Craven's War: A Rising Storm, page 10
“This is where we will break them,” he declared to himself as he looked out into the mountains into France.
Chapter 9
A week went by with no major developments. British troops began to arrive and make camp, but the Spanish under their own Commander kept up the blockade. It was comparatively easy work, and yet far from relaxing, for they were under the gaze of the enemy cannon at all times. The hilly terrain surrounding the town provided great cover for which to make their camps, but for those who were posted closer and in sight of the enemy it was a daunting task, ever fearful that an enemy sortie may sally out to cause trouble or breach the blockage. Time passed slowly now as Craven made his way up a shallow slope to look upon the enemy defences once more, as he did every day.
“Look, Sir!” cried out Paget.
He turned about to see Lord Wellington approaching with a dozen of his staff and the engineer Major Smith, who did not much appreciate the General pausing to greet them.
“’Morning, Sir Arthur!” Paget roared excitedly.
Wellington looked most surprised to see them.
“Manning the blockade, hardly glamourous work for you, Major?” he asked Craven.
“Mr Fletcher asked us to accompany him here, and that is precisely what I did.”
“An officer asked something menial of you and you did it, Major? Has the whole world turned upside down?” he jested, drawing a few pained laughs from his staff, many of whom did not appreciate Craven for his independent ways and dubious antics.
“What do you think, Major Smith? What do you think of the plans of our engineers?”
Craven looked to Major Smith, knowing he could drop him in it for not being forthcoming, for he still knew nothing of the plans against San Sebastian.
“I think you are in fine hands, Sir, and just as soon as the guns and the soldiers needed are brought to this place, we shall see it done,” declared Craven.
Smith gazed upon him in disbelief, for he had not expected any kind treatment.
“What do you know about besieging a well-fortified town, Major?” Wellington asked of Craven.
“I’ll leave it to the experts, Sir, and may they call me when an assault is required.”
But Wellington smiled, for he knew every officer had an opinion on such matters, whether they were knowledgeable in such things or not.
“Who would have thought it, that Mr Craven might one day gain the tongue of a politician,” he mused.
His staff laughed, but in part at the expense of Craven as if they meant it to demean him, and yet he knew that was not Wellington’s intentions. He turned back to look at the French defences.
“A tough nut to crack, isn’t she? And a clever man commands the defence, for he has made every measure that he might with no stone unturned. The enemy do not make it easy for us, but I would worry more if they did, for we must break the French here in Spain, not just let them leave of their own free will.” Wellington gazed out and studied the French defences for a few moments more, though it was clear to all that he had spent so long in their presence there was nothing new to learn now, only a decision to make.
“So be it. Major Smith, tell Fletcher I approve, and you may go ahead. Build your batteries and let us see this done,” he ordered.
“And me, Sir?” Craven asked.
“Fletcher asked for you and he will get you. You are at his disposal and that of Colonel Graham when he assumes command here shortly.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“The capture of this place is not preferable, Major, it is essential, do you understand?”
“Entirely, Sir.”
Wellington rode on with his staff, leaving Smith looking a little confused. He still did not respect Craven, and yet he was surprised to have not been humiliated before Wellington, of which he knew Craven had the ammunition to do so if he so wished.
“There is much work to be done, engineers work, but the time of the infantry will come,” he declared in appreciation as means to extend an olive branch.
“To dig holes?” Craven joked.
“Yes, we will toil together, but I promise you that when the time comes, I will be right there at the assault with you.”
“Why?” asked Craven in surprise.
“Because if these plans are good enough, we must be willing to see them through to the end, and not only send others in our stead.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Smith seemed surprised that they had found common ground, and yet he still looked a little uneasy and uncertain of Craven.
“Best of luck to you, Craven, and may we see this through with our bodies unbroken.”
“And to you.”
The engineer rode on and quickly rounded up working parties to build the first gun battery position that was to tackle the convent of San Bartolomeo. It came as no surprise to anybody, for it was the first obstacle before they could make any headway against the town itself and had been occupied and reinforced with the sole purpose of delaying any attack on the walls of San Sebastian.
It was as unenviable a task for the French defenders inside as it was for those who would have to assault the position. It was merely a delaying action to the inevitable battle at the walls of the town itself. They watched as gun emplacements were built with back breaking labour. Trenches were dug for the artillery guns that were held back far to the rear until such time as it they were needed, and it was safe to bring them up. Gabions were built and filled with earth, and a long line of fortifications created from which to begin the bombardment, but as with every element of a siege, nothing happened quickly. Further gun emplacements were being built on the Chofre Sandhills beyond the river to the East of the town, positions that might fire upon the town, but also assist in the bombardment of the convent.
It was a tense place to be before the walls of the town, for though there was some excitement at the prospect of a successful assault, especially after the riches plundered after Vitoria, there was also danger at all times. For many they were within sight of the enemy, and therefore of their guns at all times, never knowing when the enemy might open fire. The Salford Rifles did not stray far from their huts, though they were far closer to the enemy than most of the blockading army that was encamped in the safety of the hills and valleys beyond. By the end of the day the gun batteries were built, and the labourers took their well-earnt rest.
“Hard work, we are lucky to not have been asked to contribute to the labour,” said Matthys.
Craven nodded in agreement, though he was not sure if it was for Major Smith’s newfound respect for him, or the very opposite, and that he did not want Craven’s soldiers anywhere near his works. Though they could see a dedicated party of sappers at work, the first time in which such a force had been employed. It was usually the infantry’s job to do such duties, not that many had not been ordered to assist the sappers also.
Later the next day Colonel Graham rode into the camp at the head of a marching column, the main force that would make the assault when the time came. Craven watched from afar as the Spanish officer in command of the blockade relinquished command to Graham. It was a sign that the operation was about to get underway, and that the blockade was very rapidly turning into a siege. As campfires were lit, there was a sense amongst the army that the action was about the begin.
“Will we make the assault against the town, Sir?” Paget asked Craven as they settled in for the night
“We will do what we must.”
“You would not volunteer for the Forlorn Hope, Sir?”
Craven quickly shook his head.
“I have no need to throw my life away.”
Paget had pressed for such duties in the past, and yet he knew better now. He had seen the brutality which the first assaulters endured with his own eyes, and he would not wish it for himself either. He felt relieved to know that he was not the only one who dreaded the prospect.
“It takes a brave man for such duties,” he admitted.
“Yes, it does, and I do not doubt that you have it in you, but you have nothing to prove. You have faced the enemy in deadly battle more than most.”
“Thank you,” replied Paget, but he was more relieved that he had overcome such ideas in his own mind, “I do not need the glory nor promotions. I just want to see the job done. I want us to rid this country of the French once and for all.”
“And we will. We are close now.”
“Except for all that Wellington said, Sir. I always imagined that once we reached France it would be the beginning of the end, but it seems I was wrong.”
“We should have known. If the French fight so hard abroad, imagine how fierce they will be at home?”
“A daunting thought.”
“That it is, but at least we shall have them on the back foot, for it was no so long ago that we risked being driven into the sea once again. You never had to board ships and flee from the French, abandoning all hope. Trust me, it is an experience I hope you never have to suffer,” mused Craven as he thought back to the troubling days at Corunna.
The next morning, they watched as the guns were brought up into position, and soon the bombardment began of the convent from batteries to the South and East of the French position. The first salvo ignited, and cannon balls smashed into the old stone walls of the convent. They were taking effect, and it was only a matter of time before the bastion was battered into submission or reduced to such a state that it might be stormed. The convent occupied the position where the land narrowed into the Peninsula that the town occupied. It was the bottleneck and the key to all of the next operations.
“What a beautiful thing to destroy,” declared Amyn.
He was right. The ancient convent was beautiful and stood on a fine height overlooking the town, and for that very reason it was of great strategic importance to both sides. But the Royal Artillery now poured hot shot into the convent, and it was soon set afire, which the defenders battled to extinguish. The French guns from the hornwork and the redoubt beside the convent fired in return as they tried to silence the British artillery, but to no avail.
“I would reduce all the architecture in my country to dust if it meant freeing us of our occupiers, for we can rebuild. My people have done it before,” insisted Vicenta.
Even Timmerman looked uncomfortable with the destruction they were bringing to such a scene of beauty.
“Soon we will bring this destruction to French lands, and it will not feel so bad,” he added.
But Craven sighed.
“What is it, Sir?” asked Paget.
“The French, they will hate us for it. The Spanish, they accept this destructive path for it will lead them to freedom, but to the French, we will be nothing but a marauding force ruining their lives and their homes.”
“They can happily keep their lives and their towns by merely not resisting and giving up their support of that madman Napoleon,” replied Paget.
“Mad? An interesting choice of wording.”
“Sir?”
“They call King George the Mad King. Tell me, if the French invaded England, would you resist them in support of the Mad King?”
“Why yes, Sir!”
“Then you already know the French people will not give up their country nor their Emperor.”
Paget shrugged in agreement as he knew there was no doubt he would do the same in their shoes. The cannons raged all day as the convent was struck time and time again. The next day continued on just the same with a dreadful bombardment. As the sun went down and the guns fell silent, Craven and many others gazed out upon the badly damaged defences and wondered if the next day an assault would be practicable. It was the question on all their minds.
“Nasty business, sieges,” declared Timmerman as they sat down about a fire to settle in for the night amid their huts, which they had grown quite fond of, for they were remarkably comfortable come rain or shine.
“They are,” agreed Craven.
“Is this what we have to look forward to in France, Sir? Will they resist us at every town and city?” asked Paget.
“There are some great fortresses and walled cities in the South of France,” added Timmerman.
“This army could not keep it up. I fear discipline would break down entirely and men would refuse to fight, or they would desert in droves,” replied Craven.
Paget shuddered at the thought.
The next day the guns opened fire soon after first light once more, and for many hours they roared as they smashed down the walls of the convent. An assault would be made soon, and they all knew it. Soon a regiment of British infantry began to form up. Craven recognised them instantly, the 9th Regiment or Foot, the Norfolks. A steadfast body of soldiers who had fought through many of the major battles of the campaign, though Craven could never see them and not think of the miserable experience of the retreat to Corunna that they had shared. The Royal Scots were forming up beside them and some Portuguese troops, too. It was an assault party, and everyone knew it. Major Graham approached Craven on foot with only two other officers by his side, including Major Smith. The bombardment still continued, but it was surely now just the final barrages before the attack would begin.
“Major Craven?” Graham asked.
“Yes, Sir?”
“The men await their chance to make their assault.”
“Yes, Sir,” agreed Craven.
“I would have you join them. I know what you did at Tolosa, and so do they.” He gestured towards the infantrymen who were readying for the assault. They were stacking any and all equipment that would not be needed to fight, including knapsacks and canteens. All they carried was their weapons and ammunition so that they might move as quickly and nimbly as possible. Though for most that meant they were equipped only with musket and bayonet. The common infantrymen of the British Army no longer carried a short sword as previous generations had, and many armies on the continent still did. Craven would have them equipped with such weapons, even just an issue for such an attack, for a sword was a most valuable and useful tool when the combat descended into a close in melee.
“What do you say Major?”
Timmerman smiled, as he knew Craven had no choice. For it was poised as a question but it might as well have been an order, though he knew Craven would never decline such an offer anyway, as he was eager to get within a sword’s reach of the enemy.
“If our presence can be of assistance, then it will be provided gladly.”
“Good man. The 9th will lead the assault. Have your riflemen do what they do best, and when the time comes to rush upon the enemy, let them see you with sword in hand, Craven. Let them see you run upon the enemy.”
The guns raged on, but as the day progressed, it was noticeable to all that they had fallen silent, and yet there were many hours in the day left to spare. Graham gave the nod towards the Norfolks’ Colonel who led them forward as they began the climb up the gentle slope to the great watchtower-like position which the convent held. Cannons atop the ruins opened fire, but not in any such quantity as hundreds of British and Portuguese soldiers hurried on. There were many breaches in the old stonework and mounds of rubble ramps about them. It was more a series of defensible obstacles now rather than a complete defensive structure. The roof had come down in many places also. Craven wondered for a moment what hell it must have been to wait inside for three days under continuous fire, but then it was most familiar; as he had lived the experience several times as he thought of Fort Matagorda and the tremendous barrage and explosion during the French capture of Almeida. Having lived through those experiences he felt no sympathy for the French. Another cannon roared from the convent, and Craven heard the whistling of the iron ball before it struck the ground beside them. It bounced along the ground, vanishing off over the ground they had just travelled.
Timmerman looked at him with a little concern and then a smile, for that had come awfully close to both of them, and few men ever survived the strike of the cannon ball. But they knew they had much worse to come, for as they closed the distance they would be subjected to grape shot, and that was a far more terrifying prospect. It could wipe out entirely ranks of infantrymen in a single shot.
“Come on, boys!” cried the Colonel leading the assault.
They rushed on as many of Craven’s riflemen took aim at every gap in the walls and shot at any sign of movement. But not Craven. He took his rifle from his back and placed it down against an embankment before him. He did not come to take careful shots at the enemy from afar. He took up his sabre once more and his pistol in his left hand. He waited for Moxy and several others to fire their shots.
“Come on, what are you waiting for!” he cried to his companions.
He leapt over the embankment and soared towards a wall where many of the Norfolk men were huddled as musket fire rained out from the ruins of the convent. He could feel the heat of burning powder all about him as black powder smoke wafted all about. He rushed into the cover of the old wall to find many of the men there were scraped and bloody where they had been clipped by musket and grape shot.
The Portuguese soldiers advanced on one of the breaches ahead just as grape shot was fired from back behind the opening, and fire engulfed the soldiers like dragon’s breath. Screams rang out as many of them fell to the ground. Others withdrew as quickly as they could, with eight men lying dead on the ground where they had been killed instantly. Craven looked back to the weary and bloody Norfolk men. Their Colonel was nowhere to be seen as the scene had descended into chaos. The multiple walls and mounds of stone from the convent and the swirling powder smoke made it impossible to see most of the attacking force, but they could hear the roar of musket and cannon from within. Craven looked to the breach that the Portuguese had made for and then back to the Norfolk men, as well as several of the Salfords who had arrived to join him, including Paget and Moxy.
