Simon Scarrow: Fire and Sword

He paused to let his audience grasp the import of what he had said. It was a radical innovation and he knew that some of the older officers would be resistant to such changes, and some would even consider it unpatriotic to learn lessons from the enemy, no matter how valuable. Be that as it may, Arthur was convinced of the value of his decisions.When the allied army went up against the French in future, the fire of the skirmish line would be even more deadly, and there would be no doubts about the performance of each of the new divisions as the Portuguese battalions would be steadied by the example of the redcoats on either side of them.

‘You will have your orders concerning this reorganisation before the end of the day. I have already chosen the commanders for the new divisions and they will be informed after this meeting. Gentlemen, by the time we face Marshal Soult, I want this army to operate as if we had always marched and fought in divisions. Now then, time is short. I will not waste it on florid appeals to patriotism and duty.We are here to beat the French and that is an end to it. Any questions?’

There was a pause before one of the cavalry officers rose to his feet.

‘Yes?’

‘What are your intentions should we beat Soult at Oporto? Where will the army march then?’

‘After we have Portugal, it is my intention to seek permission to enter Spain.’ Arthur paused. ‘But, gentlemen, beyond Spain there is no mystery surrounding our final destination, though we may not attain it for many years.That destination I can reveal willingly enough.’

He paused and glanced round at the sea of expectant faces before he smiled. ‘Paris.’

Five days after Arthur had arrived in Coimbra the allied army began its march north towards Oporto. The soldiers stepped out cheerfully, despite the hard going along dusty tracks beneath a hot sun. Many of them had been at Vimeiro and had told the rest that they had nothing to worry about with ‘Old Nosey’ in command. Arthur was pleased with their mood and keen to get them into contact with the enemy whilst it lasted. An army may march on its stomach, he reflected, but it fed on victory just as surely. The allied army descended from the hills of Coimbra and crossed the rolling country towards the coast where Oporto lay two miles from the Atlantic Ocean, on the bank of the river Douro.

On the eleventh, the vanguard of the army clashed with the first French outposts, and after a day of skirmishing the enemy were forced to abandon the south bank of the river and retreat into Oporto. It was evening before Arthur and his staff arrived in the sprawl of buildings that formed the small township of Vila Nova on the south bank. As light troops and riflemen pressed through the winding streets towards the ancient bridge that crossed the river, Arthur made his way to a convent that overlooked the city on the far bank. Emerging on to the terrace of the convent, the British officers had a fine view across the Douro.

To the left, a quarter of a mile upstream, a pontoon bridge constructed by the French engineers stretched across the river. The enemy still held a strongly fortified position around the end of the bridge on the south bank. Puffs of musket smoke pricked out along the palisade and from loopholes in the nearest buildings as the French rearguard and the British skirmishers fought it out. On the other side of the bridge the city of Oporto rose up from the banks of the river.To the left of the bridge the bank was lower, but to the right the bank gave way to rocky cliffs that tumbled down towards the water. The French had taken the precaution of moving every boat that could be found on to the northern bank and placing them under guard.

It was clear to Arthur that the bridge had to be taken if he was to get his army across the Douro and liberate the city. It would be a bloody business, as the enemy was bound to cover the crossing with every cannon that could be spared. He had little doubt that the crossing could be forced, but at what cost?

Turning to survey the southern bank he saw that the hills behind the convent were high enough to overlook Oporto. Arthur summoned one of his staff officers.

‘Somerset, pass the word to the artillery train. I want three batteries of six-pounders placed up there. They can provide counter battery fire when we attempt to force the bridge tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And have some of the howitzers brought forward as well, in case we have to deal with any enemy formations out in the open.’

Somerset saluted and ran off to do his general’s bidding. Arthur turned to inspect the enemy’s positions again as dusk began to settle over the land. As the light faded his eyes briefly passed over a large structure close to the river at the foot of the towering cliffs opposite. Some kind of convent or seminary, he guessed.There was no sign of life within, as if the building had been abandoned. Arthur’s keen eyes searched the south bank as far up and downriver as he could, but there was no sign of a single boat on his side of the Douro.

As night fell, the struggle around the French bridgehead on the south bank died away until there was peace and quiet from that sector, broken occasionally when the men on either side called out to each other, offering items in trade, or simply ribald insults. Arthur had taken over the Serra convent to act as his field headquarters and had a desk set up on the terrace where he snatched a quick supper before settling down to read the evening reports, and then, shortly after midnight, draft his plans for the assault on the pontoon bridge. He had finished his notes and was in the act of handing them over to Somerset to have them copied up in a neat hand when there was a sudden brilliant flash from the direction of the river, then another, and at once a concussive blast that shook the terrace to its foundations.

‘What the hell?’ Somerset hurried across to the edge of the terrace, and Arthur rose to follow him. Small fires and flames flickered from the remains of the bridge and were gradually snuffed out as the pontoons sank into the current. By the light of the stars and a dim crescent moon Arthur could see enough to know that the bridge had been utterly destroyed. Only fragments remained, attached to each bank.The rest had been blown to pieces, or was already drifting away down the river towards the ocean.

Arthur stared at the scene a moment longer before he returned to his desk and picked up the plans he had made for the taking of the bridge. He held the sheaf of paper and slowly ripped it in half. Somerset joined him.

‘What now, sir?’

‘What now?’ Arthur shook his head. ‘Unless we find another way to cross the river, our campaign will have been frustrated almost as soon as it has begun.’

Chapter 56

As dawn broke across the river the full extent of the damage done by the French engineers was clear for all to see. Only the odd pile that had been driven into the river bed still protruded from the glassy surface of the Douro. Downriver the banks on both sides were littered with scorched and shattered lengths of timber and here and there a beached pontoon. Arthur regarded the scene stoically. The bridge had gone, and now his army would either have to march upstream to find a crossing place, or wait until the Royal Navy could be summoned to transport them across the mouth of the river.That possibility held its own risk as Soult would hotly contest any such landing.

On the far bank a party of French soldiers had climbed down to the water and stripped off their uniforms for a morning swim.Their excited cries could just be heard as they splashed each other in full view of the redcoats stuck on the other side of the river. Above the bank the tiled roofs of the city rose up the slope, crowding the narrow winding streets. Most of the buildings facing the river had been occupied by French soldiers, some of whom could be seen leaning on window sills, contemplating the opposite bank as they puffed on their pipes.