Flashman in the Peninsula by Robert Brightwell Read Free Book Online Page B

and trampled by his own side and then by the pursuing French.’
    ‘Is he dead?’ asked Wellesley with what seemed a note of hope in his voice.
    ‘No sir, I took a spare horse to him with a couple of his cousins and we managed to get him from the battlefield. He had taken several kicks, but was only badly bruised.’
    ‘So I am guessing that the infantry formed squares against the horsemen and fought their way out?’ asked a Scottish infantry colonel.
    D’Urban looked exquisitely embarrassed and I guessed we had still not heard the worst. ‘Err, no sir. Most of the infantry officers were on horseback and when the Spanish cavalry fled the infantry officers joined them, leaving their men to fight for themselves. The Spanish infantry ran in all directions, with the French cavalry riding among them slaughtering until they were too tired to raise their bloodied swords.’
    There was a stunned silence for a moment as we all struggled to take this in. I may be a lily livered coward but I don’t think even I would have run in those circumstances. Oh, don’t get me wrong – this would not be due to any sense of honour, but sheer practicality. A well organised infantry square is a much safer place to be with rampant enemy cavalry about, than fleeing with a pack of witless fools. You could retain most of your men and your reputation with a fighting retreat. Thinking back to my time with the remnants of the 74th Highlanders in India, I could not imagine running out on them like that; not least because Sergeant Fergusson would have tracked me down and gutted me with his spontoon if I had.
    In the British army such brazen cowardice would leave a man ruined. Take it from an expert in these situations; you have to be a bit more creative. Helping a wounded soldier to the rear always looks noble, unless you are the commanding officer. Rushing from the command post pretending you have an important message gets you away quickly, or if things are really desperate – hiding under the corpses and hoping to be left for dead. As I was to discover in later years this last course is not recommended when the enemy are Iroquois warriors with a penchant for scalping, or a certain African tribe who take the wedding tackle from the dead and dying for trophies.
    The Scottish infantry colonel interrupted my thoughts by muttering, ‘The bastards left their men in an exposed line for cavalry to slaughter. They deserve to be shot.’
    ‘The Central Junta has put some of the cavalry commanders in front of a firing squad for cowardice sir.’ D’Urban said quietly.
    ‘Good thing too,’ muttered Downie, but even he looked shaken at how easily the Spanish had been defeated.
    ‘How many were killed?’ asked Wellesley.
    ‘The Spanish lost eight thousand men killed or injured sir, with another two thousand taken prisoner. They also lost most of their cannon. French killed and wounded were less than a thousand.’
    ‘And this was the army that was supposed to block any advance on Lisbon while we advanced to attack Soult in the north,’ grumbled Wellesley. ‘A detachment of army wives armed with camp kettles and skillets would give more protection.’
    ‘There is still the Loyal Lusitanian Legion, Sir Arthur,’ said General Craddock, the Lisbon commander. He did not seem to notice a couple of the staff officers wince as the name was mentioned and turn to look at Wellesley, whose face clenched in icy disdain. ‘They only have twelve hundred men,’ continued the hapless Craddock, ‘but with some Spanish forces they have been holding off twelve thousand French at Almeida for the last few months. We might have had to evacuate Lisbon without them.’
    ‘The Loyal Lusitanian Legion,’ barked Wellesley with a sneer, ‘is only loyal to its commander, and Sir Robert Wilson is no friend of mine.’ I looked up at that for I knew Sir Robert, but a slight shake of the head from Campbell and the venom in Wellesley’s voice warned me not to admit the