“Shoulder arms.”
Again came the smooth movement.
Drake folded his arms.
“All to the good so far.”
He looked at Carr.
“What should we do?”
Carr was impassive.
“Wait. I think I know how this is going to work out.”
The next hour was spent on musket drill, their muskets swinging impressively through the various positions, and then marching the men around the perimeter of the parade ground, with Jordan in the centre bellowing the orders. After this time, some fifers and drummers arrived and, to their strident music, the whole marched off the parade ground and into the town. Jordan returned to the arch, where Carr asked his questions.
“Will they return?”
“Yes Sir. The Colonel likes them to be seen in the town. Good for recruitment he says.”
Carr immediately thought of a more likely, self-aggrandising reason, but did not say it.
“They’ll come back for firing drill, Sir, at the butts, that side of the parade ground”
Carr nodded, without looking, then he turned to the four behind.
“Are you sure that you can still load and fire? Like at Vimeiro? You are all unhindered by your wounds?”
All four nodded, but Carr looked at the one with a missing eye.
“Can you?”
The man looked at him.
“Sir, I could do it blindfold!”
Both Carr and Drake grinned and stood waiting, but within an hour the parade returned, the two Officers riding at the head of what was indeed a very smart column.
Carr walked forward.
“Time to introduce ourselves. And this is going to require the height of diplomacy.”
Drake sighed.
“Oh dear!”
The two walked out onto the parade ground and awaited their arrival. The two Officers had noticed them immediately and walked their horses over. Carr and Drake came to the attention and saluted.
“Morning, Sir. I am Major Carr, 105th Foot, and this is Captain Drake, Light Company 105th Foot. Just arrived back from Spain.”
The two reined in their horses. The more senior was considerably older than the junior, although each immaculately tailored. The former was a good looking and well-built man, not gone to fat, with powerful shoulders, but his face looked sternly on all around, with grim mouth and over-bearing eyes under overly dark brows. Clearly this was a man used to getting his own way. The latter was simply a younger physical version of the former, if more slightly built and wearing the facial expression of someone who counted himself as both a wit and a dandy.
“I have a letter here for you, Sir. From General Picton, our Divisional Commander.”
Carr walked forward and handed up the letter. The Colonel’s face was already showing some displeasure. As he broke the seal, Carr spoke further.
“Have we the honour of addressing Colonel Brockenhurst and Major Slade?”
Brockenhurst nodded, as he unfolded the letter.
“You have. This is Major Slade.”
The last words were delivered with a curt inclination of the head and Slade jerked the butt end of his riding crop at Carr. His face wore a supercilious smile, the expression of one who feels that they have already triumphed in the forthcoming encounter.
“Would you be the Carr that I have just read about in The Times? Who was in charge when his Governor was nearly put in the bag?”
Carr smiled back, a smirk of his own, with raised eyebrows.
“There’s only one of me! As far as I know!”
He stared straight at Slade.
“But do watch out for a letter from my intended, assuming that they take the trouble to print it, she writes a good letter, stating that I was wholly exonerated at the resulting Enquiry. On both counts.”
Slade sat up straight in his saddle.
“Enquiry!”
“Yes. Demanded by me and granted by General Picton, who conducted the whole thing.”
Leaving Slade to make of that fact whatever he wished, Carr then turned his gaze to Brockenhurst.
“I understand, Sir, that your men will now undertake some firing drill?”
Brockenhurst’s face became darker, but he did not answer, instead he changed the subject.
“I have a fine body of men here, Major. You’d agree?”
“They look very fine, Sir.”
Carr had greatly emphasised the word ‘look’ and the emphasis was not lost on Brockenhurst.
“They do as I tell ‘em, Carr. You can be sure of that. Regarding firing drill, you are correct. That comes next.”
“Well, in that case, Sir, seeing as what you have here is no more than a large Company, would you have any objection to my taking the firing drill myself? After all, if some do take the Bounty, out in Spain they will find themselves under the orders of a stranger Officer.”
Both Brockenhurst and Slade looked at each other, then back at Carr, but neither spoke. Therefore Carr continued.
“May I remind you, Sir, of something that I am sure you are already aware. It is rate of fire with half Company volleys that is making the difference between us and the French?”
Now Brockenhurst did reply, after a dismissive sharp release of breath.
“Rate of fire! One volley and a bayonet charge is all that’s needed!”
Carr drew a deep breath and took one pace back, to ease the angle in his neck.
“With respect, Sir, I beg to differ. General Picton will expect better. At Talavera we stood to the French for over 20 minutes, outnumbered six to one, some say more, in both numbers and time. A bayonet charge against those odds would have lost us the battle. In fact, it was exactly that, which nearly did! However, come the end we won, we stood them off with firepower alone, Sir. They pulled back, when they could take no more.”
He allowed the words to sink in.
“Both myself and Captain Carr were there, Sir. The whole time. We saw the same, Sir, at Vimeiro and Coruna.”
The significance of those words was not lost either, making it very plain that both Major Carr and Captain Drake were veterans who had faced the French, more then once. At last Brockenhurst spoke, after easing himself petulantly in the saddle.
“Very well. If you must.”
Carr saluted and walked to the centre to stand before the short parade of four ranks. He took a deep breath.
“Men! My name is Major Carr of the 105th Foot. I have just come from the battlefield of Talavera. I am hoping that at least 70 of you will take the Bounty and accompany me back out. The Bounty will be 12 guineas. That will see your loved-ones cared for until your pay begins to come back home. The 105th is one of the best Regiments in Wellington’s army, the ‘Fighting One-Oh-Five’ and there is not one man out there who has not double or even triple the Bounty either in his knapsack or lodged with the Purser. The French plunder and rob wherever they go, but when they’re dead on the battlefield, what was theirs becomes yours!”
He allowed the words to sink in, before continuing.
“But I speak more of glory than of money. We win against the French! We have the beating of them every time. I’ve seen it, so has the Captain here. I’m asking you now, to come out, with me, and join the best army that’s left these shores since Malborough. We march to glory, boys, sooner or later we will be marching into France, in triumph. So, over the years to come, what will you be saying to your grandchildren? I marched with Wellington across Spain, over the Pyrenees and into France itself. Will you point to the mementoes on the mantelpiece or hanging on the wall? Or will you remember, with shame, the day that you had your chance to join a mighty venture and be part of its triumph, but you backed away, to slink back home, too worried, too frightened, to answer your country’s call? We are still in peril, men, we, your countrymen, because given the chance, the French will be over here, marching our streets, plundering our homes and torturing our families to be given food they need, so that they can march on to plunder the
next town! So make no mistake, it is good men, first class men, who keep them away, where they belong. Is that you?”
Another pause.
“We are trouncing the French because of our fire power. They have no answer to what we serve out, believe me! A trained soldier should be able to manage three reloads in a minute. Three, after his first discharge. A good one, can manage nearly four. From you, I want three. So, this is what we will do. I will order you to load. You come to the ‘make ready’ when loaded, then I will say present and fire. After 20 seconds I will order, present, fire, then again after 40, and finally, for the third and last reload, after a minute.”
Carr stepped back and looked at Jordan.
“Firing line, Sergeant. Two ranks, facing the butts.”
Carr walked to his place as the two lines assembled and he waited until all were in their place.
“Lock on”
The rear rank moved smartly enough.
“Order arms.”
The muskets came down from all left shoulders.
“Load!”
Suddenly all was frantic activity as Carr looked at his watch. At 25 seconds he saw that about three quarters were at the ‘make ready’. He waited until all had their muskets high in the air.
“Present”
The barrels came down to the horizontal.
“Fire!”
The massed muskets crashed out as one and then the reloading began whilst Carr timed the first 20 seconds. At the 20 less than one half were at the ‘make ready’.
“Present”
About half managed to level their muskets.
“Fire!
The half fired together, followed by a ragged volley as some latecomers joined on. However, some, even now, did not discharge, but instead came to the ‘make ready’ to await the next volley. This became steadily worse over the following reloads. At the fourth order to fire, at the end of the minute, barely more than a quarter were able to obey. Carr turned to Jordan.
“Bring out our 105th.”
As Jordan did so, Carr marched to the centre.
“For those of you that managed the four – well done! For you that didn’t, be aware that by now a French attack column will have marched through your line and you’d be dead, or running from French cavalry. If you’ve a wish to take the Bounty, then you must improve! You life will depend upon it and those of your comrades either side! If you do choose to come out with me, then you must be better than merely trained, you need to be good!”
By now the four had arrived, albeit limping, and were stood with Carr.
“These men fought at Talavera! They know what it is like to face up to a French column. They looked the Crapauds straight in the eye across twenty yards. They did that and they won! Now they are back home. Wounded, yes, but heroes. And with some money of their own and we are now going to care for them as best we can.”
A pause.
“They will now demonstrate the standard needed. I will not time twenty seconds, but order fire when all are at the ‘make ready’. Let’s see in what time they can manage four reloads. That will mean five bullets sent against the enemy. Captain Drake will give the orders.”
Carr again turned to Jordan.
“Get the men either side, Sergeant, where they will be able to see.”
Jordan split the line in two and a three deep line was formed either side of the four now stood facing the butts. Carr nodded at Drake.
“Load!”
The four loaded so fast that there was no time for any difference between them to be created, not enough to prevent them all coming together at the ‘make ready’.
“Present.”
The barrels came down to the horizontal, rapidly as one.
“Fire!”
The muskets barked out and all began their reload. There was not a wasted movement before their muskets were raised almost simultaneously to the vertical again and thus it continued. Such was the total efficiency of each reload that each time they came to the ‘make ready’ virtually as one. The fifth shot rang out and their muskets fell to the ‘order arms’. Carr walked towards the centre, carrying his watch.
“One minute and seven seconds.”
He reached the centre.
“Two minutes of that and the French are off and gone. It’s more than they can take, I know it because I’ve seen it!”
He looked carefully at both halves of the Militia.
“I am here for a month, with Captain Drake. We will be here at our Barracks each evening; that’s me and my men, to train you and get you up to their standard. If you wish to follow us, out there to Spain, then you will be very welcome to join us here and learn.”
With that, Carr and Drake left the parade and walked up to Brockenhurst and Slade. Both were visibly angry, both knew that they had been humiliated, but Carr came straight to the point.
“We can get them up to the rate of fire, Sir, but there are other questions, such as what are they like forming a firing line from column, then forming square? Can they maintain a fire discipline of half-Company volleys?”
Brockenhurst looked down from his horse, with a blank, malignant stare, Slade less so, as he was trying to keep his horse still, after all the noise, but he was plainly equally embarrassed. The training they had been given had been found severely wanting by a serving, front-line Officer.
Carr realised that he would get no answer and so he walked back to the barracks, through the arch and into the Office, where he gathered up the books. Soon Jordan had joined them.
“Sergeant. How often do the men practise firing drill?”
“Each day they come, Sir. On the two days.”
“And they fire?”
“Ten each, Sir.”
“Get me pencil and paper, if you would be so kind.”
Carr reached for the Purchases Ledger and opened it for six months previous. By then the pencil and paper had arrived and Carr began. Over the next hour his face took on a look of deeper and deeper concern. Finally he looked up.
“Sergeant. How many cartridges do you have now, in your magazine?”
“I don’t know, Sir. The Colonel takes care of all that, Sir. He has the key.”
“The same for flints.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“When did you last make an issue of cartridges?"
“Last Wednesday, Sir. Thirty to make up the 36 in their boxes.”
“And that’s the only time you get to go into the magazine?”
“Not me Sir. The Colonel gets some Chosen Men to go in there and bring out the boxes to just inside the arch. Then I makes the issue, Sir.”
Carr’s face darkened further, then he folded the piece of paper with his calculations and pushed it into his jacket pocket. He looked at Jordan.
“What about rum?”
Jordan laughed.
“That’s for me, Sir, when the Colonel orders it.”
“Right. Issue yourself a full bottle. Charge it to me!”
oOo
The following week began with Carr and Jane penning the comforting, yet vital letter, which Carr put on the Mail Coach himself, addressed to The Times. Thereafter the following days were fully occupied with substantial meals at Fynings Court, accounts at the barracks and evening fire drill with the Militia, where the wounded of Talavera proved themselves to be invaluable, taking small groups for instruction. At the end of the week, Saturday, the whole line could manage three re-loads in a minute after their first discharge. At the end of that evening, a very pleased Carr and Drake sat down for the evening meal, but before a mouthful was eaten, Jane looked across at both.
“You two! What are you doing on the 22nd November?”
Carr and Drake looked at each other, much perplexed, but it was Drake who replied.
“The date rings no bells, therefore, nothing!”
She smiled, her face a picture of happiness.
“Well, you must keep it free, because on that day, Major Carr, you and I are getting married and you, Captai
n Drake, are required to attend as the Best Man!”
She beamed at both.
“It is now in the local news sheet and on the Parish notice board.”
Whilst Carr looked both overjoyed and astonished at the same time, Drake turned towards him.
“Well there you are, Henry. Orders! Your only choice is but to obey.”
However, the announcement had stirred something inside Carr, such that, after the meal, he took Jane into another room and, there alone, he sat her down and knelt before her, taking her hands in his.
“Jane. I know what this will be doing to you. Taking you away from your Father and any family you have, that comes through him. He will disown you!”
He gently squeezed both hands.
“So, are you sure? That one, two, or even five years from now, you will not miss the family that you are leaving behind? Society will judge you by it, that you parted from your family, to marry an almost penniless Infantry Officer, who was the subject of military scandal across the newspapers.”
She smiled and gazed down on him before, amazingly, then leaving her chair and kneeling with him on the floor, facing him.
“Henry. The only family I want, is you!”
A pause, whilst her eyes found his.
“And our children. And Nat and Cecily. And Aunt Constance. That’s enough family for me. My Father has chosen his path and it is different from mine.”
For a long second Carr’s face was blank with astonishment, then he smiled, then they both kissed, for a time much longer that convention would tolerate, were anyone there to bear witness and be shocked to any great degree.
The following day, Sunday, an even happier Carr and Drake were at the parade ground and this being Sunday, Brockenhurst and Slade were in attendance. Carr approached Brockenhurst and saluted.
“Sir. Beg to report that your men can now achieve three reloads minute. We have been practising all week.”
Whereas Carr expected words or even an expression of satisfaction, instead Brockenhurst’s face darkened with displeasure, but Carr continued.
The Plains of Talavera Page 44
