All in Scarlet Uniform (Napoleonic War 4) by Adrian Goldsworthy Page A

Spanish NCOs eyed each other warily at first, but after two hours of marching, and exchanges in the few words they possessed of each other’s language, they began to get along well.
    MacAndrews and Morillo met every day for a long session, refining their plans, for both were earnest in their desire to make the training mission a success in spite of all the difficulties they faced. Language was a big problem. Neither of Morillo’s officers spoke any English, and only a few of the sergeants knew some words. Williams and Pringle knew a little Spanish, but were more comfortable in Portuguese, and only Reynolds was moderately fluent. Several on both sides spoke French, and so conversations became an odd mixture of different tongues and fervent gestures.
    MacAndrews convinced Morillo that they should teach a simplified form of the British army’s drill, with Dundas’ manual for formed manoeuvres and other publications for skirmishing and outpost duties. Spanish regulations had changed too much in recent years to be standard in all of their armies, or even regiments, and also did not cover some matters well. In addition, the British system was most familiar to his own staff. However, Morillo was adamant that the orders must be given in Spanish. That was the only way that the men could be sent back to their regiments in a position to pass on their training.
    ‘We do not wish to join the English army,’ he said.
    ‘The Portuguese are retraining with British officers mixed with their own and using English drills and orders,’ MacAndrews pointed out.
    ‘We are not Portuguese,’ came the reply, and that was an end to the matter.
    Together they translated all the commands, and then spent the next two weeks practising with their own men, forming them into groups and drilling them in small mixed squads for as long as the light lasted during these short winter days. The Spanish learned the drills, and the British learned the words of command. There were mistakes, angry exchanges and moments of pure farce. Williams’ orders once resulted in half the parade facing in the opposite direction to the other men. Laughter helped to ease the difficult moments, while MacAndrews’ and Morillo’s enthusiasm and determination were alike infectious.
    The first group of NCOs arrived for training. There were twenty of them, drawn from regiments in the Marquis de la Romana’s Army of the Right, and led by a young lieutenant. None of the men had muskets, and so MacAndrews had to ride to Almeida and persuade the governor, a Colonel Cox who was in the Portuguese service, to provide him with a wagon-load of the weapons. Until these arrived, the firelocks of MacAndrews’ and Morillo’s men were shared out for each drill.
    On the last day of January a larger party of almost one hundred men came from the Army of Estremadura. A one-armed sergeant led them, and he was the only man with any experience. The rest were boys, conscripted into the army barely a month before. Some looked as young as fourteen, and none had received any training or equipment. They wore their own clothes, and many shivered in the cold because they had no greatcoats or other protection against the driving rain.
    ‘Do they take me for their quartermaster?’ MacAndrews angrily asked Morillo when they were alone.
    ‘They know the English have plenty of money,’ he said simply, and then shrugged. ‘And they do not trust you.’
    ‘How about you?’ said the Scotsman with a twinkle in his eye, for he had come to like and rely on his colleague.
    Morillo smiled. ‘I’m thinking about it.’
    ‘Well, we must change our plans and begin with the fundamentals of drill. Now, how shall we divide them up, and who shall we put in charge?’
    It meant more trips to Cox to beg for supplies. The recruits each received a grey greatcoat, which the Portuguese in Almeida managed to find in a forgotten storeroom. They were faded and musty, and must have been intended for taller men than the