Authors: Simon Scarrow
Fire and Sword (92 page)
Colonel Waters could not help flinching as the first of the enemy’s cannonballs struck the bell tower, causing a shower of masonry and dust to cascade down into the courtyard. Looking up the track, beyond over a thousand Frenchmen who were gathering to attack the convent, he could clearly make out the battery of light guns that had begun to fire on his position. Bright flashes and puffs of smoke followed by sharp cracks announced the arrival of more shot, and Waters saw a section of the convent’s wall explode into fragments, cutting down one of the redcoats sheltering behind it. The wall had been designed to keep prying eyes out, not to withstand the damage that could be inflicted by modern artillery. Unless something was done, the French guns would soon batter the walls down enough to provide a breach through which the waiting infantry could assault the convent. As Waters stared up at the French battery, he could see that they were sheltered from the British guns across the river by a rocky outcrop. It seemed that the French gunners would be able to continue their bombardment in safety.
With a sick feeling of inevitability in his stomach he climbed down from the tower and hurried across the courtyard to join the men defending the wall.
‘Keep your heads down, lads, or the frogs will blow them off !’
Some of the men chuckled nervously. Others, who had never faced enemy fire before, hunched down with terrified expressions and waited for the end.
There was a jarring crash close by and another section of the wall collapsed in a cloud of dust. Mercifully, none of the defenders were injured, but as the dust settled it revealed a large gap just three feet from the ground.The rubble either side of the wall provided an easy ramp up into the breach. With a sudden deep roll of drums and a rising cheer that echoed back from the towering cliffs, the French surged towards the wall.
‘Here they come, boys!’ Waters yelled. ‘Don’t let them get inside or we’re done for! Fire at will!’
Flame darted from the muzzles of the muskets along the wall, sending Frenchmen sprawling on to the stony ground, but the charge came on in a wave of blue uniforms and glinting bayonets. Waters jumped back into the courtyard as he saw a fresh wave of British troops enter the side gate.
‘Over here, lads!’ he called to them, waving desperately towards the breach. ‘At the double, damn you!’
The men came running. Outside, the Frenchmen rushed on, boots scrabbling over the ruined masonry as they surged into the breach. Waters wrenched his sword out and turned to meet them, as the first of the new arrivals reached his side. Along the wall, the other men were firing and loading their muskets as fast as possible as they cut down the attackers. The enemy fire was just as deadly and all around men were dropping back from the wall, dead and wounded.
With a ragged cheer the first of the Frenchmen charged through the breach, straight on to the bayonets of the waiting redcoats. The man next to Waters gritted his teeth as he thrust his bayonet into the stomach of the leading Frenchman, the impact bending him double. Waters scrambled up the rubble and hacked at the face of another man, his savage blow only just blocked in time as the desperate enemy threw his musket up, taking Waters’s blade on the stock, which splintered with a loud crack. Cursing, the Frenchman kicked Waters in the chest, sending him reeling back. Then, grasping the barrel of the musket like a short spear, the Frenchman tried to stab him. A musket crashed out close beside the British officer and his attacker spun round and fell on to the rubble. Waters did not have time to even nod his thanks as he rushed forward again to join the red-coated bodies struggling to hold the breach. On either side musket fire rippled up and down the convent walls.Then a voice cried out, ‘They’re running for it!’
Someone cheered and the cry was taken up.
The fight in the breach lasted a moment longer, and then the last of the Frenchmen turned and backed off a few paces behind his bloodied bayonet. Then he too turned and fled, joining the bluecoats as they retreated to cover. Waters joined in the cheers of the other men, until he recalled the enemy guns. Glancing up towards them, he saw that they were making ready to fire again, the moment their fleeing comrades had cleared the line of fire.
‘How much longer is this going to take, Harris?’ Arthur struggled to keep his voice calm.The first few rounds had either fallen short or gone too far and struck the cliff beyond the enemy battery before exploding.
The artillery major had just finished his latest adjustment to the howitzer’s trajectory angle and nodded to the loader standing by with the next shell. As it was heaved into the stubby barrel, Harris turned towards his general.
‘I think we have the range now, sir. It is usual to have to fire bracketing shots first in order to determine the range,’ he explained patiently. ‘But now we have the right charge, and the right angle, and the fuse length is good.’
‘Kindly spare me the lecture.’
‘Sorry, sir.’ Harris turned back to the howitzer and ordered the crew to open fire.
With a deep thumping explosion the howitzer launched its shell. The muzzle velocity of the weapon was lower than that of a standard artillery piece and Arthur could see the faint dark smudge that marked the passage of the shell as it arced across the river towards the enemy battery sheltering behind the rocks. There was a sudden puff of smoke in the air just above the enemy guns and Arthur saw an entire gun crew topple to the ground, directly beneath the point where the shell had burst and scattered its lethal fragments of iron.
‘Right on target!’ Harris cried out. ‘Range is good. Fire at will.’
Two of the next four rounds killed more of the men working the French guns, and then, as Arthur watched, their officer began to shout and gesticulate and the survivors hurriedly began to limber their guns and withdraw back up the track, though not before one shell struck down two horses in their traces, causing the whole team to veer sharply to one side so that horses, riders, limber and gun toppled over the edge of the track and tumbled down the slope in a shower of small rocks and dust before splashing into the river.
Arthur saw that the men in the convent were now out of danger, and the barges were safely and steadily feeding fresh troops into the fight. By contrast the French battalions joining the melee at the foot of the cliff were forced to undergo a steady hail of grapeshot fired at them from across the river before they even faced the muskets of the men of the Third Foot. It was no wonder that their attacks on the convent were half-hearted, Arthur reflected.
A fresh column of French troops had left the city and were making for the track to reinforce the assault on the convent. Three battalions of them, Arthur calculated. He turned to take a quick glance at the rest of Oporto and noticed that a small crowd of people had emerged on to the quays to the left of the remains of the demolished bridge. He examined them through his telescope and saw that they were civilians. More and more of them appeared, rushing out from side streets and racing towards the boats that Soult had ordered to be moved to the north bank. There was no sign of any French soldiers along the quay and Arthur guessed at once that Soult had been forced to strip men from that part of the city to send them against Waters and the men in the convent. The Portuguese swarmed aboard the boats and the first of them began to row across towards the south bank.
‘Poor devils,’ Harris muttered as he stood beside Arthur. ‘Taking their chance to escape from the French, I imagine.’
‘Escape be damned,’ Arthur replied. ‘They’re coming to help us get across.’
He was back in his saddle in an instant and spurring his horse back to headquarters. As soon as he arrived he had orders sent to the nearest units to get down to the river as swiftly as possible and use the flotilla of small craft to get across to the far bank.When the orders were given Arthur rode down to the shore and watched in delight as the Portuguese hauled the waiting redcoats into their boats and desperately rowed them across to the north bank before returning for the next load. Soon the broad expanse of the Douro was dotted with craft of all sizes criss-crossing its glassy surface. A handful of French guns downriver of the city fired at long range, sending up spouts of water, but none of their shots struck home, and only one overloaded craft foundered as it was swamped by a wave from a near miss.Those on board panicked and the craft capsized, spilling them into the river.There were several soldiers on board, and only two of them managed to cling on to the upturned hulk with the Portuguese who had been at the oars. The others, weighed down by their kit, sank without trace.
Once the first two battalions had crossed the river and had begun to climb the streets leading from the quay into the heart of the city, Arthur handed his horse over to a soldier. Beckoning to Somerset, he climbed into a small launch and gestured towards the north bank. There were two civilians at the oars, and they nodded eagerly, bending at once to their work and stroking across the Douro as swiftly as they could. Somerset ducked as a round shot whirred close by and slapped into the water fifty feet upriver.
‘Close,’ he muttered.
Arthur’s heart was pounding in his chest but he forced himself to keep his expression calm as he arched an eyebrow. ‘But not too close, eh?’
Somerset stared at his general a moment before glancing away and shaking his head.
As soon as the boat thumped up against the base of the quay, Arthur stepped out on to the stone steps and ran to the top. On either side, redcoats were forming up in companies and being led up the streets into Oporto. Arthur and Somerset joined a company of men from the Twenty-Ninth Foot and the small force marched up a wide street, fronted by the counters of fish merchants and chandlers. The windows of the buildings on either side of the street were filled with women fluttering their handkerchiefs and crying out in shrill delight as they caught sight of their liberators.
‘
Viva Ingleses! . . .Viva Ingleses!
’
Viva Ingleses! . . .Viva Ingleses!
’
Somerset waved back with a broad smile, but Arthur kept his gaze fixed ahead, watching for the first sign of the enemy. But they only encountered more and more of the excited inhabitants as they penetrated further into the city. When they reached the great plaza in front of the cathedral Arthur encountered a colonel of one of the first battalions to cross the river with the Portuguese. His men had occupied the square and were guarding the streets that led into it. In the centre, around a fountain, sat several hundred French prisoners.
‘Hughes! Your report, if you please.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ve got patrols searching the streets, but most of the frogs have gone. They’ve left their sick and injured behind, as well as wagons and supplies. Any Frenchmen we’ve encountered have just fired a shot and fled, or laid down their muskets and surrendered.’
‘Very well.’ Arthur nodded happily. ‘Then I want you to take four of your companies to the east of the city. There’s a track leading down to a convent held by our men. It’s under attack by a French column. Have your men block the track and call on the French to surrender.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘One last thing. Have you found Soult’s headquarters yet?’
‘Yes, sir, over there.’ Hughes turned and pointed to a large building with an ornate facade that stood on one side of the square.‘Seems to be the seat of the local government.’
‘Thank you.’ Arthur and Somerset made towards it, accompanied by the men who had escorted them up from the quay. They entered the building cautiously, but there was every sign that it had been abandoned in a hurry. Bundles of bedding lay strewn across the entrance hall. Paintings that had been stripped from the walls were propped in the corner, Soult’s staff presumably not having time to load them into wagons before leaving. From a balcony on the second floor Arthur had a clear view over the roofs of the city towards the north and east. Beyond the walls he could see the dense column of Soult’s retreating column beneath a pall of dust. There was little sign of an organised rearguard, just a long tail of stragglers and overloaded wagons. For the moment the French were safe. There was no chance of mounting a pursuit until the next day, when the rest of the allied army would have crossed the river. Unlike Vimeiro, there would be no letting the enemy escape,Arthur resolved.This time he would harry the French all the way to the frontier with Spain.
Chapter 57
Throughout the night the people of Oporto celebrated their liberation and pressed food and drink on any redcoats they encountered in the streets. Arthur had paused only long enough to enjoy the meal that was still set for Marshal Soult on the table at the headquarters he had abandoned.Then he had returned to the quay to supervise the crossing of the rest of his army. All through the night, boats continued to ferry the rest of the infantry, the artillery and supplies over to the north bank. The cavalry had been sent upriver to find a crossing and do what they could to harry the enemy before rejoining the main body of the army in the morning.
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