June 25th, early evening: Joining the British Army

"If that's an order sir." Willoughby grinned and turned towards the men. "You appear to be dismissed." They grinned back, touching their temples in respect towards the officer, backing their horses out of formation.

"Shall we continue then, Sir?" Willoughby asked shifting a little in his saddle.

"By all means, trooper." Duff could not wait for this last mile to be over, he was too tired to deal with Willoughby's enthusiasm. And he wanted to get off his horse.

Willoughby was quiet after that moment and only lead the man towards the camp. He felt that the other man would have been displeased if he had done otherwise. If he had wanted to speak, then James Duff would speak first.

He patted Herrero who was becoming impatient with the walk at which he had to go, and annoyed that he too had not gone to play with the others and had to accompany this strange apparition.

They neared the camp at a rather quick rate. Willoughby glanced at the other man then indicated the location, to which Duff would need to go, to have his arrival noted. Some men that were about, doing their business did look at the two arrivals, one they knew from the cavalry, the other they did not. But for the most part, they were dismissed or ignored.

When they finally neared the headquarters, Duff did not wait and slid off his horse as gracefully as he could manage, which was not particularly graceful at all. He felt his lower body complain vociferously and leaned against the horse's flank for a moment, until he could browbeat his muscles into submission and stand up straight and proper.

Sanders had been hanging around outside the headquarters building when he had noticed the approaching mass of hussars, seemingly escorting a civilian on horseback. He inwardly wondered what on earth this must be, and stepped forward to intercept the party.

"What have you here, trooper?" he asked of Willoughby. Unsure of the civilian's rank he had not addressed him, though going by appearance alone he seemed like a gentleman. Sanders knew from bitter experience that if the gentleman was superior enough to be taken notice of, he would find out very shortly.

" Colonel Duff, sir. Wishes to see Sir Arthur..." He added in a perfectly formal tone. He held his horse steady, Herrero glancing at the new man with mild interest. Since he neither had something for him, nor did he pose any danger, the horse quickly became interested in something else.. which appeared remarkably like straw, which they liked to eat and he was halted when he attempted to get closer to inspect whether it was food or not.

Duff gathered himself up and offered a hand to Sanders. "Colonel Viscount McDuff of the Spanish Army. I bear despatches for Sir Arthur."

Well, Sanders thought as he accepted the colonel's hand, at least he had not shouted at him.

"An honour, colonel," he replied. He knew of Duff, of course, but only by name. "Your pardon, but I had not heard that Sir Arthur was expecting you."

Had he been so, Sanders expected that he would have sent the colonel an official escort. He knew these hussars had only been out training. Which made Sanders wonder at the Spanish sending one of their colonels all this way without an escort of his own.

"Well, this was a last minute arrangement and I did make good time from Cadiz, though I must say my horse isn't happy with me." Duff opened one of the saddlebags and pulled out a very hefty looking bundle of papers. "Do you think he will see me now or will you accept these on his behalf?"

"I am sure Sir Arthur will be at liberty to receive you, colonel," Sanders said. The general was busy with his papers, but dispatches brought in person by a colonel in the Spanish army demanded immediate priority. "If you would care to follow me? One of these fellows will take your horse for you."

Duffed passed the reigns to Willoughby. "Would you be kind enough to take my horse? I would be grateful if you could let it have a little something to eat and drink, the poor creature must be exhausted." Said feeling a little like he was speaking about himself. "I dare say I won't be too long and then perhaps you could show me to where the 88th are."

"Yes, sir. Will be done, sir." Willoughby answered taking the horse, still astride on his own. If he was to water and feed him, he would have needed to take them both to tie them somewhere close, then bring water and hay. A brush and the removal of the worst of the dirt would be a bonus.

Sanders led the way inside, having dismissed Willoughby from his mind as soon as he had handed Duff's horse over. The captain led the way inside, down the short hallway past the sentries, turning a corner and trotting up the stairs.

"You have come far, colonel?" Sanders asked, by way of conversation, but also because the general would want to know from which part of the Spanish army Duff had come on introduction. Sanders had been around the C-in-C long enough now to begin understanding how his mind worked.

'From Cadiz, Captain, but it feels a lot further,' Duff smiled a little. Normally he would have said something else, tried to engage the other man in a little chit-chat, but he did not feel like he had any energy to expend on even a small thing like this.

Horse artillery. Its goal: To move swiftly and in support and supported by cavalry and to deal damage to an enemy, again favorable when that enemy is without artillery support of it's own. Troop E of the RHA, known as Fraser's battery since a few months, had not seen an enemy in over half year. They had been at Corunna, but the only swift thing happening there was the retreat. They had been at India, where they had barely given close support to infantry or cavarly. They had mostly just galloped in front of their infantry lines, fired, then waited for the lines to catch up and then ride in front again.

Captain Henry Fraser did not really know what to expect in the Peninsula. His old captain, now major of the RHA regiment, had told him they were finally going to act like proper Horse artillery. Fraser did not really care what they were supposed to do exactly. To him, and to all his men, firing round shot and canister at the enemy was always a proper task.
They had been riding from Lisbon for a few days now, where a fully loaded army would do at least two weeks about. Their horses were tired and filthy, and the men were eager to feed, water and clean them. It was, Fraser had found out after only a few months service, a kind of unwritten rule that horsemen first looked after their horses and them after themselves.

As camp had got into side, and after his 180 men had given a small sarcastic cheer, Fraser took out his orders again.
He mumbled them aloud as he went over the yellowish paper again. "...After your command has arrived in camp...And unless it has past the hour of 11 in the afternoon, in which case... You shall report to the General commanding'. Fraser did not have to take out his watch, as the sun hadn't fully set yet. It was most certainly not after eleven.

They were the only Horse artillery unit in the entire army of Portugal. However, it did surprise Fraser a bit many of the infantrymen and other units were looking at them in surprise. Henry rode in front, on his brown-white horse. One soldier, a redcoat without headgear shouted to him. 'Where are you lads from then, eh?'. Fraser stopped his horse, and rode onto the infantrymen who had just realized he had probably spoken to an officer.
"Royal Horse Artillery...Private". The redcoat stumbled some words and finally realized saluting was the best thing to do. Fraser saluted back, as his men, who were riding past in a slow trod, started laughing. Officers of the RHA were only distinguish from the rankers by more gold braid. In the starting darkness, it was not very surprising mistake by the redcoat. Suddenly, Fraser realized he did not know where the General was quartered.
He turned in his saddle, facing the now nervous private.

"Private, I'm more then willing to let this 'mistake' pass...,' Fraser did not think he had any authority over this men, but it entertained his soldiers and the mates of the sweating redcoat so he guessed he should continue, 'If you could tell me where I can find General Wellesly.'
The redcoat looked relieved and gave a quick explanation.
Fraser smiled and gave the redcoat, who looked like he had two times the age and four times the battle experience of the 28-year old Fraser, friendly salute. The redcoat smiled and saluted back, and some redcoats jeered their mate. Fraser turned back again and spoke loudly to his battery:
"Allright, enough fun today! Onwards! Follow me!". As he had no idea where he was to place his artillery, or rest his horses, he thought it best to just take them all to the HQ. And so, a few minutes later, with a sound that had probably woken half the camp, six 6-pounders, 1 9-pounder and a 5,5 pound howitser(and all the caissions) were waiting just a hundred yards away from the Generals Headquarter. He left his men there, and rode towards the big house. He dismounted and tied his horse to the fence. Two redcoat sentries were standing guard at the front door, and with no-one else in sight, he decided that's where he was suppose to be. He brushed the worse dirt of his dolman and tarleton. His pellise had just been taken out of the bagage car and was still clean, which gave a funny dirty-clean sight Henry was unaware off. He walked towards the sentries and said in clear voice:
"Captain Henry Fraser, Royal Horse Artillery, with orders to report to the General commanding!".

The sentries stiffened to attention. They recognised him as an officer and wondered how many new men might join with the division that day. Already just a little earlier one had come. He had not worn clothes that would identify him as an officer of the bat, but he had been accompanied by a cavalry man who had introduced that Colonel.

They glanced at each other briefly, and one spoke:" Sir Arthur is occupied at present, sir. " It was not for him to explain why, nor whom he was giving audience at the moment. " I'll inform him that you've arrived, sir." He added quickly. The other gave the man a quick glance. While not daring to stare, he had certainly noted the apparel that the man wore, its state and condition.

There would be a great deal to talk about once they were relieved of duty. The first man disappeared from view, while the second stood guard and still at attention.

The sentry met Sanders on the stairs, having delivered Colonel duff to Sir Arthur's lair. The captain allowed himself a small sigh as the private hurriedly explained the arrival of a troop of horse artillery. It certainly seemed it never rained, but poured.

"Yes, captain?" Sanders said, jamming on his hat and walking out to meet the new arrivals.

The sentry had returned, and right behind him came an officer who looked like he was about the same age as Fraser. He also wore a splendid uniform, and as he asked Fraser a question he ought to be a ADC.

Fraser quickly saluted, but it took him a few awkward moments to remember why he was at the HQ. "Report sir...No, sorry, I come to report..."
He could feel he started blushing. He suddenly thought that the redcoat private would have felt the same.
He took a deep breath, re-found his confidence and handed over his written orders.
"Captain Henry Fraser, Royal Horse artillery". The ADC looked like senior to him, so he quickly added 'sir'.
"My orders say I am to report to General Wellesley. Me and me battery just arrived here, from Lisbon, sir."

Meanwhile upstairs Duff had been admitted to Wellesley's presence, the general dismissing his clerk and rising from his desk to greet the colonel.

"Duff, it is good to see you," he said, taking the colonel's hand. "I hope you are bringing me good news from General Cuesta?"

And Wellesley sincerely hoped so too. When Sanders had announced the colonel's arrival - significantly without escort - the general had been worried. He needed Spanish good will and support if he were to press on with pursuing the French, not in the least for supplies if not for military support.

Sanders

Sanders took the orders from Fraser, scrutinising them carefully.

"Well, you've reported in, alright," he said, folding the paper up and handing it back to Fraser. "Though it future it would be best to find Divisional Headquarters and report there. In future you will go through General Hill and his Staff; he holds command of the 2nd Division, to which you are now attached. Have you sent your quartermaster ahead to find billets?"

Sanders wouldn't be at all surprised if they had. Though all the buildings in the in the little village were occupied, the captain had no doubt the troop would find a suitable out building and kick the redcoat occupants out. It was the way of the army.

Duff shook Wellesley's hand firmly, smiling. "Sir Arthur, you are a sight for sore eyes. The roads here are worse than in Scotland!"

Duff placed the heavy bundle of papers, containing despatches from Cadiz and the Spanish, on the corner of Wellesley's desk. "I would not say they are good, but perhaps, not disastrous. Yet," he added significantly. "We have no one in Cadiz, who can bring any pressure to bear on the Junta or the Army. I do my best, but it is not much."

"I feared as much," the general sighed, eyeing the papers. "I had hoped to have Mornington out here by now, but we must do what we can."

He broke the seal on the packet, indicating that Duff should sit. "Your pardon, I must read these immediately and I would value your opinion. Please, help yourself to the decanter; it is a very good port."

"No sir, I haven't for we don't have a quartermaster in a troop"

He said it in a matter-of-factly way, and suddenly realized it probably sounded like he was telling the ADC not to so stupid then to think they had quartermasters. "But I am sure we will find something suitable. A good night to you sir, and to General Wellesley."

He saluted, touching his tarleton, and walked of towards his company. His service in Portugal had officially begun.

Duff allowed himself the liberty of sitting down on one of the chairs, stretching his legs with sigh. "Thank you, Sir Arthur, but I better not. I do not wish to complain but after the journey I had, I fear any drink will go straight to my head and then where will my opinions be?"

Wellesley cursed himself mentally - how could he be such a poor host as to not offer his guest some food. He called for his valet immediately to bring up a cold platter and some bread.

"It is mean fare, I am afraid," he apologized, well aware of the defects of his table. "Yet it serves. You can offer me your opinions on a full stomach at least."