The Plains of Talavera

by Martin McDowell

  He gave a fierce nod of his head.

  “Rheet, ah’m awa!”

  He wheeled his horse around to leave Lacey in a state of bewilderment, but he did not dwell long in his confused state. He was pleasantly distracted by his Sergeant Clerk, Bert Bryce, him carrying a mug of tea and a lump of bread, with something in between that looked as though it once had scales.

  An hour passed, then two. The men of the 105th were allowed to sit and many were cooling their feet in the river, when, Carravoy, being on the right and having a better view of the road from the side, looked over to see what could only be described as a small pageant approaching, from the direction of Talavera. Red uniforms were outnumbered four to one, by the gorgeous blue and gold of many Spanish Staff. Carravoy turned to his two Lieutenants, D’Villiers and Ameshurst.

  “Now what do you think that portends?”

  The two shook their heads as the cavalcade came to the bridge, when Ameshurst passed the only comment that could be made.

  “Staff conference! High level discussions of strategy.”

  One figure in the lead was evidently Wellesley, whilst another was probably Cuesta just visible amongst a group of Spanish Dragoons holding him upright on his horse. The group stopped at the bridge and the Dragoons drew back, leaving Wellesley and Cuesta alone. The former made many gestures in the direction across the river, whilst Cuesta remained motionless. After some minutes, the Dragoons came forward, carefully turned Cuesta’s horse, and then escorted him back. Red uniforms broke off from the group, one being worn by Mackenzie. He merely slowed his horse to a trot as he passed by Lacey.

  “Cook your meal, Lacey, when rations arrive. We’re nae movin’ today. His Honour says there’s too many Johnnies over yonder, though none of us could see nary a one!”

  Lacey shouted after him.

  “But Sir! Do we stay?”

  Mackenzie turned in his saddle.

  “Oh aye. Ye sleep here.”

  Lacey looked at Carr, who had been stood listening.

  “So, let’s see what tomorrow brings.”

  What the morrow brought was the whole Spanish army marching over the bridge, out to meet the French, followed by a very long train of carts, wagons, mules, Followers and herds of sheep, pigs and cattle. There was not one soldier of the British army who could not see the cavalcade tailing the Spaniards and did not look angrily and enviously at the evident full extent of their army’s supplies. It was Mackenzie again who provided the answers, concerned to keep his Colonels well informed, but this time all grouped together back in a peasant’s hovel, where at least there was shade and with benches for seating and an opportunity for glasses of whisky.

  “Victor’s gone! Pulled back thirty miles, and so, our valourous Don, ardour now much rekindled, is marching after him.”

  The bottle again circulated.

  “Relations are at a new low. Wellesley’s refusing to cross the Alberche unless he’s given transport and supplies and, as ah’m sure ye saw, Cuesta’s got the lot!”

  Then he paused.

  “But it’s worse. Reports are that three French Corps are marching on Salamanca, from the North. That’s about 60 miles North of Plasenia, our road back to Portugal. So, with Victor’s two and those three, things are getting tight. Expect a battle, aye, but then a quick back out, win or lose. We could find ourselves in the middle of 100,000 men, so he’s more concerned to keep us intact, than crash into the Johnnies. He’ll fight defensive.”

  He began pouring again.

  “It’s Wellesley’s opinion, an’ ah think he’s dead right, that Victor, when he knows that ‘tis only the Dons as’re chasin’ him, will turn on Cuesta.”

  All had a glass at least half charged and so Mackenzie raised his.

  “So, tomorrow we cross the Alberche, us an’ Sherbrook’s, to cover the Don’s certain withdrawal. We’re to go five miles over.”

  He lifted his glass further.

  “Slange! An’ guid luck to us all!”

  oOo

  Miles and Davey, standing amongst the Light Company on the left of the 105th line, were nearest the road, kerchiefs over their mouths and noses to resist the stifling dust thrown up by the progress of a whole Spanish army, plus two squadrons of King’s German Legion Hussars, sent, or so Carr and others concluded, to help cover the Spanish withdrawal. However, for Miles and Davey the passing of soldiery carried but little interest. Their attention was centered on the memory of the herds of animals, which had accompanied the Spanish advance forward. Two hours passed before came the livestock, when Miles looked around for Spanish Officers, but none could be seen, such as they saw no need to share the choking dust. The 105th stood their place as rearguard, there to see the Spanish safely back over the Alberche, now five miles behind them. In his hand, Miles had a musket cartridge with a small length of fuse, this filched from their Divisional artillery lines. Davey had the pan of his musket full of powder, Bailey was alongside with a fully loaded musket. Pike wanted nothing to do with what was about to happen.

  When the sheep came, Davey sparked the powder which Miles used to light the fuse of the cartridge, which was then tossed in amongst the sheep. The explosion caused them to scatter in all directions and Bailey shot one as it passed, for Davey to immediately bring his musket down onto the leg of the carcass, breaking it with a loud crack. By now sheep were all over the British lines and it took some time for them to be re-gathered, but one herder soon spotted the bloodstained carcass and ran over, to stand pointing at the remains of one of his herd.

  “Muderers! Has matado a uno de mis ovejas!”

  Saunders could not help but grin.

  “Must have been his favourite! Give him the button, Tom.”

  A silver button, a large one, cut from the uniform of the Officer that Miles had downed in Oporto, had been readied for just such an eventuality and Miles immediately held up the button, by its sewing ring, inches before the face of the herder. His eyes moved inwards towards each other as he focused and then took the button between grubby thumb and forefinger. Large, yellow teeth bit into it, to leave a mark in the soft silver. With its value now established, the button was thrust into a pocket and the man left, with not even a backward glance at the ‘murderers of one of his sheep’.

  With the last of the Spanish baggage train now past, the 105th were formed up on the road, but within the ranks of the Light Company, at the rear, was the carcass of the sheep suspended on a pole. Drake was incensed and pushed into the ranks to confront Saunders and Tucker who were shouldering the pole.

  “What the Hell is this, Saunders?”

  However it was Miles who answered.

  “Back a while, Sir, somethin’ worried the sheep as was with the Spanish, an’ they was all over, Sir, in a panic, like. This ‘un broke his leg, an’ we ‘ad to shoot’n, Sir. They Spanish herders just left’n, Sir. Too anxious to get away from the Johnnies followin’ up!”

  For emphasis, Saunders reached forwards and flexed the broken leg back and forth.

  “Couldn’t leave’n for the French, Sir!”

  Drake was silenced. To leave the carcass behind was absurd, but villainy had taken place, of that he was sure, but he had no option.

  “Right. Bring it along. But something’s not right.”

  No-one spoke as Drake left the ranks and the 105th marched off, to undertake the five miles back to the Alberche and there they saw the whole Spanish army camped along its banks, on the near side, exposed to the oncoming French. They had made a full camp with tents all erected; therefore they evidently had no intention of crossing to the safe side before nightfall. Lacey was appalled and halted his men on the road, and soon Sykes, Colonel of the 24th rode up to join him.

  “What do you think, Lacey? It’s not just our two and the 45th, but the whole of Sherbrook’s, behind us, who are still on this side.”

  Lacey nodded in agreement, then he shook his head, consternation now write large on his face.

  “We can afford to wait awhile. For o
rders! Mackenzie cannot be far.”

  He looked from Sykes to the Spanish army, now well established around their campfires and busy cooking their rations. He shook his head.

  “This is appalling!”

  Just then came rescue. Mackenzie did come riding up accompanied by Sherbrook. Both reigned in and dismounted. There were no introductions as Mackenzie came straight to the point.

  “Wellesley thinks these will have crossed by now. Ah’ve just sent a messenger to tell him otherwise.”

  He turned to Sherbrook.

  “Ah’ve agreed with Sherbrook, here, that we all should cross and he should then march on to Talavera. We, and that includes Donkin with his Rifles, will hold a line on the far bank here. We’ll deny the bridge, at least, and cover the Spanish coming over, when that happens.”

  Just then came another rider, but from the direction of Talavera. He rode straight up to Mackenzie and Sherbrook. He was evidently an Aide-de-Camp of Wellesley’s

  “Sirs, I have order from the General.”

  He handed down a piece of paper, with a seal, which Mackenzie quickly broke to read out loud the single line.

  “First and Third Divisions to remain East of the Alberche to act as cover of the Spanish withdrawal to Talavera, which will take place at daybreak tomorrow.”

  Mackenzie lowered the letter.

  “How does he know that’s goin’ tae happen? Cuesta’s here, not in Talavera! The Old Jock cannae move no more than one mile at a time. Who’s spoken to him? But East of this damn cessditch!”

  Mackenzie looked at Sherbrook, who seemed to have made up his mind.

  “I’ll put mine across the road, between the Spanish and any oncoming French. When they’re all across, I’ll use the bridge.”

  He paused for breath.

  “Yours, Mackenzie, I suggest you deploy to the North, for the same purpose and use the fords up at Cazalas, when the Dons are all safely over.”

  He let out a long breath, resignedly.

  “We’ve had our orders.”

  Mackenzie nodded and mounted his horse, to then look down at Lacey.

  “Go upstream. I’ll see Dunford and get him to follow with his 45th. Then Donkin. Take up a position to cover Cazalas and the fords.”

  Salutes were exchanged, then both Divisional Generals mounted and rode off. Sykes left them to return to his 24th and Lacey swung his men off the road to march North and along the edge of the Spanish camp. His men looked over at the carefree scene as they passed, cheery campfires heating large cooking pots, all the men around sat at their ease. The 105th marched on, to be passed by O’Hare, sent forward to establish the Northern limit of their line. He passed the Light Company and could not fail to notice the sheep being carried in their ranks. He reigned in.

  “Where’d that come from, now?”

  The reply came from someone unseen.

  “It died, Sir. Takin’ it for a decent burial.”

  “Not of old age, I’ll warrant!”

  With that he spurred his horse on and soon he had established the end of his line and waited for the whole Battalion to arrive, which happened within the hour and soon cooking fires were burning. Soon Lacey rode up to him, whilst his men further established some form of camp, but still remaining in line.

  “Get the men to check those fords. Are they practical?”

  O’Hare grinned.

  “No need, Sir. All the firewood you see burning now came from the other side, those olive groves and cork trees. It’s all pretty dense over there. Better wood than this scrubby stuff on our side.”

  Lacey looked over, then pulled out his telescope to focus it at a point over the river.

  “There’s some building in the woods or beyond. I can see a sort of pinnacle, but no more.”

  He lowered the telescope.

  “Do we have a map, of any kind?”

  O’Hare shook his head.

  “Not that I’ve seen.”

  Lacey returned his telescope to its place on his saddle, then dismounted for an Orderly to lead his horse away. He stood for a while, plainly concerned, looking around, but their own camp items were arriving and soon he sank gratefully into the collapsible chain provided by Bryce and another soon arrived for O’Hare. Next came a mug of tea for each, but Lacey had taken but one sip, before returning to the subject which most concerned him.

  “This is dire! Where are the French? They can outmarch us, never mind the Spanish. They could be out there amongst all that scrub and bushes!”

  Then a hurried thought.

  “Are our pickets out?”

  O’Hare nodded.

  “Number Two Company. I considered that our Lights had done their share when we first came up.”

  However, Lacey was not satisfied.

  “Get them further out, then I want a screen between them and our line. Carravoy’s Grenadiers can do that. Add on Number Four.”

  “I’ll see to it.”

  “Drink your tea first. Catch your breath.”

  They sat in silence, until there came another horseman, a Captain, whom they recognised as part of Mackenzie’s Staff, but there was no note.

  “Sir. Tomorrow, when all the Spanish are over, you are to cross and hold the Casa de Salinas, Sir, following the 45th and 24th. They go over first, then the 24th will be on your right, the 45th in reserve. Colonel Donkin’s Brigade will be on your left, holding the wood to the North of the Casa.”

  Lacey looked up at him.

  “This Casa de Salinas. It’s where?”

  The Captain rose in his stirrups.

  “You can just see its roof, Sir. From here. It’s about three-quarters of a mile back from the river.”

  Lacey nodded. He now knew what he had been looking at through his telescope.

  “For how long do we hold there?”

  “That I do not know, Sir.”

  “How do we know that the Spanish will cross?”

  “General Wellesley’s with General Cuesta now, Sir, we believe trying to persuade him to do so. General Mackenzie is assuming that they will. If not, we hold here, Sir. Until they do.”

  Lacey nodded.

  “Thank you, Captain. That’s understood.”

  The messenger was about to leave when he halted and turned in his saddle.

  “Oh yes, Sir. One more thing. General Mackenzie says to burn those huts to the North. They were built by the French when they occupied this ground some days back. Why leave them to be re-occupied, he considers?”

  Lacey nodded.

  “Tell the General it will be done.”

  The Captain saluted and rode off. O’Hare finished his tea and then left to send out a very peeved Carravoy and his Grenadiers, accompanied by Number Four Line Company, to form a screen inside the pickets, which he sent further out. Thus, an anxious night was spent by all, guarding the Spanish army, which had sent out no pickets of their own. However, perhaps the night was somewhat more tolerable for some members of the Light Company and their friends in the Colour Guard, chewing on roast mutton.

  Dawn came and the Spanish camp began to slowly break up. Lacey met with O’Hare and Carr.

  “Plainly the meeting between Wellesley and Cuesta has been fruitful. Wonder what he needed to say to get the old so-in-so to move?”

  Carr shook his head.

  “Impossible to say, Sir. But they are moving, albeit at Spanish pace.”

  Lacey looked at O’Hare.

  “What’s today?”

  O’Hare shook his head, so Lacey turned to Bryce, his Sergeant Clerk.

  “Bryce! What’s today?”

  The reply came back from inside their tent.

  “Wednesday, Sir. 27th.”

  Lacey nodded.

  “Not that it matters. Right. Carravoy can fire those huts. After the 24th and 45th, we cross in Company order, Two up to Nine, then the Grenadiers last. O’Hare, you go over first, lead Two up to the Casa and mark out our line, Two furthest and leaving enough room for the Grenadiers between the end of Nin
e and the Casa. Lights fill in around the Casa when they arrive. Carr, you to remain till last and see Drake’s Lights across. Donkin should already be holding those woods above us by the time you come in. Johnny can’t be far off, so……….”

  Lacey looked at the Spanish camp. The only change had been the disappearance of the Officer’s tents.

  “Christ Almighty!”

  O’Hare crossed himself.

  “Apologies, Padraigh, but have they no sense of urgency at all?”

  “I think we can assume that they move at the same speed as their General, Sir.”

  “Yes, like cold treacle! Now, Carr! Get the Lights out and Number Two in. Get Carravoy to burn the huts.”

  The staccato nature of Lacey’s speech told of his anxiety at the danger he knew they were in. The three went in different directions, Carr off to where the Light Company were. He did not fail to notice bones and a sheep’s fleece scattered on the ground. He stopped near Ellis, who had also noticed.

  “Seems a good meal was taken here last night.”

  “Yes Sir. Seems there was. One of the Spanish sheep had a bad accident, Sir.”

  “Did he fall or was he pushed?

  “Can’t say, Sir.”

  “So, yes, seeing as they’re well fed and rested, get them out on picket. Number Two are coming in. Soon, I hope, we will cross, but only after the 24th and 45th and them only after the Spanish. I’ll leave you to inform Captain Drake.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  Carr acknowledged the salute and walked off, out to where he could see Carravoy and D’Villiers sitting in their own collapsible chairs, taking some food. His approach caused them to rise, it evidently meant developments of some sort.

  “Charles! Royston. Good morning. I hope you got some sleep.”

  The grim and hangdog look that he was treated to by Carravoy gave him his answer, but he continued, in what he hoped was the same cheerful tone.

  “Well, once over, I think we can get some rest and perhaps something to eat, and on the Talavera side of the river. Meanwhile, yours are to fire those huts over there, no point leaving them for the French, then get over the river. Line Companies will be crossing first, then you, then the Lights, but all after the others in our Brigade and the Spanish, of course.”