Fire and Sword (73 page)
Authors: Simon Scarrow
Now they were picking their way over the bodies of dead and wounded, British and French alike. A short distance ahead the British skirmishers had halted and gone to ground as they came up against the main French line. The British battalions halted to load their weapons and then continued forward until they were within effective musket range of the enemy, no more than fifty paces away. Then, as the French loosed their first volley and dozens of redcoats went down, the rest calmly halted, raised their muskets, thumbed back the firing hammers and waited for the order.
‘Fire!’
Hundreds of muskets spat flame and smoke in a thunderous roar and then the sergeants bellowed the order to reload.The French fired again and Arthur heard balls zip through the air close by as he strained to gauge the progress of the fight through the eddying smoke. With a pounding of hooves Somerset came riding up, and reined his horse in sharply.
‘How go things with the Twenty-Ninth?’ asked Arthur.
‘They’ve had it, sir. I wasn’t in time to save them.’
‘Had it? What, all of them?’
‘Lake’s dead. So are over two hundred and fifty of his men. The rest are wounded or routed.’
Arthur stared at his aide and muttered, ‘Good God.’
One officer’s vain moment of madness had cost the army half a battalion. Arthur was stunned. Then a fresh volley burst out from the British line and he collected his thoughts and stared towards the French positions.The enemy fire was already slackening, and as a breath of wind wafted down the valley the smoke cleared enough for Arthur to see that Delaborde’s men were falling back again, making for the pass behind them. Now that the main battle line of the British army had reached the crest there was no choice for Delaborde but retreat to try to save as much of his force as possible.
‘Keep the advance going!’ Arthur called out to each side. ‘Pass the word! Advance!’
All along the hill the line of redcoats pressed forward, straight into the volleys of French musket fire and the blasts from their six cannon. As Arthur followed the battle he saw that the French officers were handling their men well. The enemy companies kept their cohesion as they fired, fell back, and fired again, steadily giving ground as they came up on their own guns. Then the French gunners were ordered to withdraw, and started to limber their guns.
Arthur saw the chance at once. Now that the demoralising influence of French grapeshot was removed, it was time for the British infantry to use their bayonets.
‘One last volley!’ he called out. ‘Then charge home, boys!’
The order was communicated to left and right, and after the last British musket had emptied its lead shot at the enemy the sergeants bellowed the order.
‘Fix . . . bayonets!’
There was a distinct rattle along the line as the spiked bayonets were slotted over the muzzles and twisted into the locked position.
‘Advance muskets!’
The front rank lowered their weapons and the triangular steel blades with their sharp points angled towards the French.
‘Advance!’
In a staggered motion the entire line lurched forward, bearing down on the French, still hurriedly reloading their muskets a short distance away. Already a handful of the enemy were falling out of line, backing away from the approaching danger. More joined them as the others fired their last shots at the British.
‘Charge!’
A deep ragged roar sounded from thousands of thirsty throats as the British surged forward. The effect of the bayonet charge was as Arthur had hoped and the French line broke. The enemy turned and ran for their lives, many throwing aside their weapons as they raced towards the mouth of the pass at the rear of their position. The French artillery crews had not completed limbering their guns as their comrades fled, and after a brief glance towards the wild faces of the British charging towards them they abandoned their cannon and followed the others. Only the cavalry, a regiment of dragoons, still remained formed up to one side of the track, and they now drew their carbines and formed a line across the pass to protect the last of the mob surging past them. They fired from the saddle, and though many shots went wide enough struck home to cause the British infantry to draw up. As soon as their weapons had been discharged the dragoons holstered them and unsheathed their swords.
‘Prepare to receive cavalry!’The order passed along the British lines and the men instantly moved to rejoin their formations and close ranks, well aware of the dangers of being caught out in the open by enemy cavalry. Once the British battalions stood ready, in lines three deep, a stillness settled over the battlefield. Two hundred yards away, the dragoons stood equally still, glinting swords resting against their shoulders.
‘Why don’t they charge?’ asked a staff officer close by Arthur.
‘Because they don’t have to,’ Somerset explained nonchalantly. ‘They know we won’t risk charging again and breaking ranks. Not in the face of their cavalry. Equally, they won’t risk attacking formed infantry. So we have something of an impasse. While the rest of their army escapes.’
‘Impasse be damned,’ Arthur growled. ‘Order the line to advance! Close formation . . .’
Once again the redcoats stepped forward, at a measured pace so that the dragoons continued to face an unbroken line of bayonets. As the redcoats closed to within a hundred paces of the enemy a bugle call pierced the hot air, blasting out a series of notes, repeated three times, and then the dragoons sheathed their blades, wheeled round and began to trot away towards the track leading up to the mountain pass through which the rest of the army had escaped.
Arthur gave the order to halt and watched the retreating dragoons in frustration. The enemy had been broken, and had Arthur had a single cavalry brigade to unleash they could have been utterly destroyed in the ensuing pursuit. As it was, Delaborde would soon rally his men and they would be ready to fight the British again in a matter of days.
‘A terrible waste,’ Arthur muttered as he surveyed the thick carpet of bodies surrounding the mouth of the gully. Dusk was gathering over the battlefield and a working party from the Rifles was gathering up the bodies of Lake’s battalion and carrying them to a mass grave that had been dug a short distance away.
‘Indeed, sir.’ Somerset sighed. ‘And to such little effect.’
‘Have they found Lake?’
‘Yes, sir. He was near the bottom of the pile. Must have been killed almost as soon as he emerged from the gully.’
‘Where is he?’
‘I’ve had the body taken to Roliça for burial in a private grave, sir.’
‘Very well.’ Arthur nodded and then asked the question he had been avoiding. ‘And the final butcher’s bill?’
‘Four hundred and fifty confirmed dead so far. Mostly from the Twenty-Ninth. Over seven hundred French accounted for, sir.’
‘Not quite a pyrrhic victory then,’ Arthur mused and then smiled bitterly.‘Here we are, somewhat less than fifteen thousand of us in Iberia against over a hundred thousand Frenchmen. Unless our soldiers can account for theirs at a ratio of one for ten, we have scant prospect of victory as things stand.’
Somerset shrugged. ‘Then it is up to our generals to improve the odds, sir.’
Arthur looked at him and smiled. ‘You are right. I will do my best.’
‘I would expect nothing less, sir.’
Arthur awoke with a start as someone shook his shoulder. A figure with a lantern was standing over his camp bed. Arthur blinked and then squinted past the flare of light to see Somerset in a loose shirt and breeches.
‘What time is it?’ Arthur mumbled.
‘Just past three in the morning, sir.’
‘What’s happened?’ Arthur sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
‘Just had word from the fleet, sir. Reinforcements have arrived. Four thousand men.They will begin landing the day after tomorrow.’
‘Where?’
‘At the mouth of the Maceira river. Near the village of Vimeiro, sir. A day’s march from here.’
Arthur smiled. Somerset must have been roused only shortly before he had come to wake his commander and had already marshalled the important details.
‘Very well. We will move the army towards Vimeiro at first light to cover the landing.’
‘Yes, sir.’
There was something in Somerset’s tone that made Arthur realise there was more news, something altogether less agreeable. He looked up at his aide. ‘Well?’
‘There’s a sloop following a day behind the reinforcements. Sir Harry Burrard is aboard.’
Arthur nodded wearily. So that was it then. It seemed his short tenure of command was about to come to an end. He sighed.
‘Have my steward prepare my best uniform. I will need to report to Sir Harry the moment his ship arrives.’
Chapter 45
The sun was low in the sky and streamed straight into Arthur’s face as he sat in the stern of the small launch. The last of the reinforcements had been landed hours earlier and was marching up to join the rest of the army encamped about Vimeiro. Anchored amidst the transports was the sloop
Brazen
, carrying Lieutenant-General Sir Harry Burrard. As soon as the sloop had arrived Arthur had ridden down to the shore and ordered the crew of the nearest launch to take him out to the
Brazen
.With weary obedience the sailors helped him aboard and then heaved the launch back into the surf, battling to get it some distance before clambering over the sides, unshipping the oars and rowing hard to propel the boat clear of the pounding surf and out to sea. The spray had drenched Arthur’s uniform, but he made the best of a bad job by brushing off any sand and shingle that remained on his boots and the salt that had dried on the gold lace and black facings of his jacket.
Brazen
, carrying Lieutenant-General Sir Harry Burrard. As soon as the sloop had arrived Arthur had ridden down to the shore and ordered the crew of the nearest launch to take him out to the
Brazen
.With weary obedience the sailors helped him aboard and then heaved the launch back into the surf, battling to get it some distance before clambering over the sides, unshipping the oars and rowing hard to propel the boat clear of the pounding surf and out to sea. The spray had drenched Arthur’s uniform, but he made the best of a bad job by brushing off any sand and shingle that remained on his boots and the salt that had dried on the gold lace and black facings of his jacket.
As the launch approached the side of the sloop a naval lieutenant cupped a hand to his mouth and asked if she was bound for the
Brazen
.
Brazen
.
‘Aye, sir!’ the coxswain called out. ‘General Sir Arthur Wellesley comin’ aboard!’
The launch pulled in towards the side of the sloop and the sailors shipped oars as a man in the bows caught the chains with the boathook. Arthur rose from his bench and worked his way awkwardly forward until he reached the boarding ladder.Two sailors stood by ready to help him up, but Arthur judged his moment and stepped on to the ladder as the launch rose on top of a small wave. He was greeted on deck by the lieutenant.
‘The name’s Swinton, sir. Welcome aboard the
Brazen
.’
Brazen
.’
‘Good evening to you, Swinton.Would you be kind enough to take me to General Burrard?’
‘Indeed, if you’d follow me, sir.The general has been given my cabin.’
Swinton led him down a narrow gangway and knocked at the small door at the end.
‘Come!’
Opening the door, the lieutenant ducked inside and briefly announced Arthur before he stepped aside. Arthur ducked through the door frame and stood with his neck bent forward under the low deck overhead.The cabin stretched the full width of the sloop, and was perhaps ten foot in depth, barely enough to accommodate the desk and chairs that seemed to take up most of the available space.The stern windows were hooked open to admit a cooling breeze that stirred the grey locks of the officer seated behind the desk. Sir Harry Burrard had taken part in the Danish expedition and smiled a greeting at Arthur as he dismissed the lieutenant with a curt wave of the hand.
‘Wellesley! Good to see you again! Sit you down.’
Arthur did so, relieved to be able to straighten his neck. ‘It is a pleasure to serve with you again, sir.’
Sir Harry shot him a knowing glance. ‘Though not such a pleasure to be superseded by a superior officer, eh?’
Arthur did not reply and Sir Harry continued in an apologetic tone, ‘That’s the nature of the service, I’m afraid, Wellesley. Still, live long enough and you’ll rise to the top of the pile in good time.’
‘Yes, sir. Are you to take command of the army at once?’
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