Fire and Sword

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘I apologise for the delay,’ Arthur explained to Freire, pausing as his words were translated. ‘But my army is far from its home, and I needed to ensure that everything my men required was ready before we marched.’

  Freire nodded as he listened. He was a short, wiry man with a neatly clipped beard and moustache. His hair was grey and grizzled and cropped close to the skull. His eyes were deep set and dark and seemed to stare accusingly. As the translator finished he shot back a swift series of comments directed at Arthur.

  ‘The general asks if all British armies are so slow, or is it that their generals are so cautious?’

  Arthur drew a sharp breath before replying.‘Tell the general that my army would have advanced more swiftly if we had received the horses and mules he promised me when we met in Oporto.’

  Freire shrugged nonchalantly when the comment was relayed to him.

  ‘The general says that it was not possible to find any draught animals for you. He says the French had taken them all, and the few that remained were needed by his men.’

  ‘And what of the supplies that he promised?’ Arthur asked. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘The general says that without mules and horses he could not transport supplies. In any case, there were few supplies to bring after the French had passed like locusts across the land.What supplies he did find are needed by his men.’

  ‘I see,’ Arthur muttered, keeping his irritation under control. ‘Please tell the general that we can manage without the things he had promised us for the moment. Now we need to discuss how we might best combine our forces to crush the French invaders.’

  Freire raised a hand to stop Arthur and spoke again.

  ‘The general says that his men are short of food and powder, and that you should supply them with both.’

  ‘Now, just a minute—’ Somerset started.

  Arthur shot a look at his aide. ‘Silence, if you please. Let me deal with this.’ He turned back to Freire. ‘Tell the general that I cannot supply his forces in addition to my own. I am not authorised to do it, and in any case we need all that we can carry as it is.’

  ‘The general says that without supplies he cannot advance any further towards Lisbon.’

  ‘Damn it, I will not be blackmailed,’ Arthur said bitterly. ‘Tell him that his government has instructed him to co-operate with me.’

  Freire laughed.

  ‘He says that the government’s word means little to him. He says that his first duty is to his men. He will only co-operate with the British if they supply him with what he needs.’

  Arthur clenched his jaws tightly together to avoid giving vent to his growing anger. He turned to Somerset. ‘Can we supply his men?’

  ‘To a degree, sir. But not for long. There might be a way round this impasse, sir.’

  ‘Then speak plainly, man!’ Arthur snapped.

  ‘Yes, sir. Since we lack cavalry we are having to make do with light infantry for some of our scouting.’

  ‘Yes. So?’

  ‘Why don’t we offer to feed and supply the general’s light troops, in exchange for having them seconded to our army?’

  Arthur considered the idea for a moment and then nodded to the guide to translate. Freire was quiet for a moment as he stroked his beard. Then he nodded and made his reply.

  ‘He agrees, as long as you provide his men with full rations, and they still remain under his command at all times.’

  ‘No,’Arthur replied at once.‘As long as I’m feeding ’em, they’re mine to command.’

  Freire made a great show of reluctance before finally conceding. Then Arthur moved on to address the matter of the advance on Lisbon. Somerset produced Arthur’s map of the region and spread it out across the cool tiles in the shaded courtyard. Arthur indicated the coastal route leading from Leiria to the capital.

  ‘This is the route I intend to follow. It is open country and the enemy might well take advantage of the fact to use his cavalry to harass my advance, but until the army is reinforced I must remain in contact with the British fleet following us along the coast. If we combine our forces, we should be able to cope with anything the French can put into the field against us between here and Lisbon.’

  The Portuguese general looked at the map and tapped another route, further inland.

  ‘He says that this is the best route. There are hills here that will conceal the advance. It is safer. He insists we should take this road,’ the guide translated.

  ‘Out of the question,’ Arthur replied at once. ‘It’s too far from the coast. If it’s mountainous it will only slow down my wagons and artillery. I am taking the coastal road. Tell him.’

  Freire was adamant that he would march through the hills and re-join the British outside Lisbon to take part in the liberation of the capital. Then, rising to his feet, Freire announced that he was fatigued and the interview was over. He would give orders for his light infantry to join the British column.With a curt bow, he turned and disappeared inside the house.

  Arthur stared after him for a moment. ‘Charming fellow.’

  ‘Quite,’ Somerset said softly. ‘I just hope this is not typical of the co-operation we can expect from our new allies, sir.’

  ‘So do I.’ Arthur took a deep breath and smiled. ‘Well, at least we have some extra men to strengthen our army. Pass the word to Colonel Trant. I believe he has some mastery of the local tongue. He can command the Portuguese contingent. Now roll up the map and let us go and hunt the French. Even if our allies prove difficult I am sure we may at least rely on the enemy to be obligingly consistent.’

  The British army continued marching south under the blazing sun. To their left, across a small plain, lay the hills where General Freire’s column was supposed to be marching parallel to them, but there was never any sign of Portuguese patrols and Freire might as well be on the moon, Arthur reflected bitterly.To the right lay the sea, and some miles out the British fleet, under reduced sail, kept pace with the army. The sea was calm and sparkled seductively in the sunlight, so that the soldiers were constantly tormented by the prospect of a refreshing swim in the sea, and muttered sourly about the easy life of a sailor.

  Towards the end of the fourth day, as they approached the village of Obidos, the faint crackle of musketry came from the direction of a windmill a few miles ahead of the main column. Arthur and Somerset rode ahead to investigate and discovered that a company of the 95th Rifles had driven off some French skirmishers and chased them a short distance before coming in sight of the main body of a sizeable French force.

  Arthur felt his pulse quicken as he turned to Somerset with an eager glint in his eye. ‘So it begins. With a bit of luck tomorrow will see the first battle of our campaign in the Peninsula. Now we’ll see how well the French stand up against our boys.’

  Chapter 44

  The church tower of Obidos provided fine views towards the south, and through his telescope Arthur examined the small French army formed up in front of another village, Roliça, some eight miles away. One of the enemy skirmishers captured the previous day had revealed that the French were led by General Delaborde, a tough, experienced veteran. Even though the French were outnumbered nearly four to one, their commander had chosen a good defensive position. Roliça lay in a flat-bottomed valley surrounded by a horseshoe of steep hills that protected the enemy’s flanks. The sun had risen an hour earlier and the slanting light bathed the landscape in vivid colours. Three columns of British soldiers were already setting off towards Roliça, and the dense ranks of red jackets gleamed brilliantly, like threads of blood flowing across the dusty landscape.

  During the night a peasant had arrived from a village in the hills to the east. He reported that another French column, of perhaps five thousand men, was marching to join the force at Roliça.That news had determined Arthur to strike as soon as possible, and destroy General Delaborde and his men before they could be reinforced. His plan was simple enough.Two smaller columns of British troops had set off before dawn,
marching swiftly towards the left and right of the hill. With luck Delaborde’s attention would be drawn to the three main columns, allowing the others to scale the hills and fall on the flanks of the French force.

  Satisfied that things were proceeding according to his intentions, Arthur snapped his telescope shut and turned to Somerset, who had just joined the small group of staff officers observing the deployment of the British army. ‘Time to join the fray, I think.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Still no word from Freire, I assume?’

  ‘No, sir. None of our mounted patrols could locate him.’

  ‘Well then, he will just have to miss the battle. Too bad.’

  Arthur called on his officers to follow him and descended from the church tower. They mounted the horses waiting in the street and rode off to join their commands.When Arthur reached the small rise behind the centre column that he had chosen as his command post he halted and watched as the three British columns formed into lines.The bands of each brigade began to play lustily to add to the spectacle that Arthur hoped would preoccupy the enemy’s attention while the trap was closed. For nearly an hour the two armies faced each other, just beyond cannon range, while Arthur and Somerset watched for signs of movement along the crests of the hills that overlooked General Delaborde’s flanks.

  At length, Somerset thrust his arm out. ‘There, sir!’

  Arthur followed the direction indicated and saw the head of a column appearing over the crest of the right-hand hill. No more than a minute later the troops of the leftmost column came into view.

  ‘Time to begin the attack.’ Arthur nodded, then turned his attention towards the French. ‘No, wait.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Delaborde’s seen the danger. Look.’

  Already the single battery of French guns was being limbered up and then, together with the main body of French infantry, they began to retire. Delaborde’s cavalry and skirmishers waited a moment to cover the retreat and then followed the rest of the small army as it marched past Roliça and made for the higher ground behind the village. By the time the flanking columns had descended from the slopes the last of the French had retreated out of danger.

  ‘Damn,’ Arthur muttered. ‘Somerset, pass the word. The army is to advance to that village and halt.We’ll have to make another attempt to bring Delaborde to bay.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Once more the British army advanced, this time in line, and the formations rippled slowly across the dry stubbly grass as they entered the valley and moved towards the new French position. As they approached Roliça Arthur could see that it would be a hard fight. Delaborde’s force was now arranged along the crest of a low hill with very steep sides facing the British. Here and there the slope was broken by a gully that led sharply up towards the crest. Arthur halted the army and sent fresh orders to the flanking columns to make another attempt to scale the hills on each side of the enemy. Now that the sun had reached its zenith the heat in the valley was stifling and a heat haze shimmered close to the ground. Thirsty and sweating, the two columns set off again, up towards the ridge.This time there would be no chance of surprising Delaborde. The French general could choose to retreat towards Lisbon through the narrow pass behind him, or stand his ground and fight, hoping that he might yet be rescued by the other French column somewhere to the east.

  ‘Hello, what’s Lake up to?’ Somerset mused, and Arthur turned and saw that one of his regiments, the Twenty-Ninth Foot, was still advancing towards the French. ‘Why hasn’t he halted?’

  Arthur watched in silence as the Twenty-Ninth continued towards a gully in the slope in front of them. A sick feeling welled up in his stomach and he gritted his teeth angrily.‘That damned fool, Lake. I fear he intends to scale that gully and break into their position.’

  ‘He can’t be serious, sir. Not without support.’

  ‘You know Lake, bull-headed and keen to make a name for himself.’

  ‘Yes, sir. As long as he doesn’t seek to do it posthumously.’

  ‘Get over there, and put a stop to that nonsense.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Somerset saluted and spurred his horse into a gallop towards the left of the line where the Twenty-Ninth should have halted. But, even as Arthur watched, Lake’s men marched into the gully and began to clamber over the steep ground towards the French. Somerset was never going to reach them in time to prevent the coming tragedy. Arthur opened his telescope and began to follow the action as the first men from Lake’s battalion emerged from the gully into the French line. At once the enemy turned to deal with the new danger, pouring volley after volley into the disordered ranks of the Twenty-Ninth as they clambered out of the gully. Soon the ground around the battalion’s colours was littered with redcoats and the survivors were desperately returning fire at will. Then the steadily thickening gunpowder smoke obscured the view and Arthur lowered his telescope. He glanced to each side of the valley and saw that neither of the flanking columns would be in place to make an attack for at least another half-hour. Unless something was done immediately, the Twenty-Ninth would be wiped out.

  He turned to the nearest of his staff officers.‘Simpson! Ride forward and pass the order for a general advance.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  Arthur took one last look at the unequal fight engulfing the Twenty-Ninth and then urged his mount forward, riding to join the rest of the army as it began to advance towards the waiting Frenchmen. With the skirmishers of the Rifles and the Light Companies of the other battalions leading the way, the British troops began to move up over the boulder-strewn slopes and gullies. As the skirmishers from both sides met there was a steady crackle of musket fire and shouted orders, and cries of pain and the wild exchange of insults and battle cries that echoed off the sides of the valley. Arthur joined the men of the central column as they struggled to advance with dressed ranks. The slopes were too uneven to permit the neat formations that the men had practised on drill grounds back in Britain. Slowly - too slowly, to Arthur’s mind - they made their way up to the crest, while all the time the sound of firing from the direction of the Twenty-Ninth steadily diminished. Ahead of the British line the skirmishers continued to fight it out, but as the first ranks of the leading battalions emerged on to the crest the guns of Delaborde’s single battery opened fire. Cones of lead balls tore through the ranks, opening gaps that were quickly closed by fresh men as the redcoats advanced on the main French position.

  Now they were picking their way over the bodies of dead and wounded, British and French alike. A short distance ahead the British skirmishers had halted and gone to ground as they came up against the main French line. The British battalions halted to load their weapons and then continued forward until they were within effective musket range of the enemy, no more than fifty paces away. Then, as the French loosed their first volley and dozens of redcoats went down, the rest calmly halted, raised their muskets, thumbed back the firing hammers and waited for the order.

  ‘Fire!’

  Hundreds of muskets spat flame and smoke in a thunderous roar and then the sergeants bellowed the order to reload.The French fired again and Arthur heard balls zip through the air close by as he strained to gauge the progress of the fight through the eddying smoke. With a pounding of hooves Somerset came riding up, and reined his horse in sharply.

  ‘How go things with the Twenty-Ninth?’ asked Arthur.

  ‘They’ve had it, sir. I wasn’t in time to save them.’

  ‘Had it? What, all of them?’

  ‘Lake’s dead. So are over two hundred and fifty of his men. The rest are wounded or routed.’

  Arthur stared at his aide and muttered, ‘Good God.’

  One officer’s vain moment of madness had cost the army half a battalion. Arthur was stunned. Then a fresh volley burst out from the British line and he collected his thoughts and stared towards the French positions.The enemy fire was already slackening, and as a breath of wind wafted down the valley the smoke cleared enough for Art
hur to see that Delaborde’s men were falling back again, making for the pass behind them. Now that the main battle line of the British army had reached the crest there was no choice for Delaborde but retreat to try to save as much of his force as possible.

  ‘Keep the advance going!’ Arthur called out to each side. ‘Pass the word! Advance!’

  All along the hill the line of redcoats pressed forward, straight into the volleys of French musket fire and the blasts from their six cannon. As Arthur followed the battle he saw that the French officers were handling their men well. The enemy companies kept their cohesion as they fired, fell back, and fired again, steadily giving ground as they came up on their own guns. Then the French gunners were ordered to withdraw, and started to limber their guns.

  Arthur saw the chance at once. Now that the demoralising influence of French grapeshot was removed, it was time for the British infantry to use their bayonets.