The Plains of Talavera

by Martin McDowell

  They all looked back to the river.

  “Who seem at last to be moving, but meanwhile we stand in readiness. So, get your men going to begin the burning, I’ll stay with the Lights.”

  Carravoy was in no good mood.

  “My men have just begun eating. What should I do?”

  “Give them five minutes. Even with our Lights out there, this scrub could hide an army, and a French one is on its way.”

  Carr looked directly at Carravoy.

  “Five minutes, Charles, then things must happen. You get yourselves ready to move. Once over, you follow the Line Companies up to some building called the Casa de Salinas, where Drake’s will be holding the building itself, you immediately to his right, between him and Nine. Major O’Hare’s in charge.”

  He took and released a deep breath.

  “It’s just under a mile beyond the river. I’ll feel much better when we’re all over. And soon, I hope.”

  Carravoy had only been half listening, relying on D’Villiers.

  “What’s that village on the other side and someway up?”

  “Cazalas. But don’t go near it, too far from the fords. Just get yourselves ready!”

  With that he walked off, leaving the two to finish their coffee and a bread roll, and Carravoy to mumble, “Damn jumped up!”, but from a standing position, for Binns had heard all and was gathering up their few camp items including the chairs. Carravoy, looked at the huts in the distance, but spoke to D’Villiers.

  “What’s the time?”

  D’Villier’s dragged out his modern, yet ornate, watch.

  “A little before seven.”

  Carravoy looked back to the river.

  “Are the Dons moving? I do believe they are.”

  His evidence were some dark blue columns marching in the direction of the bridge, but others, in white and light blue still seemed to be taking their ease. D’Villiers looked over.

  “Some, yes. But expect all only within two hours, at best.”

  Carravoy nodded, then thought.

  “Where’s the wind blowing?”

  D’Villiers, not too well versed in such rustic skills, took a look at the trees over the river and gave his best estimation.

  “Our way.”

  “Right. Leave the hut firing until the last. What’s the point in hanging around here, chewing on smoke. Tell off Ridgway, for the job. He fires, then follows us, clear?”

  “Absolutely Charles!”

  “Very good. Now, form ours up, ready to cross.”

  There were many intervening consultations of D’Villiers’ watch before the last reading showed 10.30 and the last of the white Spanish uniforms entered the fords. Then came the 45th and 24th, showing much more urgency and they were quickly through the ford. D’Villiers looked over to Sergeant Ridgway, stood waiting with 20 men.

  “Off you go, Sergeant. Then follow us over.”

  All of the Grenadiers were in the water, when the smoke of the burning huts began to blow across the fords and the woods, but Carravoy took no notice, him being carried over by one of his men, one of the largest, even amongst Grenadiers. However, this lasted but a few yards, for Mackenzie was on the far bank and highly incensed.

  “Get off, Sir. Off. What your men endure, so should you. Off, ah say.”

  However, the Grenadier plodded on, until Mackenzie spoke directly to him.

  “Let go, laddie. Release your Officer. This instant.”

  It was done, but carefully, giving Carravoy the chance to find his feet, albeit under three feet of water, but he remained in touch with his soldier, lest the unseen large and slippery stones forming the riverbed should prove too treacherous. Carravoy had not long emptied his boots before the Light Company came splashing across, the men filing either side of his rather humourous figure sat on a patch of grass, feet bare and him wringing out his less than white hose. Last to cross was Carr, acknowledging the salute of Sergeant Obediah Hill, commanding the pickets at the ford.

  “Keep a good watch, Sergeant. They could be anywhere in that scrub.”

  “Yes Sir. But I don’t like this smoke, Sir.”

  It was blowing thickly downriver from the burning huts, sometimes obscuring even the far bank of the river.

  “I agree Sergeant. But, can’t be helped. Orders from on high to set fire to an old French camp. Hold here. When we’re positioned and ready, I’ll send back your Relief.”

  “Sir.”

  Carr padded up the wet bank and noticed Carravoy.

  “Are you all right, Charles? Need any help?”

  The answer was Carravoy standing up, then reaching out for Carr’s left shoulder to steady himself whilst he pulled on his second boot. Carr had tucked his footwear into his belt and so now he availed himself of help of the same type from Carravoy, as he pulled on both boots.

  “Right! Properly shod. Time to get on with the war!”

  They walked on together, following the Light Company.

  “You know where your position is?”

  Carravoy’s fragile temper almost broke at such a question.

  “Of course! Wasn’t it you that told me?”

  “Yes Charles, indeed, it’s just that I assume you have not been in these woods. They’re I bit ‘as of England’, if you take my meaning. Denser than Spanish.”

  He drew a deep breath, giving enough time to change the subject.

  “Donkin’s Brigade should already be over, in the woods above this Casa place. Best I check, I think, when we get there, to establish their state, as it were. They will hold our left in any action, if Johnny comes over sooner rather than later.”

  He looked at Carravoy, hoping for some comradely word or even expression, but none came, merely a curt nod of his head.

  “I’d best get up to my Grenadiers.”

  Carr watched him increase his pace to overtake the Light Company. Soon they came to the Casa to find it a tall ruin, but with an intact tower significantly higher than the crumbling walls. Now within sight of it, he turned right to explore the woodland. Soon, he came upon the 87th of Donkin’s Brigade and what he saw set off alarms in his head, because the 87th were at camp, cooking, sleeping or just sitting and lounging. What was in many ways worse, was the fact that all the men had divested themselves of their equipment, with their muskets piled together in stacks of five or six. He hurried through their lines and the first soldier of any status that he came to was a Colour Sergeant, who immediately sprang to attention on being approached by this unknown Officer. Carr wasted no time.

  “Where is your nearest Officer?”

  The Colour Sergeant turned and pointed.

  “There, Sir. Stood with his back to us. Captain Bryant.”

  Carr hurried away to tap Bryant on the shoulder. He immediately turned around, saw that he was dealing with a Major and came to attention. Carr spoke first.

  “Morning. Carr, 105th Foot.”

  The Captain saluted.

  “Bryant, Sir. 87th.”

  Carr looked around to confirm his anxiety, before speaking

  “I must get back to my own men, but, please query this with your Colonel. We know, when perhaps you do not, that the French could be right up to us. So, is this wise, for your men to be in such a state of unreadiness? You are like us, you cannot see much further beyond your front than fifty yards, through this wood! And your pickets are up on the river bank itself, close to half a mile away.”

  Bryant looked back towards the river, but inevitably it could not be seen. Then he looked at the men around, all in a state such as described by Carr.

  “I’ll pass it on, Sir. I suspect that you may be right.”

  “Very good. That is my strongest advice.”

  Carr returned Bryant’s salute, then hurried away. It required mere minutes before the haggard walls of the Casa de Salinas emerged from the trees and there he found the Light Company, these also at the beginnings of taking their ease and lighting fires. The first Officer of any description he found was Ellis.
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  “Sergeant!”

  Ellis sprung to attention and saluted.

  “Allow the men to take food, such as they have, but they remain equipped and formed up with muskets loaded. We are the front line. Our pickets are out, but unseen, back at the river.”

  “Sir.”

  Carr made to walk off, to pass on his order further on, but Ellis had more to say.

  “Beg pardon Sir! Something you should know, Sir.”

  Carr turned and pulled his eyebrows together as Ellis continued.

  “General Wellesley, Sir. He’s up above, in tower of the Casa here. Lookin’ for the French. Sir.”

  Carr’s eyebrows came even further together, before hurrying off to the far side of the building. There in the courtyard he found three riderless horses, in the custody of six Dragoons. The thought came hurrying in, “If Johnny arrives now, with Donkin’s half asleep and Nosey at the top of a long staircase, there could be the Devil to pay!”

  It was at that exact moment that there came a crash of musketry from the direction of Donkin’s men and the sound, to Carr’s experienced ears, was definitely the shriller bark of French Charleville muskets, then came the uproar of shouts and screams. He raced out of the courtyard and back to the Light Company, where he found men already scrambling to their feet and forming a line, muskets at “Order Arms.”

  “Stand to! Stand to! Face left. Fix bayonets.”

  Face left was not a good order, for at that moment his own pickets came running back directly at their front, with French Voltiguers practically alongside them, Hill and others fighting for their lives fending off blows as they ran. The Voltiguers must have waded over even below the ford to advance unseen and surprise Hill and his men. Carr drew his sword and felt, more than saw, men from the Light Company beside and behind, he heard Ellis yelling, then he was in the midst of frantic combat. A Voltiguer came at him with his bayonet levelled at his throat. Carr took the bayonet on the join between his blade and the bell-guard which gave him all the leverage he needed to push the bayonet aside, and his sword in the best position to send a back-handed swipe into the neck of the French soldier, who fell clutching a spouting jugular, but more French were coming and, what was worse, formed up French infantry, following their own Light troops. Carr could only hope, so he drew a deep breath.

  “Make ready!”

  A pause.

  “Present!”

  Some bayonets came down alongside him.

  “Fire!”

  A volley, of sorts, crashed out either side of him, but it was hopeless, there were too many French, all steady and in proper formation. The best contribution of the volley had been to fill the area with smoke. Then the thought occurred, ‘what is happening on the far side of the Casa? If the French are there, then they are all cut off and will soon be prisoners.’

  “Fall back! Fall back!”

  His men paced backwards, bayonets still menacing the advancing French. One Frenchman came out of the smoke to encounter Saunders, who brushed aside the bayonet, before sending the butt of his musket up and into the man’s chin. Then they heard “Tire!” and a French volley whistled amongst them, fortunately a little high, but many of Carr’s men grunted and screamed as the French balls found their mark. Many were down, prone and making no move, whilst others writhed in agony and some, less wounded, dragged themselves back or were dragged back by their comrades. Some more 105th arrived and fired into the smoke but the effect could not even be described as temporary, for the smoke was thinning and the French were coming on, in numbers and in full line formation.

  There was no option but to continue back and quickly. The 105th had been surprised and broken, and so also, Carr suspected, had the 87th and 88th. Then the situation became even worse when Carr looked into the courtyard at the rear. Their Commander had not yet emerged, it was clear, for the riderless horses still remained with the Dragoons, but, some 30 yards beyond to the far wall, French Voltiguers were pouring through the far gate.

  “Ellis! Saunders! Hill! Anyone! To me!”

  Carr led a collection of men through the gate and indicated the line he wanted, with his sword. To his great relief, at that moment, Wellesley came hurtling out of the back door, with his Staff and his three-foot telescope bobbing alarmingly on the back of an Orderly. Within seconds all were in the saddle, but the French were using them as a target and a Dragoon slumped forward, to be held momentarily in the saddle by his comrades, but to no avail. He slipped sideways and slumped to the cobblestones. Carr’s line was no obstacle to the riders and they galloped through as Carr gave his orders to fire. The thin volley downed some French and halted their forward momentum, but they had no time to congratulate themselves. Instead, they could only to run back out of the gate where they found the main French assault line, mere yards from enveloping the Casa on all sides. They ran at their best speed, through a line of Grenadiers, commanded by Ameshurst, who sent a volley into the oncoming French, but then he inevitably turned his men back to also join the headlong retreat.

  Relief came some 100 yards further back in the form of the 45th, steady as a wall, muskets loaded and stood at the ‘make ready’. Needing to push through the two deep line did not cause any break in their speed, but once through, Carr saw O’Hare, Lacey, and even Wellesley himself, with Heaviside and the other Captains, doing their best to rally the retreating men. Carr immediately joined in.

  “Halt! Form up! Form up! Two deep. Support the 45th.”

  Yet many still continued to run, many of his own Regiment and many with the facings of the 88th and 87th, confirming Carr’s suspicions that Donkin’s Brigade had also been broken. Carr screamed at the top of his lungs.

  “Stand, you bastards, stand! Form on the 45th!”

  Some halted, some continued on, but the 105th were now in a firing line, albeit much shortened, mixed Companies and all disheveled and breathless. However, as Carr yelled, pulled and prodded, the half-Company volleys of the 45th began to ring out, the non-stop crash of muskets telling their story, which was that the advancing French were being met with the usual devastating firepower of a British firing line. The 45th took not one backward step and the French attack had been halted, but not withdrawn, nor silent. The French had brought some artillery across the river and soon cannonballs began to plough up the dry earth. The line of the 105th was now growing apace and so Wellesley rode off to rally the 87th and 88th, now each forming a ragged shape, but at least an expanding one.

  The word was now spreading down the line of the 105th, ‘Form Fours’. This was quickly done from their firing line and they marched off, at the pace of ‘quick time’. Carr stood and watched the column pass by and the faces of the men told its own story of the past minutes, a near panic that had lasted not even beyond half an hour. There was shock on the face of many, these still breathing hard from the sudden terror. Many were bloodied, from their own wounds or from those of their wounded companions; of which there were many, some limping, some nursing upper body wounds and some being supported, even carried, by their comrades. It was a sad sight, defeat writ large, but the continuing French artillery fire hurried them along. At last it fell silent as they emerged out of range and Lacey called a halt and spoke to all Officers within earshot, knowing that it would be passed along.

  “Re-form Companies.”

  The Captains of each took their positions and their men soon joined them for the column to reform as Companies and continue their retreat. Off to their left was the re-assuring sight of the steady columns of the 45th and the 24th, whilst to their right and equally re-assuring, were of the two Battalions of Donkin’s with his Rifle Companies spread behind as a rearguard. With them were two squadrons of Cotton’s cavalry, which included a squadron of the 16th Light Dragoons, which included Captains Tavender and Templemere. Both eased their horses across to come within earshot of the 87th, now reformed but supporting many wounded. Tavender called across to an 87th Captain.

  “What happened?”

  “We were taken by
surprise. He got over the river, unbeknown to us and came at us through the woods. We were making camp.”

  Tavender’s interest grew.

  “Where were the 105th?”

  “On our right. They were surprised, too, and broke as well.”

  The Captain took a drink from his flask.

  “And I’ll tell you another thing. They nearly got The General. He was up the tower of that big house and just got away, before the Frogs took the place.”

  “Who was holding the house?”

  “The 105th. Their Lights, of that I’m sure. They came alongside us as we pulled back.”

  Tavender wheeled his horse away, saying no more to the Captain, but much more to Templemere.

  “105th Lights nearly allowed Wellesley to be captured. I bet Carr was there.”

  Tavender allowed that to sink in.

  “I feel that this, may have some potential!”

  The 105th slogged on, over the hot, dry, plain, watching the town of Talavera grow in detail, but not quickly enough. Wellesley was long gone, but Mackenzie rode up with his Staff, having seen his other two Colonels.

  “Bad business, Lacey!”

  Lacey nodded wearily. The hectic rout had taken its toll on him.

  “We were surprised, Sir.”

  Mackenzie continued.

  “How many have ye lost?”

  “Too early to tell, Sir, but I’d gauge 40 or 50. We have many wounded.”

  Mackenzie looked down the column.

  “Aye, ah can see that.”

  He looked again, then addressed Lacey further.

  “Ah’m leavin’ Dunn here to guide ye to our Division’s position. ‘Tis beyond the Portina, up a ways from a funny little hump they call the Pajar. Ye cannae miss it and Dunn’ll see you to ye’re place. Ye’re behind Cameron’s, up from Campbell’s Guards, and in reserve, ye’ll be relieved to know. So, when ye’ve passed the Guards, ye’re aboot there. Anyway, Dunn’ll show ye.”