur’s compliments, Colonel Trant and General Crauford; he asked if you would be so good as to bring your brigades to support General Ferguson. His brigade is being attacked in the flank.
“About time too. “Come boys. Let’s get into this war.”
Colonel Trant barked out his orders and the Cacadores sprinted forward in pairs. So far, from what I had seen, the Cacadores were the equal, in this terrain, of any British Light infantry. As we approached I saw that the French had recaptured two of their guns and were deploying three more which they had brought. I turned to Nicholas. “I am going with some of your Cacadores. We will see if we can stop them bringing those guns into action.”
He nodded and waved his sabre. The Portuguese who had heard cheered.
I turned to Sharp, “Ride and tell the general that we are going to attack this column and stop the guns being fired.”
As I neared the Cacadores who were running up the valley I shouted, “Follow me! We will attack the guns!”
I drew my sword and slowed my horse so that we were going at the same pace. I found out later, when he was captured, that the general leading this assault was Brennier. He must have thought that victory was almost within his grasp as the 71st and 82nd were pushed back. He did not see the approach of the two hundred Cacadores. Perhaps my blue uniform also fooled him.
We halted at a hundred yards and the Cacadores began to pick off the gunners. They were devastating and the gunners fell. I yelled, “On! On!”
I saw the Chasseurs charging towards us and I wanted to reach the safety of the guns before they did so. I arrived first and I leapt from my horse and, standing behind it aimed my pistol at the leading Chasseur. He raised his sword to split open the head of a Cacadore. My ball struck him in the shoulder and he tumbled from his horse. The Cacadore rolled underneath a four pounder and b
egan to reload his musket. Out of the corner of my eye I was aware of the rest of the British and Portuguese Brigades as they double timed to reach us.
I drew another pistol and fired at the next Chasseur. The rider ducked and missed. I pulled my last pistol and snap fired as he swung his sword at me. My ball caught him in the chest and threw him to the ground. General Brennier had sent light infantry to recapture the guns. There was a ripple of musket fired and my mount slumped dead at my feet. I lay down behind her and began to reload.
The French light were finding it hard to hit my Cacadores with volleys and the Portuguese were picking them off with impunity. The French infantry had turned to face this new threat and were forming a line three deep just a hundred yards away. This would get bloody soon.
I heard Crauford’s voice behind me, “Prepare muskets! Fire!” The orders were repeated by the sergeants and a cloud of smoke enveloped me as a thousand muskets were discharged. Then Trant repeated the order in Portuguese and a thousand more muskets spoke. It was impossible to see anything and I just lay behind my dead horse.
After another four volleys I heard the command, “Cease Fire!”
As I stood I looked down and saw that a musket ball had scored a line along my boot. I had been lucky. I walked forward towards the body littered field. As the mist of war cleared I saw the dead, dying and wounded Frenchmen. There was a huddle of officers near to a dead horse and a wounded man. As I approached I saw that it was a general.
“Sir, you have lost. Your sword if you please and we will get you medical attention.”
They looked in surprise at the perfect French. I recognised the general. I had seen him in Italy when he commanded a brigade. He would not recognise me.
He handed me his sword, “I am General Antoine-François Brennier de Montmorand. I surrender my sword.” He smiled at me. “You are a reckless fellow. Are you Portuguese?”
“No sir, Major Matthews of the 11th Light Dragoons.”
Sergeant Sharp galloped up. “The general is well happy, sir. I still think you take too many risks.” I turned to the Cacadores. “Make a litter and take the general to the village. You six, escort the prisoners.”
We had fought two battles within a week and won both of them. On that day, the 21st of August all the signs were hopeful that we would have a rapid victory and drive the French back over the Pyrenees. We were wrong.
Chapter 13
By the time I reached the village there was a furious row going on between the generals. Sir Arthur had returned from the eastern ridge and was having a fierce debate with Sir Harry. “But general, the road to Lisbon is open. We can drive the French south and free all of Portugal.”
“You have done well, Sir Arthur, but Sir Hew Dalrymple is landing tomorrow and we will await the arrival of Sir John Moore. When he arrives we will have thirty thousand men. Then we can advance.”
They both seemed to notice me. Sir Harry seemed pleased with the distraction. “Yes Major Matthews?”
“Sir, we have captured some generals. One or two have been wounded. I thought you should know.” I added lamely.
“You see, Wellesley. A great victory, now don’t go and spoil it.”
I saw Sir Arthur gritting his teeth. He rolled his eyes at me, “Major Matthews, take some of the Light Dragoons and see to their fellows. You know what the locals are like with bodies on the battlefield.”
“Yes sir.”
He was getting rid of me so that he could have a frank discussion. “And Matthews, well done for today.”
I mounted the horse I had found wandering the field. It was a French Chasseur’s. I led Sergeant Sharp to the horse lines. “Sergeant Smith, bring a troop of your men and see if you can find a cart. We need to recover your dead.”
He mounted his men and we rode down to the scene of the reckless charge in a sombre silence. The foolish Major DeVere had gone well beyond the Toledo Brook. It had disrupted their lines and made them an easy target for the Dragoons. I could see the distress on the faces of the troopers as we collected the remains. The horses and their dead comrades had suffered horrific wounds. The musket balls had torn huge holes in the sides of the animals. As we had approached the carrion had flown off to wait in nearby trees for our departure.
I found my old adversary dead amongst some of his officers and his bugler. He had been cut about so much that it was hard to recognise his body. He had died bravely but I could never forgive him for the dead troopers whose lives he had wasted. The 20th had sound troopers in its ranks. They had deserved to be better led.
Sergeant Smith and his men had found a cart. He shook his head, “It won’t be big enough sir.”
I nodded, “We will bury them here. Collect any personal items and we will send them to their families.”
“We have no spades sir.”
Sergeant Sharp said, “I’ll get some sir and I’ll bring the rest of the squadron. They should be here for this.”
It took the rest of the afternoon to identify the bodies and dig each grave. There was just one lieutenant and a cornet who had survived from the officers. They both looked to be in a state of shock. Only Sergeant Smith and two corporals remained from the non-commissioned officers. Sir Arthur would have to rebuild this squadron.
When they were in the ground we made crude crosses from the muskets of the dead Frenchmen and the broken guidons. The survivors stood in a reverential circle.
As I began to speak I was aware that I was speaking for the troopers rather than the fool who had led them to their death. I forced myself to remember that.
“These men died well and they died bravely. We have won a great victory today over the French and this is due in no small part to the courage of these troopers.” I saw Sergeant Smith give me a grateful nod. “We will remember them and talk of their courage. We are soldiers and it is our lot in life to die. We can, at least, die well. These men died well. Lord take their souls and welcome them. Amen.”
“Amen.”
Each trooper had his carbine and they all fired at the same time. The carrion, which had returned to the dead horses, scattered into the sky when the cracks sounded. Sergeant Sharp looked at them, roosting in the trees. “Sir, we can’t leave the horses…”
“I know. Have the men gather some wood and we will burn them.” I nodded up the hill to the village. “Some of the lads up there will make a feast of the dead horses otherwise.”
It was a sad fact of life that the misery of the horsemen over dead horses was not shared by the infantry. They saw it as good food going to waste. We burned them and the air was filled with the smell of burning horseflesh, drifting across the battlefield. The troopers watched until all trace of their dead horses was gone and we made our way back up the hill.
I reached my tent on the beach after dark. Sir Arthur had not bothered using the village and he was in his tent. He shook his head as I entered. “What a waste! We are on the verge of victory and our two glorious leaders want peace.”
“Sir Hew has landed?”
He nodded. “And you have your orders too. You are to find Junot and ask for his surrender.” My mouth must have opened and closed for he shook his head again. “I know it is madness. I suspect the marshal will think it is a trap. You leave in the morning with a list of the prisoners we have.”
“Sir, when that is done have I your permission to go to Lisbon and find Donna Maria?” He hesitated, “Sir John Moore has yet to arrive …”
He smiled, “Very well. You have earned it. I confess I will be sorry when you join Sir John. You have been invaluable to me; not least because you have such good language skills. More than that, however, you can keep your head and that is a rare thing in a cavalry officer as we discovered today.”
“I served with DeVere.”
“I guessed as much and…”
“I did not like him.”
Sir Arthur did not seem surprised. “We cannot like all our brother officers but from his leadership I am not surprised. Do not feel guilty about it.
”
“I don’t but I wanted you to have an honest opinion.”
“And that is the other thing I like about you; your honesty. You had better speak to the prisoners about where to find Junot although I do not think he will have gone far.”
I sought Brennier. He was with the surgeon. As I walked in he looked at my face which still had the scar from the bayonet. “This will not do Major Matthews. That will become infected.” He had one of his assistants clean it up and then he wiped it with neat alcohol. “Do this each day until it heals over.”
“The French General?”
“He is in the tent.”
I found him heavily bandaged and speaking to a lieutenant who had also been wounded. “Are they looking after you?”
“Yes Major. Thank you for your hospitality. You are most kind.”
“We are all soldiers. I have been charged with finding your marshal and asking for the surrender of the army.”
He smiled, “That is generous of you. I have seen your army you could capture him with just a battalion of your riflemen.”
I shrugged, “None the less I need to speak with him.”
“He will be at Torres Vedras.”
“Not Lisbon?”
“Have you seen Lisbon?”
“Just once.”
“Then you know it cannot be defended and besides your navy controls the seas. No, the marshal will be at Torres Vedras.” I nodded, “Tell me major, how you learnt to speak such good French?”
“My father was French.”
“Then why do you not fight for France.”
“I have no love for Bonaparte.”
He nodded. “Some men love him and some hate him. It is a pity. You would have made a good soldier of France.”
The next day Sharp and I left for Torres Vedras. Poor Sir Arthur was most unhappy. He now had two masters and he approved of neither.
We found the first of the stragglers almost immediately. There appeared to be little order to the retreat. It seemed to me more like a rout. The soldiers we encountered had no fight left in them. They heard the horses and almost resigned themselves to capture or death. There were hastily covered bodies showing where soldiers had succumbed to their wounds. It was not a pleasant sight.
