“Official. A qui!”
The NCO resentfully scuttled off, leaving Heaviside, accompanied by Nellie, Bridie and a few others facing up to a rank of Spanish soldiery, whose uniform sported a large and prominent III on either collar. He turned to Nellie.
“Is there no other well?”
“No, your honour. Sure there is not. Even the river down over is almost dry.”
Heaviside nodded.
“Can the rush grow up without mire? Can the iris grow without water? Job 8, verse 11”
“Sure now, your honour, isn’t that the truth of it?”
A Spanish Officer duly arrived, mercifully with a reasonable command of English. His rank was uncertain, but Heaviside began in the correct formal manner and at full attention he saluted.
“Captain Joshua Heaviside. 105th Foot.”
The Spanish Officer responded, if with a somewhat haughty manner.
“Capitan Don Manuel de Portago. Tercer Regimiento de Infantería Sevilla.”
Heaviside nodded his acknowledgment, then came immediately to the point.
“Our people need to use that well, if you’d be so kind. We have no water.”
The Spanish Officer flexed his hand on the hilt of his sword and shifted his stance.
“Is our well.”
Heaviside came straight back, forcefully.
“No such thing. We all need water, if we are to fight the French. No water, no fight!”
More shifting and flexing.
“The well is not much water.”
Heaviside pushed forward, picking up a stone. He was unopposed as he marched through to drop the stone into the well to then hear a loud and succulent splash. He then looked at the Spanish Officer, who had trailed in his wake.
“Much water. Mucho agua!”
He motioned the two women forward, who by now were escorted by the likes of Sergeants Obediah Hill and Henry Nicholls, Ezekiel Saunders, Nat Solomon and George Tucker, neither of these last pair being lightweights. Now intimidated, the Spanish gave way and Bridie lowered the well’s bucket to draw up and provide the fill for her own, then Nellie did the same, before turning to Heaviside.
“The Lord’s blessing on you Sir, for the Good you did just now.”
“The Lord’s Blessing upon you also, Mrs Nicholls. With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation. Isaiah 12, verse 3.”
He then turned to Hill and Nicholls.
“Keep guard. Stop no-one, but let no-one be prevented. Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters. Isaiah 55, verse 1.”
Hill came to the full attention and circled a blistering salute, as much for the impression it would create with the Spanish audience as to convey his respects to Heaviside, considerable as they were.
“Sir.”
Trouble between the two armies occurred elsewhere, also in a market set up by the locals, but prices were exorbitant. On the following day, with the dying of the light, Mackenzie called a meeting of his Colonels in his tent, for two reasons, or possibly three; to enjoy a halfway decent meal, to convey Wellesley and Cuesta’s plans and to drink some whisky. Mackenzie began with the latter and three glasses later they sat down to what appeared to be dried fish, potatoes and some beans, but the food was overshadowed by what their Divisional Commander had to tell them.
“Victor’s over the Alberche, the river to the far side of Talavera with some units occupying the town. Cuesta’s in touch and, as we speak, he’s riding off, or more like being held vertical on his horse, he’s so decrepit, so that he can take a look at some of his Spanish who have just arrived to boost his strength. Riding off to them, from just now inspecting Campbell’s Guards Brigade and Fane’s Dragoons.”
Mackenzie took a mouthful of fish and needed to spend time extracting a bone, but none of his audience felt inclined to fill the silence, he plainly had more to say.
“We’re all on half rations. Nothing’s arrived for us, bar some new boots, breeches, shirts and underwear. Why they did not fill those wagons with food and nothing else escapes me, but there it is. We’re going forward on the morrow, the Spanish using the main road, us using the paths in the hills above. Expect to move soon after daybreak.”
Now his audience did contribute, in the form of Wallace of the 88th.
“So where is Victor now, Sir? I mean, do we know any more, beyond that some of his are in Talavera. Is he fully over the Alberche, Sir, or just some units?”
“Mostly still on the far side, so latest reports say, but his cavalry are well up to us. Expect some action somewhere, ‘though unlikely to include the likes of us.”
He then scanned the faces of all his Colonels.
“Are you men up to the mark? Tomorrow’s the 22nd, we could be in action on the 23rd. What ah can say, is that Wellesley information on the doings and whereabouts of the French is superb. It seems Spanish ruffians, guerrillas they call themselves, are forever in and out of his Headquarters. So we’ll not be surprised, more like us surprising Johnny, which is why ah say we could be fighting on the 23rd. Only time will tell.”
By now all had finished their meagre meal, but Mackenzie was not yet done.
“Afore ye go!”
The whiskey bottle again made its appearance on the table and, by the time the seven Commanders of his Division had left him, after at least two more measures, the night was full dark.
The notes of Reveille had barely died away before Lacey ordered full inspection. Breakfast would have to wait, short and paltry as it was. In the Light Company Miles barely had time to flex some movement into his new boots before Ellis was about his person checking all that should be checked and more besides, including pulling at the straps of the French pack Miles was using. However, Miles bore it stoically, he could not expect Ellis to treat him any differently than any other member of One Section and he did not.
After their hurried meal, the 105th were paraded along their side of the main road, whilst the Spanish marched onto it. The British had to wait for their Allies to clear the town, for now the Spanish were to the South, the British to the North. In the centre of the 105th ranks, with the Colour Party, Deakin turned to look at his companion stood behind, Toby Halfway.
“Remember they Spanish we saw march into Salamancee back last November time? Sorry looking and diseased crew they was. At least these looks a shade better.”
“Better perhaps, but many of these looks not much more’n boys.”
Deakin nodded. This was a fact he had noted for himself and more besides. He had, many times, seen men walking to their execution and many of the Spanish soldiers now passing by him had much the same dejected bearing and downcast eyes.
With the last of the Spanish now gone, Mackenzie’s Division took the lead, with Donkin’s Brigade first. The reason being that his contained five Companies of the 60th Rifles, who were soon out as a skirmish line, in their green uniforms almost invisible as they trudged forward behind the 14th and 16th Light Dragoon cavalry screen of Cotton’s Brigade. This included Templemere and Tavender and both were out on the left, higher than most, as they followed the hill tracks Eastwards. More than once they were thoroughly discomfited to see horsemen emerging from the trees both above and before, but each time they quickly recognised these as mounted guerrillas making their way on to Wellesley with reports. One even called out to them, “Batalla mucho antes. Inglés. Sí?” From whom these intimidating figures received their orders, the two knew not, but on one occasion they saw a group emerge from the trees with a prominent figure in the centre wearing what looked like a cut down monk’s robe, in a distinctive light fawn. It was this figure who, from the high vantage point he had chosen, studied the two formations, one British, the other Spanish. After mere minutes the group turned their horses and were gone, off in the direction of Talavera.
For the infantry, behind and below, the march along the winding tracks and over dusty fields was one of the worse since Oporto. The wind from the South-East picked up the dust from the marching feet, including whatever else was loose and
carried it, on hot gusts, across the line of the British advance. There were few who did not voice their envy or frustration at the Spanish on the good trunk road whilst they slogged past every turn and obstacle, the dust as fine as flour that penetrated all gaps in boots and clothing. Soon all were coated brown-red down their right side. The Followers, trailing along through the now disturbed and churned up dirt suffered the worst, but Sedgwicke again grew in the affections of all, suggesting that the children walk in the lee of his wagon, to best be sheltered from the blown mire. However, this was a march to a battlefield, either this day or the next or the next, but it would be soon, and this thought crowded in often enough for all to forget the heat and the dust and thus to think often on the possible events of the morrow.
The morning wore on towards Noon with the sun still climbing and bright in the sky, when the unmistakable sounds of conflict came from the direction of their Spanish allies, but far ahead. Soon it became general and even included artillery. Templemere looked at Tavender, the more experienced of the two.
“Do you think it’s starting?”
Tavender shook his head.
“No. We’re feeling each other out. Not much more than saying hello. But we can say goodbye to taking them by surprise.”
That evening, taking shelter in what was no more than a stand of trees, the Officers of Cotton’s Brigade were sharing their meagre food and passing around the bottles of rough red wine, when August Shaumann, the Commisary of the 14th Light Dragoons, rode in and, after passing his horse to a servant, took a seat on a log. Then, after taking a long pull from a bottle handed to him, pronounced on the days proceedings.
“Not good!”
He drank again from the bottle, pulling a face at the rough edge of he wine, but his audience had gathered. All were silent, wishing to know what justified such a pronouncement.
“I followed our Spanish Allies as they moved forward into today’s fighting. All I can say is, that if you have them on your flank, count it as open. About 15,000 infantry and 3,000 of their cavalry couldn’t push out 3,000 Frog Dragoons, who stood them up for four hours. It was only when Anson’s Lights showed up that Johnny did the right-about and shot off for Talavera. Then, and this is worse, Stewart put himself at the head of their noble 3,000 horse and could not get them to charge two small columns of no more than 500 foot combined. They didn’t close far enough to even discharge their pistols. Several times Stewart tried, riding in the van himself, all to no avail, any fire from the French sent our Dons on another turn-about, but that didn’t stop the cowardly bastards murdering a few French wounded, left on the road from our artillery. “Not good, boys. Not good at all.”
His depressing judgment ended when a servant handed him some food. From then on silence reigned as the hungry man wolfed down the meal, the ingredients of which could well have come from the feedbag of his horse. Templemere and Tavender opened another bottle, each, and drank heavily from such. Confidence was not of the highest, but then Shaumann gave one final opinion.
“Whatever it is, boys, rumour is we’ve got them outnumbered if you put us and the Spanish together. So give yourselves a lift from that.”
Unknown to Cotton’s cavalry, despite the growing dark, the British infantry were still moving forward, Mackenzie riding beside Lacey and O’Hare, the latter two on foot, with all three moving purposefully along the Madrid highway through Talavera. The Spanish army was now camped for the night down the side roads, but, judging by the sound of music and celebration, there was little sleeping. However, Lacey and O’Hare had ears only for what Mackenzie was saying.
“Victor’s now entirely back over the Alberche, every man on his side. We’re 55,000 whilst he can be little more than 20,000, or so our Spanish irregulars tell us. As we speak, Wellesley’s trying to persuade Cuesta tae attack at dawn afore Victors reinforcements come up. The Alberche has the main road bridge over it and can be forded in several places. We could beat them piecemeal, first him, before his supports arrive, then his supports after. So, take your men on and stop at the river and man the bank. It’s about two miles beyond the town. The 24th will be on your right, holding from you down tae where the river goes into the Tagus. The 45th will be in reserve. Don’t worry about noise on your left. That’ll be Donkin moving up alongside you, upstream of the bridge, beside the river like yourselves.”
The whisky flask was passed down and, on its return, Mackenzie spoke his final words to them.
“If Cuesta can be persuaded tae join us, we attack at dawn. We go over and form again on the far side as we were. The Spanish will come over and be on our right, tae cross by the bridge and the fords alongside. Out of the mist.”
Lacey laughed.
“What mist is that, Sir?”
“Spanish mist!”
“Not Scotch!”
“Would that it were!”
With that he turned his horse and was gone into the gloom, this pierced only by a few lanterns from the surrounding houses on the outskirts of Talavera. Lacey turned to O’Hare.
“Get Carr up here and a few Lights who can find their way about in the dark”
Within fifteen minutes Carr was up to his Colonel with half of Maltby’s One Section.
“You need me, Sir?”
“Yes. Double on ahead with these and get over the river. We will be on this side with the 24th on our right below us, closer to the Tagus. It could be that we will be attacking at dawn. The men sleep in position, but I want pickets on the far bank and someway beyond. Don’t use the bridge, find the fords and use them. That may be useful knowledge.”
If there was weariness or even dismay in Carr’s reply, Lacey did not hear it. Whatever, within the hour, Miles, Davey and Pike, with Sergeant Ellis in command of the half section, were waist deep in the Alberche until finally splashing up the far bank. Ellis motioned all forward until they could hear nothing of the moving waters, nor the soldiers moving into position on the far bank. He motioned all to kneel and listen. There was nothing, bar the sound of the wind through the rye grass, nor any light ahead, such as a significant campfire. Satisfied, Ellis gave his orders to his 12 files of three; each man on watch for two hours, asleep for four. That done he returned to Davey, where he took the time to eat what he had in his haversack, in the surly company of Miles, while Pike kept first watch. Unsurprisingly, Miles, once his food was consumed, did not join in with any social pleasantries, but rolled himself in his blanket and fell immediately asleep, but not before a usual comment.
“Wer’s they bloody Rifles? Shouldn’t they be doin’ this sort of job?”
Dawn came and with it came Lieutenant Maltby, calling them back over the river. On the far side they saw their whole Battalion drawn up in line, with the 24th to their right. To their left, beyond the bridge, Donkin’s two Irish Regiments the 87th and the 88th were drawn up in equal readiness. His Brigade’s Riflemen were now over the river and remained there, as the Lights of the 105th passed through and then waded the river to take their place on the left of the 105th line. There they stood and waited whilst the sun climbed higher and hotter. Lacey walked, strode, stormed and fumed up and down his line, replying to the frequent question, “Can we cook something, Sir?” with the same answer, “We daren’t. We may be sent forward any minute.” However, with each minute that passed this seemed more and more remote. He could see the bridge that carried the Madrid trunk road over the Alberche and its emptiness spoke of Spanish tardiness at least, if not outright refusal. Nothing could be seen of any Spanish force at all, not even using a study through a telescope back to Talavera, but his 105th were under Wellesley’s orders.
In the end Lacey relented. His men were already in a state of hunger from the last week’s marching and now they were famished with no breakfast, apart from what was in their haversacks, which had been very little for all the past weeks. He turned to O’Hare.
“Where are our Followers?”
“A good mile back, Sir. They didn’t cross the Portina, that little brook that ru
ns into Talavera down from the North.”
Lacey nodded, his face grim.
“Ride back. See what you can get up here, if only water and biscuit.”
Within minutes O’Hare was back amongst the Followers and immediately sought out Nellie Nicholls, who was busy at her cooking pot, with Bridie alongside.
“Mrs Nicholls! If you can, we need to get something up to the men. They’re about a mile up and a bit more. I’d be obliged if you could pass the word and gather anyone who can carry water or biscuit up to them. Meet at the Commissary, which is where I am going now.”
Nellie looked up, nodding her head, whilst still holding her spoon.
“Sure, we can do that, Major O’Hare, your Honour, but I’ll go and see Parson as well. Sure, in his little cart he’ll be able to take up a good portion. Water, mostly, I’m thinkin’, plus a bit of whatever.”
O’Hare smiled and nodded himself at the good sense and so, within the hour, water, biscuit and salt was arriving at the 105th line. For her men, which included Deakin, Davey, Pike and Miles, besides her husband, she had a portion of the bean stew she had been cooking. Such a gesture brought acknowledgment from Tom Miles, now dried out from his soaking, even though it was doled out with the usual challenging look from Nellie.
“This is a well thing, Mrs. Nicholls. We’re all much obliged.”
The usual look of animosity for Tom Miles died on her face, instead turning to one of great satisfaction as she looked around to see her men gratefully eating. The other battalions were being serviced in much the same way and, on the return journey; Nellie, Bridie and Sedgwicke were passed by Wellesley and his Staff, all going up to the line. On their arrival, Mackenzie broke off from the group to visit his Colonels, Lacey being the first.
“Cuesta won’t move. He’s changed his mind. The Reek says the bridge will nae carry his artillery and, on top, ‘tis Sunday. Wars don’t happen on a Sunday, in his Spain.”
He saw the astonishment grow on Lacey’s face.
“Ah know, ah know! Say nothing, what can be said? Ah’m onto my other men, but Wellesley wants ye here, still. Nae withdrawal. Victor’s still near, so Wellesley’s going tae try again, tae go forward with this Don, late afternoon. Ah’ll get rations sent up, such as ah can find, so at least ye can cook a halfway decent meal if ye have to stay the night. But nae cooking ‘till ah say so.”
The Plains of Talavera Page 19
