The Fields of Death r-4, page 6
part #4 of Revolution Series
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Oh, and tell him that all Spain will rejoice in today’s victory and that the name of Cuesta will be remembered for ever in the hearts of his people.’
Somerset was silent for a moment. ‘Isn’t that a bit vainglorious, sir?’
‘Of course, but if it helps to spur the old man into action then it’s worth it.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll send the message at once.’
‘Thank you, Somerset.’
When his aide had left him Arthur again surveyed the lines of his men, and once more he recalled the ground he had seen late in the afternoon, when he had ridden forward in a plain brown coat and broad-brimmed hat to inspect the lie of the land. Leaving his small escort out of sight in a small grove of olive trees he had approached the bank of the river and casually trotted along its length to the junction with the Tagus. The French sentries on the far side had watched him, but paid no great attention to the lone horseman. Once he had identified the location of some of the fords, as well as the best routes to approach them without being detected, Arthur returned to the army and drew up his plan of attack.
Now, in the cool night air, all was calm and still. It was hard to believe that nearly twenty thousand men were poised to fight. At the moment they would be sitting in their companies, with their unloaded muskets at their sides. There was no talking as the order had been given for them to wait in complete silence so as not to alert the enemy as to their presence. The corporals and sergeants paced quietly up and down the lines ready to pounce on any man who uttered a word. Elsewhere the cavalry would be standing by their mounts, and aside from the odd scuffle of hooves and faint whinny, they too waited in quiet anticipation. The gunners, still hot and sweaty from their effort to wheel the guns into place as noiselessly as they could manage, stacked their ammunition a short distance from their cannon and carefully loaded the first round. Most men found the waiting intolerable, as every faint sound and movement of a shadow seemed threatening, and wore away at their nerves. Only a handful of fatalistic veterans, and a small number of men who had managed to suppress their nerves through surreptitious consumption of spirits, waited calmly.
Half an hour had passed when Arthur next checked his watch. With a click of his tongue he turned his horse to his right flank and made his way down the line, pausing every so often to exchange a quiet greeting with one of his officers and offer them a few words of encouragement. There was still no sign of the orderly who had been sent to find General Cuesta by the time Arthur reached the end of his battle line. He stopped his horse and strained his eyes to try to detect any sign of movement from the direction of Salcidas, but there was not enough light to make out anything more than the vaguest detail.
‘Damn, where is he?’ Arthur muttered. ‘Has the fool lost his way, I wonder?’
‘I doubt that, sir,’ Somerset replied. ‘I chose a good man to deliver the message. Cornet Davidson was confident he knew the ground well enough.’ He paused a moment. ‘It’s possible that General Cuesta may not have reached his position.’
Arthur turned to his aide. ‘By God, I hope you’re wrong. General Cuesta would have to be a consummate fool to let such an opportunity come to naught.’
He was about to continue when both men heard a distant clop of hooves and they turned to stare into the night. A figure on horseback emerged from the shadows.
‘Ours?’ Somerset whispered.
‘Only one way to tell,’ Arthur replied. He cleared his throat and called out, ‘Halt. Who goes there?’
The other rider reined in and hurriedly responded. ‘Cornet Davidson, of the Light Dragoons.’
‘Davidson, come here, man!’ Arthur called back.
The cornet spurred his horse forward and a moment later he reined in before his commander and saluted.
‘Did you find Cuesta?’
‘No, sir. I looked for him at Salcidas, but there was no one there, not even one of his advance patrols. So I tracked across the route he should be taking for a mile, perhaps two, and still saw no sign of him, sir. That’s when I decided I had better report back to you.’
Arthur’s jaw tightened with frustration. Where the hell was the Spanish army? By this time they should have completed deploying for their attack. He lowered his head for a moment and thought. Even if Cuesta was still moving up towards Salcidas he could not possibly be ready for at least another three hours. That would mean delaying the attack until four in the morning. It would still be dark then, and there was still a chance of surprising Marshal Victor’s men in their camp. Arthur looked up.
‘Davidson, I want you to go back and try to find Cuesta. Tell him that I have decided to delay the attack until four. He is still to give the signal we agreed on. Make sure that he understands the urgency with which he must act if we are to succeed.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Davidson nodded.
‘Off you go then.’
Davidson turned his mount and spurred it into a trot as he headed off in search of the Spanish army.
Somerset let out a weary sigh.‘Our Spanish friends are proving to be somewhat unreliable, sir.’
‘Indeed.’ Arthur was furious, and it took some effort to keep his tone neutral as he continued. ‘There are times when one might think that they actually pose more of a danger to us than the French do. Anyway, we are where we are, Somerset. We must return to the army and pass the word for the men to stand down for a few hours. I need them alert and fresh for when the fighting starts.’
They made their way back to the flank of the British army, and were challenged by the pickets before passing on and returning to the command post behind the centre of the British line. As they arrived an officer hurried up to Arthur and saluted.
‘Sir, we have visitors. General O’Donoju and some of his staff are waiting for you, down by the headquarters tent.’
Arthur turned to look down the hillock into the small depression where a handful of lamps glimmered, hidden from French view.‘Did he explain why he is here?’
‘No, sir. I asked, but he said his message was for you, and not your underlings.’
‘He said that?’ Arthur shook his head. ‘Come, Somerset.’
They continued down the slope to the tent and dismounted alongside the Spanish horses being held by some of Arthur’s orderlies. O’Donoju was waiting inside, with four of his officers. He rose to his feet when he saw Arthur and bowed his head.
‘It is a pleasure to see you again, General Wellesley.’
‘Where is Cuesta?’ Arthur cut in. ‘He should have been at Salcidas hours ago.’
O’Donoju frowned at the informal use of his superior’s name. ‘His excellency has sent me to inform you that he has been delayed.’
‘Delayed? Why?’
The Spaniard shrugged. ‘The men were slow to break camp. The night is dark, and they do not march as fast as they do during the day.’
‘Then why did your general not take account of that, and start out earlier?’
‘I do not presume to know the mind of my commander, sir.’
Arthur puffed his cheeks irritably. ‘Where is he now?’
‘Perhaps three miles east of Salcidas. His excellency says that he will be in position to attack at six in the morning.’
‘Dawn will have broken by then. The French will be aware of our presence. We will have lost any element of surprise.’
‘Perhaps, sir,’ O’Donoju countered. ‘Even so, we can still proceed with the attack. After all, the odds are vastly in our favour.’
Arthur thought a moment. The Spaniard was right. Provided Victor did not react swiftly and break camp before the attack began, he would be obliged to stand and fight.
‘Very well then. General Cuesta must begin his attack at six. No later. Is that clear?’
O’Donoju stared back defiantly. ‘If that is the wish of his excellency, then yes. Now, I bid you farewell, sir. My officers and I must return to our army.’
‘Yes, you must, as swiftly as you can. There must be no further delay.’
The rest of the night passed slowly, and as the sun fringed the eastern horizon in a pale orange glow Arthur gave the order for his army to stand to. All along the line, the men wearily rose to their feet, stretching their muscles before forming ranks. As the light strengthened the French sentries on the other side saw the massed ranks of the British army and at once a warning shot was fired to alert the main camp.
‘There goes our surprise,’ Somerset said bitterly.
‘That can’t be helped,’ Arthur responded. ‘We just have to hope that Cuesta begins the attack before Victor can break camp.’
‘Sir, what is to stop us beginning the attack ourselves?’
Arthur turned to his aide. ‘My dear Somerset, if we attack across a river against defensive positions without support then we will suffer grievously. So much so that I doubt we could continue offensive operations in Spain. I would be obliged to fall back, and if we were pursued then I dare say we would be forced to repeat General Moore’s retreat to Corunna. England can endure only so many such defeats before being forced to kneel to Bonaparte.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘We must wait for Cuesta.’
Now even the minutes seemed to drag by, and as the first brilliant rays of the sun broke across the eastern horizon the first French battalions hurriedly marched forward to cover the fords, together with several guns. The opportunity to attack was fast slipping away and Arthur forced himself to remain still in his saddle, ears straining for the first sound of cannon fire that would announce Cuesta’s attack. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Somerset discreetly draw out his pocket watch, glance at it with a raised eyebrow, and then slip it back into his waistcoat.
‘You might as well tell me the time,’ Arthur muttered.
‘Ten minutes gone six, sir.’
Both men were still for a moment, then Arthur took up his reins and slowly turned his horse. ‘The army is not to move until I return. If the enemy opens fire, then have our fellows fall back to cover and leave our guns to their work. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir. Might I ask where you are going?’
‘To find Cuesta. It is time to speak plainly to his excellency.’
General Cuesta was taking his breakfast in a large open carriage when Arthur rode up to him near Salcidas. The leading units of the Spanish army had downed their packs and some were already busy foraging across the surrounding countryside for the day’s meal. The following columns were still strung out along the road, cloaked in the dust kicked up ahead of them. Arthur regarded the scene in a cold rage for a moment before he approached Cuesta. The Spanish commander regarded him warily. He bowed his head briefly in greeting and called for O’Donoju to attend him.
Arthur touched his hand to the brim of his hat. ‘Good day, sir. Or at least it would have been, had the battle begun. It was my understanding that we should attack at two in the morning. Where were you, sir?’
Cuesta shrugged and then made a curt comment to his translator.
‘His excellency says that you asked the impossible of our soldiers. The distance was too great to march in the darkness. Your plan was flawed.’
‘Nevertheless, my army has been in position since midnight. After having marched through the night to take up its appointed position. If my men could do it, then why not yours? It was not the fault of the plan.’
General Cuesta lurched forward as Arthur’s comments were passed on to him. He stabbed a fleshy finger towards Arthur and launched into a bitter tirade which O’Donoju struggled to keep up with.
‘His excellency says that he tires of the demands you make of him and his army . . . Who do you think you are to order him to provide you with food? To tell him where and when to wage his battles? The English are every bit as arrogant as he had heard. He will not endure this any longer.’
‘Enough!’ Arthur raised a hand. He drew himself up to his full height on his saddle and tilted his head slightly to look down his nose at Cuesta before he continued. ‘I’d be obliged if you tell General Cuesta that I have never heard of a situation where an ally has been so ill-treated. You gave me your word that my army would receive supplies and yet my men are forced to march on half-rations thanks to your broken promises. And now you have failed to grasp the chance to strike a humiliating blow at the enemy. Hear me clearly, O’Donoju. As soon as Marshal Victor realises that he is outnumbered he will fall back. I tell you now that I will not lead my men one step further towards Madrid until you hold good to your word, and give me the supplies I was promised. Moreover, I am not prepared to extend any further military co-operation until General Cuesta concedes overall command to me.’
Cuesta’s mouth sagged open as O’Donoju translated. Then his thick eyebrows knitted together and his expression tightened into a scowl. When the last of Arthur’s remarks had been heard he made his reply in an umistakably furious tone.
‘His excellency says that you and your soldiers can stay here and rot for all he cares. Why should he feed you? You are parasites. The Army of Extremadura does not need you. We can defeat the French on our own. While you sit here, his excellency will pursue Marshal Victor alone. The glory will be his and you will be left to wallow in your mire of shame.’
Once the Spaniard had finished Arthur nodded. ‘It seems I am done here. I will return to my army and await your general’s apology at my headquarters.’
Arthur clicked his tongue, and turned his horse round before spurring it into a trot, anxious to quit the presence of General Cuesta. It would be rash in the extreme for Cuesta to act without support. Only a fool would contemplate such a course of action,Arthur mused bitterly. He had said his piece. Hopefully there were enough wise heads amongst the general’s staff officers to persuade him against the folly of advancing alone. If not, then disaster threatened and Arthur feared that he would not be able to do anything to prevent it.
Chapter 6
Talavera, 27 July 1809
Arthur watched as the long column of Spanish troops trudged into the town. Many were wounded and blood seeped through their hastily applied dressings and bandages. Hundreds of them carried no weapons, having thrown them aside as they fled back down the road from the direction of Madrid. There was little sense of order as men from different battalions blended into one long stream of rabble fleeing from the pursuing French army. A handful of guns had been saved and moved steadily along the column as a squadron of blue-jacketed hussars cleared the way ahead of them. Only a handful of senior officers were in evidence, marching with their men. The rest had accompanied General Cuesta as his mule-drawn carriage had led the retreat back to the banks of the Alberche where he had decided to rally his men and make a stand.
‘Not a pretty sight, is it?’
Somerset shook his head. ‘A beaten army never is, sir. All the more unfortunate that this was avoidable in the first place.’
‘That it was,’ Arthur replied with feeling.
Having failed to make a co-ordinated attack on Marshal Victor six days earlier, General Cuesta had waited three days before continuing the advance alone to try to run down the French. The result was predictable, Arthur mused. The garrison of Madrid had advanced to join forces with Victor and the French had turned on Cuesta and broken his army, sending it reeling back in confusion. The crisis had almost turned into a complete disaster when the Spanish commander had ordered his men to turn and fight with a river at their back. On hearing this Arthur had galloped forward from the British camp outside Talavera to persuade Cuesta to fall back to a less dangerous position. The old general, still bitter over their previous confrontation, had at first refused to listen. Fearing that Cuesta’s obstinacy would allow the French to destroy each army in turn, Arthur had swallowed his pride and begged Cuesta to reconsider.
Cuesta had sneered as he had made his reply via O’Donoju.
‘On your knees, Sir Arthur.’
Arthur could not hide his astonishment. ‘What?’
‘His excellency wants you to beg on your knees. You have humiliated him enough by refusing to accept his command. Now he wants to see you humiliated.’
At first Arthur was too surprised to react. Surely the man must be mad. With his army facing certain defeat if it stayed where it was, and a powerful French army only hours away, Cuesta was wasting time settling such a petty score. For the first time Arthur fully appreciated the depths of the man’s vanity, selfishness and arrogance. If Arthur refused to do as the Spaniard demanded then thousands of his men would die unnecessarily, and the British army would be left hopelessly exposed in the heart of Spain with almost no supplies left to sustain the men as they were pursued back into Portugal. He swallowed his distaste for the Spanish general. What did it matter if he suffered a moment of humiliation if it saved the men of two armies?
He swallowed bitterly and eased himself down on one knee as he stared straight into Cuesta’s mocking eyes and spoke steadily. ‘Tell his excellency that I beg him to fall back to defend Talavera with my army.’
The memory of that moment burned in Arthur’s soul. It was only partly shame; the rest was anger and disgust at his ally. But at least his humiliation had bought time for the men of the Spanish and British armies as they prepared to turn and make a stand against the French.
Arthur had chosen the ground carefully. Between the Tagus and the steep hills of the Sierra de Segurilla stretched an undulating plain. Closer to the hills there were two large ridges that created a narrow valley on the far side before rising up again into hills. A small stream, called the Portina, running from the hills cut across the plain to the Tagus and formed a natural line for the combined army. With the flanks secured by the Tagus and the hills all that the allies had to do was hold their line.
Mindful of the rough handling the Spanish had recently endured Arthur had left the right of the line to Cuesta. Here the Spanish would be protected by a line of ditches and walls stretching out from the town. More fortifications in the form of barricades of felled trees had been constructed by British troops. The defences were formidable enough to deter the enemy and therefore could be safely entrusted to Cuesta’s badly shaken troops. That left the more exposed part of the line to the British.
