Promotions would be made.
"All simple enough, sir. The French must expect us to take such precautions, surely."
"I would expect them to, gentlemen. But what else can they do?"
Two days later they discovered the alternative according to Napoleon's soldiers.
Minutes before dawn a single soldier came running up from the picket in the ravine. He spoke to the sergeant at the gate and Septimus was rousted out of his warm bed, the Marchioness pulling the covers over her head and tactful orderlies not observing her presence.
"Movement in the valley, sir. Noise, sir, a lot of men trying to be silent and not very good at it. Corporal sent me in, sir; he'll bring the picket up as soon as he's sure what's goin' on."
"You stay here, soldier, rejoin your company. Cooper, a fast runner down to call the picket in. We can see what's happening without risking them. Gunners to post. All men to the walls but no bugles, no noise. Cooks to make hot drinks and get them out to the men. Mr Black!"
The quartermaster arrived at the run, having moved out of his bed at the first bustle of noise and activity.
"The navy cocoa, Mr Black. Never mind how I heard of it, man! Make an issue if it seems that we will be busy this morning. We can argue costs later."
In fact Cooper had observed the boxes containing the heavy bars of chocolate being unloaded in Lisbon, had commented upon the transaction, wondering what had gone to the naval purser in exchange.
The picket trotted in, the corporal reporting that he reckoned there was a brigade to their front, lining itself up to make a charge up the ravine.
"Take a bit of stoppin', sir, say they comes up on a front of about twenty blokes shoulder to shoulder, what I reckon they could just about manage on that track between the scrub and the rock walls."
"Could you hear wheels, corporal?"
"Galloper guns? No, sir."
"Then what have they planned for the gate, I wonder."
"Forlorn Hope, sir, carrying barrels of gunpowder, and maybe men with ladders."
"Been here before, corporal?"
"Seen it, sir, years back, in America. Don't work if you've got good men up on the walls. Not unless you get lucky."
"Major Taft, you have the gate and the walls to its side, do you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Two platoons to remain loaded at all times, held back from the company fire. Choose your two best corporals. They are to look out for men carrying powder charges and are to put them down. You understand?"
"Sir!"
First light showed two battalions formed up as a column and quick marching towards the head of the ravine.
Septimus' telescope showed a bold young lieutenant carrying the eagle at the very front of the first battalion. There were at least a dozen drummers who began to beat the charge to bring them forward. The men in the column shouted in response.
Septimus called across to Taft, standing above the gate and closer.
"What are they saying, Mr Taft?"
"I really do not know, sir. These Frogs might be shouting anything. 'A bottle of brandy and two whores a day' is supposed to be their war cry, or so I am told!"
It seemed unlikely to Septimus, but he had to admit that the Frogs were different and very strange sorts of folk.
They were a hundred yards short of a pair of wooden posts that had been driven into the rocky soil to give a range to the guns. He turned to his runner, stood next to Peter the translator.
"First six guns to fire as the head of the column reaches the markers. Then wait thirty seconds for the second battery. You understand?"
A quick mutter of Portuguese and the boy scampered off.
Six twelve-pound balls landed within forty feet of the range posts, striking through the head of the column and then hitting rock and showering stone splinters through the next dozen ranks. The boy with the eagle disappeared and the drums fell silent but the bulk of the column pressed forward, breaking into the double. The nine-pounder battery followed thirty seconds later.
The gunners made excellent practise, reloading in a bare minute and changing their point of aim to allow for the movement forward of the column.
"Desperate men, Major Perceval. The losses they are taking should have stopped them by now but they still press forward."
The head of the column reached the shelter of the walls, inside the range of the guns which had to turn their fire on those to the rear. The exchange of musketry began, Taft's men able to offer volley fire, the broken platoons and companies outside firing individually.
Taft's runner came up to Septimus.
"Sir, major says they shot four men what got powder, sir, and he's gettin' torches up to throw at 'em to try to blow 'em."
Septimus nodded; if it worked it would be a good idea, but he suspected it might not be as easy as it sounded.
"Can you see ladder parties, Major Perceval?"
"No, sir, but there ain't that much timber about in these parts, sir. They would have to rip a dozen roofs down to use the beams to make as many ladders, and I really doubt they would wish to do that in this weather. Add to that, they would be rather flimsy, all lashed together to get the length they would need. I think they have placed all of their faith on the gate, sir."
"I wonder whether they knew of the guns, Major Perceval."
"I expect they did, sir. They must have been told of them, there will be some local informants who remained outside - possibly the countess and her sons even. But, sir, I much suspect they will have been told that the gunners are Portuguese, and they have no great reputation as fighting men, sir. They probably expected them to run in the face of their numbers."
"Arrogant! But typical of the Frogs, from all I know of them. Let us go to the gate, Major Perceval, I wish to get the feel of the fight."
Septimus surveyed the carnage below him, could hear the firing easing down, see the slow backwards movement of the French as they reluctantly gave way to the realisation that they were not going to break through.
"Better soldiers than I had thought for, Major Perceval. I had wondered if they might not have been made shy by their hunger, but those men are fighting and don't like being beaten. Bring three companies up to the gate, if you would be so good, sir. Cooper, will you go up to the top of the keep, take a runner with you. Have a good look round, take my telescope. Just in case they have sent horse up into the hills or have them waiting in the valley for us to sally and tidy up the field."
Ten minutes brought the message that there was a thin regiment of hussars dismounted well down the valley, perhaps waiting to ride the track towards Lisbon when the Castle was taken.
"Worth the risk, I think. Major Perceval, you will take your three companies out with bayonets fixed. Clear the ravine, do not venture into the valley. Form a single company square just inside the mouth of the ravine as a precaution."
Septimus warned the gunners that they were not to fire on the redcoats - anything could happen when men were excited, and the clouds of powder smoke were dispersing very slowly in the cold, damp air.
The Surgeon appeared with the bandsmen.
"I propose to bring in the wounded, sir."
Septimus swore to himself; he had neglected to tell Perceval to bayonet all who showed signs of resistance, interpreted in the most liberal fashion, and now he might have to accommodate a hundred and more of hungry prisoners.
"Go ahead, sir. It is your duty."
The gates swung inward and the companies marched out and began to police the field.
A pair of muskets cracked as foolish and presumably lightly wounded men chose not to surrender. Two redcoats fell and there was a mutter of anger around Septimus, followed by a unanimous grunt of approval as the bayonets flashed in response, catching the weak sunlight as they swung downwards repeatedly.
"Peter!"
The interpreter stepped forward.
"Instruct the village people that they are to bury the French safely downhill of the Castle, well away from the wate
r supply. Tell them they should strip the bodies, bury them naked."
"What to do with the clothes, sir?"
"Muskets and powder and ball to the Quartermaster, if you please. For the rest, anything they can use is theirs."
The message spread within minutes and the village women ran, followed more slowly by their menfolk bearing picks and shovels to do the work of burying. It seemed probable to Septimus that a lot of children would be seen wearing uniform blue coats, cut down to their size and carefully sewn up, before the month was out. The men would have warm boots and the women would no doubt find themselves with a dress or chemise or blouse as well. It was a windfall for them, one that would no doubt bring them quite fully onto the British side.
"Major Taft, send a good sergeant down to the burial pit to take a count, if you please; we must send figures in our report to Headquarters."
Man of Conflict Series
BOOK FOUR
Chapter Five
"I think we may describe our morning as satisfactory, gentlemen, from all points of view. Not perfect, necessarily, but showing us as within reason efficient as a battalion of the line."
There was a subdued mutter of agreement.
The officers were sat in the keep, glasses to hand, in the floor they had appropriated as a mess, all gathered together to discuss the engagement.
"We must first consider our casualties, the butcher's bill - I am pleased indeed to see they are very few in number. Mr Collier has collated the figures."
The adjutant, newly in the role, his predecessor having found the bookwork to strain his eyesight, stood, paper in hand.
"The morning's activities were conducted mostly from the cover of the walls, as you all know, and resulted in just three men dead and thirteen wounded. Of the wounded, five are abdominal and must be regarded as mortally affected, and three have experienced amputations and will not serve again even if they survive."
The mortality rate for soldiers who lost an arm or leg was far higher than that among seamen; two out of three would be expected to experience the sepsis and perish. Surgeons could not understand why there was such a difference, except possibly that the ocean winds tended to blow the infectious miasmas away.
"The effect is that the battalion has certainly lost eleven men and, of course, it is not impossible that some of the lightly wounded may yet succumb to the wound sickness. The Portuguese gunners experienced no losses and the civilians suffered only one casualty from a stray French round which glanced off the stones of the wall and struck a small child, fatally, of course."
There was a mutter of commiseration - children should not die in such a fashion, it was not right.
"There were no losses among the battalion's livestock, which is a fortunate circumstance, horses being so very difficult to replace overseas."
The officers, who purchased their own mounts, all agreed that to be an excellent thing.
"French losses are yet to be totalled - the process of burial and recovery of their wounded is still in hand, will indeed take all day to complete. First figures suggest that at least three hundred have gone to the burial pits. The Regimental Surgeon, who is busy still and cannot join us, has thirty-two of French casualties remaining in his care and has hopes that as many as ten may survive; he has sent twelve lightly wounded to our prison cells. The French have been badly fed for some little time and consequently tended to die of their wounds, and many preferred death to surrender, it would seem."
Septimus stood and commented upon the unfortunate fanaticism of the French - their attachment to the Corsican tyrant so great that they had chosen death rather than dishonour.
It sounded far better than to suggest that the bulk of the wounded had been despatched where they lay. It could be argued as well that the bayonet was in fact an act of mercy - very few of the wounded would have survived, particularly as the sole Surgeon would have been several days at work before he had bandaged or amputated all.
"The French have sent no flag of truce, made no request to recover their casualties or bury their dead, which is very poor behaviour on their part. It is not impossible that they have lost the bulk of their officers, of course, and therefore have none available to offer the ordinary courtesies of war. That, of course, is for them to resolve; it is none of our business."
The assembled officers agreed - it was not for them to act on behalf of the French.
"The question arises of what to do next, gentlemen. I would have wished to harry the retreating column, but there is a regiment of hussars in the valley and we of course are but a single battalion of foot. We can assume that the French battalions were worn down by their march across Spain and numbered no more than six hundred apiece when they made their assault. They will now have at most eight hundred men between them fit to stand in the line. We can muster a few more than that, but by no means sufficient to assault them behind their fortifications. Their horse and guns in addition would mean that we would face almost certain defeat; were they demoralised to the extent that they retreated then we would have a Pyrrhic victory at best."
Not all of the officers remembered their schooldays.
"I mean, gentlemen, that we would lose very heavy casualties and would have too few men remaining to garrison the French works. We would ourselves be forced to fall back and might even be left with too few to hold the Castle."
"What, then, are we to do, sir?"
"A damned good question, Major Perceval. I would wish to make our numbers up if at all possible and to train and hold over winter. There may well be a general retreat by the French army in the spring and we shall be able then to play our part in the advance. I shall be glad to receive orders from Lord Wellington."
The junior officers nodded wisely and said not a word - they were there to listen to their elders and betters, to carry out the orders that were devised for them.
"With men grown too old for service and others who have shown weak chests and those displaying a consumption, in addition to those we have lost in the field, we are more than one hundred down on establishment."
It was a large number, but when they considered it, ten men from each company sounded about right. The asthmatics and consumptives could still perform useful tasks, working in the cookhouse particularly, but they would not be able to march out with the fighting men. They could perhaps release a few batmen to the ranks, but would have very little other use. They consoled themselves that sickness was a part of normal existence and they could neither prevent nor cure most of its forms.
"A few men will be sent out from the Second Battalion over the next year, but insufficient for our needs. Thus we must recruit locally if we are to find men at all."
That meant to take Portuguese into their ranks, they slowly realised. They wondered if that was entirely wise.
"Can we be wholly sure, sir, that foreigners will fit in with true Englishmen? The Goosers are, no doubt, all very well in their place, but, when all is said and done, they are not quite of the right sort, you know, sir."
"You may well have a good point there, Major Perceval."
Septimus considered, in fact, that he had rarely heard such arrant nonsense in all of his life, but the bulk of the assembled officers were nodding thoughtfully. They believed, it would seem, that the English had been chosen by God as his favourite sons and that all other races and nationalities were lesser beings.
"I would, however, say that the Portuguese are our oldest allies, have stood at our side for nearly two centuries now. Such being the case, they must have imbibed a modicum of our virtues - they are almost English in many ways!"
The officers digested that statement and found it to have a great deal of truth in it. On mature consideration it was obvious that to be English was the greatest gift any human being could receive, and some of the qualities must rub off on any fortunates who were long in the company of true Englishmen.
Major Taft made a long and rambling speech in which he endeavoured to express his belief that while the Goosers could
never be English, they might well be the next best thing.
"One might, in fact, sir, suggest that Englishness is so powerful, that it is catching!"
"A more virtuous form of the pox, in fact, Major Taft!"
That was a little heavy for Major Taft's understanding. He was content to simply enquire how they were to go about recruiting Portuguese men to their ranks.
"We must ask her ladyship, I think, Major Taft. She has shown herself friendly to the English and may well be persuaded to pass the word to her folk that we would be happy to take young men into our ranks. The pay is far better than anything they will have known, and they will have a uniform as well."
"Also, sir," Captain Mellish said, "they will not be conscripted into the Portuguese army with far worse conditions of service."
That was also to be considered, and allowed the ribald whispers of the younger men - who all knew exactly just how friendly the marchioness was to certain Englishmen and where she was to be found at night - to go unheard.
The lady was not at all certain that her people should join the British in their army; she asked what would happen when the wars in Portugal and Spain ended.
"They will not finish until the downfall of Bonaparte has been encompassed, ma'am. When that desirable end has finally been achieved, well, there will be very little need for soldiers thereafter, and we may expect the bulk of the battalions to be disbanded. The men will then come home with a few dollars in their pockets and many stories to tell. Some will have the opportunity to continue in service and others may choose to take their retirement from the ranks in England itself. Of course, ma'am, it is to be expected that some few will have won promotion and will be corporals or sergeants, even in rare cases, officers; those good soldiers may be transferred to the Portuguese Army and will be able to serve in Brazil or Goa or Macao or in Portuguese Africa, all places where soldiers will be much needed."
The argument was persuasive - the Marquis had owned large chunks of land in the colonies, producing a significant part of the family's income which must not be lost.
Blood and Famine (Man of Conflict Series, Book 4) Page 11
