Swallowing Portugal Will Settle My Spanish Bellyache

by Geoffrey Watson

  The road they were using was their biggest problem. No Portuguese road outside the towns was paved, not even the old Roman roads that had deteriorated badly over the centuries.

  Even the ditches of this one were difficult to see because of the deep and even layer of semi-liquid mud. Being a mountainous country, the road surfaces also had rocks distributed below the mud in a random fashion, ready to lame a horse or mule or destroy the wheels of any wagon moving at more than a crawl. In between the rocks could be concealed deep, mud-filled holes, ready to swallow any shoe not securely strapped to a foot.

  Other than the prisoners, everyone seemed remarkably cheerful in the conditions, though they had covered barely three miles in over three hours.

  Roffhack was riding alongside Vere and had just commented cheerfully that there was no sign of pursuit as yet and that if they kept away for another couple of hours they would have wasted their journey.

  The words had barely left his lips when there were three or four musket shots from behind and he found himself subjected to a baleful glare from Vere.

  “Himmel! It should appear that I have ill judged the timing of my words, Sir. Though surely it don’t really signify? They shall need to have at least five squadrons of cavalry for us to take them seriously, particularly as the rain is holding off and we shall get very few misfires.”

  Vere grinned. “I do so enjoy your irrepressible optimism, Günther.” He pointed at two horsemen cantering towards them leading three riderless horses, all wearing bright blue shabraques. “It seems our rearguard scouts have been dealing roughly with some hussars. Have you been encouraging ‘em to be nasty to Frogs?”

  “No more than they deserve, Sir. Let’s hear how many they have seen.” He barked at the two men when they reined in. “Which one of you is reporting?” Receiving an answer, he turned to the other. “Take those horses directly to the dismounted dragoons in the first column. We might as well have three extra combatants with us.

  Now, Schmidt, what can you tell us about the friends of the hussars you’ve been arguing with?”

  Schmidt’s whiskers moved, but it was difficult to make out his expression. It wasn’t much of an argument, Sir. We had to get rid of their scouts so’s we could get closer. Heinemann has gone to find out more, but we did see lots of hussars and dragoons; more than one squadron, Sir.”

  “Good! Return to Heinemann. Come back as soon as you can tell me numbers. What they are, is not so important, merely interesting. Off you go!”

  Schmidt spurred away and Roffhack looked at Vere. “Let me translate briefly in case you missed any of that. There are at least two squadrons of mixed cavalry approaching. The man will come back when he knows more. The captured horses have been handed over to the dismounted dragoons.

  If you want to stop and face them, I’ve kept the bugler of the Hanoverians at hand. He can call them back and they can support us on both flanks.”

  Vere nodded in satisfaction. “You’ve thought of everything so far, Günther. I did get the essentials in spite of Schmidt’s appalling accent.

  I should guess there are more than two squadrons, probably more cavalry than we have.” He considered briefly. “Time has come, Major Roffhack, for you to take command of all our horsemen. I would only have to pass my orders through you, so I shall take charge of the infantry and the prisoners. It looks as if the infantry might need to form square and must be prepared. Good hunting, Günther!”

  He rode over to the infantry, leaving Roffhack in charge. The column was marching, or rather struggling along, quite unconcerned. He trotted along the files, calling to the three captains to join him in front of the middle company. He would give them their orders as he marched along with them.

  They joined him and he dismounted, took one look at the condition of the road and changed his mind about marching with them. He would never be able to concentrate on both his orders and his german, while trying to keep upright in all that mud.

  He made Fischer temporary commander of the battalion, explained exactly what he wanted, should it become necessary and arranged for the prisoners to be sent on unguarded if a square had to be formed. Only then did he have time to look and see how Roffhack was coping.

  Roffhack was too busy to be concerned about Vere. Heinemann had reported that they were being chased by a squadron of hussars, three squadrons of dragoons and two troops of Polish Lancers. It had been sensible to assume that the French would send many more cavalry than they expected the Germans to have. They had guessed four hundred but had been caught by nearly six hundred. Not an overwhelming superiority but far from comfortable for the Hornets. A further consideration was that the Hornets had never had to work out a strategy for dealing with the quite different threat from the dreaded Polish Lancers.

  Not only that, but Roffhack was suddenly very aware that in every fight where the Hornets had taken on superior numbers, they had had the advantage of a defensible position.

  Here they were in the middle of a wide valley, in which the only really treacherous obstacle to a galloping horse was the soggy, slimy road running through it.

  He turned and looked south towards the lines and safety, trying to see the terrain as a battlefield from the point of view of the French. How was he going to stop them swarming round his flanks to attack the infantry and take him in the rear?

  Then he realised what had been so obvious to Vere and the reason why he had dashed off to talk to Fischer. There was no need to regard the infantry as a liability in need of protection, in spite of their shortage of ammunition. Heinemann had made no mention of horse artillery with light, three or four pounder guns. Fischer could form his men into battalion square on the left of the road and defy the cavalry to touch him. Moreover, his square could form the anchor for Roffhack’s right wing and leave him with only a half-mile gap to defend between the road and the edge of a large wood.

  He glanced back to see that the French had just come into sight, spreading out and advancing cautiously. He cursed himself for being so slow, but started to give his orders. The enemy would now be able to see where he was placing his men, but that couldn’t be helped.

  Suddenly there was urgent activity. Vere had waved acknowledgement of Roffhack’s order and the battalion was moving off the road and into a hollow square, with a double line of fifty men on each side. The prisoners had been turned loose and told to march on out of the way. They could be reclaimed perhaps, after the French were beaten off?

  The trumpeter for the Hanoverian cavalry had remained with Roffhack. He sent his recall ringing out and they all came cantering back from their exercises. Two troops were allocated to the narrow strip of ground between the square and the broken, rocky country at the side of them where horsemen would be forced down to a walking pace. The other two troops were placed across the road from the square and told to make themselves very visible but remain in reserve.

  Lieutenant Richter and 1 Platoon handed their horses over to the thirty dismounted dragoons who tacked themselves onto the reserves. Richter and his men dashed off towards the woods.

  There were fields on the gentle slope leading up to the trees and a network of poor stone walls made untidy enclosures for them.

  Thirty Hornets behind piled stones, poor or not, should secure Roffhack’s other flank, leaving a six hundred yard front of good cavalry ground to be defended by three platoons of Hornets and four troops of Wölfe Hornets.

  The Wölfe sat their horses quite calmly in four evenly spaced troops, two short lines in echelon for each troop.

  Between them lay the three remaining platoons of Hornets, using a tactic that Vere had last used at Talavera and which had been standard practice in training ever since. They selected their post, made their mounts lie down and used them as a living breastwork. Roffhack had watched them performing the exercise in training and was still amazed how almost a hundred mounted men could become unremarkable brown hummocks in no time at all.

  Everyone was in place for better or worse and Roffhack a
t last had time to study the approaching squadrons. Vere rode up again, having satisfied himself that Fischer and the square knew what they had to do.

  “Remain in command, Günther. I can see you know what to do and it is better that there should be no misunderstanding of my poor german. I have convinced Fischer to put three ranks in his line facing the lancers on the far side of the road. The Poles are the only ones capable of breaking the square and a hundred and fifty firelocks ought to make them cautious. I’ve never thought them to be quite as battle stupid as their reputation suggests. Brave men, certainly, but as wild and reckless as a drunken Irishman.”

  Roffhack looked amused. “That’s most generous of you, Sir. I have only lately noticed the Poles on the other side of the road. I suppose the French commander is paying us a compliment, lining almost all his force against the Hornets?”

  “Don’t you believe it Günther. He doesn’t know what he is up against. He cannot understand why you only have four small groups of cavalry standing against him. He will certainly disregard with contempt, the skirmishers he has seen between them. Cavalry always disregard everything save squares, gunners and other cavalry.

  I wager he intends to outflank us on the left with the hussars and punch straight through the centre with his three squadrons of dragoons against that very tempting gap you have left. If we are lucky, he won’t even be whole-hearted about it. He’ll give the hussars time to get behind us and trot the dragoons to within a hundred yards. He won’t signal a charge until the last thirty or forty yards.

  It’s almost a pleasure, don’t you think, to watch professional cavalry in action? Our own brave British horsemen would have been galloping for the last mile, even if it killed the horses.”

  Roffhack pointed left. “I won’t take your wager, Sir. You must have been reading his mind. The dragoons are all walking their horses and those red and green peacocks are heading straight for Richter and his lads. The odds are four to one against and I still won’t take your wager.”

  Vere focussed his glass and studied the squadron of red, green and gold hussars with their tall, plumed shakos and white, sheepskin shabraques. It seemed almost sacrilege to have to treat such sartorial elegance with less than reverence.

  The Hornets behind the ramshackle stone walls were all Protestants and could see no sacrilege in destroying garish and over-colourful icons. They were lying quite comfortably and the targets were visible, colourful and moving towards them quite slowly, picking their way through gaps in the stone walls.

  They opened the engagement with a ragged volley of fifteen shots and continued shooting at six or seven second intervals or as suitable targets presented themselves. Half a minute later there were no more targets and the surviving hussars were in precipitate retreat. Half of them lay stretched on the ground and Richter’s men were running about trying to round up as many riderless horses as they could.

  Two telescopes swung back to see the reaction from the dragoons.

  Apparently, they chose to ignore it or were too preoccupied with their own part of the engagement. Bugles were sounding and the squadrons were bestirring themselves. Now trotting, they had split into six half squadrons, all looking for their targets and only finding the four separate small troops of Wölfe to aim at.

  Three hundred yards and they were beginning to lose their separate identities and coalesce into one extended mass of horsemen. In turn, this mass split again into two masses, each moving towards two of the groups of Wölfe Hornets, sitting quietly in their saddles, waiting for them.

  From the centre of the line, Vere and Roffhack were calculating the distance and speed of the advancing attack. Passing one hundred and fifty yards, when everyone was waiting for the bugles to sound for the canter, both men, simultaneously and involuntarily shouted “Now!” and the Hornets, lying prone between the four troops opened fire.

  The four troops of Wölfe remained immobile in rough echelon and double line. The three open areas between them blossomed into dirty white clouds of powder smoke. Horses and men in the front rank of the advancing dragoons started to fall.

  They were bunched so closely together that many of the following horses were brought down as well and the whole rhythm of the assault was disrupted just as the bugles were sounding the canter.

  The platoons of prone Hornets quickly attained a sequence of aimed volleys. Between them, the three platoons fired a total of fifty balls into the mass of horsemen every seven or eight seconds.

  The first volley at a hundred and fifty yards could not hope to be deadly accurate against moving targets. They contented themselves with shots on the level of the horses’ heads. If they missed the horse, they would almost certainly hit the rider in the body and if not, there were many more riders behind to collect the flying lead.

  The dragoons staggered and stumbled. Dozens fell and more were brought down, but the bugles were urging a canter and even a mortally wounded horse could keep on running, often for several hundred yards. Plenty of time to do a lot of damage to the Hornets.

  Somebody was alert to the situation and caused the charge to be sounded immediately after the canter. The Hornets were wreaking havoc but the dragoons were committed and starting to gallop and bellow defiance with only fifty yards to go.

  Roffhack blew a long, loud blast on his whistle and the rear echelon of each mounted troop of Wölfe raised their carbines and blasted the front of the charging line.

  It was point blank range and the French were upright with sabres pointed. The Wölfe were not aiming at the horses and the execution was terrible. The second volley from the front rank was two seconds later, catching those dragoons exposed by the falling victims of the first discharge.

  Along the whole length of the line the dragoons were losing momentum and the steady hail of shots from the prone Hornets was unceasing.

  Roffhack blew his whistle one more time and the firing stopped. As one, the four troops of Wölfe holstered their carbines, drew their swords and spurred into the tattered remnants of the French.

  Vere turned and waved vigorously at the Hanoverians, who waved delighted acknowledgement and hurled themselves into the fray, avoiding the ditch but charging alongside the road.

  On the other side of the square, the other two troops of Hanoverians streamed forward and made for the Polish Lancers. They had been advancing slowly and cautiously, waiting for the dragoons to break through before they committed themselves against the firepower that they could see clearly before them in the square.

  Seeing the dragoons losing the argument, they saw no sense in letting themselves be trapped and made off at speed with the Hanoverians in full cry.

  The Hornets remounted their patient horses and cantered after their friends in four compact platoons, scorning to bother drawing their swords, merely prepared to tidy up any stray riders and round up all the uninjured horses.

  ***

  Dusk was upon them when the outposts of the Torres Vedras forts witnessed a most varied procession of marching men, straggling prisoners, horses carrying Hornets and Hanoverian cavalrymen, captured horses carrying all the infantry who could ride and wagons carrying a few wounded men; those who had become too reckless in pursuit of the French and had been cut down before the enemy escaped.

  The militia guarding the redoubts and artillery emplacements had been warned by the cavalry patrols sent out to investigate the sounds of battle that had carried clearly to the defended height, little more than five miles distant.

  In their turn, the regular troops held in reserve had been notified. Once across the River Sizandro, the road into the hills and through the redoubts and forts was lined with cheering British and Portuguese soldiers. They took over the prisoners; all those that had been rounded up again after the fight, together with forty dragoons who had been unhorsed and were relatively undamaged afterwards.

  One of the temporary camps within the lines had been cleared of its normal complement of militia and the Hornets moved into a small town of tents and shacks. The
hastily evicted militia had left a good supply of firewood and blazing campfires, but had taken all their food with them.

  Commissary Schaumann had not yet been told about them, so they supped on the last scraps of their provisions, supplemented by the last few sacks of captured grain, doled out at a handful for each man.

  Most of the men were too exhausted to do more than was essential. They tended the horses, checked and cleaned their weapons, gobbled the few mouthfuls of food they had and settled down for the first dry, comfortable night for an amazingly long time.

  Vere gathered all the officers together in the most substantial building, where they could share their small ration together. There were several bottles of wine available to wash it down. It didn’t matter that it was probably a rough peasant pressing, it tasted like nectar.

  He congratulated everyone formally, trying to ignore the looks of hero worship directed at his Hornets by the impressionable young Hanoverians. They were all sent off to get their sleep, but warned to have all their men ready for a full inspection by one hour after sun-up.

  He grinned happily at their incredulous looks. “Has it not occurred to you, Gentlemen, that together we have brought off no mean achievement? At the very least, that will attract some very curious personages and you will all be ready to show off as from very early tomorrow. Now, go and get some sleep.”

  His grin became almost evil as he held Roffhack back. “I didn’t mean you, Günther. We still have work to do.”

  Roffhack stopped and studied his expression. “I have this presentiment, Sir, that I am not about to enjoy this?”

  Vere maintained his grin, but offered a spoonful of honey. “When we are not on duty, Günther, forget your German etiquette. My name is George, as you know. Please use it.”

  Roffhack’s sophistication coped easily with his rigid Teutonic training. “So be it, George. Now tell me the bad news that is giving you so much pleasure.”