Fire and Sword

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘One last volley!’ he called out. ‘Then charge home, boys!’

  The order was communicated to left and right, and after the last British musket had emptied its lead shot at the enemy the sergeants bellowed the order.

  ‘Fix . . . bayonets!’

  There was a distinct rattle along the line as the spiked bayonets were slotted over the muzzles and twisted into the locked position.

  ‘Advance muskets!’

  The front rank lowered their weapons and the triangular steel blades with their sharp points angled towards the French.

  ‘Advance!’

  In a staggered motion the entire line lurched forward, bearing down on the French, still hurriedly reloading their muskets a short distance away. Already a handful of the enemy were falling out of line, backing away from the approaching danger. More joined them as the others fired their last shots at the British.

  ‘Charge!’

  A deep ragged roar sounded from thousands of thirsty throats as the British surged forward. The effect of the bayonet charge was as Arthur had hoped and the French line broke. The enemy turned and ran for their lives, many throwing aside their weapons as they raced towards the mouth of the pass at the rear of their position. The French artillery crews had not completed limbering their guns as their comrades fled, and after a brief glance towards the wild faces of the British charging towards them they abandoned their cannon and followed the others. Only the cavalry, a regiment of dragoons, still remained formed up to one side of the track, and they now drew their carbines and formed a line across the pass to protect the last of the mob surging past them. They fired from the saddle, and though many shots went wide enough struck home to cause the British infantry to draw up. As soon as their weapons had been discharged the dragoons holstered them and unsheathed their swords.

  ‘Prepare to receive cavalry!’The order passed along the British lines and the men instantly moved to rejoin their formations and close ranks, well aware of the dangers of being caught out in the open by enemy cavalry. Once the British battalions stood ready, in lines three deep, a stillness settled over the battlefield. Two hundred yards away, the dragoons stood equally still, glinting swords resting against their shoulders.

  ‘Why don’t they charge?’ asked a staff officer close by Arthur.

  ‘Because they don’t have to,’ Somerset explained nonchalantly. ‘They know we won’t risk charging again and breaking ranks. Not in the face of their cavalry. Equally, they won’t risk attacking formed infantry. So we have something of an impasse. While the rest of their army escapes.’

  ‘Impasse be damned,’ Arthur growled. ‘Order the line to advance! Close formation . . .’

  Once again the redcoats stepped forward, at a measured pace so that the dragoons continued to face an unbroken line of bayonets. As the redcoats closed to within a hundred paces of the enemy a bugle call pierced the hot air, blasting out a series of notes, repeated three times, and then the dragoons sheathed their blades, wheeled round and began to trot away towards the track leading up to the mountain pass through which the rest of the army had escaped.

  Arthur gave the order to halt and watched the retreating dragoons in frustration. The enemy had been broken, and had Arthur had a single cavalry brigade to unleash they could have been utterly destroyed in the ensuing pursuit. As it was, Delaborde would soon rally his men and they would be ready to fight the British again in a matter of days.

  ‘A terrible waste,’ Arthur muttered as he surveyed the thick carpet of bodies surrounding the mouth of the gully. Dusk was gathering over the battlefield and a working party from the Rifles was gathering up the bodies of Lake’s battalion and carrying them to a mass grave that had been dug a short distance away.

  ‘Indeed, sir.’ Somerset sighed. ‘And to such little effect.’

  ‘Have they found Lake?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He was near the bottom of the pile. Must have been killed almost as soon as he emerged from the gully.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I’ve had the body taken to Roliça for burial in a private grave, sir.’

  ‘Very well.’ Arthur nodded and then asked the question he had been avoiding. ‘And the final butcher’s bill?’

  ‘Four hundred and fifty confirmed dead so far. Mostly from the Twenty-Ninth. Over seven hundred French accounted for, sir.’

  ‘Not quite a pyrrhic victory then,’ Arthur mused and then smiled bitterly.‘Here we are, somewhat less than fifteen thousand of us in Iberia against over a hundred thousand Frenchmen. Unless our soldiers can account for theirs at a ratio of one for ten, we have scant prospect of victory as things stand.’

  Somerset shrugged. ‘Then it is up to our generals to improve the odds, sir.’

  Arthur looked at him and smiled. ‘You are right. I will do my best.’

  ‘I would expect nothing less, sir.’

  Arthur awoke with a start as someone shook his shoulder. A figure with a lantern was standing over his camp bed. Arthur blinked and then squinted past the flare of light to see Somerset in a loose shirt and breeches.

  ‘What time is it?’ Arthur mumbled.

  ‘Just past three in the morning, sir.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Arthur sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  ‘Just had word from the fleet, sir. Reinforcements have arrived. Four thousand men.They will begin landing the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the mouth of the Maceira river. Near the village of Vimeiro, sir. A day’s march from here.’

  Arthur smiled. Somerset must have been roused only shortly before he had come to wake his commander and had already marshalled the important details.

  ‘Very well. We will move the army towards Vimeiro at first light to cover the landing.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  There was something in Somerset’s tone that made Arthur realise there was more news, something altogether less agreeable. He looked up at his aide. ‘Well?’

  ‘There’s a sloop following a day behind the reinforcements. Sir Harry Burrard is aboard.’

  Arthur nodded wearily. So that was it then. It seemed his short tenure of command was about to come to an end. He sighed.

  ‘Have my steward prepare my best uniform. I will need to report to Sir Harry the moment his ship arrives.’

  Chapter 45

  The sun was low in the sky and streamed straight into Arthur’s face as he sat in the stern of the small launch. The last of the reinforcements had been landed hours earlier and was marching up to join the rest of the army encamped about Vimeiro. Anchored amidst the transports was the sloop Brazen, carrying Lieutenant-General Sir Harry Burrard. As soon as the sloop had arrived Arthur had ridden down to the shore and ordered the crew of the nearest launch to take him out to the Brazen.With weary obedience the sailors helped him aboard and then heaved the launch back into the surf, battling to get it some distance before clambering over the sides, unshipping the oars and rowing hard to propel the boat clear of the pounding surf and out to sea. The spray had drenched Arthur’s uniform, but he made the best of a bad job by brushing off any sand and shingle that remained on his boots and the salt that had dried on the gold lace and black facings of his jacket.

  As the launch approached the side of the sloop a naval lieutenant cupped a hand to his mouth and asked if she was bound for the Brazen.

  ‘Aye, sir!’ the coxswain called out. ‘General Sir Arthur Wellesley comin’ aboard!’

  The launch pulled in towards the side of the sloop and the sailors shipped oars as a man in the bows caught the chains with the boathook. Arthur rose from his bench and worked his way awkwardly forward until he reached the boarding ladder.Two sailors stood by ready to help him up, but Arthur judged his moment and stepped on to the ladder as the launch rose on top of a small wave. He was greeted on deck by the lieutenant.

  ‘The name’s Swinton, sir. Welcome aboard the Brazen.’

  ‘Good evening to you, Swinton.Would you be
kind enough to take me to General Burrard?’

  ‘Indeed, if you’d follow me, sir.The general has been given my cabin.’

  Swinton led him down a narrow gangway and knocked at the small door at the end.

  ‘Come!’

  Opening the door, the lieutenant ducked inside and briefly announced Arthur before he stepped aside. Arthur ducked through the door frame and stood with his neck bent forward under the low deck overhead.The cabin stretched the full width of the sloop, and was perhaps ten foot in depth, barely enough to accommodate the desk and chairs that seemed to take up most of the available space.The stern windows were hooked open to admit a cooling breeze that stirred the grey locks of the officer seated behind the desk. Sir Harry Burrard had taken part in the Danish expedition and smiled a greeting at Arthur as he dismissed the lieutenant with a curt wave of the hand.

  ‘Wellesley! Good to see you again! Sit you down.’

  Arthur did so, relieved to be able to straighten his neck. ‘It is a pleasure to serve with you again, sir.’

  Sir Harry shot him a knowing glance. ‘Though not such a pleasure to be superseded by a superior officer, eh?’

  Arthur did not reply and Sir Harry continued in an apologetic tone, ‘That’s the nature of the service, I’m afraid, Wellesley. Still, live long enough and you’ll rise to the top of the pile in good time.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Are you to take command of the army at once?’

  ‘No need. Sir Hew is due any day. I shall remain aboard tonight and will probably come ashore tomorrow evening and take command then. Is that satisfactory?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I will make the necessary arrangements at headquarters.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sir Harry nodded, and then took a deep breath. ‘So then, how are things progressing?’

  Arthur had brought a report with him and now he placed it on the desk. Sir Harry glanced at it casually.

  ‘I’ll read that later. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll hear it directly from you.’

  Arthur detailed the events since the army had landed, then stopped and drew out a cloth from his pocket to dab at the sweat pricking out on his forehead.

  ‘Sounds like you gave Frenchy a good thrashing.’

  ‘Delaborde was outnumbered, sir.’

  ‘But he had the advantage of holding the high ground,’ Sir Harry countered. ‘Don’t be too modest, Wellesley. It is a positive handicap for a man of ability, and only a saving grace if a man is a complete fool.’

  ‘I suppose so, sir. In any case, yes, General Delaborde was driven off.’

  ‘And do you have any idea of the enemy’s intentions?’

  ‘I have heard reports that General Junot has gathered an army and is marching towards us from the south. As far as I can glean from our Portuguese spies, his strength is similar to our own. I have given orders for the army to be positioned along the ridge behind Vimeiro to meet any threat from that direction.’

  ‘Excellent. It seems that everything is in hand, then.’

  ‘I imagine that you will wish to continue the advance on Lisbon as swiftly as possible, sir. I understand that Junot is at Torres Vedras. If we marched to Mafra tomorrow, we could turn east and take Junot in the rear.’

  Burrard paused a moment before shaking his head. ‘No. I think we have chanced our arm enough for the present. It is my belief that you may have underestimated Junot’s strength.The reports I read in London stated that he had over forty thousand men in Portugal.’

  ‘I don’t believe it is quite as high as that, sir. Besides, his forces are dispersed and many are tied down in garrisons. His field army cannot be much bigger than our own.’

  Sir Harry shrugged. ‘I think you put too much faith in our Portuguese allies’ assessment of the enemy’s strength.’

  ‘I have learned to be circumspect in considering the information offered to me by the local people, sir. Even allowing for that, I believe my judgement of the strategic situation is sound.We have a good chance of defeating Junot and taking Lisbon in a matter of days, if we act quickly.’

  ‘Perhaps. But even if you are right, what harm is there in delaying any advance until Sir John Moore arrives with his men? Then we shall outnumber the French beyond any question and should be able to guarantee a crushing victory.’

  ‘Sir John may not arrive for some days, possibly weeks.That is more than enough time for Junot to receive overwhelming reinforcements from the French army in Spain. It would be far better to defeat the enemy now than to wait and risk a battle against far greater odds.’

  Sir Harry clasped his hands together and leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh. ‘I will not make any decisions before I have a full grasp of the facts. I will read your report in the morning and we will discuss the matter further when I take command of the army tomorrow evening. I thank you for taking the trouble to come to see me, and I suggest that you return to shore while there is still light. I bid you a good night,Wellesley.’

  Arthur stared at the older man for a moment. Inside he was seething at the waste of the opportunity that Sir Harry was squandering through his caution. But there was no point in trying to persuade him to take action tonight. Best to let him read the report and then make another attempt to cajole him into action when he assumed command tomorrow. Besides,Arthur realised as he stared at the failing light outside the stern windows, Sir Harry had a point - it was getting dark and he did not wish to risk being rowed through the surf in pitch darkness. He stood carefully and bowed his head. ‘Until tomorrow then, sir.’

  For the second night running Arthur was roused from his sleep in the early hours by his aide-de-camp. He had established his headquarters in an inn on the edge of Vimeiro and had been looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed. However, the unsatisfactory interview he had endured with Sir Harry preyed on his mind and he had not fallen asleep until close to midnight. Now he glanced at his watch and saw that it was barely an hour into the new day.

  ‘What now, Somerset?’

  ‘Sir, I’ve had reports from our scouts in the direction of Torres Vedras. They say that Junot’s army broke camp just after nightfall and started marching on Vimeiro.’

  Arthur was out of bed in an instant, and hurrying to the large crudely constructed table he was using as a desk. ‘Bring your lantern over here and show me.’

  Somerset leaned over the map and pointed to the town of Torres Vedras. ‘The scouts reported that the enemy were marching up to the right of the road to Vimeiro, sir.’

  ‘To the right of the road?’ Arthur frowned. ‘Why not on it?’

  ‘Perhaps they wish to avoid our patrols, sir.’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘In any case, it appears that General Junot means to surprise us at first light.’

  ‘Yes.’ Arthur nearly laughed at the irony of the situation. Earlier he had been fretting about Sir Harry’s not taking the fight to the French, and here was Junot saving him the trouble. Better still, he would reach the British lines and make his attack several hours before Sir Harry arrived to take command of the army. It seemed that fate had decided to give Arthur a chance to take on General Junot after all. He leaned forward and examined the map closely for a moment before tracing his finger along the line of a ridge that ran west to east behind the village.

  ‘Here.This is where we will form our battle line. Send word to every commanding officer.They are to rouse their men and prepare for battle.’

  The scent of myrtle filled the air as Arthur stood on the top of the ridge and waited for there to be enough light to show him the terrain to the south.The air was cool and refreshing and he allowed himself a moment to indulge the sensation. When morning came the heat would soon become oppressive but for now he relished the chill. Behind him, and spread out on either side, stood the eight brigades of his army. His army. He smiled at the phrase. They were his only until Sir Harry took command, but Arthur dismissed the thought. He would deal with that later. He must concentrate on the coming battle. His line extended to the right as far as the c
oast, to cover the shore where further reinforcements were due to land.The left flank rested on Vimeiro Hill, rising up just to the south of the village. It was a good position, strong enough for the British to repel any direct assaults up the slopes.

  To the east the mountainous horizon was rimmed with a faint glow that slowly spread north and south and gained in strength at its centre until, with a sudden spark and distant flare of light, the sun began to rise. Very quickly the dark mantle that covered the landscape began to dissipate, shadow by shadow. Arthur raised his telescope and began to carefully scan the approaches to the ridge. Stunted growths of unused land were interspersed with occasional olive groves and vineyards and their quiet buildings, whose occupants were only just stirring, oblivious of the presence of the two armies preparing to clash over this panorama of tranquillity.