It's Not Indigestion I'll Eat What I Like

  It’s Not Indigestion. I’ll Eat What I Like!

  Geoffrey Watson

  Napoleon’s Spanish Ulcer

  Book 3

  Copyright © 2012 Geoffrey Watson

  All Rights Reserved.

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  PROLOGUE

  Although Sir Arthur Wellesley stopped the French army of King Joseph Bonaparte and Marshal Victor at Talavera and was made Viscount Wellington for his victory, there was no possibility that he could keep his army in Spain.

  His forces numbered less than thirty thousand and the French armies in the country were at least seven times that number. Napoleon had just thrashed the Austrians at Wagram in the same month as Talavera and had hundreds of thousands of fresh troops free to attack the Leopards in the Peninsular.

  The Leopards retired to the mountains of Portugal to build up their strength. Wellington put British officers into the rejuvenated Portuguese army and prepared the whole country to resist invasion.

  By the spring of 1810, the French had beaten all the Spanish armies and only the fortified towns of Cadiz, Badajoz, and Ciudad Rodrigo in the west, remained in Spanish hands. Only the latter two were the strategic gateways into Portugal.

  Napoleon would have come himself, but he was busy getting married to Marie Louise, the daughter of the Austrian Emperor. In his place he sent his most able marshal, André Masséna with 100,000 troops of the Army of Portugal. His task was to throw the Leopards into the sea and he was confident of success.

  Spain and Portugal are mountainous countries. The wealth flowing from their colonies in the Americas had all but dried up during the last ten years. The Feudal economy and poor agriculture in those places that could produce crops, made it difficult for the people to produce enough food to feed themselves.

  French armies were expected to supply themselves from the countries they conquered and when there was little food to be had, the soldiers went hungry, but thousands of Spaniards and Portuguese starved.

  By the summer of 1810 there were nearly half a million French soldiers in Spain and gangs of armed Spaniards had come together in the hills throughout the country.

  Some were no better than bandits, preying for subsistence on Spaniards and French stragglers alike, but many incorporated soldiers from their beaten armies. Although they could not face the French in battle, they made it impossible for them to travel the roads without a very substantial, armed escort.

  Any foraging party looking for food and booty in the villages away from their main bases could expect to be ambushed. Only large numbers offered an illusory safety, but even so, it was a wise commander that avoided narrow hill and mountain roads, however many soldiers he commanded. Spain is full of narrow hill and mountain roads.

  The contest was nasty, vicious, sordid and brutal. Captives, both Guerrilla and French, could expect a painful and degrading death. Many preferred to take their own lives if capture was inevitable.

  It was the Admiralty that had sent Captain Joshua Welbeloved R.N. and his special Royal Marine unit into Spain to help and encourage the guerrilla bands close to the coast. It was Welbeloved who had sought out Wellesley following the rout of Soult’s army at Oporto. It was Viscount Wellington after Talavera who had persuaded the Admiralty to send a Naval Brigade to be trained by Welbeloved and set loose behind the French lines.

  It was Welbeloved now, riding into Lisbon to meet the warships and transports bringing three hundred, red-coated, Royal Marines with muskets, to be trained into brown-coated, independent, specialised marksmen before the French attacked; perhaps within the next two months.

  CHAPTER 1

  By the time it arrived at Lisbon, the great river Tagus had flowed all the way across central Spain from the mountains east of Madrid. About half way along its course it lapped against the walls of Talavera, where El Rey Intruso, Joseph Bonaparte and Marshal Victor had attacked the small British army and been forced to retire with a bloody nose and over seven thousand casualties.

  The Intrusive King had been handed the Spanish throne by his brother, Napoleon to extend the family dynasty, but it was obvious that he was not trusted in matters military. The numerous French armies scattered throughout Spain were all commanded by marshals who gave lip service to Joseph, but only obeyed orders given them by Napoleon himself. That is when they weren’t trying to carve out a fiefdom for themselves.

  Just south of Lisbon, the Tagus, or Tejo in Portuguese, rushed into the sea through a wide bottleneck. The bottle itself was more than five miles wide and extended north for a further ten, making one of the largest and safest anchorages in Western Europe.

  Lisbon was the supply harbour for Lord Wellington’s army. Armaments, supplies and reinforcements carried by ships escorted by the Royal Navy, all came through Lisbon and were directed by Commissary Schaumann to the army, resting and training in the hills around Viseu, in central Portugal, north and east of Coimbra.

  There were very few British soldiers to be seen in and about Lisbon. Lots of pretty uniforms of course, but they were almost all the creations of the local volunteer militia officers who loved parading in their finery, but would be less in evidence if the enemy came much closer.

  Quite a few naval uniforms were going about their business and the anchorage was crowded with warships and transports and merchantmen.

  Admiral Berkeley was in command of the fleet around Lisbon and was goading Wellington into fits of irritation with his constantly changing plans for re-embarking the army in a repeat of the escape from La Coruña, or as Wellington remarked, ‘putting Leopards into boats.’

  There was a squadron of Portuguese third-rates in evidence, which also came under his flag, together with a couple of Russian seventy-fours, still at anchor, two years after Admiral Seniavin had negotiated their transfer to Great Britain, following the capture of Lisbon from the French.

  Welbeloved studied them through his glass with a certain nostalgic interest. He was reasonably certain that he had last seen one of them off Corfu, ten years ago, when he was with his friend Lieutenant Cockburn in the little cutter Hobby at the start of his naval career.

  He swung his glass and found what he was looking for. The Brig-of-War Daphne was riding at anchor next to a seventy-four wearing a commodore’s pennant. MacKay had already spotted her and was pointing her out to Vere, who not being a naval man would probably only be certain when he could read the name on her transom.

  Lord George Vere was now back with Welbeloved; released from Wellington’s staff to become second-in-command of the new Naval Brigade, with a rank of Lieutenant-Colonel; a rank apparently desirable to support Welbeloved’s appointment as Commodore or Brigadier-General, as Wellington insisted the commander of a brigade should be called. MacKay was now third in command with the rank of Major, both of them having climbed two steps in rank in eighteen months.

  They rode on towards the quays and the bustling traffic of the great harbour; a small troop of horsemen dressed in uniforms of buckskin brown or faded olive green; part of the fam
ous Avispónes Morenos or Brown Hornets and their recently formed cadet unit the Avispas Verdes or Green Wasps. The latter unit had been recruited exclusively from wounded soldiers rescued from certain captivity after Talavera, before the French could return.

  Now recovered from their wounds, they were mounted on captured horses, dressed in largely captured cavalry overalls and cloaks and armed with captured French muskets, which a talented Spanish blacksmith had modified so that they could be loaded at the breech and fired with a great deal of accuracy, up to five times a minute.

  So well had Roberto the smith modified them, that at a hundred yards they were as fast and almost as lethal as the deadly Ferguson rifles, carried by the fifty-plus, surviving veterans of the Hornets who had been fighting in Spain for the last three years.

  Captain Parsons of Daphne had been keeping a sharp watch. As the horsemen and their accompanying wagons came onto the Quay, they could see a boat’s crew rushing to man the gig. The boat came skimming towards them, the oarsmen smartly turned out in their best special rig, looking scrubbed and fresh with ribbons decorating their tarred hats.

  Welbeloved grinned at Vere. “George, my lad, it looks very much as if news of our latest elevation has gone ahead of us and young Parsons is getting ready to show off, while welcoming me on board. In addition, I recognise Charles Cockburn’s ship, Titan, to starboard of Daphne and I see she is wearing a commodore’s pennant.

  Hopefully, it means that he has brought our marines but there is no way we are going to get them moving before tomorrow. Would yew get the men settled into billets for the night? I’ll have the boat sent back for yew to join us later. Hamish will have a lot of friends in Titan so we’ll give him a chance to introduce his new wife.

  It’ll give yew a chance to round up the K.G.L. platoon that yew’ve talked the Peer into transferring to us. He told me that they were waiting for us in Lisbon. Yew need to ask for a Lieutenant Roffhack”.

  “Aye aye, Sir Joshua. I thought he’d forgot about it, but then, I didn’t see him before we left. Did he say how many there were?”

  “Hopefully about thirty and they’re supposed to be riflemen, armed with Bakers.”

  Vere rode off with the men, leaving MacKay and Juanita with Welbeloved. The gig, in the charge of a young, fresh-faced midshipman, approached and came alongside the steps. Two seamen jumped out and held the bow and the stern. The boy was obviously competent, giving clear commands in a high treble. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen.

  It was low tide and the steps led down about twenty feet from the quay. A tanned face looked up and a round hat was removed from a thatch of dark hair. “Come to collect the Commodore and Party, Sir.” A shade of uncertainty. “Should you be a Commodore, Sir?”

  “And who might yew be, young man?”

  “Parsons, Sir. Midshipman of the Brig Daphne, at your service.”

  “Then yew are perfectly correct, Mr. Parsons. Do yew come up and assist Mistress MacKay down these slippery steps.” He growled at Juanita in Spanish. “Let him be gallant, my dear. It will do wonders for his standing on board.”

  He watched the boy’s open mouthed amazement at the thought of helping the armed and uniformed amazon do anything, but he dashed gamely up the steps and offered his hand, which Juanita accepted graciously with a beaming smile, holding her Ferguson tightly in her other hand.

  “Give way all!” They were settled in the stern sheets and the boat crew took up the stroke smoothly and without fuss, looking curiously at Juanita. They had seen Welbeloved and MacKay before and the Condesa and Isabella had worn the same uniform, but they could be forgiven for wondering at the role of all these martial females.

  They came alongside Daphne and MacKay restrained his wife. “We bide a while in the gig, Querida mía, while the Captain is received wi’ due reverence.”

  Even MacKay wasn’t prepared for the totality of the welcome. The Navy values its traditions and Parsons had received the news in time for him to observe them to the full. Also he had never been in command of a flagship before and that is what his little brig now was; as was evident by the Commodore’s Pennant that had been meticulously prepared and that broke out at the mast head the moment that Welbeloved’s head came level with the deck.

  The first of the bow guns to start the salute was echoed faithfully by the signal gun in Titan, only two cables distant.

  Welbeloved stepped down onto the deck. “What’s all this flim flam young Ed’ard? Bless me, yew’d think we’d beat the Frogs or something.” Captain Edward Parsons; the Master and Commander of Daphne, the brig that his schooner and the Hornets had captured over two years ago; grinned happily. “From the reports we’ve been getting, Sir Joshua, I’ve been given to understand that you have indeed done so.

  We got the news that you’d been given your flag, Sir. I wasn’t sure how far we could go, being such a little flagship, so to speak, but Commodore Cockburn in Titan had no doubts. His flotilla escorted your reinforcements to Lisbon and we sailed with him. You are asked to dine with him later and I’ve taken the liberty of stealing your uniform that you kept here and using the measurements to have a commodore’s coat tailored ready for you. I hope I did right?”

  “Yew are a wonder Ed’ard. It should be invaluable when I have to meet the Admiral and I shall now be able to honour Sir Charles when I go to dine. Now you may congratulate Major MacKay on his step and kiss the hand of his charming and valiant wife.”

  The greeting ceremony over, Parsons led the way to his tiny cabin, while MacKay and his bride accepted the hospitality of the gunroom. Daphne had come out fully loaded with supplies and replacements ordered by the Hornets, together with cargo that Wellington had requested from home. MacKay was anxious to check with the purser that everything that they had indented for was there.

  The Captain’s servant had laid out Welbeloved’s new uniform coat and the rest of his old uniform in the sleeping cabin. He examined the heavy epaulettes and the thickly encrusted gold braid with mixed emotions.

  Since he had recruited and commanded the Hornets he had always insisted that his officers should be difficult to distinguish from his men for obvious reasons. The men were always taught to kill enemy officers first in any engagement.

  His officers could only be distinguished by a dull green waist sash and cloth insignia of rank on their cuffs. The quality of cloth used for their uniforms was somewhat finer but in practice, after a month in the field that was quite irrelevant.

  Now he was expected to parade himself to impress the groundlings in enough gold bullion to dazzle a blind man, when as yet he had only just amassed the requisite three years as a post captain which qualified him to wear an epaulette on both shoulders instead of only on the right.

  Of course, the Royal Navy did not have to face their enemy over open ground, but he was personally convinced that Nelson might still be alive if he hadn’t stood out so glaringly on the quarterdeck of Victory at Trafalgar.

  He picked up his bicorn. This at least was his old one, which had only been worn two or three times before. There was now an extra wide edging of gold lace which made him reflect that no kidnapper would need to demand a ransom, merely strip the gold from his coat and hat.

  His white breeches, stockings, shirt and waistcoat had been laid out for some time and the servant had managed to iron and air them. The lingering smell of camphor would hopefully not survive a trip over the water in an open boat.

  He walked into the main cabin and endured Parson’s critical inspection and satisfied delight with the outcome of his efforts. “You have brought your insignia and sash with you, Sir Joshua, have you not?” He sounded quite apprehensive that Welbeloved should be set loose improperly dressed.

  “Yew’re coming it the old mother hen again Ed’ard.” The grin belied the mild rebuke, but Parsons was inclined to presume to mother him whenever he got the chance. “I see yew have passed on yor solicitous attitude to that bright young spark commanding yor gig.”

  “Oh-er yes,
Sir Joshua. My brother’s boy. I was persuaded to indulge in a little nepotism. He is desperate to make his way in the Service and his hero, Lord Nelson and his family were distant neighbours of my brother in Norfolk. I hope he performed his duty to your satisfaction.”

  “That he did. The people worked well for him in spite of his high squeak. Yew’ve made sure he has a good sea daddy?”

  “Indeed, Sir. My Cox’n has taken him under his wing and I am inclined to be more strict with him than with the others. He cannot look for favours. We have all seen the sad effect such presumption had on Nelson’s stepson.”

  “Yew are likely right, Ed’ard, but I do suspect that with such a patron, too much was expected and he hadn’t the greatness in him. Push yor nephew certainly, but not faster than he can go. That’s difficult to judge when he’s yor own blood. Think on it. I can always have a word with Sir Charles, who will surely be willing to place him with one of the captains in his own squadron. Life might be more hazardous, but he would be making his own way.”

  “That’s a most handsome offer, Sir Joshua. I own to feeling responsible for his safety, but I would not wish to restrict his spirit by keeping him under my wing. You have told me often enough of my tendency to act the mother hen and it is likely time for him to spread his wings. Please enquire of Sir Charles if you would.”

  “I think it best Ed’ard. Now, shall yew find somewhere to pin this pretty bauble. I’ll wear the Turkish one as well tomorrow, to impress Admiral Berkeley.”

  There was a knock on the door and the loud voice of the sentry announced. “Mr. Parsons to see the Captain, Sah!” The youthful face, suitably serious, piped the message. “Compliments of the Master, Sir. The Commodore’s barge is alongside, waiting to take Sir Joshua to Titan.”

  Welbeloved answered himself. “Thankyew Mr. Parsons. I’ll be there directly.” He turned to the uncle. “Did Sir Charles invitation include anyone else?” “Aye Sir, your officers and myself. I understand there will be some of your old shipmates and the officer commanding your reinforcement marines.”