Author – Dale Small (British)
2nd Lieutenant Rhys Owain started over at the disheveled figure in the corner of the barn. It was still early in the morning and he could see the first changes in light through the cracks in the shoddy walls. The cold seemed to seep into the very core of his bones and he feared he would never know warmth again.
He’d been awake for a few hours now. It was too cold to sleep and he knew what was coming. His, newly appointed, commander didn’t seem to have that same problem. Owain didn’t blame him either. It had been a hard few days. The Loss of Captain Turnier weighed heavily on all the men’s shoulders but it had been hardest on the crumpled mess of uniform breathing heavily in the half light.
Owain knew he’d have to wake the pile shorty and with it he would have to face the coming day.
He didn’t know it but the crumpled mess he was looking at was already awake. Lieutenant Henry Phillips was staring at the mist rising from his breath. It rose and crossed the light slowly peering through a poor join in the wood. He was glad it wasn’t raining.
They were holed up in a village just north of Santiago De Compostela. One of the locals has called it O Pedrouzo. A dozen houses clustered around a small but ornate church, Parroquia de Santa Eulalia de Arca, The Parish of Saint Eulalia.
For a thousand years pilgrims had walked the Camino from England down through France and into Spain before ending their task. This was the last church before Santiago on the pilgrims trail.
Today there would be no pilgrims.
An hour or so later Phillips was briefing the other officers and NCOs. The french would thrust through the valley coming from the east. There was no point in trying to hold the village. That was never the objective. They would pull back to a farmstead on the south western side. There the road bottlenecked before a steep rise. surrounded by dense trees it would be easier to defend.
The plan was simple. Stop the french reaching the end of the valley. Hopefully, by the time they arrived, Darkness would soon be upon them and Phillips figured they would pull back to the village for the night. After this He and his men could slip by the cover of darkness towards Santiago and form up with the rest of the regiment.
That was the plan at least. Along with 2 dozen of his own men from the 14th Buckinghamshire Regiment, He’d picked up a small group of cornish line infantry from the 32nd. Along with their NCO, Sergeant Isaac Peran, they had got split off from their own forces 3 days ago. The 32nd’s orders had been the same as the 14th’s. Harass the enemy and slow them down. Give the main force time to pull back to Santiago and then onwards to Vigo. Phillips had taken charge of them and it was decided best to fight together until the time came they could safely move on.
Peran was a dour man. Stern but honest. Phillips liked him. He and his men were seasoned veterans. It was an open secret that the 32nd tended to be overlooked for commendations And more prestigious roles. This suited them fine. Their ways seemed almost foreign to even their neighbours in Devon and Somerset.
Phillips had also picked up a small contingent of Scots from the 42nd Royal Highlanders. They were led by a pointed man of obvious military background. Lieutenant Nathaniel Broke Vere was himself, not Scottish. But he was from a long line of military officers who had been granted title and estates in the highlands. His father had been a brigadier general in the colonial wars but since then squandered his money and families lands to almost nothing.
Broke Vere was a poor figure of a man. Almost sickly in stature. His pale complexion would almost make him look haunted had it not been for his pleasant, if not plain nature. He had been given a command he did not care greatly for and in return his men cared little for him.
Owain, was explaining the ground. Phillips trusted his judgement. “Any cavalry will have to approach from the south. The northern edge of the village is too boggy. If I take my men and push into the woods just past the large farmstead I can head off any thing that comes that way. They’ll won’t see us until their right on us. Lieutenant Phillips you take the line along with The 32nd and move into the space near the bog. The french have numbers but they’ll soon get bogged down under our fire. The highlands will hold at the rear. We can’t let anyone get to that western slope. That’s our only quick route out of here. North is the whole bloody french army and south will be a hard march through dense forest. If we can hold them here for a bit they’ll pull back for the night giving us some time to breath.”
Broke Vere sneered his top lip. “There are far too few of us! We won’t hold for more than a few minutes. Even a single company of frogs could walk through here with what we’ve got!”
Phillips breathes heavily. “That may be so but we have our orders… Sergeant Peran. Your assessment?”
Peran paused, “your man’s right. His men men are light and can counter anything from the south quickly before pulling back. We can stop them dead in their tracks on the northern edge…. Just off the road. They’ll break before they cross that bog.” He looked up to Broke Vere. “I trust your men. They’ll hold until they’re needed!”
Broke Vere’s face had not changed. Phillips didn’t care “There we go then. Today will be short, It’ll be dark in a few hours. They can’t be far away. We hold…. Then break away just before sunset!” The huddle of men shuffled in agreement. “Be ready to take positions in 15 minutes. May God bless us this afternoon. Dismissed!”
“The Officers and NCOs slowly dispersed towards their awaiting men. Owain walked alongside Phillips.”Henry. What about the boy? The men think he is touched.”
Phillips shook his head, “They may think he’s touched… It won’t stop a shot to his face though.”
“Do we leave him” Owain Shrugged?
Phillips sighed, “No. The men are tired and strung out. They’re clinging to anything right now. If they think he brings luck I don’t want to put them off. Napoleon is knocking at our heels and there is currently very little stopping him walking to the coast. I’m being soft but I’ll take anything to lift spirits right now.”
The boy, as they called him, was a 14 year old from rural Kent. Samuel Peaks had been one of the many young boys used by the army to peel spuds and feed the horses. Phillips men had found him hiding in a church graveyard a few days before. They had instantly adopted him. Why the boy was not with his minders had not been asked. His face was youthful and Samuel seemed to take to the 14th instantly.
“The boy stays at my side. If I need a runner I’ll send him. You’ll be busy tangled in the trees and Broke Vere will get impatient… Even if his men won’t.”
Owain smile. “James would kill you for this. You know that? The boy…. I mean….”
“James was never one for superstition or sentiment… But he is gone and I am in charge.. Let’s do our jobs and see if we can’t salvage at least something good out of this shit show.”
Half an hour later Owain was running past a low wooden fence. The atmosphere was tense. They couldn’t see them but knew that the enemy were in the area.
“Hurry up!” He growled to the back of his men. He knew they were tired. He could see it in their faces. Over a week on the back foot was taking its toll of them. They were good men. They seen so much and were so far from home. He knew he could depend of them.
They skirted a squat hovel and made a run for a small copse of trees. From there they would have a perfect view of the entire southern edge of the village and anything that was coming for them.
Reaching the copse they paused for a second. The sound of heavy breathing broke the silence. Straining his eyes Owain could see a column of blue in the distance. “Here they come.” He whispered to himself.
A few seconds passed when the call of cavalry interrupted his thinking. The sharp tone of a trumpet call sounded from behind a large woods to his east
He smiled and looked confidently back at his men. At that moment he caught movement in the distance. 100ft back at the rear of a building they had advanced past was a woman hanging out her washing. She was frozen. Wide eyed she looked out over the open ground and let out a shrill scream.
Owain snapped his head round to where she was looking to see a large group of skirmishers running to the edge of another copse of woods. “Ah Shit!” He cried as the cracks of musket fire rang out towards them! The tell tale sound of gunshot bounding around them and several branches fell as they were struck!
“With me!” He bellowed as he broke cover and ran in the direction of the woman. “Get down!” he screamed at her… His effort was wasted, even if she had understood him it didn’t matter. She was frozen screaming at the sudden appearance of so many armed men.
Bolting from the trees he sprinted low across the stubbled ground, his men at his heels. It would be a few seconds before the next volley of fire would ring out at them. His target was no longer the oncoming French. It was to get the stupid lady down and into relative safety.
Phillip’s heard the fire ring out from the south and suddenly saw Owain and his men bolting out of the wooded copse a few hundred feet away. Turning to his men he shouted orders to line up facing the eastern approach. What ever Owain was moving to intercept he was on his own now. Phillips could see the column of blue dress coats fanning out to line up and face him. Another 50 ft and he would have the perfect placement to stop whatever came in their tracks.
Broke Vere was impatient. He and his men were on high alert at the rear of a large farmhouse. The sound of musket fire rang out in the distance but he could see nothing. He’d be damned if they were going to get all the glory! “Form up! Advance double time!”
The second round of shot crashed around the skirmishers of the 14th. Digby threw himself to the ground quickly scrabbling across the dirt. Cullet, who was leading up the rear paused to drag him to his feet and then onwards. The french skirmishers were now getting their eye in. The next round of shots wouldn’t be so lucky for the 14th.
Owain was 10 feet from the panneled wooden fence that partially shielded the woman. It was at that point the front line of a party of French Dragoons rounded the edge of the copse that was now inhabited by reloading french skirmishers. They were cantering at a steady pace.
He bolted the fence going straight for the lady “Get down!” he screamed as she finally realised what he was commanding. She half fell to the floor, half threw herself as the rest of him men only seconds behind him quickly jumped the fence and took covering positions.
Owain stood over the woman and spun around pulling his musket up to his face.
“Aim!”
The cavalry in the distance turned to face the group of British skirmishers. Sabres held high the call came from a smaller, better dressed, Dragoon on the right of the line. “Charge!”
“Steady……. Steady!”
The Cavalry were almost on them. It had taken less than a few seconds to cover the ground. Owain’s men stood motionless looking down the barrel of their muskets waiting for the order. At the last moment Owain called.
“Fire!”
Smoke and sound filled the senses. Some horses fell and most jumped high clearing the wooden fence. Sabres flashed and cries of pain were heard. A large Dragoon on a deep black horse came straight for Owain. He thrust up with his bayonet. More a gut reaction than any trained move. The Dragoon screamed out in pain as the black horse fell in confusion. Owain, dragged down by the weight was winded. The full weight of the horse hand landed clean on his bottom half. The woman now beneath him was screaming in fear.
Frantic fighting was taking place in front of him. Digby was clutching his stomach as the small officer struck him in his helpless state. Cullet cried as he tore another Dragoon from his saddle and hacked at him with his knife.
Breathless he fought against the weight holding him down. The Dragoon he had struck lay writing on the floor, blood pooling next to the deep gash in his side. The horse in obvious pain sprung up kicking out and striking Owain’s head.
Swimming from the shock he looked up. Blurred images of his men moved in front of him falling and crying out in anger.
It suddenly went dark!
He awoke suddenly. Broke vere stood over his body shouting orders to his men.
“Present! Fire!”
He looked over, the pile of bodies only a few feet away. Several blue jackets slumped next to red ones and a few horses.
The Highlanders were advancing over them. Orderly reloading their muskets as they went. He could see the french skirmishers dashing to get out of their sight lines.
“Get up Man!” Broke Vere cried “Get Up!”
Owain rolled over. He hadn’t realised but he’d been passed out over the woman. She was crying on the floor covering her head. Blood stained her dress. Owain realised it was not hers but his.
“Get her out of here!” Broke vere snapped as he continued on past Owain following his men.
Owain shook as he pulled himself up. In front of him lay all of his men. Dead. 7 french lay around them. 4 of their horses as well.
He had no time to dwell on it. He grabbed the woman, pulling her up he limped towards a door 10 ft away from him.
“¡Gracias! ¡Gracias!” she was crying as he swung the door open.”Mi Vida.” Tears streaming down her face she kissed him on the lips. “¡Te amaré por siempre!” Owain roughly pushed her in the doorway. He had no idea what she was saying and would never properly remember to find out.
He paused. The scene of carnage fully visible now in front of him. His unit. Gone! Dead in seconds.
Another round of fire rang out to his right. The highlanders were giving chase. He moved back towards the body of the man he had killed. Retrieved his musket and ran after the scots.
Rounding the corner of the building he saw the scots hurriedly reloading and In the distance he saw Phillips and his men lined up in two lines of 24. Some holes we clearly seen as several bodies lay crumpled in the dirt.
Broke Vere assessing the situation knew they couldn’t hold.
“Owain.” He called. “ Get phillips and his men. We’re getting out of here now! Our position is compromised and our best way out is now cut off!”
Owain knew he was right. The large force of skirmishers he had been pursuing had ran off down the road headed for the west of the valley. South was now the only viable escape. At least it would be until more french arrived to support the advance.
His men moved quickly and quietly. It had been dark for a few hours now and the cold had set in deep. He dared not stop for fear of any french following them.
It was a clear night and the moon struggled to light the way through the dense patches of forest.
Phillips had not spoken to Owain yet but had seen he was clearly distressed. Everything had happened so fast. In a space of less than 10 minutes their positions had fallen and they were retreating.
There would be little rest tonight. Already tired men would now be exhausted. They had no supplies and now their best route back to the main force was blocked.
He couldn’t see a way out of this.
He couldn’t see a way home.
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