“Alright lads. No holes, nothin’ missin?”
Miles replied, “We’re all fine, but Joe here got a whack on the head, but made up for it with a nice pair of Frencher boots. How was it for you?”
Deakin's face fell.
“It were bad, a tough fight. They got Pat. We buried him more or less on our line, far over. He’s lying with a lot of our lads; the French paid us out well before deciding to give best. The 20th came up just in time, good lads all, and finally saw the Johnnies away. But, thur ‘tis, Pat’s gone.”
Silence fell between them, each with their thoughts on Pat Mulcahey, but it was broken by Joe Pike. Anxiety lay heavy in his words.
“How will his family know? What’s going to happen to them?”
Deakin answered.
“They may find out in a bad way, or the worst way. The bad way is that a muster is sent back, and from that, someone tells ‘em. Or it could be the worst way. They don’t see Pat comin’ off the ship when we finally gets back to ‘em.”
“What will happen to them?”
“Don’t worry about that, lad. We takes care of our own. So, how did it go on your side?”
Miles took a deep breath, but the words died in his throat.
“Light Company. Form up!
Miles changed his comment to a parting reply.
“We’ll be seein’ you, then, Jed, Toby. We’n sent off on a mission to look for the French. If you finds some bottles of local, hold one for us.”
The last each saw of the others was their grinning faces as they parted company and the three Light infantrymen formed up in their ranks and marched back to where Carr and Greelish were waiting. Whilst Drake, Rushby and the Sergeants made their inspections, Carr approached Greelish.
“What are you orders, Sir?”
Greelish looked at him in annoyance and impatience.
“Surely you heard the General, Carr? We are to go through Maida and onto Catanzarro.”
“Yes, Sir, but what formation would you like us to advance in? From here forward we can’t be certain about what we are going to meet.”
Greelish’s appearance did not change.
“I leave that to you. Your job is to get me to Catanzarro.”
Carr was surprised that this Major, him being no less than their Commanding Officer, would give no opinion on the best formation they should use and so he made the only reply he could.
“Yes Sir. Of course, Sir.”
“We have six hours of daylight left. Can your men do 20 miles in that time?”
“Yes Sir, or something very close to it.”
Greelish repeated his curt nod and Carr saluted and changed his attention to his Company, already in a column of fours. He turned to Drake.
“As we are, Nat. We’re going back across the battlefield. Ellis!”
“Sir.”
“Yourself and three men. Out front as a picket, 300 yards. Keep your eyes open. There are still Lights coming back, but there could still be French. Those Voltiguers looked useful and some may still be around.”
“Yes Sir.”
In the early afternoon of the day of the battle, Carr’s Company retraced their steps forward across the unaltered scene of the French defeat. French dead, many with bayonet wounds in their backs, broke up the rhythm of their march. Some French wounded, still suffering from their wounds cried out piteously, but most harrowing of all, was the scurrying off at their approach of Calabrian peasants robbing the dead and abusing the wounded. Clearly intense hatred dwelt within them for their French occupiers and now was a chance for revenge. Cries of pain came from the distance and evidence of their work could be deduced from missing fingers, missing ears, and cut throats. Come dark, this work could begin again in earnest.
Willoughby was correct. Kempt’s Light Battalion was returning, pushing French prisoners before them and sweeping up any French wounded who could walk and had taken themselves to the Lamato to try to bathe and tend their wounds. Many of the Lights were plainly the worse for drink, pillaged from somewhere, and their raucous, drunken shouts accompanied the march forward of Carr and his men. Thus, there was more human traffic, in various conditions, coming past them in the opposite direction than they themselves formed on their scouting mission. Greelish led the main column, with his two Dragoons either side, and a servant with a packhorse behind them. Carr placed himself 100 yards in front where he could see his advance picket. From the discarded accoutrements and dead, dying, or wounded Frenchman, it was plain that they were following an army in flight, more than retreating, being pushed and pursued. Two hours hard marching brought them within sight of Maida. Returning Light Infantry had long ceased and the village seemed quiet. Carr halted the column at an enclosed farm and waved Ellis on to discover what was in the village, but Greelish immediately rode up.
“Why have you called a halt, Carr? We have to get through Maida and beyond.”
“Yes, Sir. But the French may have re-occupied it and established a rearguard. I’ve sent my picket forward to take a look.”
“Damn your caution, Carr. If the French are there, we’ll all discover it soon enough without hanging around waiting for some of your scoundrels to come back and tell us.”
“Yes, Sir. But the village could mask cavalry and at this farm we are safer than being out in the open.”
“Carr, your worries would insult an old woman. March on.”
The Company left the farm and followed Ellis towards the village. Ellis had spread his men far out to expand the ground they could see, but tension fell from all when he turned and waved them forward. As they approached the village, the lessening distance enabled them all to see red coated figures moving between the houses, some in blue, plainly prisoners. They marched into the village and Carr was pleased to see a familiar face. Captain Smart had recognised him and was walking his way, bearing a broad grin. They shook hands.
“Carr. Glad to see you came through.”
“Smart. You too.”
However, before the conversation could develop, Major Greelish rode up. Both came to the attention, Smart recognising his Battalion Major.
“Carr. 15 minute break, no more. Smart. Report.”
“Yes Sir. Colonel Kempt told me to hold here until mid morning tomorrow. Following Colonel Kempts orders, the 20th Lights are out in front somewhere; they pushed on South West from here, to a place called Borgia. They are under the command of Major Colbourne of the 20th. They may return through here, they may not, which is why I must hold no longer than ordered.”
“What of the French?”
“Can’t really tell, Sir. We have seen some dust, but that’s all. I have a picket about half a mile forward, but they have sent back no word.”
“Where did you see the dust?”
“In the direction of Catanzarro, Sir.”
Greelish nodded and dismounted.
“Get me some water, for my mount and myself.”
Carr had listened to the conversation then took himself off to his men, who had settled to a break without waiting for orders. Miles, Pike and Davey were filling their canteens from the small trough filled with fresh water from the nearby well, filled by themselves by drawing a bucket. Davey was still filling his canteen, when alongside his shoulder came the head of a horse which buried its muzzle in the cool water, right alongside Davey’s almost filled canteen. Davey turned angrily to the rider, this being one of the Dragoons, his face framed in the Westering sun, causing Davey to squint.
“Well that’s damn nice to you, mate, to fill my canteen with horse slaver. You had but to wait a small time and I’d have finished. A damn poor move, I call it. Damn poor.”
The Dragoon leaned forward over his horse’s shoulder. His build was heavy cavalry, big and powerful. Davey noticed a scar, running from the outside corner of his left eye, down to the corner of his mouth.
“I don’t give a shit for thee and thy canteen. My horse is thirsty and I b’aint goin’ to keep him from what he needs.”
Da
vey met the challenging stare.
“I hope thee and I meets again. I really do.”
Miles had heard and seen all and was pulling the now needed fresh water up from the well, whilst Davey emptied his canteen onto the ground.
“And just what did you get up to, this morning in all the fighting that was happening round and about? You looks too spic and span to have been too much involved. Back at the back, polishin’ your brasswork, was you? Safe and sound and out of it? I never did know cavalry that got up close with the enemy still formed up and steady, but you comes up soon enough when the likes of us as broken ‘em up. Back in the rear, nice and safe, till the job’s nye done!”
The Dragoon’s face turned purple with anger. He jerked his horse’s head out of the water and in Miles’ direction. The next move was to ride Miles down, but Miles, recognising the signs, had whipped his bayonet out of its scabbard and fixed it on the end of his musket with equal speed. This he followed by adopting the ‘en garde’. The two remained locked in a ferocious stare, neither making a move, until Lieutenant Drake came running over.
“Miles. What the Hell is going on here?”
Miles came immediately to “order arms”.
“Oh, nothin’ Sir. I was just demonstrating a point to this here cavalryman, Sir, about how we defends ourselves against horses. Sir.”
Drake looked almost as angry as the Dragoon.
“Drill, is it? That’s what you say. Now remove your bayonet and get yourself back to the others. We move in five minutes.”
Drake watched his order being obeyed, but took full notice of the malevolent look that Miles gave the Dragoon as he turned away toward the rest of his Company. The Dragoon pulled his horse towards the opposite direction, giving Drake as contemptuous a look as he had given Miles, but Drake had concerns of his own. Time was up and the Company needed to be reformed. His orders sounded around the abandoned village, repeated by Ellis and soon they were advancing on, this time with Fearnley and two others out as picket. The way out of Maida to Catanzarro was a good road and quicker progress was made, but Greelish was still left fuming whenever Fearnley called up Carr to decide the way of coping with anything threatening or suspicious. Carr was concerned. They were the most advanced of the British forces and the trail of discarded equipment, although lessened, was still there. They were still following the main French army on its retreat. Greelish’s impatience and the way it was communicated to Carr with insults and sarcasm were not lost on the men under Carr’s command. Tom Miles soon voiced the conclusions of many others.
“This stiff backed bugger’s goin’ to get us killed, caught out in the open by a regiment of Frog cavalry. Any damn child knows that cavalry will be somewer’, covering a retreat, an’ they’ll look on doin’ us as sweet revenge for what happened to ‘em this mornin’.”
Ellis overheard and for once delivered no rebuke. He agreed too strongly.
“We all thinks it, Miles, but you ‘as to say it. If we follows orders, Captain Carr’s that is, and follows our drill, we’ll get out of it. Just keep a watch out to your flank, same as the rest of us.”
The first they saw of Catanzarro was smoke on the horizon Then, as they crested the last ridge, it was plain that much of the village was on fire, but from their distance there was no sign of the French and they approached, in close skirmish order to enable them to spread out for infantry or close quickly for cavalry. However, as the details emerged before them, Carr formed an opinion that he shared with Drake.
“Those buildings haven’t been on fire for even an hour, they’re still burning fiercely. Any longer, they’d be burnt out. Whoever set them alight is not long gone.”
They eased their way forward, but pickets out to the flanks signalled no cavalry and so they entered from both the main road and the narrow alleys. However, nothing could prepare them for what they found in those alleyways and inside the houses. The deeds inflicted on the inhabitants by the retreating French were not done to force the disclosure of food, this was pure revenge. There was no living thing remaining in the village. The French had killed every being and every animal remaining and the stench of burning flesh pervaded everywhere. The evidence lay within the houses, doorways, and alleyways. Within minutes of the Light Company entering the village came the sounds of retching or curses and oaths heaped upon the heads of the French and damn them until the next time we meet. Miles looked at Davey, both with ashen faces.
“I never saw the likes of this before, John, not never! Give me another chance to pay these bastards out, just one, that’s all I ask. Women, kids, and old ‘uns. What harm to they do? None. Killin’ the likes of them, done just to make ‘em feel better. And they wouldn’t waste a cartridge! Oh no. Butts and bayonets was just fine for this Devil’s work.”
Joe Pike was supporting himself on his musket, his face green from vomiting.
“Why do they do this, Tom? Why, what’s the purpose?”
Miles’ reply was angry and impatient.
“How do I know, boy? They b’ain’t yer to ask. All I knows is, that some armies is worse than others, and this Frencher army must be one of the worst. All I can tell ‘ee, is what you can work out for yourself. This is just spite, pure spite, takin’ their defeat out on anyone, in this case those as is just easy and to hand and can’t fight back.
Greelish and his Dragoons had ridden through the village to a hilltop just beyond and he could be seen studying the darkening horizon. Carr remained in the village centre, with Drake and Rushby. All were looking down at the large number of horseshoe prints, still showing in the dust and the mud besides the well, and fresher compared to the equal number of boot marks. Drake looked up at Carr.
“Cavalry?”
Carr’s reply was testy, borne of anger.
“What else? Last out to cover the retreat. Blood’s still running in the gutters.”
“Do you think it’s the whole population?”
“That I doubt. There aren’t that many, just those who left their evacuation too late. Either that, or didn’t see the need. We have to do something about the dead; we can’t leave without doing something. Any suggestions?”
It was Rushby who answered.
“We need houses for our own billet tonight, Sir, but there will still be enough left for us if we fill two or three with all the wood we can find, place the bodies on the wood inside and then set fire to it. I think that’s the best we can do.”
“I agree, well thought of, Barnaby, but not houses on the French side. I don’t want them seeing fresh fires. Can I leave that to you both?”
“Yes Sir,” in unison.
Carr walked out to join Greelish, still peering and focusing forward. Carr did not want to interrupt Greelish still trying to carry out his mission, but it was plain to Carr that, with the fading light, he had no hope of carrying it out within this day. He politely cleared his throat. There was no reaction. He had no choice but to stand and wait. Eventually the telescope was lowered.
“Sir. I’ve set the men to dispose of the bodies. I would suggest that we billet here for the night in the remaining houses, and see what can be seen with daylight.”
“Seeing by daylight seems rather an obvious comment to make, Carr! Personally, I’m not spending a night in any of that squalor. I’ll pitch camp outside, with my servant and escort. You suit yourself.”
Alarm bells rang in Carr’s mind.
“Sir, may I request that you make your camp behind the village. The French expect a burning village, what they do not expect is new campfires in addition. That will tell them we are here and bring cavalry down upon us.”
Greelish’s face lit up, as though possessed of a revelation.
“You know, Carr, I think you may have hit upon an idea. Get a dozen of your men to go off down the hill and forward to our left. Beyond half a mile. I want two dozen campfires lit out there. Then we’ll see what the morning brings.”
Carr was horrified.
“Sir, with respect, that could bring a regi
ment of cavalry down on us.”
“Not here, Carr, there, out there. And we’ll be here, watching what goes on.”
“Again, Sir, with respect. Any cavalry that comes this far to reconnoitre and finds a lot of decoy campfires will also come to the village to inspect that. We could be one company against half a regiment.”
Carr looked and sounded anxious. A look at the Dragoon escort showed that they agreed with him, but Greelish continued.
“You worry more than a village full of old washerwomen, Carr. We are here to discover a French presence or not. I have given you an order, see that it is carried out.”
With that he turned his horse back to the village, leaving Carr red with anger on the hilltop. With one last stamp of the ground, he returned to the village. Soon, Fearnley and eleven men could be seen leaving the village. There was enough daylight left to light their way, but when the campfires could be seen dotted and sparkling a half a mile off, Fearnley and his men returned in the light of the funeral pyres that were still roaring on the site of the three cottages.
Ellis, Miles, Pike, Davey, and many other veteran Light Infantrymen looked in horror at the bright spots of yellow light, such as could be seen for miles. Two more could also be seen, but safely behind the village.
“Who ordered that?”
“’Tweren’t Carr. ‘Twer’ the Major.”
“How’d you know?”
“One of they Dragoons told I. The one without the scar. They b’ain’t happy neither. Sendin’ signals to the French.”
“I d’reckon that Major knows as much about Light Infantry work as I d’know about sewing a dress. I don’t like it; we’ll be lucky to get out of ‘ere in one piece.”
Worth Their Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regiment.) Page 40
