It was dark early that evening and the ketch took the Hornets up river, clear of the town and landed them safely with two miles to march south to get to the dock area.
It looked as if it was going to be a difficult night march over hidden obstacles and old Moorish defences, but then, the country to the south was a wilderness of marsh, bog and waterways made impassable by the constant winter rains.
The ground was higher to the north, but high ground still had to shed water and many were the gullies and streams emptying into the Tagus. Most were flowing quickly and were shallow enough to wade through, keeping their powder high and dry. Doing so was more due to their leather cartridge bags and sealed powder horns, as they were all plastered with mud and soaked through in the first four hundred yards.
Four hours later, they scrambled down onto the northern end of the collection of wharves, quays and docks that extended along the river bank. The town and its defences rose above them but were only a darker shadow in a night that was still, cold, wet and thoroughly unpleasant. Ideal weather, in fact, to keep any sensible Frenchman under cover and preferably indoors.
The Hornets had encountered no French guards or sentries thus far. Vere credited them with surveying the river bank north of the town and concluding that no attacking force would be stupid enough to attempt it at night and if they did, would be quite incapable of hostile action if they got clear of all the obstacles on the way.
He would willingly have endorsed their judgement. His men were soaking wet and plastered with mud. Their flintlocks were clogged and muddy and would need to be cleaned before they could be used. Their powder was still dry, but as a fighting force they were now but sixty men armed with knives and bayonets. Shelter of some sort was a priority.
As was to be expected, the dock area was lined with warehouses and sheds for storing goods. Anything edible that had been left there would be long gone, but with luck they might find some protection from the weather, where they could clean and prepare their weapons.
It did not look promising. The first warehouse had been reduced to a shell. All the woodwork was gone, from the rafters and roof beams to the massive doors, presumably now part of one of the pontoons they had studied from the island.
The second building was lacking its entrance, but was being used to store all manner of tools and equipment that Masséna’s boat builders needed to be kept from the elements. It was as well that they explored it cautiously. It was also being used as a billet by thirty of those boat builders, who had cleared a large space at the back and were wrapped in blankets around the still smouldering remains of a campfire, isolated in a wide, shallow pit.
These were not fighting men. Craftsmen who had been conscripted into the Emperor’s service: engineers who were helping to build his pontoon bridges: they submitted without a struggle to being roused and bound by the ferocious, brown-clad, mud embellished, foreign demons.
The fire was blazing again within minutes and half an hour later all equipment was clean and serviceable. Most of the mud had been scraped off their persons and their filthy, cold, wet uniforms had become filthy, steaming, tepid uniforms, that would be soaking wet again after five minutes outside.
The next three buildings all had colonies of engineers according to their prisoners. The Hornets did not disturb them but moved on past and found an enormous stockpile of timber, salvaged from demolished buildings. It was all old, seasoned wood that would burn well if the heat was high enough to drive out the water and start it going.
Sergeant Major Grau and half a dozen men were left to burrow into it and place two of the Congreve rocket heads where they would do most damage. Slow match burning for forty minutes would give them enough time for much more mischief. After that they had better think of getting away before sunrise left them in the middle of a lot of very angry Frenchmen.
Forty or fifty pontoons, inverted four deep on top of each other, was the next target and ought to be easier to fire as the bottom three would have had a deal of weather protection from the top layer. Lieutenant Richter collected all the remaining rocket heads and his men began to search for suitable places under the bottom pontoons, all around the periphery of the stack of boats.
Vere and Lieutenant Bauer drifted silently south with 2 Platoon. It was becoming evident that the truly terrible weather was, in fact, most favourable to the outcome of the venture. It was inconceivable that the French would normally be so lax in guarding the dock area. It would appear that they just couldn’t imagine that anyone would want to attack them in such conditions.
2 Platoon was searching for the artificial basin that they had seen from the island. Artificial because it was an area bounded by two short jetties that projected into the river. Between the two jetties were dozens of pontoons, moored in rows, all floating and waiting to be positioned under the pontoon causeway.
Searching was perhaps a misleading word. They had seen the basin through the telescope on the previous day. All they had to do was follow the river bank and they couldn’t fail to see it, however dark and stormy the night.
What they did need to know was whether this was the only place along the waterfront where the enemy was taking precautions against a sudden raid by the Royal Navy from the river. The telescope had shown wooden structures on the ends of each jetty. They could have been simple shelters, but were big enough to conceal small cannon or swivel guns loaded with grape.
Additionally, there were three buildings that were rather more substantial at the two ends and the middle of the basin, set back on the river bank. They appeared too temporary in nature to be serious gun emplacements, but could certainly provide shelter from the elements for six or nine pounders, complete with crew.
Once again the weather helped. There were lookouts at the end of each jetty, watching the river, on which a boat might be made out as a darker shadow on the surface of the water. Until it was too late, the lookouts assumed that the Hornets had to be their friends because they were approaching along the jetties from the bank.
Four men and a swivel gun at the end of each jetty were certainly not going to argue with the murderous, mud-covered thugs who burst in on them. They were all secured in a matter of minutes, leaving the men free to examine the chained tree trunks running from the end of one jetty to the other and discouraging any attempt on the floating pontoons from the open river.
Grau and Richter brought One Platoon to join Vere. “If that mixture is as good as Chambers claims it is, we’ve got half an hour before those pontoons and that timber light up the docks, Sir. The pontoons below the top one are dry enough to catch, but every bit of wood in that pile is thoroughly soaked. I rate our chances no better than half for that.”
“Half will be a success, Richter, particularly if it is the pontoons and even more so if we can get these here set adrift and out of the basin. Now, you and Sergeant Major Grau each take half of your platoon and capture the other two guns. Push them into the river and come back and help get the pontoons moving downstream.
Keep a sharp lookout for any oars. All we have so far are poles and we are riding out with the pontoons. The ketch is anchored downstream and is waiting to pick us up. It would be helpful if we had some control over our transport.”
The two men grinned and saluted, then vanished into the dark with their platoon. Vere and Bauer took Two Platoon along the rows of pontoons, releasing all the moorings. The shackle on the boom had been a problem but they had managed to knock out the pin and cut the cable. The current quickly peeled it away from the entrance and then did the same with the whole outer line of pontoons, all attached together.
The method worked well, although it was hard labour dragging each separate line out towards where the current would sweep it off.
Half way through, they could see that the stack of inverted pontoons was well alight and could hear from the sound of bugles that the French had finally realised that all was not well.
The light from the flames lit up the whole of the dock area, so that it w
as soon evident that the great pile of timber was also beginning to burn.
The workers billeted in the warehouses were the first on the scene, pulling wood away from the areas where the fire had a good hold. Nothing could be done about the stacked boats, even when reinforcements came streaming down from the town.
By that time, all the pontoons in the basin had peeled off into the river current and were spread out, still tethered in lines and already the best part of a mile downriver
The Hornets had piled into the front and rear pontoon of the last line when Vere gave the signal to pole the lead boat out into the current. Nobody had found any oars and they were left with the poles as the only means of control, quite useless once the current took them away from the bank.
Vere had the tie severed to the rest of the pontoons and used the poles to make his way down the inside of the line as it peeled away. Quite rapidly, they came up to their friends in the last pontoon and used the severed ties from each boat to lash them together.
Thankfully; unnoticed because of the flames they had started; dawn had arrived and the ketch was anchored in midstream, busily cutting the ties on lines of pontoons that were trying to wrap themselves round her.
Half her crew was in the tiny jolly boat that took Vere’s pontoons in tow and held them alongside the ketch while the Hornets clambered aboard, then released them to follow all the rest downriver. Someone else would have to follow them and make sure they weren’t stranded anywhere where they could be reclaimed by the French.
The journey back to Lisbon with a fast winter current and a soldier’s wind was a few hours only. Fresh water was just over the side and although everyone disembarked wearing wet clothes, they were clean, wet clothes. By the time he met Lord Wellington, early the next morning, he had been able to change into his best uniform and looked his normal, smart self.
Word had obviously gone before, as he was greeted by his lordship with uncharacteristic humour. “Welcome back, Lord George. I have been hearing odd stories about a strange company of mudlarks found floundering in the Tagus, with no means of moving anywhere except downstream. This cannot be anything to do with my Naval Brigade, surely?”
“Never in the world, My Lord. You should not place any great credence in tales related by sailors, or indeed anyone who spends his time mainly out of sight of land. Their imaginations become highly developed, I have discovered.”
Wellington laughed loudly. “You would not deny their stories of vast campfires on the docks at Santarém and the surface of the Tagus covered with boats?”
Vere raised his eyebrows. “Oh that, My Lord. The tales were likely exaggerated, but I do not think it likely that Masséna shall be able to span the river, at least before the end of the year. It was astonishing the number of pontoons he had built from nothing in so short a time.”
“That is reassuring then. Now let us talk about the Congreve rockets that the Horse Guards has asked me to evaluate. I have had a report that you were able to make use of them during your assault. I have to rely on interested parties to give me an assessment and I fear that their reports are often embellished. I should value your unbiased opinion, Lord George.”
Vere thought for a while. He could imagine that the people who had been given the new weapon would wish to play down all the drawbacks. Nevertheless a very negative report could kill off a project which might have potential in the future.
He took a deep breath. “The attacks with the rockets were made before we arrived, My Lord. They rely on the explosive in the nose to erupt like a mortar bomb, but they have a different trajectory and, as yet, rather less accuracy.
At Santarém, they were attempting to ignite saturated piles of wood and stacked pontoons. I can think of no other form of artillery that could come close to achieving what they might have done with good fortune and dry conditions. The experimental combustible mixture of gunpowder and lamp oil started the blazes most effectively, once we had delivered the nose mines by hand and placed them in the middle of the piled pontoons.
Captain Chambers is an officer who uses his brains to try and solve the many problems he still has. The incendiary mixture was his idea but he only has limited authority to try and improve his delivery system. It is possible that improvements could be made if he were to realise that you were taking a personal interest, My Lord.”
“What an excellent suggestion, I shall ask him to come and talk to me. The French always have a great superiority in artillery, most likely because Boney trained as a gunner. I have little faith in this new weapon, but if Captain Chambers can improve it, he has to be worth encouraging.
Now to other matters. I am sending Romana and his Spaniards south of the Tagus as a counter to the moves by Soult towards Badajoz. I hope his health does not let him down. He is far from well and there is no other Spanish general I can trust.
Hill is also across the river, as you know. However many more pontoons Masséna builds, he will now know that any attempt to cross the Tagus will be opposed.
What I really need now is for Sir Joshua to take his men from the Serra da Estrella and move in support of any action by the Spaniards and our own division in the Alentejo, Badajoz and even down to Cadiz, where the Navy tells me that MacKay has been showing them how to capture seaports.
Finally, you now have five hundred Germans, half of them still in training. Try and get them into the Serra to take over from Sir Joshua and talk to him about how he sees them being used. So many of them started out as cavalry that I suspect they might be more of an asset co-operating more closely with my army.
Get Major Roffhack’s opinion as well and tell him he’s no longer brevet. His promotion is confirmed.
CHAPTER 13
The latest consignment of converted Baker rifles had arrived at São Martinho, the little town in the middle of the Serra da Estrella where Welbeloved had established his winter headquarters.
There were only twenty-five of them, but the clever conversion to breech loading was very precise and required the special skills of Roberto, the smith at Santiago del Valle near Talavera.
It was his own adaptation of the Ferguson screw block and it doubled the Bakers’ rate of fire to four or five a minute, while maintaining an accuracy that was almost as good as the specialised Ferguson.
Roberto had expanded his manufactory at Santiago and had managed to keep pace with the overall needs of rapidly growing Naval Brigade, but only because they were still accepting his breech-loading adaptation of the French 1777 carbine, which was easier to produce using stocks captured after Talavera.
He had not yet managed more than twenty-five Bakers a month and F Company now had a hundred of them. The original platoon of Portuguese Caçadores that had started F Company had been issued with standard Bakers and Welbeloved had given them a certain preference when allocating the modified version.
Acting Lieutenant Pom Bal Li now had a platoon of eight veteran Hornets ( Vespãos ) and twenty-two Wasps ( Vespas ), all with modified Bakers and Captain Gonçalves was supervising marksmanship practice for 5 Platoon and their new weapons.
They had long passed the stage where they fired at fixed targets. Every man in the Brigade, whatever the weapon, was expected to register four ‘kills’ out of five at two hundred yards on fixed targets.
The defensive ditch that had been dug by the French when they occupied the place, had been adapted to protect men carrying life-size targets above their heads. It enabled 5 Platoon to shoot at figures ‘walking’ from left to right or right to left, giving them essential practice at ‘leading’ their intended targets and shooting at where they ought to be when the ball reached them.
Today, their task was more difficult. The rate of fire was a degree slower as they contended with the sleeting rain that was falling, together with the oiled canvas wrapping around the breeches and locks that kept their powder dry, but was a great obstacle to efficient loading and sighting.
Acting Lieutenant Pom claimed to be almost eighteen whenever he was asked and
with his oriental features, no westerner was able to judge accurately for himself. His superiors were inclined to think that seventeen was stretching their credulity far enough, but he was obviously accustomed to having his orders obeyed and the men worked well for him and were inclined to be protective.
Whatever the truth of the matter, he had a natural talent for marksmanship that promised to equal the achievements of Captain Cholmondeley or even the almost legendary Dai Evans.
Even in the miserable conditions in the mountains he was revelling in the challenge; quickly having mastered the different characteristics of his new Baker and was recording kills with every shot. He was now moving from man to man, correcting their stance and generally talking them through the procedures for shooting at moving targets.
The five platoons of F Company were currently the only members of the Naval Brigade remaining in the mountains of the Estrella. Welbeloved had moved out with the two English companies. He had his reservations, but Lord Wellington had a much greater overall view of his campaign and the Hornets went south to do what they could to hamper Soult and help protect Wellington’s southern and eastern flank.
Vere had promised to replace them with two companies of German Hornets from Oporto, but the reorganisation and the absorption of the Hanoverians had only been achieved by splitting the original two companies into four and adding two platoons of newcomers to each company. It had inevitably delayed their deployment.
Also, in line with Lord Wellington’s suggestion, the German battalion, while not neglecting their Hornet training, were concentrating their minds on becoming efficient cavalrymen as well. There were enough of them to form an independent cavalry regiment of their own and the thought of having such a highly trained, dual purpose, elite regiment working closely with the army was a very tempting prospect for his lordship.
Swallowing Portugal Will Settle My Spanish Bellyache Page 15
