The Plains of Talavera

by Martin McDowell

  “Sir. Before your march around the town, may we practice going from line to square? As you can see, I have marked out some pegs, which would be the corners of a full battalion square. I want to see how quickly they can take their place as a part of it. Sir.”

  Brockenhurst said nothing, but gave a curt nod. Carr saluted and jogged over to where Jordan had the Militia in a firing line, two deep.

  “Although I’m sure you know, Sergeant, I’m not going to ask. I want to see what happens when the order comes to form square. This number of men will cover only about 20 yards of one side. So you remain standing at one of those pegs and I’ll walk the 20 yards from you to mark the end for them.”

  Jordan saluted.

  “Yes Sir.”

  Carr arrived at his position and turned to the two deep line. He had to shout, for there was now some distance.

  “Parade! At the order, ‘form square’ you form between the Sergeant and myself.”

  A pause.

  “Cavalry! Form square!”

  The firing line split raggedly in the middle and the nearest two lines came into position and the furthest jogged behind them to form the third and fourth rank. By that time the front two had fixed bayonets, the first kneeling, the second ‘en garde’, bayonets thrust forward. Brockenhurst had by now approached.

  “There you are, Major. As good as any, I’d say.”

  Carr looked up.

  “With respect, Sir. It’s simple, I’ll grant you, but too slow. You cannot wait for one half of the firing line to march behind the other. Cavalry could be on them in less than half a minute. I want to teach another drill, Sir, which is quicker. The line must wholly dissolve and then reform as a square. Speed is everything.”

  It was plain that Brockenhurst would have liked to argue, but Carr must be allowed to try and so he conceded. Permission was given with a sharp nod of his head whilst looking away. Carr saluted and jogged away to stand before the four lines.

  “Form line.”

  The result was the opposite of forming square and soon the Militia were back in a two deep line. Carr spoke to himself, 'Now we start!’ Using his twelve wounded veterans, over the next half hour the 145 Militia and their three Officers were pushed, pulled, prodded and punched into position to form a four deep line, at speed, which could form part of a square. Their time improved and then more so, as each learned their position in the four deep line. After achieving the last ‘square’, which had gone very smoothly, Carr marched over to Brockenhurst.

  “Thank you, Sir. As you choose, Sir, I think the men are ready to march off. They have but to shoulder arms and right face.”

  Brockenhurst pulled himself fully upright in his saddle.

  “Thank you, Major, but I think I can work that out for myself.”

  After the required orders from Major Slade, the whole marched away, to the accompaniment of the fifers and drummers, who all had been stood watching, fascinated, for some time, leaving Carr, Drake and their helpers alone on the parade ground. Carr looked at them all.

  “Next we must test them. And I think I know how”

  He looked directly at Jordan, waving a hand at his twelve instructors.

  “Get these men fed, Sergeant. I think they’ve earned it.”

  With that parting, both Carr and Drake walked to the stables, mounted their horses and walked them back along the road to Cheddon Fitzpaine. Drake was bursting to ask and finally he did.

  “You think you know how to test them. So? What? How?”

  Carr instead brushed his horses mane to one side of her neck.

  “Where does Tavender live?”

  Drake sat up with such a start that his horse stopped momentarily.

  “What!”

  Carr turned and looked at him calmly, speaking in the same tone.

  “Where does Tavender live? He’s here, so I understand, and I could use him and his Yeomanry. So, where does he live?”

  “You are surely in jest! You go there and he’s likely to challenge you, you arriving unannounced into his very own bailiwick! Are you sure it’s so good an idea?”

  Carr shrugged.

  “Yes, what’s the alternative? We need some cavalry. He’s a cavalryman with contacts within the local Yeomanry and so I am going to him to require him to help. I could make it an order. It is, will be, a military situation, that being the training of Militia replacements.”

  “You’ll have to forewarn him. You can’t just show up and start hammering on his front door.”

  Carr nodded.

  “I know, and that will be done. I’ll send him a letter outlining my requirements.”

  Drake was silenced, but Carr continued.

  “So, where? Do you know?”

  “Tapleigh Manor. Everyone knows it. Except you, I’d surmise.”

  “Right. We’ll get a letter over there when we get back. Meanwhile, tomorrow afternoon, we get our Militia to fire ten rounds but form square part way through, in the middle of reloading.”

  The next morning saw Carr coming to the end of an unfamiliar road, which led only to Tapleigh Manor and he entered the gates, having been required to open one side himself. If Fynings Court was neat and well cared for, the garden, even the outer grounds, of Tapleigh Manor were wholly immaculate, as though each leaf and each blade of grass were carefully angled into a pre-ordained place. Gardeners, grooms and servants, all many in number, scurried around the house front or bent themselves assiduously to their duties. The house itself was tall and wide; brickwork scrubbed and perhaps over ornamental to some tastes, but the whole spoke of opulence and extravagance. It was a statement of wealth and influence. As Carr approached the wide, curving double staircase, a groom appeared and took his horse, leaving Carr to choose which set of steps to use. He chose the right, which led him to a wide, black lacquered double doors, which had the high points in the woodwork picked out in gold leaf. He lifted the heavy knocker and struck it twice against the gleaming brass plate. He did not have to wait for more than a count of ten, before an elaborately liveried Footman opened the door. He said nothing, but did step back to allow Carr to enter, who did not trouble to look around after walking through, but his senses conveyed surroundings of yet more lavishness; statues, paintings, ornaments and tapestries. The Footman took Carr’s cloak, whilst he walked to a polished table on which to place his gloves and shako. The Butler then bowed.

  “If you’d care to wait, Sir, Captain Tavender is expecting you.”

  At this point, Carr did look around, but his thoughts were elsewhere; ‘So, I am to wait in the hall! Somewhat less than gracious! Still, no matter. Within five minutes I should be gone.’ A door opened and what came through it was not one man, but four! Tavender, followed by Brockenhurst, Slade and, worst of all, General Perry. Carr saw the need to adhere to rigid formalities and so he came to the attention and saluted. It was not returned and so Carr counted the regulation ten and then allowed his hand to drop to his side. He saw no reason to not come straight to the point, addressing himself to Tavender.

  “Captain Tavender, good day to you. I hope that I am correct in assuming that you have received my request. I hope it can be done, so, what do you think?”

  Tavender allowed a silence to hang, which created a contemptuous atmosphere, before replying.

  “It could be difficult.”

  Carr looked directly at Tavender, ignoring the others.

  “Difficult! How so?”

  “Time and numbers.”

  Carr dropped his head to one side, quizzically.

  “Regarding time, we have almost two weeks. Regarding numbers, I seem to recall that you had quite a Squadron, back in the year six, when we encountered you up in the hills. Have you now lost so many?”

  “Yes. Gone out to Spain.”

  “Well, no matter. I need but a dozen or so. I could mount a dozen grooms and they would do some sort of job, but trained cavalrymen would give the thing that better edge. Surely you can find that number, amongst your existing Yeomanry
Militia?”

  “It could be difficult.”

  Carr was beginning to lose patience.

  “Captain Tavender. I have made no investigation into the number on the Muster Roll of your Yeomanry, but I’m sure there would be more than a dozen. I carried home a letter from General Picton, requiring me to bring out to the army as many trained Militia as would take the Bounty. I would presume that you did also. The emphasis on trained! Whilst helping me train my men, you also train yours. I’m sure you would not wish your name to be included in my report as being unco-operative, or even oppositional?”

  General Perry stepped forward, unable to hold himself back.

  “Major Carr! Captain Tavender has given you your answer. Take it with you as you leave!”

  However, Tavender now sighed, one of resignation, such as for dealing with something wholly tedious, but inevitable. He was returning to the Peninsula and such a judgement reaching Picton’s ears, or even Stapleton-Cotton’s could sit very ill with him.

  “Oh very well, Carr. It would never do to disappoint your General Picton. You can have your men; I’ll pull a few together for next Sunday. How will that suit?”

  Carr bowed and began to walk to the table to retrieve his shako and gloves.

  “That will do very well. I thank you. Now, if your man could fetch my cloak.”

  However, at this point, Brockenhurst and Perry stepped forward, the former in the lead.

  “Major Carr. I read in the papers of your forthcoming wedding to the daughter of General Perry here.”

  Carr stopped halfway to the table and turned to face Brockenhurst as he continued.

  “I’d postpone the arrangements, were I you.”

  Carr took two paces back towards him, his tone, expression and posture both annoyed and aggressive.

  “For what reason?”

  “A simple one. Her good Father, General Perry here, utterly opposes the match and I feel that he has the right of it.”

  Carr stared straight at him, ignoring General Perry.

  “My Fiancée has her majority. What she decides to do with her life now rests entirely in her own hands.”

  Brockenhurst smiled indulgently, as if about to put wise an errant youngster.

  “Well, it’s this, Carr. You are aware that I am an MP and, in that capacity I can raise all kinds of questions in The House, certainly such as to throw doubt on the legality of your marriage, sufficient to put any possibility of the thing taking place beyond the date when you need to return to Spain.”

  He allowed the words to sink in and then continued, whilst Carr’s face visibly darkened even further.

  “The marriage can only take place, if at all, upon your next return, assuming you survive what is next to come in Spain.”

  Carr advanced forward to but a yard from Brockenhurst, who thought that he was about to be struck, but instead, fortuitously, Carr still had in his pocket the notes he had taken from the Militia ledgers. He took it out and unfolded it.

  “Colonel! Your Sergeant of Militia keeps excellent books. And from his Ledgers I have discovered these numbers.”

  He lifted the paper to chest level and read from it.

  “These are my calculations, Sir, bit of maths I’m afraid, but here goes. Each of your men is issued 10 cartridges each day, so, over two days each week, each fires 20 cartridges. With 145 men, that’s about 3,000 a week. So, over the past six months, 26 weeks, they will have fired something like 80,000, keeping things simple.”

  Brockenhurst’s face was beginning to show concern.

  “Yet, Colonel, over those past six months you have requisitioned 200,000 cartridges. You assemble 145 men on the 52 days over the six months, making about 7540 man/days; I believe that to be the term. 200,000 is enough for each man to have fired almost thirty cartridges. Each day! On each day that you see them. That’s more than each man used on the retreat to Coruna, including the battle!”

  He allowed those words to sink in.

  “Yet your men could not manage three reloads in a minute! And your men are only given ten each time they muster!”

  Brockenhurst’s face was turning ashen, something that even General Perry noticed, when he was able to take his eyes from the hated Carr, but this abhorred Major was now continuing, in a very light-hearted, but deeply threatening, tone.

  “Not that this proves anything conclusive, Sir, but Horse Guards would want to take a look. If they were to be made aware.”

  His shifted his feet and folded his arms, to then relate a story, wholly fictitious, but conveying the threat very nicely. He spoke in the same jovial manner.

  “You know, Sir, I seem to recall a case some while back of ill doings whereby someone in the Militia sold Government cartridges to a manufacturer of sporting gun cartridges. The gunpowder speaks for itself, but the lead balls were melted down and turned into birdshot. The chap was charged with treason, but he escaped the drop, he only got a prison stretch.”

  Brockenhurst swallowed hard.

  “What would happen to him now, at this time, well, what with Wellington’s army almost falling apart from starvation for want of carts, mules and supplies, I would guess that they would go through with the full thing. One cold dawn!”

  By now Carr’s cloak had arrived and he draped it over his arm, whilst the Butler retrieved his gloves and shako. The only sound was Carr’s boots on the polished tiles as he turned to the Butler for his gloves and shako.

  “Oh yes Sir, just one further thing. I assume that you sit on the local Parish Charity Board, or whatever they call it here, Pension Board or some such. Well, there are twelve wounded men at the barracks, wounded at Talavera. You saw four of them. I would urge you to consider them to be ‘deserving poor’ at least, or preferably pay them to help train your Militia. Them being fitted with wooden legs and whatnot, would not come amiss either.”

  Now with all three garments retrieved, he turned to Tavender.

  “Well, good day to you, Lucius. So grateful for your help, see you and your Troop this Sunday.”

  With that he turned and left, his jaw now clenched with anger as he descended the stone steps to his waiting horse, cursing the name of Perry, Brockenhurst and all his associates over what they had just attempted.

  The next Sunday dawned true November, intermittent, irritating drizzle falling from a leaden sky, as Carr and Drake awaited the arrival of Tavender and his men. Carr was down the hill out of sight of the Militia, these now assembled in a firing line. They arrived on time with Brockenhurst absent, but Slade was there, accompanying Tavender. There were about 40 Yeoman Troopers and Carr looked past the pair at the assembled men.

  “Good turnout, Captain. I’m grateful.”

  The reply was a curt nod.

  “Now, if you could take your men into that dip, out of sight, and then charge whenever you’re ready, but let’s have no injuries, please, amongst yours or mine. The French will do enough of that when they get out there.”

  Tavender briefly lifted his hand to his helmet and led his men off the track to the area indicated. Carr mounted his own horse and cantered to the formed line, two deep. At the end of the line he stopped and waited, but not for long. Over the rise came the Yeomanry, a single line, all yelling and waving their heavy cavalry sabres. The shock in the line of infantry was visible, but Carr was shouting.

  “Cavalry! Form square!”

  The pegs were still in place, but the attempt was a shambles, no line was formed before the Yeomanry were in amongst them, touching many with the flat of their sabres. A trumpet sounded and the horsemen pulled back, while Tavender trotted over to Carr and Drake, a grin of satisfaction on his face.

  “Excuse me, Sir, but are these men trained?”

  Carr grinned back.

  “They are, yes, but first you have to convince them as to why. You have achieved that perfectly. I thank you.”

  He sat forward in the saddle.

  “Now, if you could do it again. In just the same manner.”

  Ta
vender swung over his horse’s head and led his men away so that soon they were back out of sight. Carr rode over to the now formed up Militia. He raised his voice, his tone stern.

  “Now you see why speed matters. You would have been cut to pieces, your square broken and your comrades slaughtered.”

  He allowed the words to have their impact.

  “You must expect cavalry at any time, from any direction and react to that order with lightning speed.”

  The exercise was repeated, but each time with a better result. The line was formed and the Yeomanry were met with a steady line of bayonets, with muskets at the present in the two ranks behind. The Militia even completed the formation when charged from the rear in the middle of firing drill. Carr and Drake were cock-a-hoop and showed it, not by speech, but by dismounting and saluting their men as Slade led them past for their Sunday street parade. Of Tavender they saw no more, he had led his men away quickly to become the head of the forthcoming parade. Carr gathered his men together, including Sergeant Jordan. All were in very good spirits.

  “Well done men. We’ve all done a good job there.”

  He grinned at the small collection.

  “Now. I’m getting married on the 22nd at Fynings Court Church near Cheddon Fitzpaine. You’re all invited, of course. 3 o’ clock.”

  He turned to Jordan.

  “Is that bottle used up Sergeant?”

  Jordan laughed.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Draw two more, for yourself and your comrades here. At my expense.”

  oOo

  The Church of the Fynings Estate lay deep, solid and snug in the slight hollow behind the great house. A sympathetic, but watery sun threw faint patterns of shadow on the light brown gravel of the path and also upon the mid grey of the careful stonework that was the Church. The main path ran from the house, but another took itself off at a different angle, to fall over the slight ridge and then under the wet grey slates of the lych-gate onto the road which marked the end of its run. The shadows were faint, but still, for no wind disturbed the unassailable authority of the ancient chestnut trees that arched, leafless, over all below. All traces of Autumn leaves and horse-chestnuts had been thoroughly removed, by the willing Gardeners. The narrow windows of the Church, reflecting pink from the sky above, remained unblinking, but kindly, awaiting the arrival of the bride to be. Inside, the cheer of the sun was replaced by every possible variety of green, gathered from the grounds and hedges of the Estate and beyond. At their place on the right transept stood Carr and Drake, the former too nervous to sit, the latter doing his best to boost the fragile confidence of his good friend.