Run Them Ashore

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  ‘They don’t trust us, you see,’ a major from the 2/4th Foot told them. ‘And if you want proof of that take a stroll with me along the walls.’ Williams did, and quickly realised that all the embrasures of the citadel were empty. ‘That happened the week before we arrived. Must have taken them ages, but they moved every cannon out just in case we had any ideas of outstaying our welcome.’

  Yet his first impressions of the Toledo Regiment were good. The soldiers were neatly turned out in blue jackets cut rather in the French style, with a white front and yellow collars, cuffs and turnbacks. Officers still wore cocked hats, but the rank and file had replaced the bicorne of the pre-war Spanish army and adopted a broad-topped shako, which again looked distinctly French. A few months ago the regiment had taken part in a raid which had marched deep into enemy-held territory, fighting a few skirmishes, but wisely retreating as soon as a strong force came against them. It was already in a better state of training than many of the Spanish regiments Williams had seen. Given more time, and the confidence which came with a few early victories, he suspected that these would prove very fine troops.

  Lord Turney certainly liked the look of the blue-coated soldiers, and visited several of the transports to ensure that they were properly accommodated. To Williams’ surprise the general spoke Spanish well, albeit with a somewhat Italian accent, and so was able to ask the officers whether they were satisfied. Several were not, complaining that the rations they were given by the British masters of the ships included meat even though it was a Friday.

  ‘Damned fellows don’t have the sense to realise that they are dealing with Catholics,’ the general said to his staff after a pointed discussion with one of the merchant captains, who had insisted that he had nothing else to give them and had done everything according to regulations. ‘Damn the authorities for not thinking of this either.’

  On the last transport Lord Turney greeted the Spanish colonel with considerable warmth, apologising for the provisions, praising the condition of his regiment and asking whether there was anything they lacked.

  Pleased with the compliments, the colonel said that he needed nothing.

  Lord Turney frowned with concern. ‘It seemed to me that not all the men carried firelocks as they embarked?’

  The colonel was embarrassed, and Williams guessed that the failure of his own commanders was something he had hoped to conceal from his foreign allies. Lord Turney persisted, and with considerable reluctance the colonel admitted that his battalion lacked no fewer than one hundred and forty-eight muskets.

  ‘You have cartridges for the remainder, I presume?’ Lord Turney asked, a hard edge growing in his voice.

  ‘None,’ the colonel said.

  ‘What are our own reserves?’ he asked his brigade major, Captain Mullins.

  ‘If you recollect, my lord,’ Williams interrupted, remembering what Hanley and Pringle had told him, ‘the balls from our own firelocks will not fit the Spanish ones.’

  Lord Turney gave a curt nod. ‘Ah yes, I remember. Thank you, Mr Williams. Captain Mullins, see that the Toledo Regiment is issued with the muskets needed to make up the deficit from our supplies, and ensure that they have a hundred English cartridges for each one.’ He explained the arrangement to the colonel. ‘It is not ideal, sir, not ideal, but if you take care it will be possible to supply each soldier with the correct ammunition. Now I must go to your governor to supply the want of cartridges for your own firelocks.

  ‘You would not believe such neglect,’ he added, switching to English. ‘Such damned dirty neglect that would send soldiers to fight without giving them powder and ball – without even giving some of them a musket. Some fat old bugger hoarding his stores to flatter his own sense of importance, no doubt. Or selling them off at a profit and denying the brave men under his authority the slightest chance of doing their duty.’

  Williams hoped that the Spanish colonel did not speak English, for this was delivered within earshot. No doubt the man knew and deplored the failures of his superiors, but no proud man – and a good soldier was inevitably a proud one – would care to hear them exposed so openly by a foreigner. Yet Williams had to admit that Lord Turney appeared to know his business. He had sensed that all was not quite right with the Toledo Regiment, and worked hard until it was remedied. He immediately wrote to the Spanish governor of Ceuta, using language of considerable tact, and late at night a healthy store of cartridges came on board.

  ‘At least he has moved promptly, but why the bloody man didn’t do his job in the first place escapes me. Too many rogues promoted to high office, that is the problem,’ Lord Turney declared. ‘Do you know, in Gibraltar there is a fellow who used to play in an orchestra who is paid considerable sums and given charge of substantial stores, and charged with their distribution to help the partisans. He is a rich man, and as far as I could see spends most of his time playing the guitar to serenade young ladies – and some not so young. Don’t blame the rogue for that, but there is a war to be fought or he will back to playing the fiddle in some orchestra instead of living in a great house.’

  For the moment, the war was not to be fought quickly whether they willed it or not. On the 13th they left Ceuta, but the wind had shifted against them, and, although it was still light, it took hours for the clumsy transports to beat their way back to the Spanish coast. Williams spent much of the day on deck, finding that he was far less inclined to feel ill in the open air than below decks in the crowded frigate. The convoy crawled along, while Lord Turney grew impatient and Captain Hope grasped the rail so tightly that his knuckles went white as he hoisted signal after signal to keep the convoy together.

  Night had fallen, with a slim crescent moon hardly challenging the bright starlight by the time they neared the Spanish coast and made the rendezvous with the gun-brig HMS Encounter and five gunboats from Cadiz under the overall command of Captain Hall, who soon reported on board the Topaze as Lord Turney summoned his officers to receive orders.

  Captain Hope’s day cabin was a good deal more crowded than when Williams had heard him explain the plan for the raid on Las Arenas. This time his role was secondary, and Lord Turney was at the heart of things.

  ‘Well, gentlemen,’ he began, nothing but enthusiasm rippling the surface of his calm confidence. ‘Many of you will have heard something of our enterprise, but until now its true nature had to be kept secret.’ The general spoke in English, and Williams found it strange that the colonel of the Toledo Regiment was absent, and a captain – presumably able to understand the language – was present in his stead.

  ‘We have two objectives,’ Lord Turney continued. ‘The first is to relieve the pressure on Cadiz. Although the city enjoys a formidable position it is far from impregnable, and so we must draw some of the besiegers away, reducing their numbers and thus their capacity to prosecute the siege with vigour. At the moment their batteries threaten almost all of the inner harbour and a good deal of the bay. We need to slow them down and press on with the strengthening of our own works.

  ‘The second intention is to foster the fighting spirit of the brave Spanish irregulars. We must keep alive the animosity of the peasants, by showing them that the war is not yet lost. If they do not despair and capitulate, then the irregulars, especially those in the mountains, are well placed and well able to harass the French as they bring supplies through the mountains to their forces outside Cadiz and along the coast.

  ‘Therefore our commanders have resolved to attack. Ours is the major part, but as we speak General Blake with the Spanish Army of the Centre is mounting an advance from Murcia. At the very least this threat will keep General Sebastiani and many of his troops too far away to respond to our descent upon the coast. The prize is Malaga, but we cannot strike directly, and so instead we will land here,’ he pointed at the map spread out in front of him, ‘and take the castle near Fuengirola.’

  Williams had to stand on his toes so that his head brushed the deck above in order to see over the press of officers. He a
nd Hanley had traversed much of that country, but he found it hard to relate his memories to the map. Distances and the relationship of places appeared badly skewed. He doubted that there were good maps of the area, but could not help wondering why they had not asked Hanley to make one, for his friend was a talented artist.

  ‘Once we have that post in our hands, the French are bound to march against us with all their force, drawing off men from the garrisons throughout the region. Depending on circumstances, we may then re-embark, and perhaps even make a strike at Malaga. However, I do not propose definite plans for we cannot predict every contingency. Much depends on the enthusiasm of the peasantry. We are assured that they are ready to rise up, but I have heard such reports in the past and found many to be unfounded.’ He turned to one of the naval officers. ‘Captain Hall, will you be good enough to tell us of the most recent letters you carry from General Campbell at Gibraltar?’

  ‘A pleasure, my lord.’ Williams thought the sailor held differing views to the general. ‘We are assured of the weakness of the French garrisons along this coast and the patriotism of the peasants. They are ready to take up arms against the invader given the slightest encouragement. In addition, the batteries protecting the mole at Malaga itself have been stripped of guns – perhaps they want them for one of their outposts or even to besiege Cadiz.’ He paused, looking at the general for guidance.

  ‘Pray tell them of General Campbell’s suggestion,’ Lord Turney said, giving an easy smile. ‘It is better that everyone should know.’

  ‘Very good, my lord. General Campbell is convinced that this intelligence changes our understanding. There is a great opportunity for a coup de main, a sudden assault directly on Malaga without first mounting a diversion. With the mole stripped of its armament we can bombard the eastern side of the town, while all of our boats carry marines and sailors to the mole and seize it. Such a success will surely spur the townsfolk to rise, and then the rest of the force can be landed to reinforce the town. That is the general’s plan, and I do believe it could work.’

  ‘If the guns have been removed from the mole and if the peasants rise.’ Lord Turney’s scepticism was obvious, even scornful. ‘And if I land my regiments outside the town I shall not only have to ford this river,’ the general tapped his finger on the map, ‘but march through this wide plain. We have no cavalry, gentlemen, not a single trooper, and that is cavalry country if ever I saw it.

  ‘I honour your confidence, Captain Hall, indeed I do, but the risk of a severe repulse is too great. These latest reports come from Major Sinclair, do they not? Yes, I understood it to be so. You have met the man, have you not, Williams? What is your opinion of his judgement?’

  Surprised to be singled out, Williams felt uncomfortable as all eyes turned to him. ‘I have met Major Sinclair only briefly. He appeared a highly committed officer, but I do not feel that I can pass judgement on his abilities on so short an acquaintance.’

  Lord Turney gave a wry smile. ‘That is scarcely a ringing endorsement. I have heard that the major is a great enthusiast. Is that not right?’

  Williams’ discomfort increased. He had not cared much for the garrulous major, but did not want to blackguard a man behind his back without strong reason. However, no one could doubt the Irishman’s enthusiasm. ‘He is, my lord.’

  ‘Indeed, I suspect an enthusiast led astray by other enthusiasts, all reporting what they long to believe is true, rather than what their eyes tell them. Such things are understandable, but no basis for sound decisions.’

  Hall glared at Williams. Clearly the naval officer was unconvinced, and the Welshman wondered whether he might not be right. The boldness of the raid on Las Arenas defied military logic and yet had succeeded.

  Having swept the governor’s plan aside, Lord Turney resumed. ‘So, our first objective remains Fuengirola and its castle. It should not prove too formidable, but we will all benefit from an engineer’s assessment, if Captain Harding would be so good.’

  ‘Sohail Castle is a medieval fort, shaped like a distorted rectangle and high walled.’ The engineer looked at his notes. On the previous day he had asked Williams quite a few questions to add to the little information he possessed. ‘Possibly some cannon, although one of our sources claims the guns are more than two hundred years old so they may or may not still be sound. Garrison of less than a company. It is overlooked by higher ground some three to four hundred yards away, and if necessary a battery established there would be well placed to batter the wall.’

  Lord Turney rubbed his hands, a curious gesture for a man who was so consciously elegant. ‘That should not prove at all formidable. Captain Harding did not mention that the garrison are from the Fourth Polish Regiment. Mercenaries, no less, so little reason for them to risk their lives.’ The captain in charge of the Chasseurs recruited from deserters and prisoners shifted uneasily, but Lord Turney either did not notice or did not care. ‘I doubt that they will fight, but if they do, then we can knock down those old walls and go in with the bayonet. We will have a brace of twelve-pounders, as well as a howitzer, and also the even heavier guns of the Navy.’

  Williams doubted it would be so easy. From what he had seen, the castle was in good repair, and its walls were high. It would not withstand a formal siege, but then he doubted they would have time or leisure to mount one. It was hard to tell whether Harding was also concerned by the general’s dismissal of the obstacle presented by the castle, but the engineer said nothing.

  He listened as Captain Mullins read out a list of the French troops in the wider area, and was baffled because he gave much lower estimates than the ones he and Hanley had received from the guerrilleros. Some of his confusion must have shown in his face.

  Lord Turney waited for the brigade major to finish. ‘You have concerns, Mr Williams?’

  Again the eyes turned on him. Some were sympathetic, while others resented the attention given to the most junior officer in the cabin.

  ‘Forgive me, my lord, but barely ten days ago Don Antonio Velasco and other partisan leaders supplied us with somewhat larger figures for the soldiers in these garrisons.’

  ‘More enthusiasts,’ the general said, ‘and no doubt equally well meaning, but not experienced soldiers. In most cases we can safely halve the numbers they report. And of course, nearly all of these troops are more foreign mercenaries.’

  It was not his place, and no doubt ill mannered, but Williams found himself persisting. ‘I also believe the castle may prove more formidable. Its walls are high and would be difficult to escalade. In addition, I believe …’

  ‘I think we can leave such matters to the engineers,’ the general said in his best avuncular manner. Williams thought Hall looked pleased at his discomfort, and could not help wishing Major MacAndrews was here to raise further objections to such cavalier predictions of easy victory. Still, even if he were, the Scotsman was a major and Lord Turney a major general. His lordship was in command, and until now had shown talent for organisation.

  ‘Well, gentlemen, with Mr Williams’ permission’ – that was an unnecessary and ungraceful remark – ‘I believe we have concluded our business. We are running up the coast and will land tomorrow. For the moment, all I can add is good luck to you all, and good hunting!’

  13

  The trumpet sounded, the call insistent as the five notes were repeated.

  ‘Forward march!’ Officers repeated the orders all along the beach.

  It was half past ten in the morning on Sunday, 14th October and Major General Lord Turney’s little army began its march on the castle. Williams was impressed by how smoothly the landing had gone, confirming his admiration for the Navy’s discipline and organisation. The Cala del Moral was a pretty inlet with a pretty name – the cove of the mulberry tree. Topaze and the transports were all anchored close inshore, Rambler, Encounter and the returned Sparrowhawk a little further out to sea, but their boats employed ferrying the cannon and gunners ashore. The naval gunboats were stationed all along the b
each, their flat bottoms allowing them to go close in and cover the shore with their eighteen-pounders. If Frenchmen – or Poles – had appeared to oppose the landing, then they were ready to sweep the beach with canister or the heavier grapeshot.

  No enemy appeared, so the boats went back and forth and the troops landed, forming up by company and regiment on the beach. In the lead were the 2/89th Foot, black facings on their red coats. They had spent much of the last year serving as additional marines to the Mediterranean fleet, and when Williams went with one of the first boats he saw that the soldiers looked more comfortable than most redcoats who found themselves afloat. A lot of the men were Irish, and they gave off the same cheerful confidence as men like Sergeant Murphy. One or two of the older men even said they remembered when Lord Turney served in the regiment many years before. As the boats ran on to the sand, they sprang out and splashed ashore with a good deal of spirit.

  The 89th were a good regiment, but there were few of them. This was the second battalion, depleted by constant drafts to the first battalion stationed far away in India, and only four weak companies had somehow ended up in Gibraltar and so been chosen for this expedition. A Major Grant was in charge, a thickset man with a face tanned to the colour of old leather from long service in the Indies.

  Williams was less impressed with the Chasseurs – or the Foreign Recruits Battalion as they were called officially, though almost never in practice. He watched as the boats returned and brought the blue-uniformed foreign regiment ashore. They looked capable enough, moving with the confidence of old soldiers, but he could see no sign of animation. The men did a job and no more. With them came Lieutenant Hatch, his face pale, though that was more likely the consequence of drink than fear. The man disliked him, and if Williams could never quite fathom why, it had been hard over the years not to let his own distaste for the fellow grow in return.