A Despite of Hornets

by Geoffrey Watson

  The Hornets clattered into view and pulled their mounts to a halt beside him. “Well done George! Caught them completely by surprise. Anyone hurt?” “No sir, no-one at all. It was almost too easy.” He was drawling, making out his disdain for the opposition. “I think the Frogs must be blind sir. A troop of them rode within a dozen yards of us when we got to the foot of the spur. We could have shot the lot before they knew what had hit them. They’ll never realise how fortunate they were that we didn’t want to be seen.”

  Welbeloved chuckled. Vere was maturing all the time as a soldier, but the talented, yet impatient amateur came to the surface on occasions like this. He gestured at the col, held by the line of blue-coated French. “How about testing yor theory on that lot then? See if they’ve got their eyes open enough to spot yew, while yew get close enough to pick them off. I’ll get the Wolves to make a threatening move, which should cause them to stand up in line, like corn ready for the scythe.”

  Vere saluted before turning to instruct his men. “Aye aye sir. Not very sportin’ don’t you know. Worse than shootin’ sittin’ birds.” Welbeloved made no reply to this sporting sally and watched critically as the men dismounted and went to ground. He rode over to Anstruthers and explained what they were doing. The tall hussar watched keenly as they crawled closer and closer to the French position. “You know, sir, I’ve been working with your men for a week or so now, and I’ve seen almost everything I’ve been taught turned on its head. It’s frightening to think what a regiment of Hornets could achieve. They’re absolutely deadly.”

  Welbeloved smiled mirthlessly. “Aye, Major, they are that. It’s what they were intended to be. I watched our redcoats and the King’s Germans being slaughtered in the American colonies, by men just as hard to see as these, only they weren’t trained or even very disciplined, as my lads are.” He paused thoughtfully. “The only general who learned anything from that fiasco is fighting for his life not twenty miles from here. I doubt he’s going to have a deal of influence after this, even assuming he works a miracle and gets his army away. I don’t expect yew’ll see anything like my ruffians again during yor military career.”

  The words sounded bitter and Anstruthers looked at his face to confirm his feeling. All he saw was an intent gaze, following the movements of the Hornets, replaced by a cheerful smile as he turned back to him. “I think a little activity from yor Spaniards would be helpful now Major. Let’s tempt the Frogs into setting up a shooting gallery.”

  Anstruthers yelled orders and two troops cantered into position as if preparing to charge. The riposte was routine and immediate. Two ranks of grenadiers stepped smartly out of cover, presenting their muskets, ready to repel the attack. The Hornets opened fire from fifty yards. It was a rolling volley. Every man waited until the next in line had discharged his piece before selecting his own target. There was no danger of two shots being wasted on one target. For the Hornets, it was a leisurely exercise, averaging one shot per second. By the time the last man had squeezed his trigger, the first to fire was loaded and primed once more.

  The firing continued inexorably, without a break in the rhythm, almost every shot claiming a victim. The French stood it for less than a minute before they broke and Welbeloved raised his voice in a bellow, urging the Spanish cavalry into an all out charge on the shocked survivors. He himself was the first to reach the scattered soldiers, jumping his horse over the sprawled bodies and finding no resistance and very few Frenchmen.

  This had been another rearguard. Holding a stronger position certainly, but still holding it with few troops and for long enough to enable the main body to cross the plateau; a featureless open plain for a thousand yards, to a broken area where a hundred men could delay five hundred indefinitely.

  What is more, the French had evidently decided to stand there. In the gathering dusk, there were already many points of light from their bivouac fires. Once more, Welbeloved’s men and the Spaniards had bitten a substantial chunk from Tasselot’s force. His original five thousand had to be down to less than four, but La Coruña was only barely defended. Four thousand Frenchmen could still occupy the port before Sir John could get there.

  Reluctantly, he gave the order to make camp. If nothing else, it would enable all the stores and supplies to catch up. By the morning, everybody should be fully provisioned and armed to the teeth. Even his solitary cannon would have enough powder and shot to make its presence felt if it should come to an all out fight with the French.

  Tomorrow would be the day of destiny. He had to make the assumption that his ruse had been unsuccessful. That Tasselot was once more in command and leading them down into La Coruña. To prevent that from happening, he would have to force an action tomorrow, against odds of over four to one. He went to look for Vere. The Hornets would be busy tonight. He had to know as much about the enemy’s dispositions as possible, and there was no-one else who could provide the information.

  The meal was subdued that evening. The spirits of the men were high after their double success, but Welbeloved was withdrawn and pensive. Even the Condesa; trying to get back into his good books after her misdemeanours of the day; could not rouse him out of his dour mood. He went and sat with Anstruthers and told him that he intended to lead the reconnaissance himself. If he failed to return, the Major was to attack before dawn and hope to inflict such damage that the French would be so far crippled as to make further advance impractical. The only cause for cautious optimism was the discovered fact that the French were desperately short of ammunition. The captured prisoners were down to two or three rounds apiece, and questioning had elicited the fact that the rest of the army had been made to contribute some of their own depleted store of powder and shot, in order to give the rearguard sufficient to fight their delaying action.

  The Hornets ate a good meal and turned in early. Welbeloved wanted them to have a few hours sleep before tackling the French. It was after midnight when they roused and assembled, split into two parties and started across the plateau, making for the dozens of twinkling lights still showing from those of the French campfires that had not yet subsided to glowing embers.

  Both parties paused when they came within two hundred yards of the broken ground. The long, mournful hoot of the long eared owl kept them aware of their relative positions. They moved cautiously forward, eyes straining for sentries and the night patrols which they would have expected this close to the enemy lines. At one hundred yards, Welbeloved imitated the screech of the hunting barn owl to let Vere know that they were no longer advancing; and they settled down to observe.

  There were no patrols that they could see; a worrying factor in itself. Gradually they located the position of the sentries as they moved incautiously to ease cramped limbs, or blow on freezing fingers. There were many figures moving in the camp, their bodies passing to and fro between the Hornets and the fires. At one o’clock in the morning, the amount of activity seemed much greater than would normally be expected from an army, tired after a full day’s march.

  Several men seemed to be solely occupied in moving from fire to fire, adding fuel to make them flare. Fresh flames rose from fire after fire. Anyone looking from a distance would think that the whole army was stirring. Perhaps they were trying to persuade their pursuers that an attack was intended.

  Welbeloved quietly snapped open his glass and focussed on the areas around the fires. He moved the glass methodically from fire to fire, studying the surrounding ground as far as the fire’s illumination reached. Silently, he handed the glass to Sergeant MacKay, eased himself into a more comfortable position and pondered, while MacKay repeated his observations, just as carefully and methodically.

  Five minutes later he handed the glass back and they both froze at the short yap of a dog fox. A few seconds later, Vere crouched down at their side, put his head close to theirs and whispered softly. “Smells of rotten fish sir. Small numbers of men tending dozens of fires and not a bivouac to be seen. The army has moved on and they’re trying to cozen us into
thinking they’re still there.”

  “Aye George. That is what would appear to be the case. On the other hand, perhaps it’s what they expect us to think. After all, they now know that we conduct much of our business by night. I imagine we need to know more about it, so MacKay and I will go and have a closer look. Yew will keep the men here; ready to jump whichever way seems most sensible. Send one of them back to Anstruthers. Get him to rouse out the redcoats and bring them this far; ready perhaps for attack or defence; but ready for trouble. All clear? Fine! Off yew go then! Come on Sergeant! Watch my back!”

  Welbeloved angled off to the right and MacKay followed like a shadow, and just as quietly. There was a sentry standing with his back to a large boulder and they both eased closer to him. They didn’t want to have to silence him, as he was bound to be missed sooner or later. Their problem was solved when a soldier threw more wood on the nearest fire and distracted his attention with a coarse remark. The fire flared up at the same time, temporarily robbing him of his night vision. They slipped past behind the boulder and up the slope, while the two Frenchmen exchanged a few words.

  The rising, rock-strewn, broken ground was an ideal defensive position. Plenty of cover was available behind the rocks and boulders and the defenders would have the advantage of a steep slope to slow the attackers, while they fired down on their heads. If the French intended to make a stand, there was no reason for them to look farther afield.

  There was a sudden clatter of hooves as half-a-dozen riders picked their way down the track towards the campfires. The two men climbed a rocky hummock, from where they could see over most of the deserted encampment. Welbeloved watched intently as the party reined in, close to the light of one of the fires.

  One of the horsemen looked familiar and he opened his telescope and peered intently. The man was gesturing and the others scattered among the fires, shouting orders. Then, as he turned to point to something, his face showed up in the lens. Welbeloved gave a grunt of satisfaction. The first part of his scheme had worked. Tasselot’s aide, Major Deschampsneuf was in charge down below, gathering together all the guards and the men tending the fires, and marching them up the hill, past the small knoll where the two men were lying.

  Within half-an-hour, Welbeloved and MacKay were alone. The camp was deserted and they strolled down to the largest of the fires and beckoned for the rest of the Hornets to join them. Shortly afterwards, bayonets glinted in the firelight as four ranks of redcoats came marching out of the darkness and quickly occupied the high ground above the camp.

  Welbeloved was warming himself before the fire when Anstruthers rode up, dismounted and joined him in front of the flames. “Demned odd business, this sir. Anyone would think they were runnin’ for their lives instead of marchin’ to attack La Coruña. I’ve sent for a squadron of my Wolves. They can follow them and find out what they’re up to.”

  The heat of the fire was soaking into Welbeloved’s bones. For the first time he felt an enormous sense of optimism as Anstruthers’s words got through to him. He smiled broadly. “That’s very thoughtful of yew, Major. Perhaps yew’ll get the rest of yor men on the move as fast as yew can? The redcoats can start straightaway after yor squadron. I’d be obliged if yew would have them report back the instant they make contact with the main body.”

  Anstruthers saluted and departed to get the men moving. Welbeloved relaxed and looked at Vere. “Yew know, George, I’ve got this feeling that we’ve won. Tasselot’s aide was here pulling the men out. It doesn’t look to me as if they’re rushing towards La Coruña any longer. I think they’re running for cover.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Three hours later, on a cold starlit night, Anstruthers’s Wolves came up with those French who had been tending the fires and mounting the deception. Fifty chasseurs-à-pied, light infantrymen, were quick-marching on a muddy road through wooded hills. The meeting was abrupt and violent; obviously unexpected by the French. The Wolves rode over them and scattered the survivors into the trees, then left them for the following infantry and trotted on, searching for the main body of the enemy and following the road to La Coruña.

  Dawn came with the promise of a fine, clear day; sunlight flooding into the lush, green valleys, warming the men’s spirits, but providing little heat to the still frigid ground. Welbeloved and the Hornets had halted at a junction in the road where two valleys joined. In front of them, the road to La Coruña wound lazily towards the west. To the left, the way was less used, beginning a gentle ascent, veering eastwards in the direction of the mountains, eventually forcing a choice; northwards again towards the sea or south to Lugo, which the retreating British army, hopefully, had departed two days ago.

  The churned up mud told its own story, without the need of Welbeloved’s expertise, although gallopers from Anstruthers reported no sign of the French for ten miles in the direction of La Coruña. The army that the Hornets had been harrying these last, long weeks had abandoned its objective, wheeling east into the hills to escape entrapment by Welbeloved and the forces that they had been persuaded were marching towards them from the south-west. He signalled a halt for breakfast and to await the arrival of the rest of the men, all of whom were now converging on this junction.

  As soon as they were fed, the Wolves and the Hornets took up the pursuit, leaving the redcoats and the Spanish infantry to follow as quickly as they were able. They were escorting and guarding the lone gun, struggling through the churned-up mud of the primitive road, with two teams of horses harnessed to it.

  It was surprising how long it took to catch up with the retreating French. They must have abandoned their rearguard without pausing, in their haste to escape being caught between two forces. Ten miles into the foothills they had turned at bay. Detachments of the Wolves probed the French position, galloping towards them, forcing them to stand-to, ready to repel an attack, then wheeling and galloping away. Anstruthers, Welbeloved and Vere watched through their telescopes, marking each concentration of troops as it was revealed.

  If anything, the position was easier to defend than the decoy that the French had set up before. They were drawn up on a front of five or six hundred yards, with a wooded slope giving them splendid cover from which to command the mostly open ground to their front. On the right was a steep escarpment, which protected their flank from all but the most agile of light infantry. A very small number of their own men, thoughtfully concealed, would deny even that option to the British and Spanish foot soldiers.

  The left of their line was marsh and bog. The pleasant little stream that tumbled down the valley had spread out over the flatter ground on that side in its effort to find a channel downhill. It had almost succeeded in forming a lake and the melting snow of the early Spring would probably raise the water level enough to do so. January rains had merely left it treacherous and impassable, men and horses liable to be sucked down into areas of clinging, suffocating mud and slime.

  The strength of the position was such that Welbeloved would have been content to defend it with his small force, against the entire army that Tasselot now commanded. It really made no military sense at all, that he was now studying the French dispositions with a view to finding a way to attack and dislodge them. He put such thoughts firmly out of his mind. This French force was still a danger to the desperate British army. Tasselot must continue to believe that he was facing a bigger force than his own. He had to be convinced that he was under attack, if only to hold him here for a few more days, while Sir John fought his way to the port and the safety of the transports and battleships of the Royal Navy.

  “George!” His expression was apologetic. “I’m going to have to ask yew to see what yew can do to get behind them again. I don’t know if it’s possible, but if yew cross the stream about half-a-mile back, it seems to me that yew could climb out of this valley and maybe find a way round.”

  He pulled out his watch. “Our infantry and the cannon won’t be arriving until after noon. I shall try and delay any serious action until tomorrow
. In the meantime, see what yew can do to keep them awake and hopping about.”

  Vere saluted and the Hornets rode off. With Welbeloved’s cold eye on them, the Condesa and Isabella made no move to go with them, sitting relaxed in their saddles and trying to appear quite disinterested.

  There were several hours to wait until the arrival of the infantry and Welbeloved relaxed, withdrawing down the road to set up camp and consider how he could hold the French until they could no longer present a threat to the retreating British. Today was the third day since leaving La Coruña. If Brigadier Cooke’s intelligence was correct, Sir John would now be on the road to Betanzos. In two more days, the most Tasselot would be able to do, would be to join the rest of Marshall Soult’s army for the final battle that was almost certain to come.

  In two more days, Welbeloved could congratulate himself on having achieved what he had set out to do. Nevertheless, with typical stubbornness; having stopped Tasselot taking the British army in the rear, he now looked for ways of keeping him out of the fight altogether. That meant that he had to keep the French from realising that less than a thousand men stood in their way. Keep Tasselot thinking that he had only just escaped encirclement by several thousand British troops. If he could do that for another week, it would no longer matter what the French did. By then, Sir John and his army would either be on board the transports and sailing home, or would have surrendered to Soult’s overwhelming strength.

  He had succeeded with bluff before. He would try his luck once more. Together, Anstruthers and he rode back to meet the marching men and halted them well out of sight of the enemy. The lone cannon was permitted to carry on with a small escort of redcoats and Spaniards. The gunners were to get as close as they needed to bring the enemy within range and wait for the order to fire.