attack on the village was finally underway. A large French column slowly appeared from underneath the trees on the other side of the valley and started to march down towards the river. We looked for other columns, but there was just one for now. It seemed weak for a main attack, but I wondered if this first column had orders to secure the bridges and the village before the advance of the rest of the army.
We watched as the mass of men came on, with the drummers beating in the centre of the column like the heartbeat of a single creature. A hundred yards down the slope and the drummers gave a double beat and some two thousand men roared out their challenge: “Vive l’empereur.” It was a sound I had now heard many times before, although it still gave me a chill down my spine. Some of the newer men glanced about them to see if this was normal, but the old hands looked unperturbed.
“Don’t worry, lads,” shouted Corporal Benton to some of the recruits. “They don’t make as much noise when they are running away.”
“What do you think will happen, sir?” asked Price-Thomas, walking up to stand near my horse. I noticed that the conversation of the men in the line behind had stilled so that they could overhear the answer.
“Well, there are only two British battalions in the village to defend it and I would estimate six French battalions coming down the hill. So I guess that Beresford will send some battalions down to help defend the village.”
But for a while it looked like I was wrong as our artillery put up a strong defence of the bridges and the British infantry already in the village could easily deal with the few French troops that did manage to get across the water.
“It seems the French do not want to get their feet wet,” said Hervey as we watched the French move about on their side of the river bank. “The river is only waist deep. They could just wade across without using the bridges.”
In hindsight the French troops probably did not want to get themselves killed in what they knew was just a diversionary attack; but eventually they were ordered to cross the river as Soult wanted to draw more British troops away from where his main attack would strike.
Of course the great oaf Beresford swallowed the bait. He ordered our brigade as well as a Portuguese one to advance to the north of the village. For good measure he threw in some Spanish reserve units as well.
Major King rode along our line calling out to his officers, “We are to move forward. Fix bayonets; we will fire a volley and charge at any French who make a stand.”
“Fix bayonets,” called out Sergeant Evans without waiting for any command from me and grey steel seventeen-inch blades were attached to every muzzle in the company.
“Sergeant, we will advance,” I called out, seeing that the company next to mine had just commenced moving, and a solid line of redcoats started to descend slowly down the ridge. There were cheers from the few women still watching, but I was more distracted by the large raindrop that had just landed on my sleeve. I looked up as another drop splashed in my face; the promised downpour was about to start. The men were all loaded, and if rainwater got down the barrels, the powder would get damp and the guns would not fire.
“Sergeant,” I called again. “Secure firelocks.”
The men came to a halt again as they reached into their pouches for the tompion plugs, which they wedged into their gun muzzles to stop rain getting down the barrel. Then they took large patches of leather or oiled canvas, known as ‘cows knees’, and tied these over the locks of their guns so that the rain could not reach the priming or dampen the charge. In the short time it took them to complete these tasks the rain had got heavier and there were now damp patches all over my coat. Glancing along the line, I saw other companies had been forced to stop to take the same precautions. I waited for them to finish securing locks and
We watched as the mass of men came on, with the drummers beating in the centre of the column like the heartbeat of a single creature. A hundred yards down the slope and the drummers gave a double beat and some two thousand men roared out their challenge: “Vive l’empereur.” It was a sound I had now heard many times before, although it still gave me a chill down my spine. Some of the newer men glanced about them to see if this was normal, but the old hands looked unperturbed.
“Don’t worry, lads,” shouted Corporal Benton to some of the recruits. “They don’t make as much noise when they are running away.”
“What do you think will happen, sir?” asked Price-Thomas, walking up to stand near my horse. I noticed that the conversation of the men in the line behind had stilled so that they could overhear the answer.
“Well, there are only two British battalions in the village to defend it and I would estimate six French battalions coming down the hill. So I guess that Beresford will send some battalions down to help defend the village.”
But for a while it looked like I was wrong as our artillery put up a strong defence of the bridges and the British infantry already in the village could easily deal with the few French troops that did manage to get across the water.
“It seems the French do not want to get their feet wet,” said Hervey as we watched the French move about on their side of the river bank. “The river is only waist deep. They could just wade across without using the bridges.”
In hindsight the French troops probably did not want to get themselves killed in what they knew was just a diversionary attack; but eventually they were ordered to cross the river as Soult wanted to draw more British troops away from where his main attack would strike.
Of course the great oaf Beresford swallowed the bait. He ordered our brigade as well as a Portuguese one to advance to the north of the village. For good measure he threw in some Spanish reserve units as well.
Major King rode along our line calling out to his officers, “We are to move forward. Fix bayonets; we will fire a volley and charge at any French who make a stand.”
“Fix bayonets,” called out Sergeant Evans without waiting for any command from me and grey steel seventeen-inch blades were attached to every muzzle in the company.
“Sergeant, we will advance,” I called out, seeing that the company next to mine had just commenced moving, and a solid line of redcoats started to descend slowly down the ridge. There were cheers from the few women still watching, but I was more distracted by the large raindrop that had just landed on my sleeve. I looked up as another drop splashed in my face; the promised downpour was about to start. The men were all loaded, and if rainwater got down the barrels, the powder would get damp and the guns would not fire.
“Sergeant,” I called again. “Secure firelocks.”
The men came to a halt again as they reached into their pouches for the tompion plugs, which they wedged into their gun muzzles to stop rain getting down the barrel. Then they took large patches of leather or oiled canvas, known as ‘cows knees’, and tied these over the locks of their guns so that the rain could not reach the priming or dampen the charge. In the short time it took them to complete these tasks the rain had got heavier and there were now damp patches all over my coat. Glancing along the line, I saw other companies had been forced to stop to take the same precautions. I waited for them to finish securing locks and
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