by Griff Hosker
“There are too many lame horses.”
“Is there any chance of a replacement? I need to deliver a message to Astorga.”
“The only way is to get an order from Marshal Soult himself. We have lost too many for them to be given away.” His eyes narrowed, “If this is an important message then the Duke will sanction it.”
“It is not important. It is just a list of casualties. You know how Berthier is.”
“He is a book keeper and not a soldier. You are welcome to wait here close the warm in case one turns up.”
And so I spent the afternoon with the farrier. It was productive. He knew exact numbers of horses and guns. I would be able to flesh out Sharp’s report; if I could ever get back to our own lines. It was getting on towards dark when I heard the sound of hooves coming from the south. It was reinforcements for Soult. The troopers had stiffened white uniforms. The high passes must have been horrific. Even as they stooped two troopers fell from their saddles. Their comrades quickly grabbed them and brought them over to the fire.
The Brigadier began to rub the hands of one of them. “They are frozen! They will die.”
I took out the bottle of brandy and poured a little down the throat of the younger of the two troopers. He was blue with the cold. “Cover him with your blankets!” I had seen enough men on the point of freezing to death and knew what to do. The second trooper was a little older. I poured some brandy down his throat. The first one was a little less blue. I risked another mouthful of brandy. Too much could kill him. Thankfully he coughed. His comrades continued to cover him with blankets although the fire was having a beneficial effect. A second shot of brandy made the life of the other more certain.
Eventually they opened their eyes. The Brigadier shook me by the hand. “I think…”
“Major, Major Colbert…”
“I think, Major Colbert, that you have just saved their lives. My men owe you.” He seemed to notice the saddle. It was still the same one we had taken from the despatch rider. It had the panniers for despatches. “A despatch rider without a horse eh?”
“Have you got one you could loan me?”
He chuckled, “As it happens we have a spare one. Poor Antoine fell from his mount and into a gorge but I cannot simply give it to you.”
“It is army business and I will be returning.”
“But who knows where we shall be or if you will return. The guerrillas do like to ambush despatch riders such as you, major.”
I knew he was getting somewhere and I smiled, “What do you suggest, Brigadier?”
“We do owe you so perhaps the brandy…”
“Done.”
“And that pistol looks to be a fine weapon.”
“You would leave me defenceless?”
He tapped my saddle. “I see you have another one there, Major.”
He was sharp. Luckily my rifle was hidden by my French cape else he might have wanted that. I held out my hand, “A deal,” I leaned in, “and a little tip Brigadier, get to the canteen early tonight. There is horse stew on the menu.”
“Then it is a deal. Come and we will get the horse. He has not been ridden since yesterday, he should be fresh. And thank you for the information about the food. There are ten infantry regiments and twenty guns heading up this road. The food will soon run out!”
The horse was a magnificent one. He was jet black. He helped me to saddle him.
“What is his name?” I put my foot in the stirrup and hauled myself up.
“Killer.” He laughed, “It is our little joke for poor Antoine was the only one who could ride him. All his other riders were thrown. Who knows, he might have thrown Antoine into the gorge. Perhaps you may have better luck.”
He and the troopers laughed at the joke. I did not mind. My first horse had been called Killer and he had saved my life. This was fate and I waved at the Chasseurs. I was forced to head south, away from the army but I was mounted and I was still at liberty. Where there was life there was hope.
Chapter 23
I rode south east acutely aware that I needed another route. There had been a wooden signpost on the road. I saw the broken trunk in the ground. Obviously the post itself had been used for firewood but it told me that there would be a road either on the left or the right. I found a wide cart track and it led to the left. I pulled the reins around. It was now dark and the snow had returned but I had eaten well. I had rested and I had a relatively fresh mount. I would ride all night if necessary.
The road was fairly straight and it took me over a small hill. The direction appeared to be to the north. I would need to turn west but that would be dictated by the appearance of a road. I decided that I risked death if I continue to play the Frenchman and I discarded the shako and donned my helmet once more. After a couple of hours riding I stopped to check the girths. There was a puddle of melting snow which Killer lapped up and I loaded my last pistol.
Once back in the saddle I realised we were slowly descending. Ahead of me I saw the lights of a small village. I wondered how the Spaniards would view me. I decided not to risk an encounter. From the lights I saw that the village was laid out in a cross. That meant roads coming from four points of the compass. I took a chance and I headed across a field to what I hoped would be a road to Lugo. The weather must have been warming slightly for the ground was turning to a slushy brown mess. I wondered if I had miscalculated when I saw a gate. I did not know the horse well enough to risk a jump and so I opened the gate and let myself through. The road did, indeed, head north west. I could see, some way in the distance, the bivouac fires burning. I headed along the track which looked to be the way the people of the village walked into Lugo. That gave me hope for it meant that Lugo would not be too far away.
I must have been travelling longer than I had thought for dawn began to break when I was still some way from my destination. I heard the crack and thunder of cannon. It was a heavy sound and I knew that it must be the French eight pounders. Their attack was under way.
I urged my horse on. I had to find a way into the town without getting shot by both sides! The weather came to my aid. It had become slightly warmer and it began to rain. It was driving sleet. Although not very pleasant to ride through I hoped that I would avoid detection by the French as I was coming through their lines. I halted and loaded my rifle. I would need the firepower as I only had one pistol.
It was now daylight. It was a damp and grey sunless day and I felt chilled to the bone. The track joined a larger road coming from the east. Ahead of me I saw blue uniforms and the smoke from cannon and muskets. I took shelter from both the rain and the eyes of the French in a stand of trees. There was no way that I could break through the lines here. There was heavy skirmishing and the crack of French cannon. Occasionally one of the small horse guns would fire in return but I knew they would do little damage. The British did have the advantage that they could shelter and fire from behind buildings and walls.
The terrain meant that cavalry were useless and if I tried to cross I would stand out like a sore thumb. I was forced to wait for a lull in the fighting. I knew there would be one. Cannon and muskets, especially the French, became clogged and blocked by the poor quality black powder. I waited patiently for them to stop firing. As soon as I saw men relieving themselves down the barrels of their guns I knew that the firing had ceased; at least for a while. I took off my helmet and hid it beneath my cape. I nudged Killer forward. I approached the French lines and the guns slowly.
When I neared the French guns the captain of the first piece said. “Are the cavalry coming to watch now?”
There was no love lost between the French cavalry and the artillery. I decided to use that to my advantage, “I could break through their lines on my own!” I feigned a drunken voice.
The whole gun crew fell about laughing. They all knew about the glory hunting cavalrymen.
I drew my sword. “You do not believe me? I will show you how a cavalryman fights! On Killer! We ride to glory!” I galloped acr
oss the open ground towards the British lines. I had deceived the French who stood and watched in amazement as this lunatic charged the whole of the British army. I quickly sheathed my sword and donned my helmet. I felt ball from the British lines zip past me. I yelled, “British officer coming in! British officer!”
The balls still flew until I heard a voice shout, “Stop firing lads. It’s that mad major!”
The firing ceased and I hurtled through the green jackets. I saw a familiar face, “Rifleman Plunet! Thank God you recognised me.”
“I didn’t really sir but I recognised the uniform and knew that there was only one mad bugger daft enough to do that.”
“Where is headquarters?”
The general is close to the bridge over the river, sir, Black Bob is putting powder under it in case we have to blow it.”
I made my way through congested streets. They were all filled with infantry who were filtering down to the front lines. I saw a despondent looking Sharp slumped outside a building with a Union Flag hanging from the balcony. I knew it must be the headquarters.
“Now then Sergeant Sharp, why are you so miserable?”
Joy lit up his face. “I was worried you had been caught sir.”
“You know me Sharp. Always land on my feet. Watch my horse, he is called Killer.”
Lieutenant Stanhope and the generals were all in what had been the dining room of the house they had commandeered. “Ah Matthews! Well done. You have made it. Your Sergeant Sharp brought us news of the attack and we were well prepared.”
“This is just the advance guard sir. Last night he received reinforcements. He has another cavalry regiment but even worse is the news that he has ten infantry regiments and twenty guns which just arrived in his camp.”
“That is serious news. It means he will launch a major attack tomorrow.”
“That would be my guess sir.”
“Then we disengage tonight. When the firing ceases I want the bivouac fires lit and we will leave quietly.”
General Paget asked, “And when do we blow the bridge sir?”
“We do not General, that would tell them that we had left. We will try to push on to Corunna. The cavalry should be there now and hopefully so will Admiral Hood. Have your rifles cover the retreat. I think that the Light Brigade has done enough. Keep one company of the rifles and General Crauford can take the rest over the mountains to Vigo. I would have them safe and I hope we will not need them again this campaign.”
General Paget and the other generals left. There were just the three of us in the room. “Well Major what can you tell me of the French?”
“They are suffering just as much as we are, sir.”
“Are they indeed? Would it surprise you to know, Major Matthews that we have lost over four thousand men so far and only five hundred of them in combat. It is an appalling waste. I am happy that I sent the artillery and the cavalry away. We shall need them before too long. I would be surprised if the French have lost so many.”
“Many men returned today, uncle, when we turned to face the French.”
“And that is good but it does not excuse their behaviour on the road.” He smiled at me. “You had better get some rest, Major. I wish you to ride to Betzanos. It is only twelve miles from Corunna. We may need to find somewhere to face Soult if we are to embark the rest of the men without loss.”
“Yes sir.”
I was, in truth, exhausted. I was no longer the young French Chasseur. I was almost thirty two. I felt sixty two. I was cheered by Sharp who was keen to know how I come to obtain such a fine horse. “Let us find somewhere to snatch an hour or so of sleep and then I will tell you.”
We were woken, by Lieutenant Stanhope, at nine. “The army will leave in an hour Major Matthews.”
“Thank you Stanhope. Just one more ride and this nightmare should be over eh?”
“I have seen some glory too sir, along with the horrors. I have learned much but I would serve in a fighting regiment. It has not sat well with me to merely fetch and carry while others have fought and died.”
“I too was an aide.”
He laughed, “With respect sir you were more of an advisor than an aide. You have seen more action during this campaign than any man alive. I know my uncle appreciates all that you have done for him and the army.”
We rode hard and passed through Quitterez just after dawn. We paused only to speak with the Commissary officers who were organising the supplies for the army. Sir John knew that his men would have to fight a battle to enable us to leave. He wanted a better fed army.
Betzanos was disappointing. It would not suit a defence. We arrived in late afternoon and so I decided to wait until the following morning to make a judgement. The war had not touched Betzanos yet and we found both rooms and food. We ate and slept better than for some time.
Daylight confirmed my view. “Sergeant Sharp, find the General and tell him that Betzanos is unsuitable. I shall push on and see if there is not something better in Corunna.”
I saw the defensive site the moment I approached the town. The river ran to my right and in front of me towered two hills, one higher than the other. The one close to the small village looked perfect. There were rocks and bushes to afford shelter to the riflemen. This would be the perfect place to halt the French. I stopped in the village to water my horse. I had a couple of words in Spanish and I learned that the village was called Elvina and the hill Monte Mero. I thanked the man and returned to the road which ran between the village and the river. As I descended into Corunna I saw that it was barely two miles from the port. It afforded the best opportunity for an embarkation.
I saw a small flotilla of ships in the harbour. There looked to be about four transports, a couple of battleships and some frigates. It was secure but there were not enough ships to take off the whole of the army.
By the time I reached the harbour it was noon and I watched as a boat pulled away from the flagship. I waited patiently for its arrival. It was a flag lieutenant. He looked to be even younger than Lieutenant Stanhope. “Are you one of the Admiral’s aides?”
“Yes sir.”
“I am Major Matthews, the aide to Lieutenant-General Sir John Moore. The army is less than two days away and we will need to embark as quickly as possible for the French are hard on our heels.” I waved a hand at the transports. “We will need more ships than this.”
“The Admiral knows sir. The rest of the transports should be here by this evening or tomorrow at the latest. They are only coming from Vigo. They should have picked up General Crauford and his men.” I felt relieved. “Would you care to come aboard and speak with the admiral yourself?”
I knew that would delay me by some hours. I was keen to return to the army. “No, thank you Lieutenant, I must report the good news to the general.”
He hesitated, “Sir is it true we have been soundly whipped by the French?”
I saw the boat’s crew listening intently. “Listen, young man, I have been with this army since we landed in August with Sir Arthur Wellesley. We have defeated the French every time we have fought them. Had our Spanish allies done what they promised then you would not have to embark us here for we would have held Madrid. The army you take off may be ragged and hurt but they hold their heads high. They have defeated everything the French sent their way including Bonaparte’s vaunted Guards so remember that!”
The young officer recoiled, “Sir, I am sorry, and I meant no disrespect but the newspapers at home said…”
“Do not believe newspapers Lieutenant. They are written by men sitting safely behind desks in London who are reading reports of casualties. They are not at the battle front. I would have liked to have newspapers on this retreat.”
“Why sir?”
“They keep your feet warm and burn well! They are the only use I have for such things.”
I saw the grins on the boat crews. I saluted, mounted Killer and rode back through the town. As I did so I passed through the market which was just about to clo
se up. I saw some apples left and I haggled for them with the owner. He was grateful for the three copper coins I gave him. I put most of them in my bags but I gave four to Killer. He had deserved it for he had not put a foot wrong since I had bought him.
I reached the town of Betzanos just before the first of the army. I took rooms in the only inn in the town. It was tiny but it would accommodate the general, at least. I was able to watch the weary warriors dragging themselves along the road. The advance regiments of Sir John Hope’s Division still marched but they looked like an army of bandits rather than the smart redcoats who had left England all those months ago. I saluted the general. Sir, I have taken a room for Sir John.”
“Good fellow. He is with the main column.” He dismounted wearily and approached me quietly, “Well Matthews, is it far?”
“Twelve miles sir. We can do it in one day.”
“Thank God. And the ships?”
I shook my head, “They are expected, sir, in a day or so.”
“By God I hope you are right. I am not certain if these fellows have any fight left in them.”
“I believe they will fight sir. It is retreating they have little stomach for.”
He laughed, “You are probably right.” He seemed to notice Killer. “That is a fine looking horse, French is it?” I nodded, “How did you get him?”
“I swapped a Frenchman a pistol and a bottle of brandy for him.”
He laughed so loudly that his men all stared at him. “By God Matthews but you are a rum fellow! I shall miss you when I get back to England. Never know just what you are going to do and say eh?”
I put Killer in the stable of the inn and sat outside watching the troops as they marched in. They had all been fed in the last day and were not as hungry as in previous marches but they all that sullen look on their faces. They resented running from the Duke of Damnation as Soult had been dubbed. Sergeant Sharp rode alongside Lieutenant Stanhope and they followed a tired looking General Moore.
He dismounted when he saw me. “I have a room for you General.”
