Can No One Win Battles if I'm Not There

by Geoffrey Watson

  “Well now, young Li! I am maist gratified that ye hae delivered Lord Wellington’s message in sae tactful a fashion. He still does nae gie us his orders, I note, but we must nevertheless treat his suggestions as Holy Writ and try tae stay in his guid books, must we not?”

  Pom’s face was a study. It went scarlet and he concentrated hard. “I do apologise, Sir, but shall you please say that again more slowly. I am told that you are from Scotland and I have never heard you speak before. It is quite different from the way the Welshmen and the Irish speak and I am only now becoming comfortable with the Irish. They do not enunciate as clearly as the Welsh.”

  MacKay laughed gleefully, but spoke more slowly and clearly. “I hae been getting some very strange looks frae Fernando here. Dae ye think he canna understand what a Scottish gentleman hae tae say? My wife and the Condesa hae been known tae ask me tae speak the spanish when they canna follow me exactly.

  Perhaps ye should understand that I did nae speak the english until I was nearly as old as you, Li. My childhood tongue was the gaelic.”

  Pom may not have understood everything that MacKay said, but he was quick enough to realise that he was being teased gently. “Is the gaelic the tongue spoken by those fierce soldiers who wear those short, many coloured, lady’s skirts, Sir? I don’t understand them, but the way I hear it, the language seems very similar to that spoken by your Irish soldiers.”

  “It is very similar, Li, ye hae a discerning ear, but dinna ever let them hear ye call it a skirt. The official name, by the English is kilt, though that only means hitching or trussing up your clothes in the gaelic.”

  “I shall indeed remember that, Sir, though the French also regard it as women’s clothes. I have been told that they call these soldiers the ‘ladies from hell’, perhaps you have heard something similar?”

  “Not until ye mentioned it, Li, but I shall keep the thought in mind.” MacKay realised that Pom had the temerity to indulge in a little tactful teasing in return and his already high opinion of the lad went up another notch.

  He turned to Gonçalves, speaking slowly and clearly. “Time tae obey the orders that the Peer hae nae actually given, Fernando. Shall ye lead the Hornets back tae the army? Pom tells me that they are deploying in the hills just this side o’ the Portuguese frontier. Be in nae hurry. It shall be maist unfortunate if the army’s vedettes mistake the Hornets, approaching in haste, for the vanguard o’ the French army.”

  He looked at Pom with a quizzical eyebrow. “Dae ye linger wi’ us, Li, or is your new master relying on your language skills at a’ times?”

  The youngster smiled innocently. “He generally uses me when talking to any of my countrymen, Sir, so I regret I hae tae be away.” He cantered off with his Wasp servant, leaving MacKay roaring with laughter.

  * * *

  Pom’s talents were not as much in demand as he had thought. To be sure, Wellington had ten thousand Portuguese infantry in five brigades, attached to his divisions, but each one was commanded by an English general.

  He was able to be of help to the Portuguese commander of a small cavalry brigade and much to his satisfaction, the German commander of a brigade of K.G.L. cavalry, who was quite impressed with his Hanoverian accent.

  The rest of the army was British: twenty six thousand infantry and eight hundred cavalry. Many of the infantry were new arrivals and many were recovering injured. MacKay was most impressed with Wellington’s confidence in accepting battle against a French army that he was able to confirm was at least ten thousand greater than his own.

  He said so quite bluntly when he and Gonçalves reported to the commander-in- chief, shortly after the Hornets rode through the lines that stretched for five miles through the hills along the frontier, between the little town of Fuentes de Oñoro and Fort Concepcion to the north.

  Wellington’s expression was icy. “Am I to understand that you do not approve of my decision to fight Masséna on ground of my own choosing, Colonel?”

  MacKay was not put out in the slightest. He had spent the last twelve years speaking his mind to Welbeloved and it had taken him from marine to lieutenant colonel. He was even prepared to be tactful, though Gonçalves was most apprehensive.

  “Never in the world, My Lord. We rode along your front before we came through and I reckon your position is worth an extra ten thousand men, which shall put ye on equal terms wi’ Masséna.

  Ye know all the weaknesses in the forces ye have here. Compare them wi’ the French. They hae had less than a month eating moderately after six months starving. I dinna think a betting man would gie odds on either side.

  What does concern me is how the Hornets can be deployed tae upset the Frogs wi’out upsetting a’ your generals at the same time.”

  Wellington could be very prickly if he thought someone was questioning his judgement. It was not just ego, although that played a part in it. He had to contend with a system of privilege and patronage that forced onto him subordinate, but nevertheless high-ranking generals who couldn’t be trusted to lead a platoon, never mind a division.

  When he came across an officer who was professional, active and competent, he was inclined to be very tolerant, not only of them but of the units they led. MacKay had just given him a summary of almost everything he had already taken into consideration. Almost effortlessly, he had become his ‘favourite Scotchman’ once more.

  “Let me decide whether or not to upset our generals, Colonel. It was on the matter of your deployment that I wished to talk to you. Major Gonçalves demonstrated to me at Sabugal, how devastating just two hundred of your men can be.” He nodded graciously towards Gonçalves.

  “He demonstrated to me that in a face to face situation, a unit of Hornets can destroy more than three times its own number and that is a situation I wish to preserve. Let me pose an example for my own benefit: your present force is over four hundred and on past experience I should expect you to rout an advancing column of up to fifteen hundred line infantry or a swarm of eight hundred skirmishers.

  Any more than that and I surmise that the enemy shall swarm all over you before you can stop them. Pray assure me that I have the right of it.”

  MacKay thought hard about how to reply to this assumption and realised that Wellington was trying to rationalise what he could expect from a unit of Hornets, when all his considerable experience was of conventional warfare. Large bodies of troops moving together, armed with muskets so inaccurate that they had to be discharged ‘en masse’ within fifty yards of the opposing troops. He was still considering this when Wellington confirmed his thinking.

  “Let me try and clarify why I need to be as certain as is possible that I don’t ask you to commit your men to an undertaking that shall result in the extinction of your companies

  I have to do this on occasion with my line infantry, but I am always aware of their quality and what can be expected of them. Being utterly pragmatic, if I lose an entire regiment, I can replace it. I should rather lose an entire regiment than a company of Hornets, merely because I did not know what level of danger was too great for them to withstand. I have tended to leave that decision to you ‘til now.”

  “Aye, My Lord. I thought that was about the size on’t. I just did nae think o’ a way tae explain. The example ye gave should be considered the worst case possible: a case where the Hornets were on a flat plain wi’ nae cover and the enemy column was quick-marching and only twa hundred yards away.

  Wi’ four hundred Hornets shooting at them, the face o’ the column should hae tae be many more than twa hundred men across tae begin tae be o’ great concern, unless it was pouring wi’ rain.

  In good weather, a single company o’ Hornets can kill up tae four hundred Frogs every minute if they are in column. If they are in line, we can start killing them in that sort o’ number at over twa hundred yards.

  I hae tae qualify a’ that by stressing that most o’ our successes hae been when we were on the defensive wi’ the enemy attacking us. We hae only patchy experien
ce o’ attacking the enemy when he is entrenched and waiting for us.

  It is exactly the problem that ye have wrestled wi’ your self, My Lord. The enemy always has greater numbers.”

  “There’s the rub, Colonel. The devil is in the French for numbers, even when they are a beaten army like the one we are facing.

  What you have told me though, has made up my mind. You may resume your independence after the battle, but until then I want you in reserve close to me and under my direct orders. Consider yourselves as instant reinforcements for any part of my line, until I can move my foot soldiers in support.”

  “Thank you, My Lord. I could nae hae wished for more while we are seeking our role. I should be obliged though, if ye shall inform your divisional commanders of our presence. Our uniforms are unfamiliar and we should nae appreciate being mistaken for the enemy.”

  “That I shall do, MacKay, but settle your men in and then get your platoon commanders to take their men visiting. I judge that you have at least a full day to get yourselves recognised before Masséna gets here.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Lord Wellington’s suggestion that MacKay should make use of the time left to him, was taken seriously and the time available turned out to be closer to two days.

  Very few of the units that they visited during that time were unaware of the hornets by reputation, but none of the reinforcements had yet seen the men in dust-coloured uniforms. The time spent fraternising served to strengthen their reputation, while ensuring that they would not be fired on by their own side after battle had commenced.

  Most of the divisional commanders were content to allow their men to welcome the visit and get to know the Hornets. Even the generals like Erskine, now commanding the Fifth Division and Craufurd, now back with the Light Division, were prepared to look the other way.

  Erskine had been shown up badly at Sabugal by Gonçalves and his Vespãos and Craufurd had long cherished ambitions to add the Naval Brigade to his own command.

  Gonçalves was kept particularly busy. There were five Portuguese brigades with the various divisions, all of them anxious to maintain the reputation that they had already earned as being equal in courage and steadiness under fire to their British counterparts.

  There could be no doubt that they had all heard about the legendary Vespãos and they treated them like heroes, delighted to share in the reflected glory achieved by their own countrymen.

  Still anxious to bring his two companies up to full strength, Gonçalves was quite unashamedly looking to recruit any suitable young officers from the Portuguese light infantry companies. It was not easy as none of the commanding officers was willing to lose promising officers and then there was the prospect of weeks of arduous training at Oporto with no guarantee that they would attain the very high standard needed for acceptance.

  It was an enjoyable and successful interlude. It ensured that almost every junior officer in the army would recognise the brown uniforms of the Hornets and be able to direct the fire of their men away from them, when the Hornets found themselves, almost inevitably between the hostile forces.

  The hostile French Army of Portugal arrived in the morning of the third of May and reconnoitred the entire length of the position.

  They knew Wellington’s army was there, but they could not tell how many there were. The gunners were visible because they were positioned to deny the crossings of the River Dos Casas to enemy troops.

  The light companies were visible. Those wearing red tunics were very visible in spite of being in skirmishing order, scattered across the rising ground to the west of the Dos Casas, which flowed from south to north between the armies.

  Most of the allied army was out of sight, hidden on the reverse slopes of the hills in accordance with Wellington’s usual practice. Masséna could only guess the extent of his opposition by the amount of ground on the west bank of the river that was occupied by emplaced artillery and brightly coloured, scattered skirmishers.

  From his position in the hills behind the small town of Fuentes de Oñoro, MacKay looked down on the massed divisions of the French army and wondered what Masséna’s reaction would have been if all the skirmishers had been dressed as were the Hornets.

  The only thing then visible would have been the guns. Surely it was not beyond the wit of the gunners in that event, to conceal them if necessary?

  As it was, the Marshal knew that his opponents were somewhere in the hills across the river and that the key to French success probably lay in the possession of Fuentes itself.

  Apart from the area up to the foot of the town, the River Dos Casas went deep into the gorge it had cut for itself over the centuries. It was a formidable barrier north of the town; a five mile trench up to one hundred and fifty feet deep in places. Along that stretch of the river, it was so difficult to attack across that Wellington had deployed his two weakest divisions to defend almost the entire length.

  General Erskine and the Fifth Division were on the extreme left wing and General Campbell with the Sixth Division covered the two crossings of the Dos Casas coming from the village of Alameda.

  MacKay had examined both crossings and could not imagine that the French would waste their time with them. In both places, the tracks were narrow and steep, going down to the river and climbing up again on the other side.

  Any attackers would be forced into narrow columns and have little chance of defending themselves against emplaced artillery and infantry firing down onto them all the way.

  Even if they succeeded in breaking through into the hills, there would be nowhere that they could go to exploit their success. They would be surrounded by defenders, disputing every step of the way. It would be like storming the breech in a castle wall and finding that there were more defenders than attackers. Then again, as he reflected, Masséna was unlikely to know that.

  In any case, apparently, the French fought to a different set of rules as the battle opened in the afternoon to panic-stricken report from the left wing about massed infantry and artillery preparing to attempt a breakthrough and drive to relieve Almeida.

  Numbers were quoted to indicate that up to two divisions were advancing. With that kind of strength, Wellington had to react, particularly as he could hear the guns opening the proceedings.

  He beckoned MacKay to him. “An opportunity for you much earlier than I had anticipated, Colonel. I shall send the Light Division to support Erskine and Campbell, but they cannot be there in much under an hour. Do you please take your men and stop up any holes until Craufurd can get there. Take Pom with you and send him back with an accurate assessment of what you find.”

  Ten minutes later the Hornets arrived at the first crossing to find an artillery duel in progress across the river, with very little sign of infantry aggression other than glimpses of blue uniforms moving about on the other side of the gorge.

  MacKay turned to Gonçalves. “I dinna ken what a’ the panic is about, Fernando. I detect the odour of stinkin’ fish very strongly. We must gae and hae a look at the other crossing and also see what they are doing tae frighten Erskine sae much.

  I shall leave ye tae deal wi’ both these crossings and I shall take the Hornets and find out what is making Erskine wet his breeches. It looks tae me as if those guns are in range o’ the Bakers. Feel at liberty tae teach them some manners. I shall hae Pom call on ye on his way back tae report.”

  * * *

  Captain Dodds watched MacKay and Gonçalves riding off. He had been within earshot when his friend Hamish MacKay had cast doubt on the intentions of the French regarding Wellington’s left wing.

  He agreed with every word. Looking across at the far bank of the river and the trail winding down to the crossing, it was obvious that the enemy was making a deal of fuss without any serious intent. Or at least it was obvious at this particular crossing, where no troops were advancing to challenge the scattered patches of red that were spread among the rocks and broken ground on the near bank of the shallow crossing.

  Dodds
had been wearing his dust-coloured uniform for long enough to have stopped bothering about the unfortunates, as he thought of them, who were trying desperately not to attract the attention of the gunners opposite. Only four guns, but they had ample ammunition and were intent on sharing it generously with anything that moved on the near bank.

  Accuracy was not important as they were using grape or canister shot that spread out to sweep clean an area of several yards at only four hundred paces.

  There were two British guns trying to duel with the French, but they were emplaced behind rock barricades to dominate the crossing itself and the enemy guns had found positions that were well protected from their fire. From the gunner’s point of view, it was a stand-off situation with none of the batteries able to harm any of the others.

  Dodds found a secure vantage point and called his two lieutenants over to him. “Major Gonçalves believes that the French are playing silly buggers, intending to draw our men to this area. He has asked us to teach them a lesson and that is what we are going to do.

  Mr. da Silva shall take all our riflemen over the top of these hills and filter down the slope toward the river. Take your time. Try not to attract the attention of the gunners and wait for me to join you.

  Mr. Figueredo, you shall have near thirty Vespas. Get them ready for three blasts on my whistle. That shall tell you that the guns have been silenced. Go and try and bring them all back here. I shall try and persuade the major behind us to send a couple of platoons to help you. Off you go then and listen for my signal!”

  He turned to greet the red-coated major, who was coming to find out what the Hornets were doing. Slipping effortlessly from portuguese into english: “Good day to you, Sir. Captain Dodds at yer service. The Peer ‘as asked the ‘Ornets ter find out what the Frogs is up ter. The Light Division is on its way, but I don’t think they’ll be needed.