I Think I Really Do Have an Ulcer

by Geoffrey Watson

  Hickson opted to let the local band go out and search for French foragers. Most of the guerrilleros were mounted and he knew that the besiegers had few cavalry that they could send out. His men reserved their judgement until the partisans proved themselves. They didn’t have to like them even then.

  Only two bands of foragers were reported and it was easy to deal with each separately. Colonel MacKay had been much too considerate with the very first band and could have got himself killed. Being half Spanish, Hickson could understand MacKay’s view, but was entirely sympathetic to the feelings of hatred felt by his mother’s compatriots.

  Knowing where the foragers were made it easier to plan for complete surprise. The first group was caught completely unawares, before it had chance to move into any defensive formation. The first the French knew of any danger was the sight of two platoons of horsemen cantering towards them along the track. They came from front and rear and the other two platoons were conveniently concealed within easy range on the other two sides.

  Only two of the voltigeurs died. They were the ones who were most alert and had had the time to raise their muskets against the oncoming horsemen, within easy range of the men hidden alongside. After that, the rest of them could not surrender quickly enough and were sent on their way, like the first unit, stripped down to shirt, trousers and shoes.

  The second group was another matter entirely. The guerrilleros reported that they had been quite brutal with the peasants in four or five villages; torturing and killing the priests and leading citizens to make them reveal where every last morsel of food was hidden.

  When the ambush was sprung, Hickson allowed them time to form a defensive square around their well-loaded wagons, before he turned his marksmen loose. Everyone who continued to use his musket was shot. The only ones who lived were the officers, sergeants and anyone seen to throw his musket down.

  The sorry-looking, small, shocked group of survivors was then told exactly why most of their friends had been shot. Sergeants and officers were separated and handed over to the guerrilleros to be taken back to the villages they had vandalised. Hickson had little doubt that their fate would be unpleasant in the extreme. His only reaction was to impress on the twenty or so other ranks that it was he who had treated with the partisans on their behalf and had been unable to influence the Spaniards regarding those who, being in authority, were held responsible for the horrible treatment of the villagers.

  The other ranks were stripped to their small clothes, given a wagon to carry those wounded who were still alive and sent back to Ciudad Rodrigo barefoot. None of them was left in any doubt that anyone else caught committing atrocities while foraging would be dealt with in the same way.

  Evans and his company spent the first two days watching Salamanca. Those not on watch spent their time shooting at targets in an enclosed, blind valley, where the noise of exploding gunpowder would not carry far. Although most of his men were still armed with the modified French carbines, he was determined that they should be as accurate as the smooth bore would allow.

  The new cartridges, with the wooden plug, gave a far greater velocity to the ball and generally kept it from acquiring a counter-productive spin; dependent on which part of it last touched the bore on exit.

  The cartridges mostly ensured that, up to two hundred and fifty yards, the balls went where they were aimed; give or take six or seven inches either way. That was quite enough to hit an enemy if he was standing still or moving towards the gun.

  The talent that Welbeloved had developed in all the Hornets was that of hitting targets moving across their front, by ‘leading’ the targets with their rifle or musket and shooting at the space they would occupy when the ball got there.

  Practice was not easy, but they usually managed to find somewhere with a gully, where the carrier of a man-sized, moving target could show it to the marksmen and remain hidden himself.

  On the third day, a convoy of wagons came over the bridge out of the town. Whoever was in command in the town had no concerns whatever. Marshal Marmont had left Salamanca about three weeks ago with three divisions. Presumably, when he left a division to watch Ciudad Rodrigo, a messenger had returned to demand a convoy of supplies. That messenger would have had every chance of getting through, as the guerrilleros would have been keeping their heads down during the passage of the army.

  That it had taken over a week to assemble the convoy, spoke volumes for the state of the larder in the town and the fact that the escort was only two companies of infantry showed that they had very little idea of the hazards to be expected.

  Evans studied the composition of the convoy with care before he decided how he was going to deal with it. He looked over at MacKay, who also had his glass on the force below. “There are only two companies of guards down by there, Colonel, but one of them is a line regiment, isn’t it? Line regiments do things differently from voltigeurs. Very drilled and disciplined they are. Those smart blue tunics may be faded, but soiled they must never be by lying in the dirt.

  When we stop them, it is certain I am that standing together in a crowd is all they shall think about. Those green voltigeurs shall be expected to do any of the mucky work on the ground or behind one of the wagons.

  Duw! So predictable they are, that it shall be best if we take them where most difficult it is to move off the road. About four miles south of here, it cuts into the side of a hill, with a steep slope that rises on their left and falls on their right.

  Quick thinking they shall need to be, over by there. If the drill book has no answers, thinking is not much encouraged in the line infantry. Shoot their officers and lost they shall be.”

  MacKay was impressed. He had known Dai Evans as a magnificent marksman and something of a rebel when together with his friend, the Irishman O’Malley. This tactically aware Evans was something of a revelation. “You are in charge, Dai. I hae nae quarrel wi’ that assessment. Just get on wi’ it and if ye can find a use for that mortar that my wife hae been trackin’ after us, sae much the better.”

  Evans had quite forgotten the new addition to his company and rapidly rearranged his thoughts. He gave concise instructions in his excellent spanish, in which even MacKay could detect a trace of a musical welsh accent.

  The four platoons of D Company moved south at a canter, in order to pick the positions in which they were to await the convoy. Juanita MacKay listened very carefully to the suggestions that Evans was making. He was very careful not to give her orders, but just let her know what he would like to see the mortar doing.

  Her total acceptance put her almost on the same level as the condesa in his estimation. “I know exactly where you mean, Captain Dai and I think I know the best place to put the mortar. Please make time when we are there, to show me what part of the convoy you think it best to aim at. I must then wait, do you see, until they shall be marching past the place where I know the shell shall land. It shall be valuable experience for the gun captain, Sergeant Garcia, if you are there to approve what his crew does.”

  Evans could have kissed her, but her husband was close by. He knew she had added the sergeant’s name because she suspected he did not yet know it. She was quite right. He sent her off instead, to emplace the gun and started to consider ways of using the new weapon. Before this, he had an almost total fixation on the tactics of the rifle and carbine, the weapons that had given the Hornets such an overwhelming advantage up until the present.

  The convoy was moving quite smartly as it approached the part of the road that was cut across the side of a hill. They had forty miles to travel and would only need to camp for one night on the way. If they could break the back of the journey today they could arrive at Rodrigo by midday and have time to relax for the rest of the day.

  The officer in charge probably knew the road and was aware that it was very difficult to move off it in many places. He had organised his forces to place up to three groups, each of about fifteen heavy wagons, between four half-companies of soldiers. Voltigeurs were
in the van and at the rear: the line infantry was marching in the centre, in the gaps between the three groups of wagons.

  As Evans had anticipated, the voltigeurs moved ahead as they approached the site of the ambush. They paused when they moved onto the cutaway section of the road, in order to study the rising slope on their left: taking their time and moving their gaze slowly along; searching the half-mile of slope for any signs of movement or anything out of the normal.

  The small numbers in the escort told Evans that they only expected to be dealing with undisciplined guerrilleros and nothing more. Watching them, he had to assume that experience had taught them that such people were more difficult to spot than regular soldiers with tall shakos and coloured tunics.

  In fact there was adequate cover, but not all that much within standard musket range of the road. That fact alone might encourage the French to be less diligent in their search. Evans had sixty men spread out along the upper slope; none within thirty yards of the road and no one showing more than eyes, surmounted by a flat, dirt-coloured bonnet.

  A bugle call brought the rest of the convoy into closer order with the vanguard and they stepped out at their best pace to get across this potentially dangerous section.

  This was the point where Evans allowed himself a few moments of regret. He was a superb marksman and he liked to be in a position where he could use his talents. As a new company commander, he had to be where he could direct his company and that was not the same thing at all.

  Even when he permitted his frustration to invite Hamish MacKay to fill the position he would have liked for himself, the alacrity with which the offer was accepted told him that MacKay had long nurtured the same yearnings.

  Juanita had shown him exactly where her first shot should land, give or take ten feet either way. She had also told him to count without haste to twenty, after she acknowledged his signal to fire.

  It didn’t seem difficult. All he had to do was to pick his target and give the signal, judging when they would reach the agreed point, twenty seconds later. The only thing that couldn’t be controlled was the timing of the fuse. It might be cut to burn for ten seconds, but that meant eight or twelve at the most accurate. Explosion on impact could only be achieved when supplies of the condesa’s new shells arrived.

  He gave the signal when the last of the wagons passed the point they had chosen. Twenty seconds ought to place the voltigeur rearguard right over the spot.

  Although unexpected, the firing of the mortar was a sound familiar to all veteran soldiers and those marching with the convoy gave a collective twitch when they heard it and before the shell landed.

  It was just within the area that Juanita had promised, but better than that, it was on the slope above the middle of the marching voltigeurs and bounced down among them.

  Most of them saw it land and reacted instinctively by throwing themselves to the ground, away from the missile, which should already have exploded. This may have saved some lives, but the explosion, when it came, caused chaos and confusion among the only group of men able to turn round and attack the mortar.

  It also acted as the signal for the sixty mounted Avispónes to come down onto the road, several hundred yards in front of the convoy and advance at a walk. They were advancing quite slowly in anticipation of the next shot from the mortar, that landed on cue, but not quite as accurately, close to the voltigeurs in the vanguard.

  After the explosion, the mounted Avispónes started to trot, at the same time as the upper slope blossomed with clouds of powder smoke, as the marksmen sought out officers and sergeants among the line infantry, who were struggling to get into some sort of order.

  Firing ceased as the horsemen arrived. Muskets were hurled away and hands raised in surrender. Some few threw themselves off the road and down the steep slope. They were allowed to go. More than likely they would regret it. The local guerrilleros had been warned and were lurking lower down. Escapees from the road would be well advised to fight to the death rather than surrender to the unforgiving partisans.

  Those on the road that did surrender had the best of the bargain. The Hornets could not allow themselves to be inconvenienced with prisoners. They sent them back to Salamanca without weapons, tunics and headgear. Two wagons were emptied to carry their dead and wounded.

  Within an hour, they were a cloud of dust, fading along the road to the northeast. The Hornets lost no time redistributing the loads among the other wagons. Two hours later, the only signs of an engagement were two shallow craters that could have been mistaken for winter erosion of an atrocious road surface and several patches of dried blood that would be gone under blowing dust before the next rains soaked it away.

  MacKay couldn’t explain why he chivvied Evans and the men to clear up and clear out. Perhaps his true feelings clung to the past, when the Hornets had been smaller and had raided roads rather than travelled on them.

  Whatever the reason and whatever the well-hidden indignation of the Avispónes; who although being Hornets were still Spanish and had not completely abandoned the idea of mañana. Events shortly afterwards were to raise his reputation to that of all-knowing, almost omniscient seer.

  From their camp in the hills, they looked down on the five hundred light infantry, hurrying to Salamanca in search of supplies for the starving besiegers of Ciudad Rodrigo. The speed they were travelling made it likely that they would catch and escort the survivors of the convoy into the town.

  Leaning heavily on his newly acquired reputation for infallibility, MacKay dampened the enthusiasm of some of the young officers to go forth immediately and challenge the French column.

  “Think about it, Gentlemen! If they are in such a hurry to get to Salamanca, it shall be very soon that they shall return with even more wagons than we have taken today.

  Do not underestimate them either, just because you have beaten them each time we have met. They shall learn from their misfortunes and shall know that a major effort is required to get through to Rodrigo.

  Expect to see at least two battalions coming from Salamanca in the next two or three days; maybe cavalry as well. We have to find a place where we can deal with such numbers and we have to call in B Company to support us.”

  He did not want to dampen their spirits too much, but he was well aware that by now, the French in Salamanca would know that the situation was critical. If they reacted with the same energy that they had often shown in the past, he could find himself faced with more than twice the number of troops that he had forecast to the men. That would damage seriously his new reputation for infallibility.

  Never mind! He had once claimed that the Hornets could take on and beat ten times their own strength, if they could choose where they should do it. He still believed that, but for the life of him, he could not think of a suitable position between here and Rodrigo.

  CHAPTER 17

  The Vespãos turned in for an early night. They would all be ready for the coming struggle, well before the sun rose in the morning. It was inevitable that A Company should be the first into their blankets. Dodds and his men would be up in the early hours, preparing the way.

  Number One Platoon under Sergeant Major Santos was up and about even earlier. Santos should have been made lieutenant, but had refused the commission. He was one of the original Portuguese Hornets and claimed that his learning had not been good enough to enable him to handle all the administration involved.

  Dodds had every sympathy and had kidnapped the man as his company sergeant major and commander of No. 1 Platoon after the last re-organisation.

  Santos and his men moved forward and searched for enemy vedettes in the wide entrance to the valley. Predictably, they had all been posted in pairs, across the narrowest point.

  Little schooling had been available in the village where Santos had spent his childhood, but he had a natural talent for combat and could read a military position far more easily than he could study platoon and company paperwork.

  He clucked silently with disapprov
al at the positions chosen by the French for their sentinels. There were too many of them and they were so unprofessionally obvious, even in the dark.

  For veteran soldiers it was a disgrace. So disgraceful, in fact, that he spent an extra two hours looking for signs that might tell him of concealed reserves that had been placed to catch just such a nosy unit as the Hornets.

  It was disappointing, but that which was obvious was all he was going to get and he set his men to recording the times when the sentries were relieved and the routine that was used to do so.

  There was a waning half-moon that was still high in the sky before dawn, though obscured much of the time by passing clouds. Just the sort of conditions that would help the Hornets and put the sentries at a disadvantage; always provided that the clouds kept tight hold on any rain that they had stored.

  An hour before dawn was the last change of vedettes. Many more eyes than before watched with interest, while three sergeants conducted a rapid changeover at three different areas of the watch line.

  The noise of their retreat with the relieved sentries had hardly died away when A Company started to move. They were all in traditional Hornet night rig, with cork-blackened faces and anything that would make a noise, well and truly wrapped.

  Timing was important. The sentries were just within sight of their adjacent comrades, but only when the moon was clear of the clouds. Unfortunately for them, a large patch of cloud began drifting across the moon, just as the changeover was completed. The Hornets moved as quickly as they dared, to try and reach each one before their eyes became fully adjusted to the darker conditions.

  All Dodds was asking was that any noise was muted and that any movement was smooth and unlikely to attract startled attention.

  He had trained his men well. The work was very close and personal. Long knives, used skilfully and ruthlessly, by men rising beside them in the dark, two men to each sentry, kept the noise down to a few stifled screams. They were loud enough to be heard by the other vedettes, but the attack was well co-ordinated and any death cries only served to distract their comrades, who would never have the chance to make the same mistake again.