‘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.
Arthur frowned. It was exceedingly frustrating. There was no prospect of a direct assault across the river without enduring heavy losses. But by the time they crossed upstream, Soult could have slipped away towards Galicia; or, worse still, he might steal a day’s march on Arthur and head south towards Lisbon or Badajoz to link up with Marshal Victor. In either case, the tables would have been turned on the British.
As he stared across the river an officer came trotting across the terrace towards him and drew up breathless to stand stiffly to attention. Arthur recognised him as one of the Portuguese-speaking officers serving under Beresford.
‘Colonel Waters, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The man’s face was flushed with the effort of clambering up the hill to the convent, and his expression was animated as he drew sharp breaths to enable him to speak clearly.
‘Beg to report, sir ... I think I have found a way ... to get across the Douro.’
‘What’s that? How?’
Waters turned and pointed upriver, to where the Douro curved round the steep cliffs opposite, just beyond the building Arthur had briefly observed the evening before.
‘Just there, sir. I was down there this morning, scouting along the river bank looking for any boats the enemy might have missed. That’s when I encountered a barber.’
‘Barber? What nonsense is this?’
‘The barber came from Oporto, sir. He crossed the river in a small rowing boat. He was quite excited and claimed to have discovered some unguarded wine barges on the far bank. There was a local priest and a handful of labourers nearby and I persuaded them to cross the river and help retrieve the barges.’ Waters paused as he noticed the impatient expression on his superior’s face. ‘Long and short of it is that we now have four wine barges hidden in the reeds on our side of the Douro, opposite that convent there. I searched that too, sir. It seems to have been abandoned.’
Arthur raised his telescope and examined the section of river Waters had indicated. It was perhaps as much as four hundred yards wide, and any attempt to cross it in full view of the French would have been suicidal. However, that part of the river was not in full view of the enemy, Arthur realised. It was very likely that it was obscured by the tall cliffs on the far side. As he scanned the bank by the empty convent, he did not see any sign of French soldiers.
Snapping the telescope shut Arthur turned to Waters with a faint smile. ‘Fine work. Well then, let the men cross.’
He turned to call Somerset to him and quickly explained the situation. ‘Get the third regiment of foot down there as quickly as you can, but find a route where they won’t be spotted by the French. They are to use the barges to cross and occupy that convent. As soon as that is done, we’ll start feeding more troops across. With luck we’ll be there in strength before Soult is aware of it.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Somerset hurried off.
Arthur turned back to Waters.‘I should imagine you will want to be involved in this?’
‘Indeed, sir.Yes.’
‘Very well, you may join the assault party. Good luck to you.’
Once Waters had made off Arthur turned to examine the far bank again through his telescope. There was still no sign of any life near the convent. None at all. It was something of a surprise that Soult had neglected to guard this stretch of river. But then perhaps Soult was the kind of officer who neglected to do a full reconnaissance of his position. Or perhaps he was so imbued with the contempt with which French commanders seemed to view their enemies that he was blind to the danger. Arthur smiled. If that was the case then Marshal Soult was about to receive a very rude shock indeed.