Yes, from the French for water, L'eau.

Looe in Cornwall comes from the Cornish language word logh meaning pool or inlet. I've never been, but it's one of those lovely Cornish villages that look so good on postcards.  

It does look nice Mark and when the tides go out I can see were the word pool comes in.

Another Americanism I'm unfamiliar with.

We like bland, none of that spicy foreign stuff.

Looe

Cornish, as in Cornish game hen, refers to the county of Cornwall  in England. The Cornish chicken is native to Cornwall.

It really isn't a game hen though. They are smaller that a normal chicken that you would serve and because of this each person usually lets their own chicken on their plate.

And so Wellington returned to Portugal. On the way his ship was caught in such a violent storm the Captain told him they were in imminent danger of floundering, to which Wellington replied.... If that is the case, I shall not bother removing my boots. Arriving in the capital of Lisbon, he was appalled by the filthy state of it and called it, "the most horrible place I have ever seen." One of the few private soldiers who could write wrote...... "What an ignorant, superstitious, priest ridden, dirty, lousy set of devils the Portuguese are. Without experiencing them, it is impossible to concieve there exists a people in Europe so debased. The filthiest pigsty is a palace to the houses in this stinking city." A case of.... don't hold back, say it as it is! What the British faced now was three French armies under Marshall's Soult, Ney and Victor. Wasting no time, he set off to tackle Soult, who upon hearing of the approaching army, crossed the river Douro and then sank all of the ferries and blew up the bridges. However, Wellington's scouts discovered a few wine barges the locals had hidden and in an audacious action, began shipping men across. The first discovered a Bishop's Seminary on the edge of town and occupied it. Meanwhile Soult, believing he was safe across the river, suddenly found a detachment of Redcoats on his doorstep and ordered them removed but was stunned to know that 600 men had already crossed. The French attacked the seminary in waves but failed to dislodge the British defenders. By now the rest of the army had crossed and attacked him in the town of Oporto. The French beat off two attacks before retreating in haste, losing 70 guns, the whole of their baggage train and leaving to the care of the Brits, 1500 injured men in their makeshift hospital. Wellington pressed on after them and almost caught his whole army with their backs to the river but for a brave action by a group of hand picked Grenadiers, who captured a guarded bridge, allowing them to escape. The result of this first taste of Wellington's army for Soult was the loss of 4000 men and the whole of his baggage train and artillery. The Brits lost around 450.

The loss of their baggage train would not affect the French in the same way as it would the British, as they lived 'off the land' so to speak. In other words, like an army of ants, they looted and pillaged every square inch of land in their path, which as you can imagine, did not endear them to the Spanish, who organised themselves into Guerrilla bands, who by the end of the war totalled some 38.000 men. It is impossible to say just how many French they killed or tortured but it was a considerable number and they made sure the French knew exactly what they were doing by leaving the French samples of their work in their path. Despite this habit of raping the land, the French army had a brilliant logistics process, which ran like clockwork most of the time. Wellington would hang any man caught looting or abusing one of the locals. He likened the French system to a fine leather bridle, which worked perfectly until it snapped and was then useless, whereas he likened the British logistics to a piece of rope, which if snapped, they just tied a knot and carried on.

Wellesley’s next battle embodied his every exasperation and uncertainty of dealing with his Spanish allies. They were led by General Cuesta, an arrogant man who thought he was a cut above Wellesley and obviously superior to him as a General, as he’d been commissioned before Welelsley had been born. Their first meeting didn’t go well, as Cuesta turned out his guard for the welcome and Wellesley got lost on the way. By the time he arrived they had to drag the guard out of their beds for inspection in the dark and Wellesley was less than impressed. Cuesta was described by a fellow Spaniard as the embodiment of Spain at its very worst, old, proud, incompetent and ailing. Wellesley complained repeatedly that it was impossible to get him to honour any agreement and whereas his troops went hungry at times, the Spanish had all they could wish for. Things got so bad at times that Wellesley told Horse Guards (the buildings in London where the army was run) that is was now becoming impossible to run a campaign in Spain. Cuesto had chased Marshall Victor’s army, only to find he had been duped and he was chasing shadows and next thing was the French were snapping at his heels as he was chased back. Wellesley sent out two divisions to shore him up, with a request that they both join up and fight as one. Cuesto finally agreed and the battle of Talavera could begin.

As the armies were deploying, Wellesley took the opportunity to ride out and do some recce from a farmhouse tower. As his escort sat about, both he and they had failed to spot a number of French Skirmishers creeping up on them. As the first shots rang out, Wellesley dashed down the stairs and leaped over a wall to where his horse was. Even though shots were whistling all around them, fortunately for him, his men holding the horses had remained remarkably composed. Wellesley jumped on to his saddle and galloped off, with shots ringing in his ears. He’d had a very lucky escape, one of many he would have in this campaign. He was to say later….. if the French had remained cool, they could have taken us all.

Talavera did not get off to the best start because just as Wellesley arrived back at his own lines a line of French Dragoons appeared through the thickets, shooting Spanish skirmishers and stragglers. They were greeted by a thunderous volley from the Spanish line, which did scare them off, but as they had opened up at an impossible distance, they hit nobody, then, seemingly frightened by their own noise, 2000 of them suddenly turned and ran, not 200 yards from where Wellesley was sat. Generals Cuesta and Odonoju’s carriages were swept away by the melee and the torrent of men, which only stopped to plunder the British baggage train. As night closed in General Hill suddenly sent in the Worcester Regiment to attack the French held Medellin Town (another of my Grandad’s Regiments WW1) and they took it. Nightfall arrived and both armies settled down to await the morning. At 5 am, the French kicked off the proceedings with the usual cannon bombardment, for which they were famous. This created so much smoke it blocked out the battlefield for a few minutes and when the smoke cleared the Brits could see three huge columns heading towards them, 60 men wide, 24 deep. These were the tactics that had crushed European armies before but they were checked by the signature tactic of the British, the deadly line volleys. There was a pause, whilst the French guns opened up again and once again the columns attacked and were checked by volley fire from the Guards. As the French fell back the Guards were drawn forward through over enthusiasm and when the French counter attacked, they lost a quarter of their men and retreating through their own lines, they caused disorganisation , which the French took advantage of and poured men into the gap. It was a critical moment for Wellesley, who threw the Northhampton regiment to stop them, which they did with admirable courage. This was followed by another over enthusiastic cavalry charge, which went too far and once more cemented their bad reputation in Wellesley’s mind, but they weren’t finished yet. The French launched another attack and again the cavalry met it, but many in the Light Dragoons were killed when they plunged into a trench which they did not see. They managed to reform and charge again, but the French had formed square and they lost 50% of the regiment. The French were a spent force by now and began to leave the field. The Brits had lost 5,365 men and the French over 7000.

In one of those perculiar moments of each side mingling, there was a moment during the battle, when it got so hot, men were desperate for water, so they called a truce whilst soldiers from both sides went down to the river to collect water. Here they fraternised freely, congratulating each other on their courage and exchanging various foods. 

The leader of the Northampton Regiment was a man by the name of Lt Colonel Donellan, who was a little eccentric, in the fact that he dressed like a man from a century earlier, with a Tricorne hat and white buckskin britches. Although mortally wounded during the battle, he insisted on turning over the command of his men in the correct manner and having done so, he dropped dead.

Talavera was a battle Wellesley could not take advantage of, as another French army was heading his way, which forced him to retreat until further reinforcements could arrive from Britain. Wellesley was furious with the performance of Cuesto and his troops, who he complained had no spirit or discipline and plundered even in front of their own officers. He neglected to provision the Brits and they remained badly short of food, whilst his own troops enjoyed an abundance. A starving army is worse than none, said Wellesley, who from this time forward would have his achievments recognised and be granted the title, The Duke of Wellington.

Wellington did not take part in anymore action for almost a year following Talavera. He returned to Portugal to begin the construction of the defensive lines of Tores Vedras. Meanwhile Marshall Messena had taken the great fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo, one the the two great fortresses synonymous with this war, the other being Badajoz. He now moved onto the fortified town of Almeida but a branch of his forces under Marshall Ney were prevented from crossing a bridge over the River Cao by a small contingent of British under General Robert Craufurd. It did not take long for the French cavalry to flatten his left flank and the British beat a hasty retreat over the bridge and awaited them. The first French attack did not get further than half way over the bridge before being forced back, leaving a stack of bodies. He then sent in an elite light division, which courageously fought through a hail of fire, climbing over an increasingly higher pile of bodies to continue the attack. They too retreated, following terrible casualty figures and a third wave was sent in, only to fail again. The bridge was packed with around 500 dead French, of which around 300 of them were from the Light Division. Ney had turned victory into a defeat.

General Robert Craufurd was another mercurial Scot, who rose from the rank of Captain to a General. He was a fanatical, gifted soldier who did not tolerate any weakness in himself, or his men. He had an explosive temper and would have men flogged for the slightest indiscretion. Other Generals had respectful nicknames from their men, Gen Roland Hill for example was nicknamed daddy by his troops but they all walked in fear of Craufurd, who they nicknamed Black Bob but he would not put his men through anything he would not do himself. When the battle of Talavera was about to begin, he marched his men 42 miles in one day to get there but arrived too late. He took part in the war in India against Tipoo Sultan and the disaster of Buenos Aires. Once being overlooked for promotion, he resigned his commission and went on a tour of Europe's armies, watching and learning. He was with Sir John Moore in his ferocious retreat to Corunna and it is recognised that his iron will and discipline saved hundreds of lives. On that retreat his came across an officer being carried over a river by a private soldier, whereupon he bellowed for the soldier to drop him, which he did, he then ordered the officer to go back to the bank and cross alone. He once observed his marching men walk around a pool of mud and incensed by their soft behaviour, he made them turn around, go back and march straight through the mud. He was to die leading his men from the front at the siege of Cuidad Rodrigo, where he was shot through the spine. He lay growling for four days before he died and at his funeral his men deliberately marched through a pool of mud to attend him.

I must make a mention of Tipoo Sultan, although he had nothing to do with this war. He was a muslim leader of a Hindu region and is favourably looked upon today by Indian nationalists as some great hero for resisting the British. Fact was, he was a sadistic maniac at times who was just itching for a rumble with the Brits. They called him the Tiger of Mysore and he did have a bit of a fetish where tigers were concerned. He had tiger armour, tiger rugs, tiger everything, including live ones as pets. He once had a mechanical tiger made, which was savaging a British soldier. Well, if you want a war, the Brits will always oblige you and like some travelling circus, they casually made their way to the Tipoo's fortress of Seringapetam, where they were greeted by the bodies of some British soldiers with nails driven into their heads. Not happy with that they stormed it and took the city. Tipoo was found under a stack of bodies, stripped of his jewellery by British soldiers. He was not stripped of his magnificent armour though, that was taken later and shipped back to Britain, where it now sits in a glass cabinet in Windsor Castle, for all the tourists to admire.

Following the action at the Cao river crossing the French moved on to the fortress town of Almeida. Marshall Massena had to take the fortress before winter, if he was to proceed in to Portugal. On paper this was a real tough nut to crack and the defenders had every right to think themselves safe. They had 4000 troops in there, over 400 gunners and a mass of heavy cannon. The French moved their siege guns into position and began the long drawn out bombardment, expecting it to last a number of weeks if necessary, but after just half a day a catastrophic event took place which resulted in the fortresses’ capitulation. Like some Looney Tunes cartoon, a person had carried a leaking gunpowder barrel across the courtyard, from the powder magazine, which was ignited by a spark and it trailed all the way to the magazine and up it went in one almighty explosion. The ground for a few hundred yards around shook and a huge part of the fortress was blown to smithereens. 200 gunners manning the cannon on the walls were instantly killed. Their only hope now was help from Wellington but  when the French resumed their bombardments the next day, the fortress surrendered and the surviving defenders were allowed to march out and the French took control of it. The path was now open to Portugal and Wellington's army.

Having now removed the two major fortresses before them, the way was open for the French to invade Portugal. Massena intended to march straight for Lisbon but Wellington decided to meet the threat on the ridges of Bussaco, which was directly in their path. The alliance needed to hold up the French for as long as possible, to allow the defensive lines of Torres Vedras to be built around Lisbon, so General Craufurd’s (Black Bob) Light Division harassed them all along the way, until they finally reached Wellington’s chosen battlefield. It was a typical Wellington position, with his forces on the reverse slope to protect them from cannon fire, until needed. The French attacked the allied left, hoping to sweep the ridge and come around the allied right, but this was met and became something of a stalemate. They then attacked the centre and were almost on the ridge, when they were spotted and driven off by a timely charge of the 88th and 45th regiments. Their next attack proved to be their last and most calamitous, for as they reached the ridge, Craufurd’s lights were hiding in a long ditch and when the French were a mere 25 yards from them, they rose and gave them a volley, followed immediately by a boyonet attack. The result was utter carnage for the French, who were driven back down the hill with terrible losses. Allied losses amounted to 1250, whereas the French suffered 4400. Massena followed Wellington on to Lisbon but was amazed and shocked by the strength and sophistication of the lines of Torres Vedras. He hung around too long and his army suffered badly from hunger and disease before he decided to call it a day and retreat back to Spain. The French were never to go back to Portugal again.

The 88th regiment of foot was the Irish regiment, The Connaught Rangers, one of eight Irish regiments in the British Army. Virtually all regiments have a nickname and theirs was The Devil's Own. These were pretty wild men, understanding just enough English to come on parade. Their decisive charge at this battle, alongside the 45th (Nottingham Regiment, The Sherwood Forresters, nickname The Old Stubborns) cost them the most casualties of the battle, 142, one more than their comrades of the 45th. Following Irish independence they were disbanded. Their colours still stand alongside those other Irish regiments in Windsor castle, where they have not moved since they were placed there in 1924. On the recent visit of the Irish PM to Windsor, one of his wishes was to see the colours of the regiments.

The battle of Bussaco had consequences beyond the fact of the defeat of the French. It was the first battle in which the Portuguese army, trained and equiped by the British, took their place alongside British infantry regiments in the thick of battle. They proved a resounding success and earned the respect and trust of the men on their shoulder, the most important characteristic in any army. Wellington was delighted by their performance and wrote to Horse Guards.... this battle has given me a favourable opportunity to show the enemy the desription of the troops (Portuguese) of which this army is composed and that they are worthy of contending in the ranks of British soldiers. He would compare them against his own of course, those who, despite the modern attempts to portray Wellington as hating and having contempt for, he truly admired and appreciated. He is often quoted as saying they were.... the scum of the earth, and frankly, they were, but his following line has always been omitted for social purposes. They are the scum of the earth, but look what we have made of them now. The largest drain on the French at this time, before Massena took the hint and left, was the Portuguese irregulars, who were now costing the French 500 men a week. He retreated back to the fortress of Almeida after a campaign of a year, which had cost him in all, 30,000 men.

Away from Wellington’s army, a second British army was serving with the Spanish, who had moved to garrison the port of Cadiz, which Marshall Soult was attempting to take, although it was a pretty poor effort, which became increasingly more difficult as the Royal Navy began to deliver more troops and supplies. The British army came under the control of the Spanish General La Pena, who had a habit of marching his men around in circles. He placed the British to take a ridge called Barossa, which they did, and awaited the French response. The army was  led by General Graham, a very competent man, admired by his men. The French were once again beaten by this Anglo Portuguese army in this Battle of Barossa and for the first time in this war, the Brits captured a French eagle.

The Eagle was captured by Sergeant Patrick Masterson of the 87th, the Royal Irish Fusileers Regiment, nicknamed 'The Rollickers.' I don't know if you colonists understand the word rollick but it means to give a telling off, or a beating. When they charged, their battle cry was Fagh a Ballagh, which means.... clear the way. One of the Regiment's most famous leaders was the inimitable General Paddy Gough, who led them in part of this war. Gough was the General from the Sikh wars, the indestructible lunatic who would ride around in his white coat to draw off the enemy's fire from his men. The man it was said only knew one order.... charge!

Once again the Spanish came in for criticism for their absence during this engagement, which drew severe criticism from Wellington.

The next phase of the war centred upon the two great fortresses of Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida, which the French had taken. The British were besieging both fortresses, one by Wellington and the other by general Graham, the victor of the battle of Barossa. To relieve Almeida, Messina attacked Wellington, which became known as the battle of Fuentes de Onoro. This was not the defensive battle of Busacco, rather a more fluid battle, which the French almost won on couple of occasions. Once again the Light Division under the formidable General Craufurd saved the day when it looked like part of the army was about to be cut off and a force of only 1400 British cavalry repeatedly fought off French numbers, twice their size. Having lost the battle, Messina ordered the commander of the fortress to blow up his magazine. Three French soldiers were sent to deliver the message dressed as peasants but the Spanish caught two of them and shot them as spies. The third got through and after evacuating the place, up it went.

Before blowing up the magazine, the resourceful commander of the fortress managed to sneak his whole force out at night, cross an unguarded bridge and disappear. Wellington was hopping mad at this, an incidence which reinforced his opinion that if he did not do everything himself, it would either not get done, or done wrongly, an opinion he regularly expressed to Horse Guards. Wellington blamed the wrong man at first, as Colonel Bevan had been ordered by him to protect the bridge, however, it was not his mistake, it was the mistake of the notoriously useless  General Erskine, who put the message into his pocket as he was returning his snuff box and forgot about it. When it finally dawned on him, Colonel Bevan rushed to make amends but it was too late. In fear of Wellington, Erskine told him Colonel Bevan had got lost. Poor Bevan was court marshalled, although he had requested an enquiry but when Wellington refused, he blew his brains out. Wellington was to take a certain amount of blame for this but it didn’t concern him. He wrote to his brother saying….. there is nothing so stupid as a gallant officer.

Mention must be made of the German troops, or Hanoverian, within Wellington’s army. They were soldiers of the highest caliber and fought with distinction in many of the battles, including their last battle under the Union flag, the Battle of Waterloo. In fact, their regimental flag was the Union flag with their regimental badge in the middle. Following the French occupation of Hanover, the Electorate of Hanover was dissolved and with it their army. As George 111 was the deposed Elector, many of the soldiers of Hanover fled and found a home in the British army, where they were given their own colours, regiments and the title, The King’s German Legion. In their 12 years within the British army, approximately 25,000 men would serve in the ranks.