‘Hm?’ Arthur stirred and looked at his brother. ‘Oh, it just struck me that I have not faced the French since I was in Flanders, fifteen years ago. They were good then, and I dare say that with all the experience Bonaparte has given them they will be even more formidable. They have humbled every army in Europe, except our own. In addition, they outnumber our men overwhelmingly. It is quite a daunting prospect.’
Richard looked at his brother searchingly. ‘Do you think you can beat them?’
‘I think so. They have faced armies who were already unnerved by the prospect of fighting French soldiers. It is my belief that our men are made of tougher stuff. They are better trained, better led in most respects, and, above all, they have self-confidence. If the French manoeuvre against us in columns, as I have heard they always do, then I believe that our men, in line, will be steady enough to carry the day.’ Arthur took a sip from his glass. ‘If I am wrong then they will bury my cold body in some ditch in Portugal, and you will soon be learning the Marseillaise.’
Chapter 43
Mondego Bay, Portugal, 30 July 1808
The British fleet lay heaved to off the coast. In addition to the transports there was a squadron of warships assigned to protect Arthur’s force. His strength had been increased by a further five thousand men under the command of Major-General Sir Brent Spencer, following further intelligence that Junot had up to twenty thousand men in his army. In the days before the transports had arrived off the coast of Portugal Arthur had been cruising along the coast looking for a place to land his soldiers so that they could march on Lisbon.A landing at the Portuguese capital itself was out of the question. The mouth of the Tagus was covered by a number of strong forts which commanded the approaches to the harbour. In addition, the British had discovered a squadron of eight Russian warships at anchor off Lisbon. With the treaty between France and Russia still in effect the Russian squadron presented a possible danger and was best avoided, Arthur decided. Sailing north along the coast from Lisbon it soon became clear that there were very few places suitable for landing his army.
Mondego Bay itself was covered by a centuries-old fort constructed from a pale yellow stone, and the British fleet was about to move on when a small boat put out from the shore and made directly for the British warships. On board was the excited representative of a group of students from Coimbra University. In broken English he explained that they had seized the fort from the small French garrison that had been posted there by General Junot.
‘How long ago?’
‘Two days.’ The student grinned. ‘Two days before, we kick them out.’
‘Kicked them out? You let them go?’
‘Yes!’ The student nodded. ‘They run like dogs with tails between legs.’
‘Then they will have had time to report the loss of the fort,’ Arthur mused. He turned to Admiral Cotton, the commander of the naval squadron. Cotton was a senior officer of long experience who approached his duty with caution. ‘We have to ensure that the army is ashore before the French can retake the fort.’
Cotton looked surprised and gestured towards the shore, where a wide expanse of rough-looking surf pounded the sand.‘It is not a good place to land your army, Sir Arthur.The conditions are too difficult, too dangerous.’
‘We’ll land here,’ Arthur replied firmly. ‘We have already sailed a hundred miles up the coast from Lisbon searching for a suitable place. We cannot afford to keep looking or we will put too great a distance between us and our goal.We land here. Now, I would be grateful if you would send ashore a hundred of your marines to reinforce our gallant student allies.’ Arthur patted the Portuguese youth on the shoulder and the latter beamed with pride as he puffed out his chest.
Admiral Cotton looked wearily at the student and shrugged his shoulders.‘As you wish. I will have our marines ashore within the hour.’
‘Thank you,Admiral. Let me know the moment we are in possession of the fort. Then we can begin disembarking our troops at once. In the meantime I propose to entertain our young guest in the wardroom, if you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all,’ Cotton grumbled. ‘Be my guest.’
Arthur led the student down the gangway and automatically ducked as they went below deck.There was a bump and a groan behind him as the student learned the first lesson of naval architecture.
‘Mind your head,’ Arthur muttered unhelpfully.
As the student drank eagerly from the decanter placed before him, Arthur questioned him about life under the French. The student’s cheerfulness faded as he told of the arrogance and cruelty of Bonaparte’s soldiers.They stripped the land of food and valuables as they passed and punished any attempt at resistance by the Portuguese people with wanton severity. Five days earlier, so the student said, a French patrol had been set upon by the townspeople of Évora when the French had attempted to take gold and silver plate from the local church. In return, the commander of the nearest French division, General Loison, had marched a column to Évora and killed every man, woman and child in the town. There was nothing left there but bodies and ghosts, the student said with scarcely suppressed rage.
As Arthur listened to him, and shared his anger at the horrors of war, he could not help feeling a measure of satisfaction that the French had, as ever, managed to turn the local population against them. Now Arthur could be sure that the Portuguese would welcome the British soldiers about to descend on their land. Of course, it was essential that every man in the army knew how vital it was to behave in a way that would retain the support and loyalty of the locals. He decided that it was time to issue his first General Order, so that the troops would understand that Portugal was a friendly country and no liberties were to be taken with the property or persons of the Portuguese.
As the student came to the end of his account, there was a knock and a marine entered the wardroom and saluted.
‘General, there’s a brig joining the fleet. They’ve signalled that they have an urgent despatch on board for you.’
‘Thank you.’ Arthur turned back to the student and poured them both a glass before proposing a toast.
‘To Portugal and Britain! Allies and sworn enemies of the Corsican tyrant.’
‘Yes.’The student nodded. ‘Death to the French!’
‘Yes,’ Arthur agreed. ‘Even that. Death to the French.’
Once he had escorted the student back on deck and seen to it that the youth made it safely back aboard his boat, Arthur turned and looked for the brig.The small ship had hove to astern of the admiral’s flagship and a small cutter was being lowered into the water. Four sailors took the oars and a midshipman climbed into the stern clutching a bag of despatches and letters. The small craft bobbed across the waves as the sailors rowed lustily, and a short time later the midshipman was standing on the broad deck of the flagship offering a sealed document to Arthur.
‘From London, sir, War Office.’
Arthur returned the salute and took the despatch below to the wardroom, where he closed the door and broke the seal on the stitched canvas covering. Like most orders that were carried at sea, they had been covered with waterproofed canvas and contained an iron weight to send the message to the bottom of the sea if the vessel carrying them was intercepted. Placing the iron bar to one side, Arthur took out the envelope addressed to him and flipped it over to see that it had been sent directly from the office of Viscount Castlereagh, the Secretary of State for War. Arthur opened the envelope, unfolded the letter and began to read the contents swiftly.
Castlereagh reported that the latest intelligence received from British spies in Portugal was that General Junot’s army might contain over forty thousand men. Accordingly, the War Office had decided to send a further fifteen thousand men to join Arthur’s force in Portugal, and Castlereagh regretted to inform Sir Arthur that the combined force would be of such a size that a more senior officer would be required to command it.
Arthur felt the dead weight of disappointment settle on his soul. Once again fate see
med to have conspired against him. At the very moment when he was on the verge of commencing his first independent command in the European theatre of war, he was about to be trumped by a senior officer.
He read on. The combined force was to be placed under the command of Sir Hew Dalrymple. Arthur tried to recall what he knew of the man. Sir Hew must be nearly twenty years older than Arthur. He had seen very little active service, and even that was over ten years ago. Sir Hew was to be accompanied by Sir Harry Burrard and four other officers who would be above Arthur in the new chain of command. He clenched his fist and took a deep breath to calm his temper and ease the frustration that burned away inside. At length he read the final paragraph. He frowned, and read it again, slowly and deliberately, and then lowered the letter with a faint smile. The Secretary for War had concluded by ordering Arthur not to wait for his superiors to catch up but to continue his operation to seize Lisbon as speedily as possible.
‘God bless you, Castlereagh,’Arthur muttered.There was a chance for him yet, provided he did not waste a moment. Folding the letter, he stood up swiftly and promptly whacked his head on the low ceiling. He emerged on deck, rubbing his crown, then jammed his hat on his head and strode across to join Admiral Cotton.
‘I have just received orders from London.’
‘So?’
‘We are to land the army immediately.’
‘Immediately? Why, half the day is gone already, Sir Arthur. My marines have only just taken charge of the fort. It would be best to wait until the morrow.’
Arthur shook his head.‘There is no time to waste.The army must be landed at once.’
All afternoon, and well into dusk, the boats ferried soldiers and supplies ashore.The surf was even more wild than it appeared from the ships, and some of the lighter boats were tumbled over as they attempted to approach the shore, casting the sailors and soldiers into the foaming spray where several were drowned. But, by nightfall, the first wave of Arthur’s army was ashore and had moved beyond the red rocks lining the shore to make camp. Pickets were posted further inland. Arthur would have liked to send cavalry patrols out to locate the nearest enemy troops, but only a handful of horses had sailed with the expedition and they were still aboard the convoys, awaiting calmer conditions to be brought ashore.
A small tent had been erected for the commanding officer and by the light of a single lantern Arthur conferred with his new aide-de-camp, a young man recommended to him by the Duke of Richmond.
‘So then, Somerset, how long will it take to complete the unloading?’
Lord Fitzroy Somerset consulted his notes in a calm, unhurried manner. ‘We have three thousand men ashore. There’re another twelve and a half to come all told. Food supplies and ammunition will come first, in case we encounter any of the enemy. Then the artillery and engineers. Given the available boats, and time taken to make a round trip, I have calculated that the landing will be completed in six days’ time, sir.’
‘I see.’ Arthur nodded. It was not good news. General Junot was bound to learn of the landing before the following day was out and would instantly begin to concentrate his forces in an attempt to repel the British invasion.The army had to be ready to move before then.The main difficulty was that neither the artillery nor the cavalry had sufficient horses to march on the enemy.The War Office had anticipated that a ready supply of horses could be found in Portugal. However, as Arthur had quickly discovered, the small country was poor and good horses were scarce. Even mules were in short supply and as things stood the infantry would be required to haul some of the supply wagons by hand. Arthur glanced up at Somerset. ‘Any word from our Portuguese friend yet?’
General Freire had been charged by his government in exile to co-operate with the British as fully as possible and had promised to join Arthur with food, horses and another six thousand Portuguese soldiers the moment the redcoats landed. Arthur had met Freire at Oporto when the flagship had stopped there on the way to Lisbon. Freire, like so many local officials, had offered an effusive welcome to Arthur and his staff officers, and had made wild boasts about crushing the French forces on Portuguese soil before joining with his British brothers and liberating Spain. Arthur had thanked him politely and persuaded Freire to meet him on the Lisbon road, at Leiria, and march on the Portuguese capital together.
Somerset shook his head.‘Nothing as yet, sir. Freire might have been delayed. Or he might not have sent out any messengers to advise us of his approach.’
‘Tell me, Somerset, what did you make of Freire?’
Arthur watched his aide closely as Somerset quickly formed his judgement and made his reply. ‘I was impressed by his sense of patriotism, sir. There is no doubting his desire to rid Portugal of the French. However, he did not seem to have any ready answers to your queries about where the supplies and the horses would come from. If I may be honest, sir?’
‘Speak freely, Somerset. I will not have an aide humour me. I must be able to trust you implicitly.’
‘Very well, sir,’ the officer responded in a relieved tone.‘I fear that we may see very little of what he promised us when we reach Leiria. Naturally, I may be wrong.’
‘I hope you are. If we cannot rely on our allies this army is going to be largely dependent on lines of communication that stretch from the shores of Britain to the coast of Portugal. Not a happy prospect, and when winter comes we can look forward to severe disruption of our supplies.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Arthur looked at the map of Portugal that lay across his campaign desk. It was sparsely detailed and was all he had been able to obtain from the War Office before they set off.‘We will keep close to the coast as we advance on Lisbon. That way we can be resupplied by sea and can be evacuated if we suffer any serious reverse.’
Somerset glanced at the map. ‘Yes, sir. That makes sense.’
‘Thank you, young man. I know that.’
Somerset stiffened. ‘Sorry, sir. Is that all?’
‘Yes.You’d better go and get some sleep.You’ll need all your strength for the coming campaign.’
‘Yes, sir. Good night, sir.’
Once his aide had left him, Arthur concentrated his attention on the map again. Lisbon was over a hundred miles away. Perhaps seven days’ march. There was every chance that Dalrymple would arrive and take command of the army long before Arthur had had a chance to prove himself. Be that as it may, he would still do everything in his power to prepare the men to march on Lisbon, even if another officer would take the credit for any success they might achieve. Arthur stood up, stretched his shoulders, left the stifling tent and emerged into the sweltering heat of a summer evening. The air had not yet cooled and was heavy with unfamiliar scents. Around the tent the shrill chorus of cicadas rose in intensity and then stopped dead, before beginning again and gradually building up once more. Arthur smiled to himself. He enjoyed this sense of strangeness, of getting away from the landscapes he took for granted in Ireland and England. He had few illusions about the discomforts of the coming campaign, but there was an undeniable sense of liberation in being so far from home, with all its petty and pedantic social demands, not to mention the endlessly shifting currents of the political scene. Arthur felt at home in the field.The goals were clear enough, the stakes were high, and if he and his men did their duty, then they would contribute to the salvation of their country. What greater satisfaction was there than that, Arthur reflected contentedly.
By the time the first week in August came to an end the army was ready to march. On the tenth, Arthur gave the order to break camp and the column set off for Leiria, some twelve miles away. General Freire had already sent word that he and his force had reached the town, but there was no mention of the promised horses and supplies, as Somerset had rightly suspected. As a precaution Arthur had used some of the gold that had accompanied the army to purchase enough horses and mules from the local people to ensure that the army could advance from its beachhead without having to rely on manpower to shift the guns and wago
ns.
The redcoats were not used to the midsummer heat of Iberia, and had had little chance to exercise in the close confines of the troopships, with the result that they suffered dreadfully on the first day’s march.The rough cart track that passed for a road was baked solid and the dust and sand that had gathered on either side was quickly kicked up into a choking cloud that irritated eyes and caught in throats and added still further to the torments of thirst the men endured as they tramped along. Very soon, even the most spirited of them had fallen silent and the soft scrape and thud of boots was accompanied only by the shrill, grating protests from the axles of the wagons and carts carrying the supplies.
Late in the afternoon Arthur rode ahead with Somerset and a local man Arthur had hired to act as guide and translator. General Freire was waiting for them at Leiria, and had commandeered a fine house on the edge of the town and received his guests in a small courtyard where a fountain splashed invitingly in a tiled pond. As many of his men as possible had been quartered in the town, and sat silently in the shade as the British officers rode by, making no attempt to stand and salute.
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