The Bridge over the Vouga

"We don't want any ... civilians across, or carts. The roads are going to be worse, and ... I am sure the 33rd will perform well, Colonel, given their experience and discipline. We can look on this as training for the battle we will have when we reach Oporto."

With the arrival of the 33rd it was time to start.

"I must take my men forward, Colonel, to deal with their forward positions. Bring yours along - there is a road, but it will not be easy going..."

The Rifles were moving off on his signal, spreading out to from a broad skirmishing line, and collecting their own picquets as they did so. The 62nd broke up into companies, and also moved to the left and right of the road. They would not be able to march for this, but would follow the rifles across walls and through orchards and olive groves. It was not drill book, but regiments did not just manoeuvre on open, featureless plains.

The Hussars navigated the harder terrain. Every so often a horse tripped and it looked as if a man was swept by a wave that had him up and well the next moment. A horse was slowed, when it tried to quicken its pace after a stumble, another was given a heel in the side as he slowed. The men were silent now, as on orders, and looked before their animals to aid them, as much as they could.

It looked as if Herrero wasn't too unused to the sort of land and though his hoof struck a stone here and there, his footing was confident. Willoughby kept the reins a note more slack than he would usually, as did most of the other riders left and right, for it allowed the horses room, should they slip.

Up ahead of them were the rifles, the grashoppers as some called them, and further on, the French.

Edrington left Bryony with Sergeant Allday and went forward on foot, not liking to risk his horse in such terrain in the dark. The cavalry would be guided to the best tracks: the infantry must follow the rifles over whatever obstacles lay between them and the French.

When he rejoined the centre companies of his battalion he passed the word that the attack on the picquets was to begin. The slow gathering of forces would have been heard - it was probably that the picquets would fade back as soon as the Rifles advanced on their positions, just as they had yielded possession of the bridge. But in the dark they had to move more slowly, and marksmanship would be less accurate.

The sound of rifle fire ahead told Edrington that Captain Vickery's men had encountered the foremost French picquets. To the left, there was rifle fire as his own men joined in. He moved forward, pistol held at his side, the four central companies close behind him, towards the flashes. Behind him a horse of the KGL Hussars snorted, and was reprimanded.

A shout from the left, where the muskets had fired. "They're running!" It might not have been true, but it caused the whole line of infantry to surge forward, and faced with over eight hundred men, the forward picquets of the French caved in and fled back towards their cavalry support.

The moon had set hours earlier, and it was still not much after midnight: a clear night, thankfully, in which one could just see walls and trees as outlines against the sky, but the infantry, following the rifles, swore and crashed through olive groves, and over narrow ditches. They pulled themselves free from low thorny bushes, and and there was a moment's panic at the end of the line when they broke down the hurdles penning a family of pigs, which ran out squealing. Edrington turned at the sound, but there was laughter rather than anger, and he continued, wondering just how many messes would be eating pork tonight. They would, he thought, deserve it.

Noise did not matter, since the purpose was to push the foreguard back - and the more men there seemed to be approaching them, the better. Eventually he ordered the drummer, and the rifle Companies' buglers, to sound the halt.

Lieutenant Jaeger trotted back towards him. "We can see them, Sir," he said, quivering with excitement. "There seems to be .... at least 6 double squadrons, the scout says."

"Go back and tell the rifles that if they can hit anyone.... But our own cavalry will coming through ... " Edrington turned and walked back to the front line of cavalry.

"We - the infantry - will advance, and keep them penned in. If they don't withdraw merely on the threat, bring your men up through ours, and push them back." He grinned up at the Hussar officer. "Once they're moving, keep pushing them, but don't get too far ahead. There are rather more of them in front, and we want to let the other divisions have some of the fun."

Some advance had been made if sound was much to judge by. The Hussars were eager in their anticipation and though the excitement was shared, it seemed their horses has taken on a face of purpose rather than a chaos of neighing and snorts.

Harris glanced across to where he thought Carty was, and caught a flicker from the rifle barrel, and a flash of a smile. The French had withdrawn - it was possibly unfair to say 'fled' because, like the retreat from the bridge, it had the air of something agreed in advance and executed properly. The darkness made it difficult for both sides, to move, and to tell friend from foe. There had been the figure who came stumbling over a broken down wall from the side... It was not until he had sworn in French that Harris had realised that he was not one of their own clumsy infantry companions. As both rifles lifted the Frenchman became equally aware of them, and swore again, as the sound of a dropped musket was followed by: "Je me rends, pardieu, je me rend!"

He had been handed over the 62nd, but not before he had complained bitterly on the difficulty of finding one's way back to one's unit in this damned darkness, where even the stars hid behind steep hills, and paths and walls meandered without purpose. The cavalry - spoiled as they always were - were not here on the terraced hillsides, but on the road, easy riding back to the rest of the forward line...

Harris passed the information on, and pushed forward. Over to the right, where the road ran from the bridge to Oporto, there were sounds of cavalry preparing to go in pursuit of cavalry.

Carty hated night fights, hated them, but he grinned to show Harris that he was fine. Everything was going so according to plan that he wondered when the chaos would break out. He crossed himself - there would be enough chaos and fighting in Oporto; made no sense to invite more.

The cavalry took up the formation a little less fluidly then Pierce wanted. The darkness was not only detrimental, it caused a slight air of recklessness to appear. Pierce let it be known in no uncertain terms what would happen to those who decided to pursue a course of action not ordered.

The French cavalry though preparing to fight was retreating too, neatly and efficiently. The order given, the British cavalry pursued them, with Pierce riding grimly in the first line of attack.

Herrero snorted as his sides were kicked and he began a lighter trot before quickening his pace. The terrain still slowed the men , but it was the road that they mainly rode on. The very same being an easier path to pursue the enemy. Their blades were shined and ready. Their pelisses slapping against their side and shoulder, where they were bound to be. The same hands holding onto the reigns of their horses, while their legs spurred their animals on.

Inso far the order was kept, no foolhardly men attempting their own forward action. As was also expected.

The first lines of hussars clashed with the French rearguard. At first the fighting was a little restrained, but as the men got into the spirits of the things the sabres flashed through the air with more ardour. Pierce felt a sabre rend the fabric of his pelisse, grunted and drove his own weapon through the Frenchman's side.

To his right two of the French had engaged against a man of the Hussars, soon another of the 15th had joined him from the side, striking a flank of the enemy's horse. The animal reared while it's rider near lost his hold. Another Frenchman struck up with his sword, slicing a cut in the 15th Hussar's arm. Willoughby was soon engaged with the enemy too. An interception left him, backing a turn before Herrero charged again.

The animal had looked as if it were to become shy of the sounds and the blood. He snorted, before a sharp kick had it spring forward. A blade slicing through the Frog's side.

Pierce had to turn Karat sharply to be able to meet a sabre thrust aimed at him. The move left him unbalanced, the Frenchman drew his sabre away and slashed again, then with a cry he slackened in the saddle, dropping his weapon. Sergeant Parker drew the bloodied weapon out of the man's chest and grinning at Pierce with berserker's delight launched his attack at another man.

The fighting was slackening for the Frenchman were retreating.

He had just parried a strike that could have left him with a deep gash to his side. But it did not. With a counterstrike the Frenchman was pushed back, his horse completing the turn that his rider refused. Some of the Frenchmen backed away again and the cavalry followed encouraged by their retreat.

Some shouts were heard and blades were raised. Willoughby had downed a man, and went after another. The riderless horse stood there blinking before it turned and bolted. The Hussars advanced again.

Pierce saw one of his Lieutenants surge forward and get entagled with a Frenchman. The Frenchman quickly overpowered the lad, and he fell white faced to the ground, his own horse kicking him viciously. Pierce briefly closed his eyes and rode on with the rest to the French main forward line.

Not too far from Willoughby one of the Hussars had been killed with a blade across his throat. He choked, blood spraying those close enough to him. His hand was lifted in it's last plight and he fired a carbine at the Frog.

He missed and then slackened against his horse, before slowly falling to the ground. Hooves passed him, his horse dragged him a few meters, till his feet got disentangled from their stirrups. His body remained lying beside a dead Frenchman.

Timothy rubbed his sleeve across his eyes, the sticky substance in abundance across the side of his face. It wasn't his blood, though it could nearly have been, but not for a fellow rider of their lines striking the attacker before he had a chance. "After them!"

"Look at them, they're runnin'!" Though it might've been planned on the side of the French, it wasn't they, who knew that.

Pierce gave the order for the troop to fall back into formation and follow the French at a cautious distance.
'Lieuntenant, I want you to make sure that the men do not stray forward.' He added to the surviving officer. Parker who thankfully knew how to rein in his battle 'craze' rode up to Pierce to take his place by the Captain.

'Would have done the lads a world of good, sir, if we were to finish them off.' Said the Sergeant a little daringly.
'Yes, Sergeant, it would have done them a lot of bloody good if we ended up facing the main body of the army.' The Captain ground out in reply, steadying Karat. 'One would expect a man of your experience not to utter such non-sense.'

Parker took the reprimand in his stride and tugging his moustache thoughtfully, asked: 'So you think, sir, they are retreating to join up with the rest?' Pierce's sharpe glance told him all. 'Ah.'

It took several shouts to reign in the men, who had wanted to break into a bold chase after the enemy. It took a short few moments more that they regained their formation as perfectly as the terrain allowed. Closer now, the troopers rode. Willoughby glanced at the man to his left. He grinned. It was Kenley, whose Pelisse was slightly cut up, its furry trip hanging loose at a side.

"Captain'll kill you." There was a laugh. "If sargn't Parker won't get to you first." Was said by Forbes John 'Piper' who was seen riding alongside with them.

The boy touched his forehead with with two fingers. "Not when he'll be busy celebratin'." The youth answered and pointed ahead of them. "They're still runnin'!"

Soon the hussars were ordered to halt. The French force was in front of them and in much bigger numbers. Pierce let the men settle down to wait for the infantry.

It was not an easy march, even when the battalion was back on the road - not really a road at all, and in England the local landowners would be ashamed if even a cart-track were so bad. At one point Waldegrave had been sent forward to advise the Riflemen to slow down, because the sandy hillside had collapsed, taking part of the road with it, a result of the passage of horses at full tilt, and so many men. The rear of the division was slowed right down, and Waldegrave, waiting for the 62nd to catch up, began to worry that they would arrive too late for the battle, even though they had been the first to contact the enemy.

Tiredness dragged on his body - he had managed a couple of hours sleep during the afternoon, but that was all, and he dozed, leaning back against the old stone wall, until Captain Simmons shook him awake, and he could fall in and walk, heavily alongside the company, now straggling in double file.

The 60th rifles made progress ahead of them. The riflemen who'd been on picquet duty just a short while ago were now fighting the ragged terrain and damned rocks and walls. Silently the newly joined youth climbed over one of the walls. A few small stones were dislodged and bounced and rolled away into the dark. He dropped into a dry ditch on the other side, and waited. At the signal he was clambering forward. His left hand carried the rifle well above the ground, while every so often his right came to fall to the front. It helped climb and feel over another rock. A thorny bush, dry as sand, lost its leaves as its thorns caught onto the leg of the rifleman's throusers.

It pulled, broke and trembled as the thorns were forced away with the step of the man. Men.

They listened and stared ahead into the darkness. Out there, the French were trying to find their way back. Pye plucked a thorny branch from his sleeve and released it onto the floor. Behind them, the main body moved, slowed down some.

Williams pushed his shako back and straightened his back under the weight of his pack - you could adjust to in on the march, on a straight flat road, with the rhythm of your stride, but this constant stopping and starting made it feel unbalanced. But even now, as they waited for the regiment in front to clear the obstruction in the road, it would be against the regulations to take it off. And sometimes, even after a properly authorised rest, removing it just made it worse - when you came to put it back on, you could barely lift it.

At last they started moving forward, past the point where the track narrowed and they had to go in single file. Beyond that the officers halted them again, to reform into their two files: "You don't want to go attacking the French in ones and twos - get back in column, not straggling along like civilians!" But all the stopping and starting was playing havoc with his back. And from what he'd heard, the French weren't going to stand. They were moving back steadily, and not without inflicting casualties either. They had already passed several cavalrymen, back where there had been a bit of a running battle....

The first Frenchmen were spotted on foot. A small resistance that must've taken a wrong turn or was meant to slow the progress of the enemy so that the others could retreat. Neither was something that the riflemen could know. Only, that they were there and they were not English for few words of French we re heard.

Roper made a signal which had both him and Pye halt, and kneel down. While the man had loaded his weapon already, it took Pye a few moments longer.

They moved ahead a few paces and fired. As they were loading again Jacklin advanced past them and did the same as they.

The Riflemen were still engaged with the French picquets retreating on foot, as the sound of an exchange of fire proved. And once Edrington had though that he heard musketry over to the left, to the West where Hill's division had crossed the Vouga by boats and ought to be making their way north to trap the French in a pincer movement as they retreated. But there had been no sign of them, nor any message from Wellesley or the staff, and for all Edrington knew only he and his two cavalry regiments and four infantry - with rifles support - were in position.

The sky in the east was clearly lightening, a pearly sheen behind black hills, as he walked forward to the cavalry commanders, overlooking the full strength of the French forward position. From what their guides and scouts said, the forces under him might just outnumber the French, who were heavier on cavalry. They would have to trust that the other Divisions, to left and right were able to play their part, since they could only push the French back, not overwhelm them with numbers and take large numbers of prisoners.

Edrington stood looking up at the men on their horses. "If you can harry them on the flanks if they look like charging us, we should drive them back. Let us hope that the others are in place."

They have picked off a few of the soldiers while others began to pull back again. If only it hadn't felt as if they were actually not fleeing but fulfilling a part of their plans. Several Frenchmen fell, from their fire and that of the other men that advanced with them somewhere to the left and right of them.

Their hands were scratched in places where they've advanced around and through the thorny plants, the grass close to where they've fired a bit darker. So far it was going as good as it could.