I Think I Really Do Have an Ulcer Read online

  The Vespãos had bagged an entire squadron of hussars for no losses at all. All except for the advance guard troop that had returned at the sound of the rifles and galloped off smartly towards the main road when encouraged by a few rifles at a quarter of a mile.

  The prize catch was a lieutenant colonel, acting commanding officer of the regiment, who was riding with his second squadron to observe some new young officers. Not a very promising start to their army careers!

  Haste was now vital. It had to be assumed that the chasseur squadron would have heard the firing and would be advancing at their best, but still cautious speed to investigate.

  All the hussars were disarmed and sent down into the stream bed until every horse, wagon and weapon had been cleared away. The casualties had to be dealt with. There were about thirty dead and seriously wounded.

  Gonçalves guessed that he would have no more than fifteen minutes before the scouts were in sight. It would be touch and go, but da Silva’s company was deployed across the valley entrance while the last of the obstructions was removed and all the prisoners taken out of sight.

  Da Silva chose his position with care. It was a good, flat area within the entrance to the valley, but before it narrowed too much. He was able to place two dismounted platoons, standing in pairs in a rough, double line over fifty yards, with his other two mounted platoons behind them in two blocks. The horsemen were sitting at ease in their saddles, trying to give the impression of only the mildest interest in what the enemy might be doing.

  The dismounted men were standing upright in full view of any enemy horsemen that might approach. This might seem a departure from normal Hornet practice, but there were times ahead when they may be grateful that the French should be aware of the deadly menace of the dirt-coloured uniforms and treat them with exaggerated respect. If the chasseurs were not already aware of this, the next half-hour would hopefully impress it on the survivors.

  It had already worked well with the mounted Hornets in Portugal. Several French cavalry units there had learned their lessons thoroughly and had often refused to attack a force of Hornets, even at times when it looked as though they had them at a disadvantage.

  On a larger scale, the same lesson was beginning to work with Lord Wellington’s army. The French always liked to attack and Wellington; almost always with smaller numbers; had been obliged to find good defensive positions. The enemy had always suffered badly and was beginning to understand that any position defended by a British army was best left alone.

  The chasseurs that should be in sight any minute were presumably part of Marmont’s Army of Portugal and ought to know about the Hornets, though few of them would actually have seen them, except on horseback. A Hornet on foot was normally invisible to them. Now, they could hardly be more obvious, flaunting themselves so to speak, in front of two platoons of their mounted comrades.

  The scouting troop that saw them first was obviously puzzled. They may have heard of the Hornets, but not in the form of scruffy-seeming armed men, without even bayonets bristling in defiance. Could it be that the lesson was beginning to be absorbed?

  Probably not yet! In their experience, infantry in line, even with bayonets fixed, was a victory waiting to be grasped; a line of men to be brushed aside in a charge at the rabble of horsemen behind them who were not even bothering to glance in their direction.

  The whole troop trotted into view, quarter of a mile away and two officers used their field telescopes to study the position. Nothing happened for a few minutes until a bugle call rang out.

  Da Silva knew the French bugle calls from the beginning to the end of all the stages of the charge. This one was new to him and he waited patiently to see what the outcome would be.

  Perhaps it was only an invitation to the squadron to come and see for themselves, as the whole squadron then arrived and there were four more spy glasses trained on them.

  From the French point of view, what they saw was not usual. If these were trained soldiers in front of them, the situation looked too good to be true, almost criminally suicidal. If it was too good to be true, someone with experience should surely decide that it had to be and become even more wary.

  Not so! The bugle called again and four troops of chasseurs, in line, started to trot. At that moment, da Silva realised that deploying only two platoons of horsemen behind his standing line had been exactly the right thing to do. He had arranged it that way because two platoons on foot fitted snugly across the gap. Now he understood that just one platoon of horsemen sitting there may have resulted in only half the chasseurs committing themselves, with the other half held in reserve.

  Now he started to work on his calculations. Half his command had Roberto’s carbines. They were all mounted. Half had the converted rifles and they were standing in line.

  He blew three short blasts and his horsemen moved into echelon, loading and priming their carbines.

  A bellow at the standing line and half went prone with their firing partners kneeling behind them. Four fingers held up to the platoon commanders and they instructed their men to start firing at four hundred yards.

  According to his reckoning, the French would start cantering then and in another thirty seconds, would be upon them.

  His rifles could each deliver three aimed shots in that time; the first aimed at the full target of horse and rider, the next two only at the rider. Any that survived to within a hundred yards would receive a split volley from the carbines of the horsemen. He didn’t count on the mounted Vespãos being greatly troubled.

  He was right. The bugle sounding the canter was followed by the first split volley and the response to the call by the French, with horses and men falling all around them, was less than wholehearted.

  Da Silva expected thirty hits, but things became too confused to be able to count, with troopers falling and other troopers swerving to avoid fallen beasts.

  The second split volley was ragged, but accounted for half the remaining riders and suddenly, the survivors were galloping back the way they had come, then swerving violently downhill, away from Dodds and A Company, now lined up in five troops, directly in their path.

  At this stage in the proceedings, it is more than likely that Hornets from the British battalion would have ceased firing and let them go. This was the Portuguese battalion though and they had witnessed the aftermath of the atrocities committed by French soldiers from this very army in their own homeland.

  They didn’t chase them, but many of them dismounted and managed at least two shots at the fleeing chasseurs before they were out of range.

  The rest moved quickly to harvest any riderless horses and prevent any unwounded but unhorsed chasseurs from catching them and escaping.

  Welbeloved, now abandoning his role as detached and interested spectator, rejoined them and drew everybody’s attention to several squadrons of enemy cavalry leaving the road and heading uphill towards them. When they met the pitifully few survivors of the chasseurs and the single advance troop of the hussars, they would be looking angrily for revenge.

  There were probably enough Vespãos to make them wish that they had minded their own business, but Welbeloved was now of the opinion that he had been sufficiently provocative and that it was time to withdraw with booty, prisoners and invaluable information about the unusually large numbers of the enemy on the prowl.

  The Vespãos withdrew towards Ciudad Rodrigo, passing Colonel MacKay and A Company of the First Battalion. They had had their rest rudely disturbed by the action only a couple of miles away from where they were waiting for nightfall.

  MacKay greeted Welbeloved ruefully. “I ken that ye are nae keeping tae Lord Wellington’s suggestion about being less provocative, Sir Joshua. I was intending tae try and capture an officer or twa tonight wi’out making quite such a todo as Fernando hae managed.”

  Welbeloved grinned. “Yew shall have seen that the Frogs are once more in greater numbers than anyone should have expected. It is they who are acting aggressively and our Po
rtuguese have merely warned them on two counts. Firstly, that we know that they have more men than can be justified and secondly, that if they send small, unsupported squadrons exploring on their flanks, they can expect to be challenged vigorously.

  Shall yew now come back with us or shall yew wait for Percy? He may have decided to detour to the west.”

  “I think I shall wait until morning, in case he needs support. I hae sent tae warn Craufurd that trouble is coming. He can please himself what he does about it. There are sae many Frogs though, that Picton could be in danger. If they find that the 3rd Division is scattered all over the countryside west o’ Rodrigo, they hae enough troops tae make this relief column intae something much more dangerous. If it were Boney here, he’d jump at the chance tae catch them napping.”

  “I shall mention it to the Peer, Hamish. In fact I shall go myself with the officers we’ve taken. Wait until tomorrow morning and then come yorself and bring Tonks with yew, if he comes back this way.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Sergeant Major Dai Evans had found himself a nice plump bird and like a crafty fox with an eye on a farmer’s hen house, he had worked out a way of getting into the barnyard as soon as the sun had gone down for an hour or so and the farmer was fast asleep.

  Once he had left the vicinity of the bridge, he discovered that most of the French units were following the line of least resistance and packing the road that led directly back to the main Salamanca/Rodrigo road twenty five miles away.

  Some of them had indeed moved westward, but with the exception of a few of the advance cavalry squadrons, everyone was avoiding travelling across country and moving quite briskly along any of the roads and tracks leading more or less toward the south and southwest.

  Generally, the troops seemed well marshalled, with no obvious jams or hold-ups. The infantry was marching in regimental strength, interspersed with artillery, small to moderate trains of wagons and occasional regiments of heavy cavalry.

  Once having moved away from the bridge, Evans found that 4 Platoon no longer had to skulk along leading the horses. He was able to judge where the most traffic was concentrated and use the softer hills and valleys as pleasant detours to travel ahead and pick whatever part of the column he wanted to observe more closely.

  Very quickly, he had located an artillery unit that looked promising. It was a foot artillery regiment or part of a regiment with twelve-pounder guns pulled by teams of six horses. There were a dozen of these heavy pieces, with closed caissons for shot, grape or canister and additional wagons among them, presumably for gunpowder charges and whatever extra equipment the gunners might need. Something over a hundred marching gunners were accompanying the lengthy procession.

  He left Sergeant Brown and half a dozen men to continue observing the gunners and to discover the rank of whomever was in command. It would remain a tempting target for tonight, but would become even more so if an officer of lieutenant colonel or above could be abducted.

  Four or five hours later, Evans had checked on three other potential targets, all of which in their way could be profitable. The gunners though, were closer to the van of the twenty-mile column of troops and Brown had confirmed that the officer commanding was at least a colonel or lieutenant colonel.

  It was likely in any case that he would have chosen them, but being close up to the vanguard would prove less hazardous when it came to riding out with any prisoners. The gunners became favourites an hour before dusk, when they diverted from the road into a gentle valley with an even gentler stream running down it and ample trees and bushes for firewood. Admittedly, much of the available fodder had already been harvested by passing cavalry, but there was enough left for the draught animals to seek out to supplement their rations from the wagons.

  The guns were followed into the valley by a regiment of infantry of the line, forcing the gunners to move farther up, but enabling everyone to share in the adequate supply of late summer water.

  The gunners and their charges could not get out until the morning, without trampling over a couple of hundred soldiers, but they probably felt more secure with all those infantry men less than a hundred yards away.

  The arrangement suited Evans as well. It was not a difficult valley to enter from the higher country around it and he had no need to capture any of the guns. As it got dark, he set pickets at intervals about the road and other approaches from the direction of the bridge and told them to listen carefully for and respond to any night calls with the high pitched screech, so typical of the Iberian cousins of the common English barn owl.

  It was midnight when Captain Tonks and the rest of D Company found them. They had been travelling since little after noon, when the flow of traffic from the bridge had fallen to almost nothing. During the last of the daylight, they rode alongside, but a distance away from the road, following the same sort of route that Evans had used.

  The last ten miles had been in the dark, but the night was clear and a half moon was helpful for the last two hours. Nearly all of these ten miles had been covered riding at walking pace straight along the road through the middle of the sleeping army.

  Tonks had not intended to do so but the French army was, by then, camped on both sides of the road, sometimes up to half a mile from it. The choice was between making a wide detour through the hills and risking missing Evans’s lookouts, trampling through numerous French camps or boldly walking the horses along the road right through the middle.

  Coming from the direction of Salamanca, he didn’t imagine that an almost complete company of cavalrymen was likely to be challenged seriously, given that in the dark they could easily be mistaken for a laggardly squadron of chasseurs à cheval.

  The biggest danger might be from an alert provost, but Tonks was prepared to use his bad french, spoken in tones that would indicate a very bad temper from being still on the road at such a ridiculous hour. He would lace it with whatever german words he had picked up from the Hornissen over the last year.

  If he couldn’t make them think that he was one of Napoleon’s Hanoverians, Prussians or Swiss conscripts, then the provost would have to be dealt with more robustly, but quietly.

  As it turned out, the shrieking owls located each other with little difficulty. The sleeping French appeared to disregard the exchanges completely, though September was hardly the season for amorous exchanges between romantically inclined owls.

  “Duw, Sir!” Evans’s teeth flashed in the moonlight. “Certain I am that these birds are mating for life. Serenades like that serve to reassure each other all year long. Calling I have been hearing from them many times these last nights.”

  Tonks was less sure, but much of the tension that had built up during the long, dark, daring ride was seeping away now that they had made a successful rendezvous.

  “I was beginning to think that we should never find you, Sergeant Major. Surely we are almost up with the vanguard? I hope you have found us something worthwhile? At least, there cannot be very far to travel to get clear of all these troops and back to A Company, if they are still waiting.”

  Evans led him up to the ridge overlooking the valley where the gunners and the foot soldiers were camped. “The glow from the embers of the campfires down by there, show where the big guns of the artillery regiment are resting, Sir. Beyond them, a regiment of infantry shall be found, scattered about. No defensive position have they thought necessary to construct.

  Nevertheless, secure it is the gunners feel with the grenadiers and such like in bivouac so close. Only four pickets have we seen and they are more concern showing to stop the draught horses straying.”

  “Was it still daylight when you saw them bivouac, Dai?”

  “Aye, Captain. Particular note I made of where everyone is sleeping. Guns, caissons and wagons in one area are parked. Unnaturally neat and tidy it is. Regulation distance between every gun and caisson has been measured carefully. Quite concerned I was in case Marshal Marmont was due for an inspection. No sign of any nonsense like that though; o
nly a commanding officer playing with his toy soldiers, I hazard.”

  If everything is parked in neat lines, it must surely make it easier to find what we want in the dark. Although I shall be content with a high-ranking prisoner, it doesn’t seem proper to leave them with all that powder if we can make a loud bang before we go, does it Dai?”

  “Uncanny it is, Captain Tonks, Sir, how often we are thinking exactly the same way. Fortunate as well, that our reserve of French powder can benefit by a little topping up, if we shall acquire some of theirs before your show of fireworks.”

  “Never doubt it for a minute, Dai Evans. You have taught me well since we recovered together from our injuries at Talavera. May I count on Four Platoon to collect our prisoner, while I take Cox and Woodward to steal the powder and start the fireworks? Thomas Mott can stand guard with One Platoon in case someone down there can’t sleep and raises the alarm.

  “Aye aye, Sir. Five minutes to black our faces, then I should welcome half an hour before you light any fuses.”

  * * *

  It was ten minutes since the sentries had been changed. Only four of them, acting more as pickets than guards, but with an extra sentry on duty outside the quite luxurious tent of the commanding officer.

  None of them was fully awake and all of them died quietly in that somnolent state. They were all unfortunate in that the Hornets dare not risk the commotion possible by merely stunning them.

  One of the Hornets took the shako from the dead man outside the tent and stood in his place while Evans and Brown slit an opening and moved inside quickly to deal with any servant sleeping in the outer partition.

  It was much darker under the canvas and they were fortunate that a lantern had been left on a table in the outer tent, with the wick turned down so that it was only just visible. It was enough to identify a blanket-wrapped bundle in the corner, an unfortunate servant who never woke at all.

  Dai Evans could speak welsh, english and a great deal of spanish. His french was not good, but he had heard his officers yelling ‘rendezvous’ when they were demanding a surrender. He used this word in a sibilant whisper and also ‘restay deuce’ which he fondly imagined meant ‘keep your mouth shut’.