The Plains of Talavera

by Martin McDowell

  “Four lines. Hit the road in echelon.”

  He waited until the lines were formed, each Troop in two lines, each behind the other. Each line would turn to attack the road at a point just beyond the one before, thus each half Troop would come into action slightly after their predecessor. Tavender had chosen his tactics perfectly; they cantered down the slope and overwhelmed the few French on 300 yards of road without a shot being fired. The French beyond took to their heels, running off the road into the fields and trees. Several of Tavender’s men quickly dismounted and were now disarming the French, which merely involved removing their bayonet from its scabbard; they had thrown down their musket themselves. Tavender made a quick count, 24 or so. A good haul. He looked for one of his Cornets and found one.

  “Smythe! Hold your Troop here, to secure the road. I’m going back with Almond’s and the prisoners.”

  A salute was the reply and the task began of shepherding the prisoners back down the road, each pleadingly shouting ‘Alimentaire’, whilst pointing into their open mouths, but the reply was, as often as not, ‘Shut yer gob, French bastard!’; the sights of Azanbuja were still vivid in all memories. The French were forced into a faster pace as the 16th trotted behind and alongside and soon they came to Anson and Withers, both obviously in the best of moods. Withers rose up in his stirrups.

  “Well done, Lucius. How many is that?”

  “Two dozen, Sir. About.”

  He expected more congratulations, but instead came a shock and the reason for the good humour of both.

  “Sergeant Baxter has just bagged over 50. With just five men! Surprised what must have been an outpost, all with stacked arms and busy cooking. Came onto them in those buildings over yonder.”

  He pointed with his thumb in the direction of the hamlet, then he sat back in his saddle, still beaming, Anson the same.

  “That’s 80, nearly. We must now be up to them, if they’re now holding together like the group that Baxter surprised.”

  Tavender smiled in reply. It rankled slightly that he had been very much outdone by a Sergeant, but that was the luck of it and, really, he was too tired to care. What he really wanted was a dry stable and a few hours sleep.

  After the Noon meal, Tavender got his wish, brought about by the advance finally coming to a halt. He rejoined Smyth’s Troop still securing the road by riding back up to the point with Almond’s and, once rejoined, he gave his orders, at the same time using his telescope and indicating his choice of Cornet by pointing at Almond.

  “See that small hill, half a mile up, with a group of bushes? Get up there with six men and see what you can see. At the gallop, find out quickly! The French are now thicker on the ground.”

  Within a minute, Almond and six men were galloping for the hill and after less than ten they were galloping back, because the bushes on the hill had erupted musket fire. Almond came straight to Tavender, but he held up his hand before Almond could speak.

  “Yes, Edward, it would seem you have found the French. Our advance is at an end. Ride back now to General Anson.”

  The first that Colonel Lacey knew that the French had been found was when General Spencer rode up to him at the head of Erskine’s column, Lacey there with O’Hare and Carr, the latter now mounted on a spare cavalry horse.

  “Lacey! Crauford’s Light is now sat looking at a French Division in front of the next town, supposedly Cartaxo, although what’s left of it is anyone’s guess. He’s over to the left and minded to attack, but feels that he is outnumbered, so I’m giving him all the Light Companies of Erskine’s Brigade. Your Major Carr here can take command. It’s urgent, but isn’t everything that involves Crauford. So, I’ll ride on and get the rest moving.”

  Lacey turned to Carr.

  “Get our Lights moving right away, Henry. Expect the 50th and 92nd soon after. Good Luck.”

  Carr saluted and turned his horse to canter back down the 105th column. In their place as the rearmost Company in the 105th column, the Light Company marched on and their first rank of Davey, Miles, Pike and Saunders saw Carr approaching. Miles was the first to voice the thoughts of all.

  “This doesn’t look good.”

  Carr reined in his horse and dismounted and they saw him talking to Drake and Maltby and then the latter came back to talk to Ellis.

  “We’re going ahead to join Crauford facing some French. Just us. The Lights of the 50th and 92nd will be following. We are ordered at the double.”

  Ellis turned to face the men.

  “At the double!”

  He led off, following Carr, Drake and Maltby up ahead, all at a jogging pace and soon they had passed all the 105th and then swung off the road to the left, onto heathland covered in short gorse and heather. Soon, they came to a low ridge and, once over, they could see Crauford’s command, six strong Battalions, a battery of field-guns and the 16th Light Dragoons. Beyond, by about half a mile and drawn up before a town was what could be taken for a whole French Division. Carr halted his men and looked at the French.

  “There’s more there than Crauford has. We have to wait for the 50th and 92nd, and meanwhile perhaps Crauford will come over and find us and tell what he wants.”

  The last words were wholly true as Crauford galloped over, with three Staff. Once up to Carr he fiercely reined in his customary huge horse.

  “Ah! Carr, it’s you. So, how many are you?”

  Carr saluted.

  “Three Companies, Sir, about 240 men.”

  “Very good. Now, you see that farm out there, just about closer to us than it is to them?”

  Carr looked to where Crauford was pointing. The farm was obvious on the flat heath.

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Get up there and hold it. Take it, if the Crapauds are in residence. I don’t want that on my flank full of Johnnies when we go forward.”

  “Do you know if there are any French in there, Sir?”

  “I don’t, but whoever is running things over there would be a damn fool if there wasn’t.”

  He looked behind.

  “Will your others be up soon?”

  “Yes Sir. I’ll move on as soon as they arrive, which should not be too long .”

  “Very good.”

  With no further word, he turned his horse and spurred him back to his main command. Carr meanwhile took the time to study his objective, speaking to Drake as he used his telescope.

  “That farm’s a large affair. Barns, paddocks and walls all around, besides the house itself.”

  He refocused his telescope on the French line beyond.

  “And I wonder why he’s grouped all his cavalry on this side, in line with the farm.”

  However, he had no time to answer his own question before Maltby spoke.

  “The 50th and 92nd are here, Sir.”

  Carr turned to see the two Company columns, the 92nd all kilted men. When their men halted, their Captains ran forward, that of the 50th arriving first.

  “Bright. Sir. 50th Foot”

  Him of the 92nd soon arrived.

  “MacConagle, Sir. 92nd Highland.”

  All shook hands, and then Carr pointed to the farm.

  “General Crauford wants us to take that, but almost certainly there’s French in there, probably Tirailleurs and Voltiguers. Most of the buildings and paddocks are to the left of the main house. They’ll be your objective, Bright. The 105th will go for the main house and the area close either side. MacConagle, hold yours in reserve, but give me a runner. I’ll send him to let you know if you’re to come up in support or cover a retreat.”

  He turned back to Bright.

  “Your men understand advancing in file order?”

  Bright nodded.

  “Yes Sir. Files of three.”

  Carr nodded.

  “Good. Position your men. If Johnny’s in there, it’ll be straight in with the bayonet. No hanging around outside trading volleys. Save our shot for driving them back from the walls!”

  The two saluted then retur
ned to their men. Meanwhile, the 105th Lights had been standing idle, studying the French in the far distance and it was Saunders who first came to his own conclusion.

  “I’d say they was the one’s as did for that town we came through this mornin’. More’n likely.”

  Byford, applying logic, came to the same conclusion.

  “If they are the rearguard and I’d say they must be, then they were the last out or close and must be responsible for some of it, if not all.”

  Miles spat.

  “I thought that what we saw at that Catanzaro place in Sicily was a one off, but this crew! That’s how they goes about their business!”

  It had been a grim march since leaving Azambuja, all carrying the sight of dead civilians, killed by bayonet thrust, often in the back, or a crushing musket butt. However, the worst image that they carried with them was the picture of children crying beside their dead parents. As a following Battalion, they had to take their turn with clearing the houses, again laying out the dead in the town square, in the hope that returning Portuguese would conduct a proper burial. Nat Solomon, him of the East End, understood the feud and lived by it, and he spoke what many felt.

  “There has to be a reckoning with this lot. Has to be.”

  Those that heard, checked their priming pans and the touch-hole, then they checked that their ‘rifle sword’ came easily out of its scabbard. Then came the order, ‘Files of three’ and they broke ranks to re-assemble in their files, a five-yard gap between each. Carr could be seen at the join of the two Companies and their own Officers were stood before them. The order came down the ranks.

  “Load!”

  All did so and came to Order Arms.

  “Fix bayonets!”

  There came the slight rattle of the Baker ‘sword’ meeting the ‘bayonet bar’ alongside the muzzle, then back to Order Arms. Carr looked back to see the 92nd in two lines and so, satisfied, he drew his sword and waved his men forward. It was a 600 yard advance and all felt the eyes of waiting French upon them. Below, their feet brushed through the low gorse and heather, whilst above, a flock of crows circled, cawing for reasons that none below knew nor really cared to think about.

  The details of the farm became clear, three large barns on the left, each with a loft and stone walled paddocks before and to the side. The main house had one central door and several windows to each side and along the top floor. Skylights were also in the roof. Carr gripped his sword and his men subconsciously flexed their hands on the wood of their weapons, now held across their chests. At 200 yards, Carr checked for movement at the farm, but saw none, the same at 150, but at 100 it came. First, French shakoes appearing everywhere and then came the volley. Balls buzzed and sang to the side and above, then came many grunts and cries of pain. Drake heard the cries from behind, from his own men, not least “Joe’s down!”, “And George.” Drake pressed on, leading his men, but Nat Solomon had halted to reach down to George Tucker, but Ellis saw it.

  “Leave him! Get forward. You want to wait here for another dose!”

  Solomon renewed his grip on his rifle and regained his place.

  Carr knew that the French would be reloaded in 20 seconds, and so expect another after that, but before it came, get to the wall through the smoke. He raised his sword.

  “Charge! Charge, boys, charge. Over and into them!”

  However, the French had another rank and this volley sang and buzzed amongst them, but, in the lingering smoke, the French aim was poor. Saunders went straight at the main door with a vicious shoulder charge. It buckled, but held, but not for long, when another shove from his massive frame and the boots of others saw it collapse back into the room. Four Baker rifles came to the present in the doorway and fired, and then Saunders and the three with him were in and going straight forward. The next four, as they had been drilled fired to either side then joined the melee inside. Saunders and Solomon engaged a Voltiguer each and it would have made no difference if the French were resisting or trying to surrender. Saunders thrust his bayonet through the eye-socket of his opponent so fiercely that the bayonet came out of the back of his skull and pinned him to the wall. Solomon took his opponent in the throat and then finished him by swinging the butt of his rifle up into the man’s temple. Then on, with the others, all fighting like maddened demons in the gloom of the farmhouse interior, fighting from room to room, floor to floor.

  Carr came to the wall to find a moustachioed Voltiguer staring at him from the other side. He knocked the bayonet thrust aside, and smashed the bell guard of his sword into the man’s face. Then he climbed, using the footholds in the mercifully rough wall. Once on top he jumped down, landing both feet on the crawling figure of his erstwhile opponent. His men were with him, but he wanted no headlong charge over the walls and fences.

  “Keep the line, boys. Keep the line. Hold together!”

  He concentrated on defending himself, leaving the combat to his men following. He wanted the time to look and discover, he was convinced that this was more than just an outlying farm to the French. A Voltiguer came at him, the tassel alongside his helmet swinging wide. Carr deflected the bayonet and delivered a vicious left hook into the man’s face, then a bayonet from a man of the 50th thrust forward and the Voltiguer fell. Carr looked over to his left, to see that the Lights of the 50th were fighting their way forward, both from the front and from the flank. Then firing intensified before him, not a volley, but a spluttering increase in volume.

  Drake was content with the progress of Maltby’s Company, but what of Shakeshaft’s? He looked to that side and immediately saw Sergeant Ellis.

  “Ellis! With me.”

  Drake trusted Shakeshaft the least to not to get carried away in the fighting, him being easily the most aggressive of the Light Company Officers. They both ran across to the right to find that this Lieutenant was now stood with his Section, looking at a large barn, the building furthest back from the farmhouse. It had a very large door and a smaller loft door above. All along the sides were ventilation slits, too high to merely stand at, but a box or a barrel beneath made each a perfect firing slit. The space between was very open. Drake was immediately worried, but he had no choice.

  “We have to take it, Richard.”

  “Yes Sir, we do.”

  Ellis was pleased with this small amount of caution, that Shakeshaft was thinking before committing, but what came next raised Shakeshaft in his estimation considerably.

  “I’ve an idea, Sir.”

  “From you, then.”

  Shakeshaft turned to Ellis.

  “Everyone loaded in a firing line, but, when we go forward, you keep five with you. Do it now.”

  Ellis ran along the line of men and soon all were loaded and facing the barn, rifles at the ‘make ready’. The tempting target of a firing line, although well over 100 yards away, was too much for many in the barn and bullets whipped and buzzed around them from men using the ventilation slits. A man dropped his rifle and fell to his knees, clutching his shoulder. Shakeshaft came to Ellis at the end of the line.

  “Your five take care of anything appearing in that loft.”

  Then he looked along his line.

  “Present!”

  All barrels came level.

  “Fire!”

  The line erupted with smoke and noise.

  “Reload and fix bayonets!”

  This was done within 30 seconds, and during it Drake realised Shakeshaft’s purpose. The space between them and the barn was now filled with smoke, drifting forward on the gentle breeze. Shakeshaft filled his lungs.

  “At them, boys, at them. It’s our turn now!”

  Led by Drake and Shakeshaft, the line sprang forward, but Ellis held his group together, him watching the loft opening. As they finally emerged from the smoke of their own volley, Ellis saw four blue-coated figures crouching in that space. He brought up his own rifle to immediately fire and his target toppled back into the barn. His five others downed two of the remaining three and the last, his
aim spoiled by what had happened to his comrades fired and disappeared. Two of Ellis’ men began to reload.

  “Bugger that! This is Brummagen work now!”

  The two dropped their torn cartridges and followed Ellis into the barn, ‘Brummagen’ outstretched at the end of their weapons. They found the barn practically cleared, even the loft, because the French had run out through the back door and now Shakeshaft and his men were pouring after them, Captain Drake visibly encouraging them on. Ellis was instantly worried.

  “He doesn’t know what’s out there!”

  He ran forward, now at the rear of the Section, to find both Officers leading Two Section across a paddock chasing the French, who were now scaling its back wall. This was manned by French, but both Officers had it right, because keeping close to the running French prevented those behind the wall from firing. Despite being breathless, Drake was shouting.

  “Take the wall, men. Push them back from it!”

  Many of his men were still loaded and they stopped before the wall to put a bullet into the back of a fleeing Frenchman, or into the head of one stood behind it. Then it was butts and bayonets across the wall, amidst curses, shouts and cries of agony, but the British had the advantage. It was soon plain that the French, having starved for over a month, had not the strength to sustain a prolonged hand-to-hand over the narrow wall. In addition, the ground in the paddock was higher than that outside and, also, the British were taller than the nimble Voltiguers, thus they were fighting from above whilst the French were fighting from below. After but a short but intense fight, the survivors of the French defence were running back, however, onto more reinforcements. There were more French in the field beyond the farm and all were now advancing forward. Shakeshaft took a deep breath.

  “Not loaded, step back and reload. Loaded. Present!”

  Around half his men trained their rifles over the wall.

  “Fire!”