Swallowing Portugal Will Settle My Spanish Bellyache Read online

  Welbeloved hadn’t been expecting such a sudden and violent reaction and this looked to be a real test for his men. The skirmishers were not standing up when they fired their muskets. They used the same basic technique as the Hornets; stalking in pairs and firing from any cover that they could find: and there were ten times as many of them.

  Thoughtfully, he had placed his new Portuguese Wasps in position on both flanks, covering the French exodus from the wagons. Now was the time to introduce them to combat. He turned them loose. At the same time he signalled across the river for Evans and Thuner to open fire on anyone left behind the wagons.

  To any skirmisher, charging a muzzle-loading musket was always an enormous problem. It was almost impossible to load and remain under cover when in action. The Hornets shot them when they struggled, crouched or upright, to work their ramrods and the men in the lead were inevitably the first to go, once the riflemen had sought out as many officers as they could find.

  When the front runners were shot, the men behind could see it happening. It was like watching a tide of death moving inexorably towards them.

  They were being shot at from higher ground and now they could see powder smoke from their flanks. One couldn’t hide behind a small boulder if enemy fire was coming from the sides as well.

  It is strange, in the heat of battle, how the same thought occurred to almost everyone at the same time. This was definitely not a good place to be. They all fled back to the wagons at the same time.

  This really created chaos and confusion. The grenadiers were coming under withering fire from the Fergusons across the river and were trying to move through the wagon line for shelter at the same time as the voltigeurs and chasseurs were trying to go in the opposite direction.

  For a brief spell, Frenchmen were vying with Frenchmen for possession of the narrow passage between the double row of wagons. It was the only place that was sheltered from both directions.

  Someone had the bright idea of manhandling the inner line of wagons to create more space, but a hundred-yard strip, only a few yards wide, was not an ideal refuge for several hundred nervous soldiers.

  The two squadrons of cavalry had rushed to saddle their mounts at the first sign of trouble. The horses were near to the river, together with the oxen and mules. They were well within range of the Hornets and their Fergusons on the hill across the river and a dozen of the rifles changed targets to discourage them from saddling and mounting.

  They were only partially successful, as they did not want to shoot any horses. This allowed about a hundred and fifty men to get mounted and they searched for an opening in the defences where they could leave the camp and get into the action.

  The river and the swollen stream blocked two sides of the camp and a third side was swarming with very agitated infantrymen. The horsemen made for the narrow gap where the road came in on the fourth side, only to be met with devastating short range volleys from two platoons of D Company, led by Captain Tonks, who had quietly occupied the undefended section of wagons while everybody else was occupied elsewhere.

  Half the riders were unhorsed before the remainder fled towards the stream and hurled themselves from their saddles, taking their carbines to join the crush between the wagons. Tonks and his men contented themselves with sniping at any bodies that presented themselves between the protective double line of wagons. The crush was so great there that there was no lack of targets well within killing range.

  The French had got themselves into a real mess and of course it was not to be tolerated. Perhaps they were only garrison troops, but they were being humiliated by an enemy that was not abiding by the rules of civilised warfare. (The Imperial Army could never reconcile an oxymoron like that.) An enemy moreover that was too cowardly to stand up and fight like a Frenchman, face to face, but was prepared to slaughter brave men without risk, like the meanest assassin.

  The men between the wagons could see powder smoke. It showed them the area where their enemies were lying, but not enough to give them a target. Even if they could make out part of a head behind the smoke, nobody could expect them to hit a head, when at that range they would not expect to hit a standing man.

  It was frustrating and infuriating. There was only one thing they could do for the honour of France and French arms. Every man that could fix a bayonet to his musket burst out of the wagon line and charged headlong into the area from where the musketry was coming; only a thirty second dash from the wagons.

  Five hundred or more, furious, screaming men with glittering bayonets erupted from the gaps between the wagons and started to run.

  It would have been more effective had they been allowed time to form line before they charged, but they didn’t have that time. There were only about twenty gaps between the wagons and the men had to follow each other through, streaming out in file before spreading out, but doing it all at the charge.

  The riflemen on the hill opposite had to do a very simple calculation. They had to allocate three rifles to each gap and drop into a rhythm that shot every fourth or fifth man to emerge and even less as the bodies started to pile up and slow the others down.

  The Portuguese platoons on the flanks joined in as soon as they could see a solid body of men that they could not possibly miss and dozens of men were falling every second.

  The blind courage of the French could not be denied. They were charging into a hail of lead and falling in swathes. Half of them were down in the first fifty yards. The fusillade continued, but a series of sharp, staccato blasts on Welbeloved’s whistle warned everyone to be extra vigilant.

  Firing died away entirely, just as Captain Davison and two platoons of mounted Hornets crashed into the flank of the charging men and smashed their way through the length of them, stabbing and slashing at any soldier in their path.

  It was not a text book cavalry charge, but then they were no more than amateur cavalrymen. Their discipline was excellent however and when Davison’s whistle sounded as soon as they had passed entirely through the French, they turned their mounts as one and started back again.

  Another shrill blast stopped them dead. The attackers had turned tail and were running back to the wagons. No more than half the mounted men had actually made contact with an enemy during their exhilarating dash, but it wasn’t important. There was nothing quite so terrifying to infantry as being caught in the open by cavalry.

  The French were in full flight back towards the line of wagons and the horsemen stood still to let their comrades have a clear field of fire.

  The whole sorry business came to an abrupt end when the line of wagons that was their refuge, erupted into a single volley at the men running to them for shelter. Captain Tonks and his men had rushed across to take over the line as the French charged out. The enemy was now stranded out in the open, surrounded by a force of unknown size, armed with the deadliest weapons they had ever seen.

  Muskets were dropped or thrown down. Hands were raised and there was a kind of collective wail, intended as a plea for quarter.

  ***

  Clearing up afterwards and dealing with hundreds of wounded was a sad business. The whole affair had escalated far beyond anything that Welbeloved had planned.

  When he had first given his orders, the French had not set up their camp and he had expected them to be completely enclosed, as previously.

  The slaughter of the oxen was intended to demonstrate that the convoy could not go any farther. A further demonstration to prove that the rifles could reach everyone within the wagon line, should then have persuaded them that negotiations were a good idea and perfectly honourable.

  The slaughter of the lines of men down on the riverbank made negotiations unthinkable. It then became a matter of honour that resulted in three-quarters of the escort ending up dead or wounded. The unusually high number of wounded was due to the greater range at the beginning of the action and flank platoons firing into a mass of men without having to pick out any particular target.

  The prisoners dug a mass
grave and buried nearly five hundred dead. More than a hundred gravely wounded were made as comfortable as could be managed. They were unlikely to survive the night. Fifteen wagons were unloaded and filled with another three hundred wounded who were started off on their way back to Celorico, under escort of a band of Ordenança. A band that had been made to give a solemn oath that they would not allow any of their friends to wreak vengeance on the injured men.

  The Hornets buried two of their own and Welbeloved dug balls out of two more. All had been hit by unlucky shots. Unfortunately, when the only part of them exposed was the head and shoulders, any unlucky shot was going to cause serious injury.

  The two wounded would be sent back to Oporto with the prisoners and C Company would go with them. After a couple of weeks’ rest they could exchange with D Company. There was little likelihood that their skills would be needed until the French could organise another relief column and that was weeks away. Welbeloved could keep a wary eye open while completing the training of the new Portuguese company.

  Most of the food would go to the Ordenança to help the returning villagers to survive in the mountains until the next harvest. Most of the spare arms, half the mules and all the surviving oxen would go in the same direction, but Thuner would take charge of all the gunpowder. The quality was not good enough for the Fergusons and Bakers, but ideal for mines and demolition charges.

  Thuner would be running a school to encourage more of the Hornets to acquire demolition skills and Welbeloved wanted some of the Ordenança to get involved as well. In these mountains, they could certainly do more damage to the French with well-placed charges than with all the muskets packed away in the wagons. Meanwhile, there was a large quantity of tough, but perfectly adequate beef to be recovered from the dead oxen. The favourite ration animal of all the English soldiers in the Peninsular; it would be a sin not to strip and store all they could.

  CHAPTER 9

  The nursery at Santiago del Valle was nominally under the control of Isabella’s father, Josef. After all, he had been the unofficial guardian to the young Condesa after the death of her parents and had supervised the early training of Mercedes at the same time as that of his own daughter Isabella, who was just over a year younger.

  He looked upon Carlos, the son of Mercedes and Welbeloved, and little Pepe, the son of his daughter and Lieutenant Ramon Hickson, as his own grandsons. He was similarly indulgent about the new daughters of Evans, Ryan and O’Malley, even though they were not yet old enough for him to play with.

  Of course, even he knew that it was Isabella who was really in control of the children. When the Condesa had rejoined her husband in Portugal, Isabella had been left in charge and not even the Condesa would ever be able to change that.

  Now that the Condesa had returned from Portugal, both women were awaiting the birth of their second child, with Isabella in the lead by a few weeks. They had been joined by the most incredibly smug Juanita MacKay, who had got over the worst of her early sickness and was glowing as only a young, strong, fit mother-to-be could.

  Although Santiago del Valle made the most excellent base for the Hornets in Central Spain, it was surrounded by French armies and was used mostly for training purposes and as a secure area. It was actually part of the Condesa’s family estate; that Tio Pepe (Josef) had defended against French incursions to the best of his ability during her two-year exile.

  He had formed and trained his own band of guerrilleros to defend the valley and the villages in the Gredos Mountains. Not wanting to attract too much attention, he had worked hard to convince the French that there was little of value in this mountain valley that was worth the effort of an armed occupation.

  The French, unofficially, had proved willing to believe this fiction, as they had quite enough problems and not enough troops to hold down even those areas where there was a chance that they could requisition enough supplies to keep their armies fed.

  All they required in return, was that no one caused trouble that they could not ignore. Successive regional commanders were thankful to be able to search elsewhere for easier pickings.

  After Talavera, when the Condesa and Isabella had returned home, both with new husbands, Tio Pepe ( Uncle Joe ) had handed over his responsibilities to Welbeloved as the new Conde. He had promptly had them thrust back at him with many more added on.

  The best of his men had been formed into a platoon of Avispas (Wasps) and had graduated into Avispónes (Hornets) after nearly a year. Presently, they formed the nucleus of a fresh Spanish company of Wasps that Welbeloved had asked him to recruit and train.

  Knowing all about the very high standards of the Hornets, he had thought that there would be a shortage of suitable candidates. Not at all! Well over a hundred young men volunteered from the area of the Condesa’s estates alone.

  Lieutenant Colonel Hamish MacKay and A Company had spent four weeks putting them all through hell in a concentrated burst of basic training. It was a weeding out process, both physically and mentally. At the end of that time there was the original platoon of Spanish Hornets and two further platoons of Wasps accepted for continued training, but already good enough to hold their own against the same number of French veterans.

  They were now left on their own as MacKay had taken A and B Companies towards Seville to harass the French armies there and to help and support the Spanish guerrilla bands in the southwest.

  Three of their proposed four platoons were ready for service and the word had got out. Volunteers were turning up every day, many coming back from Tio Pepe’s old friend, the guerrilla leader El Empecinado, to whom Tio Pepe had directed his surplus volunteers when all he had needed to do was defend Santiago.

  Although Mercedes and Juanita were pregnant, they were both undoubtedly as competent as the veteran Hornets. When they made it their business, as the wives of the senior officers, to supervise the training and selection of the latest recruits, the hopefuls had better be doing their very best if they wished to make any impression on these knowledgeable women.

  In many ways the valley was a comfortable position to be in. There was no need to relax standards to complete the four platoons. There was an embarrassment of riches. After two months they had enough candidates of quality to make up eight full platoons of probable Wasps.

  The Condesa insisted that all these men should be fully indoctrinated into the methods and traditions of the Hornets. Tio Pepe, Captain Burfoot and Lieutenant Hickson, being in full agreement, did their best to fall in with her wishes.

  Their biggest problem was that Lord Wellington had talked the Admiralty into supporting one Spanish company and not two. Perhaps he might eventually be able to persuade them to accept the additional commitment, but at the moment they were only volunteers. They couldn’t be paid, there were not enough uniforms and more than a hundred horses and breech-loading carbines would have to be found.

  Roberto, the talented, resident blacksmith and his helpers had been working flat out to supply the increased demand from Oporto, but promised that all the volunteers at Santiago would have their basic breech-loaders in the next five weeks.

  More cloth would need to be ordered from England, but from the stocks they had, all the seamstresses in the surrounding villages were set to work sewing uniforms. Half the volunteers would have their tan uniforms within two weeks, the rest would wear what they had until more cloth arrived from Oporto.

  The two greatest shortages were the two most difficult to acquire; horses and boots. Traditionally, the Hornets had always taken most of their mounts from the French. So rapid had been their expansion that they needed at least a hundred more at Santiago and they were quite unable to steal many locally. All the French along the Tagus to their south, had left to join Masséna in Portugal and the roads north of the mountains bore only regular and well guarded convoys from Madrid to Salamanca. The irregular volunteers would be on foot for the foreseeable future.

  From the very beginning, Welbeloved had insisted that the Hornets should be well sho
d. Strong ankle boots were an essential part of the uniform and never a charge against pay as in most of the infantry regiments.

  Traditionally, Spain was famous for its leather-work and even the French had to pay the cobblers for their efforts if they hoped to keep up to half a million men suitably shod. The Condesa had to make clandestine arrangements with boot makers for fifty miles around to get what was needed. Delivery would be up to three months.

  By the end of November, they had a new company with four complete platoons. It was fully equipped with weapons, uniforms and horses. They had a reserve company still in training, with thirty breechloaders, fifty uniforms, thirty pairs of boots and a dozen horses between a hundred and twenty men.

  Another hundred and fifty men, who had not been selected, were retained as members of Tio Pepe’s guerrilla band. They were armed with captured French muskets and would eventually have the same uniform and equipment as the Wasps. Their role was as guards for the roads into the valley; armed wagon drivers and general support for the small Spanish battalion that would be ready to go into battle in the new year.

  Very likely, some of them would see action before then. There was certainly a problem, but the cause of the problem was something of a mystery. The monthly convoy had arrived from Oporto. Their route varied, depending on how well the French were controlling the regions through which it travelled.

  It had become easier since Masséna had invaded Portugal. The valley of the Tagus that ran south of the Gredos Mountains had sheltered an entire army corps and was presently almost empty of French troops. MacKay and his men had gone south, leaving few regular troops of either side along the whole length of the river from Talavera to the Portuguese frontier, a hundred and fifty miles away.

  Towns and villages in this area should be breathing a sigh of relief and getting on with the business of feeding themselves without having to hide food and livestock from the demands of the occupying forces.