A history of the Peninsular War, Vol. 5, Oct. 1811-Aug. 31, 1812

by Charles Oman

CHAPTER I

KING JOSEPH AS COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF

On March 16, 1812, the day on which Wellington opened his trenches before Badajoz, the Emperor Napoleon took a step of no small importance with regard to the control of his armies in Spain. He had now made up his mind that the long-threatened war with Russia must begin within a few months, and that he must leave Paris ere long, and move forward to some central point in Germany, from which he could superintend the preparations for a campaign, the greatest in scale of any which he had hitherto undertaken. He was persuaded that war was inevitable: the Czar Alexander had dared to dispute his will; and in the state of megalomania, to which his mind had now accustomed itself, he could tolerate no opposition. Yet he was aware, in his more lucid moments, that he was taking a great risk. On March 7th Colonel Jardet, Marmont’s confidential aide-de-camp, was granted an interview, in which he set forth all the difficulties of the Army of Portugal. The Emperor heard him out, and began, ‘Marmont complains that he is short of many resources—food, money, means, &c.... Well, here am I, about to plunge with an immense army into the heart of a great country which produces absolutely nothing.’ And then he stopped, and after a long silence seemed suddenly to rouse himself from a sombre reverie, and looking the colonel in the face asked, ‘How will it all end?’ Jardet, thrown off his balance by such a searching query, stammered that it would of course end in the best possible fashion. But he went out filled with gloomy forebodings, inspired by his master’s evident lack of confidence in the future[334].

Some weeks were yet to elapse before the Emperor’s actual departure from France; but, ere he went, he had to set in good working order the conduct of his policy during his absence, and of all its complicated machinery the Spanish section was one of the most puzzling and the most apt to get out of order. It was clearly impossible that he should continue to send from Dresden or Wilna elaborate orders every five or ten days, as he had been wont to do from Paris. If it took three weeks to get an order to Seville in February, it might take five or six in July, when the imperial head-quarters might be in some obscure Lithuanian hamlet. Something must be done to solve the problem of continuous policy, and of co-operation between the five armies of Spain, and after much consideration the Emperor dictated to Berthier the solution which he thought least bad—’Send by special messenger a dispatch to the King of Spain, informing him that I confide to him the command of all my Spanish armies, and that Marshal Jourdan will serve as his Chief-of-the-Staff. You will send, at the same time, a similar intimation to that marshal. You will inform the King that I shall keep him advised of my political intentions through my ambassador at Madrid. You will write to Marshal Suchet, to the Duke of Dalmatia, and the Duke of Ragusa that I have entrusted the King with the charge of all my armies in his realm, and that they will have to conform to all the orders which they may receive from the King, to secure the co-operation of their armies. You will write, in particular, to the Duke of Ragusa that the necessity for obtaining common action between the Armies of the South, of Valencia, and of Portugal, has determined me to give the King of Spain control over all of them, and that he will have to regulate his operations by the instructions which he will receive. To-morrow you will write in greater detail to the King, but the special messenger must start this very night for Bayonne[335].’

Of the bundle of dispatches that for the King was delivered at Madrid on March 28th, after twelve days of travel. Marmont got his a little later, as he had started on his Portuguese expedition when it reached Salamanca. Communication between his field-force and his base being difficult, owing to the activity of Julian Sanchez, it appears to have been on March 30, when before Ciudad Rodrigo, that he became aware that he had a new commander-in-chief[336]. Soult was apprised of the situation much later, because, when preparing for his expedition to relieve Badajoz, he had ordered his posts in the Sierra Morena to be evacuated, and the communication with La Mancha to be broken off for the moment. It seems that he must have got Berthier’s dispatch quite late in April, as on the 17th of that month he was only acknowledging Paris letters of February 23rd[337], and the first courier from Madrid got through only some time later. Suchet would appear also to have been advised of the change of command very late—he published the imperial decree in his official gazette at Valencia only on May 10, giving as its date the 29th instead of the 16th of March[338], which looks as if the first copy sent to him had miscarried, and the repetition made thirteen days later had alone reached him. These dates are only worth giving as illustrations of the extreme difficulty of getting orders from point to point in Spain during the French occupation, even when Andalusia and Valencia were supposed to be thoroughly subdued.

It will be noted that in Napoleon’s instructions to Berthier no mention is made of either the Army of Catalonia or the Army of the North[339]; and it might have been thought that, clinging to the theory of his paper annexation of Spain north of the Ebro, he was deliberately exempting from the King’s control the troops in the districts on which he had resolved to lay hands for his own benefit. But a supplementary dispatch of April 23rd placed Decaen and the garrison of Catalonia under the general charge of Suchet, and as that marshal had been directed to obey King Joseph’s military instructions, the four new ‘French’ departments on the Ebro were now theoretically under the same general command as the rest of Spain. As to the Army of the North, Dorsenne wrote (April 19th), with evident glee, to say that he was exempted from obedience to the King, by not being included in the list of recipients of the dispatch of March 16, and that he regretted his inability to carry out a series of orders which Jourdan had sent him. But he had not many more days to serve in his present capacity, and his successor, Caffarelli, though equally recalcitrant in spirit, presently received a formal notice that he was under King Joseph’s command.

Napoleon’s general policy in placing the supreme control of all the Spanish armies in the hands of one chief, and bringing to an end (in theory at least) the system of separate viceroyalties was undoubtedly the right one. And it cannot be disputed that one second-rate commander-in-chief is more effective than four good ones, working each for his own private and local profit and glory. But in this particular case the new arrangement was not likely to bring about any great change for the better, owing to the personal equation. During the last three years Napoleon had been inflicting affronts at short intervals upon his brother, had annexed integral portions of his realm, had disregarded most of his complaints and suggestions, and had allowed him to become the butt of the viceroys, whose insults and injuries he had never been allowed to resent. They had raided the districts assigned to his personal governance[340], had plundered his magazines, imprisoned his officials, and set up courts of justice of their own to supersede the regular magistracy of the land. The Emperor had never punished such proceedings; at the most he had ordered that they should cease, when they were injurious to the progress of the French arms in Spain. It was useless to issue a sudden order that for the future the marshals were under Joseph’s control, and that ‘he must make them obey him,’ as the phrase ran in one letter to Madrid. As the King’s minister, Miot de Melito, wrote, ‘What chance was there of success when all the individuals concerned were at variance with each other? The marshals had been accustomed for three years to absolute independence. The new Chief-of-the-Staff, in spite of his acknowledged capacity, was known to be out of favour with the Emperor, and in consequence could exercise no moral authority over the masters of the armies. The apparent testimonial of confidence which was given to the King, by making him Commander-in-Chief, was a matter to cause disquietude rather than satisfaction[341].’ The plain fact was that Napoleon was over-busy, worried with other problems, and he merely took the easiest and simplest method of throwing the burden of the Spanish war on to the shoulders of another. The consequences, be they what they might be, were now of little importance, compared with the success or failure of the impending Russian campaign.

Jourdan sums up the situation in much the same terms. ‘The King for two years had been allowed to have no direct relations with the generals-in-chief: he had no exact knowledge of the military situation in each of their spheres of command, nor was he better informed as to the strength, organization, and distribution of the troops under their orders. Unable to use his new authority till he had got together detailed statements as to these data, he directed his chief-of-the-staff to ask for reports. Dorsenne replied that he should not send any at present, because Berthier, when announcing to him that the Armies of the South, of Portugal, and of Aragon had been put under the King’s orders, had informed him that the Emperor would let him know in due course what was to be done with the Army of the North. Marshal Suchet demonstrated that he had received special instructions from the Emperor, which presently were seen to make the King’s authority over the Army of Aragon quite illusory. Soult had removed all the posts on the lines of communication when he marched to relieve Badajoz, and showed so little zeal in reopening them, that even in May it was not known at Madrid whether he was yet aware that he was under the King’s orders. Marmont was the only one who sent without delay the report which had been asked for—but he announced at the same time that, in obedience to the Emperor’s earlier orders, he was already operating beyond the Agueda, to make a diversion for the relief of Badajoz[342].’

Of what use was it to send orders to the marshals, when they could plead that the execution of them was rendered impossible by instructions received directly from the Emperor, which prescribed a different policy? Unfortunately for King Joseph each commander-in-chief still preserved his direct communication with the Minister of War at Paris: even after the Emperor had started for Poland in May, each continued to send in his own plans, and to demonstrate how far superior they were to those prescribed by King Joseph. Soult, in particular, generally commenced a dispatch by demonstrating that the directions received from Madrid could not possibly be executed, and then produced an elaborate scheme of his own, which would be beneficial for the Army of Andalusia, but impracticable for those of Portugal, Valencia, and the Centre. When his suggestions were rejected, he wrote privately to Paris, declaring that Joseph and Jourdan were absolutely incapable, and sometimes adding that the King was trying to serve his private interests rather than those of his brother and suzerain. It was the accidental receipt by Joseph of an intercepted letter of Soult’s to the Minister of War, in which he was accused of absolute treason to the Emperor, that brought about the final rupture between the King and the Marshal, and led to the recall of the latter to France[343].

King Joseph, though liable to fits of depression and despair, was, on the whole, of a mercurial and self-sufficient temperament. A few weeks before the receipt of the Emperor’s dispatch granting him the command of the Spanish armies, all his letters had been full of complaints and threats of abdication. But the decree of March 16th filled him with a sudden confidence—at last his military talents should be displayed and recognized; he would, as his brother desired, ‘make the marshals obey him;’ for the future the armies should all act together for a single end, and not be guided by the selfish interests of their leaders. He accepted the position of Commander-in-Chief with undisguised pleasure, and proceeded to draw out schemes of his own, with Jourdan as his adviser in technical matters of military logistics.

It cannot be denied that the ‘Mémoire of May 1812[344],’ in which Jourdan set forth the situation after the fall of Badajoz, and the policy which he considered that it demanded, is a document of much greater merit than might have been expected. It is by far the best summary of the position of the French power in Spain that was ever drawn up, and it recognizes with great clearness the two main limitations of that power, which were (1) that the imperial troops were an army of occupation rather than a genuine field army, and (2) that the Napoleonic system, by which hosts were supposed to ‘live on the countryside,’ might be applicable for a short campaign in Lombardy or Bavaria, but was impossible for protracted manœuvres in an exhausted and thinly-peopled land like central Spain. Jourdan’s note on the Mémoire sums up the situation in a few lines—’Two measures were indispensable: one was to render the army mobile, by giving it ample transport, and by establishing large magazines on all lines of communication: without these all permanent concentration of heavy forces, and all continuous operations were impossible. The second was to abandon the deplorable system of occupying as much territory as possible—of which the real object was double: firstly, to enable the armies to live on the country-side; secondly, to appear in the eyes of Europe to be dominant over the whole of Spain.’

The Mémoire itself is worth analysing. Its gist runs as follows:—

‘(1) The recent departure of the Imperial Guards, the Poles, and other troops, and the lack of any adequate system of transport or magazines, renders the Imperial Army—though still 230,000 men strong—incapable of undertaking any offensive operations. The present situation is exceptionally trying, because of the successes of Wellington, and the deplorable effect on Spanish public opinion of the recent annexation [Catalonia], the arbitrary government of the generals, and the famine which has lately prevailed. The discontent thereby engendered has led to the enormous increase in the number of the guerrillero bands. It has also encouraged the government at Cadiz to multiply its levies and its military energy.

(2) It is not yet certain whether the Emperor intends the Army of the North to be at the King’s disposal. General Dorsenne refuses to send in reports or to accept orders. But since its recent reduction in numbers [by the departure of the Imperial Guard, and the transfer of Souham’s and Bonnet’s divisions to the Army of Portugal] it is believed that it has not more than 48,000 men under arms, and it appears to be a fact that it can do no more than hold down the wide regions committed to its charge, and guard the line of communications with France. Even if placed at the King’s disposition, it can furnish no important reinforcements to other armies. Nevertheless it should be put under his control, as it might under certain circumstances be called upon to lend a moderate force for a short time.

(3) As to the Army of Aragon [60,000 men, including the divisions in Catalonia]: the King was informed that Marshal Suchet was placed under his command, and that if he needed reinforcements he might draw on the troops in Valencia. He therefore [during the siege of Badajoz] ordered the Marshal to send a division to join the Army of the Centre for an indispensable operation[345]. The Marshal sent a formal declaration in reply, to the effect that he could not execute this order, and that he was even about to withdraw from Cuenca the regiment that he had placed there, as its absence imperilled the safety of Valencia. He says that the Emperor has placed Catalonia under his charge, and that he is authorized to employ his whole force for the protection of the provinces entrusted to him. Apparently, then, the Army of Aragon cannot co-operate in operations outside its own sphere, and the Marshal’s special instructions place him in an exceptional position. His relations with the King consist in a polite exchange of views, not in the giving and taking of orders—his Majesty’s control over this army is purely illusory.

(4) As to the Army of the South, Marshal Soult has about 54,000 men effective [not including Juramentados, &c.]. The Cadiz Lines and the garrisons pin down a large force to fixed stations. The Marshal has also to keep a considerable flying column in hand, to hunt Ballasteros and other partisans. For operations outside the bounds of Andalusia he can only collect a field-force of 24,000 men; this is the total figure of the corps that tried to relieve Badajoz, and in its absence Seville was nearly lost. The posts in the Sierra Morena were called in at that time, and have never come back: correspondence with the Army of the South is therefore precarious and slow.

(5) The Army of Portugal has 52,000 men effective. It holds the front line against Wellington; its divisions are much scattered, because it has to live on the country, and has also to furnish several important garrisons. One division of 6,000 men is fixed down in the Asturias by the Emperor’s special orders. The garrisons of Astorga, Valladolid, Salamanca, Leon, Palencia, &c., absorb 6,000 or 7,000 men more. Only 29,000 infantry [or a total of 35,000 of all arms] are available as a field-force to use against the English, if they attack on the front of the Tormes. If Marshal Marmont has to march out of his own sphere, to join in a combined operation against Wellington [e. g. in Estremadura], he can bring a still smaller force—say 25,000 men. The Army of Portugal is many months in arrear of its pay, and has hardly any transport or magazines: the troops have become terrible marauders—largely from necessity.

(6) Lastly we come to the Army of the Centre. It consists of 9,500 men borne on the Imperial muster-rolls, and 5,800 troops belonging to the King [his Guards and Hugo’s Juramentados, horse and foot]. There are also at present in Madrid 3,200 drafts for the Army of the South, temporarily retained—so that the whole makes up 18,500 men. But only 15,000 are effective, the remainder consisting of dépôts, dismounted cavalry, train, &c. Having to hold down the extensive provinces of Madrid, Segovia, Guadalajara, Toledo, La Mancha, and Cuenca, this force is a mere “army of occupation.” It can provide no troops for expeditions outside its own territory, and is spread so thin that even Madrid would be in danger without the Royal Guards. The pay is eight months in arrear.

(7) Civil administration is still localized: the commanders of the armies levy their own taxes, and nothing comes to Madrid. The King has to feed the Army of the Centre, and to maintain his civil service, from the revenues of New Castile alone. None of the marshals will help another with money or stores. The claim of the King to rule all Spain seems absurd to the people, so long as he cannot exercise any civil control outside the arrondissement of the Army of the Centre.

(8) Conclusion. All offensive operations are impossible, as long as the imperial armies have to hold down the entirety of the occupied provinces. If Lord Wellington concentrates all his forces, he can march with 60,000 men [not including Spaniards] against either the Army of Portugal or the Army of the South. Neither of them can assemble a sufficient force to resist him, unless they abandon whole provinces. The King has ordered Soult and Marmont to march to each other’s aid if either is attacked. But they have to unite, coming from remote bases, while the enemy can place himself between them and strike at one or the other. The lines of communication between them are long and circuitous. It is easily conceivable that one of them may be attacked and beaten before the other is even aware of the danger. A catastrophe is quite possible if Lord Wellington should throw himself suddenly, with his whole force, upon either the Army of Portugal or that of the South.

The only possible way of dealing with this danger is to collect a central reserve of 20,000 men at Madrid, which can be promptly transferred to right or left, to join either Soult or Marmont as the conditions of the moment dictate. The Army of the Centre cannot serve this purpose—it is not a field-force, but an immovable army of occupation. If the Emperor could send a new corps of this size from France, Marmont could be reinforced up to a strength sufficient to enable him to face Wellington, and to besiege Ciudad Rodrigo.

But the present posture of European affairs [the Russian war] probably makes it impossible to draw such a corps from France. This being so, the central reserve must be obtained from troops already existing in the Peninsula. The only way to find them is for the Emperor to consent to the evacuation of Andalusia. Thirty thousand men of the Army of the South can then be placed to cover Madrid, in La Mancha: this force would be ample against any Spanish levies that might come up to the Sierra Morena from Cadiz and elsewhere. The remainder of the Army of the South must form the central reserve, and prepare to reinforce Marmont. The Army of Portugal would then be so strong that Wellington could not dare to take the offensive—he would be hopelessly outnumbered. If this scheme is approved by the Emperor, he may be certain that, when he comes back from Poland, his Spanish armies will be in the same secure defensive position in which he leaves them now. The right wing rests on the Bay of Biscay in the Asturias: the left on the Mediterranean in Valencia.

When Andalusia is evacuated, the remaining provinces in French occupation will not be able to pay or feed the 54,000 men of the Army of the South, in addition to the armies already stationed in them; a liberal subsidy from Paris will be necessary. In addition the King must, for the sake of his prestige, be given real civil authority over all the provinces.

It will only be when all authority, civil, military, and administrative, is concentrated in one hand, that of the King, and when His Majesty shall have received from the Emperor instructions suiting the present posture of affairs, that he can be fully responsible for Spain.’

On the whole this is a very well-reasoned document. It was perfectly true that the offensive power of the French in the Peninsula had shrunk to nothing, because no province could be held down without a large garrison. If left unoccupied, it would burst into revolt and raise an army. This was the inevitable nemesis for a war of annexation directed against a proud and patriotic people. There were 230,000 French troops in Spain; but so many of them were tied down to occupation duty, that only about 50,000 or 60,000 could be collected to curb Wellington, unless some large province were evacuated. Either Andalusia or else Valencia must be abandoned. The former was the larger and the more wealthy; but it was more remote from the strategical centre of operations in Madrid, much more infested by the bands of the patriots, and it lay close to the sphere of operations of Wellington—the great disturbing element in French calculations. Moreover its evacuation would set free a much larger field army. Against this was to be set the adverse balance in loss of prestige: as long as Cadiz appeared to be beleaguered, the national government of Spain looked like a handful of refugees in a forlorn island. To abandon the immense lines in front of it, with their dependent flotilla (which must be burnt, since it could not be removed), would be a conclusive proof to all Europe that the main frontal offensive against the Spanish patriots had failed. Seville and Granada, great towns of world-wide fame, would also have to be abandoned. Andalusia was full of Afrancesados, who must either be shepherded to Madrid, or left to the vengeance of their countrymen.

But to weigh prestige against solid military advantage, though it might appeal to Napoleon—whose reputation as universal conqueror was part of his political stock-in-trade—did not occur to the common-sense intellect of Jourdan. He voted for the evacuation of Andalusia: so did his friend and master, King Joseph. Possibly their decision was not rendered more unwelcome by the fact that it would certainly be most distasteful to Soult, whom they both cordially detested. The Viceroy should pay at last for the selfish policy of the General: his realm, for the last two years, had been administered with much profit and glory to himself, but with little advantage to the King at Madrid, or the general prosperity of the French cause in Spain. Whether personal motives entered into the decision of Joseph and Jourdan we need not trouble to consider: it was certainly the correct one to take.

Permission to evacuate Andalusia was therefore demanded from the Emperor: King Joseph did not dare to authorize it on his own responsibility. Meanwhile, long before the Mémoire of May 1812 had been completed or sent off, to Napoleon, he issued the orders which he thought himself justified in giving in the interim, to act as a stop-gap till the permission should be granted. Marmont was told to fall back on his own old policy of keeping a large detachment in the Tagus valley, in order that he might get into touch with Drouet and Soult’s Estremaduran corps of observation. He was directed to send two divisions of infantry and a brigade of light cavalry to join Foy, who was still in the direction of Almaraz and Talavera. They were to be ready to act as the advance of the Army of Portugal for a march on Truxillo and Merida, if Wellington’s next move should turn out to be an attack on Soult in Andalusia. In a corresponding fashion, Soult was ordered to reinforce Drouet up to a force of 20,000 men, and to push him forward to his old position about Almendralejo, Zalamea, Merida, and Medellin, in order that he might march via Truxillo to join the Army of Portugal, in case the Anglo-Portuguese army should choose Salamanca, not Seville, as its next objective. The small part of the Army of the Centre that could be formed into a field-force—three battalions and two cavalry regiments, under General d’Armagnac—was directed to move to Talavera, to relieve Foy there if he should be called to move either north to join Marmont on the Tormes, or south to join Soult on the Guadiana[346]. To replace these troops, drawn from the provinces of Cuenca and La Mancha, Joseph—as we have already seen[347]—requested Suchet to send ‘a good division’ from Valencia by Cuenca, on to Ocaña in La Mancha[348]. In this way the King and Jourdan thought they would provide for active co-operation between the Armies of Portugal and Andalusia, whether Wellington should make his next move to the South or the North.

It is curious, but perhaps not surprising, to find that these orders, the first-fruits of Joseph’s new commission as Commander-in-Chief, were obeyed neither by Suchet, by Soult, nor by Marmont.

The former, as we have already seen, when analysing Jourdan’s Mémoire of May 1812, not only refused to send a division to Ocaña, but stated that he should be obliged to withdraw the regiment that he was keeping at Cuenca, because he was authorized by the Emperor to reserve all his own troops for the defence of his own sphere of action, in Valencia, Aragon, and Catalonia. Soult declared that it was impossible for him to reinforce Drouet—‘he could not keep 20,000 men on the Guadiana unless he received large reinforcements: all that he could promise was that the force in Estremadura should move up again to Medellin and Villafranca, possibly even to Merida, if Wellington had really gone northward with his main army. Drouet, with his 10,000 or 12,000 men, might serve to “contain” Hill and the British detachment in Estremadura, and his position would prevent the enemy from making any important movement in the valley of the Tagus. Meanwhile he himself must, as an absolute necessity, lay siege to Tarifa for the second time, and make an end of Ballasteros: no more troops, therefore, could be sent to Drouet: but when Tarifa and Ballasteros had been finished off, the siege of Cadiz should be pressed with vigour.’ This reply is not only a blank refusal to obey the King’s orders, but amounts to a definite statement that the local affairs of Andalusia are more important than the general co-operation of the French armies in Spain. As we shall presently see, Soult was ready to formulate this startling thesis in the plainest terms—he was, ere long, to propose that the King and the Army of the Centre should evacuate Madrid and retire upon Andalusia, when things went wrong with the Army of Portugal.

As to Marmont, his reply to King Joseph’s dispatch was couched in terms of less open disobedience, but it was by no means satisfactory. He wrote from Salamanca, on April 29th, after his return from the raid to Sabugal and Guarda, that he had now learnt (what he did not know ten days before), that Wellington had been pursuing him with five divisions. This force was still in the Beira, and the British general himself had been at Ciudad Rodrigo on the 26th. It was, therefore, quite clear that Soult had not ‘the whole English army on his shoulders.’ This being so, it was not necessary to send into the valley of the Tagus such a large force as was asked. But one division should move to Avila at once, and could drop down on to Talavera in two days, if it turned out to be necessary. Two more should be cantoned about Arevalo and the Pass of Piedrahita [20 miles north-west of Avila] respectively, points from which they could be transferred to the valley of the Tagus in a few days. Marmont then proceeded to warn Jourdan against any scheme for concentrating any considerable force in the direction of La Mancha, urging that he must be able to collect as many of his divisions opposite Wellington as possible, in case of an advance by the Anglo-Portuguese army towards the Tormes. All that was necessary on the Tagus was to have the forts at Almaraz well garrisoned and provided with stores, so that troops dropping down from Avila on a southward march should find a base and magazines ready for them. Summing up, he ends with a dictum that ‘if we defend Andalusia by sacrificing the Army of Portugal, we may save that province for the moment, but the North will be in danger: if a disaster occurs there, Andalusia will soon be lost also. If, on the contrary, we make its defence in the North, the South may be lost, but the North still remains secure.’ By these somewhat cryptic words, Marmont seems to mean that, looking at the affairs of Spain at large, Andalusia may be lost without any shock to the imperial domination in Leon and Old Castile. But a disaster in Leon or Old Castile entails inevitably the loss of Andalusia also. This was true enough, though Soult refused to see it.

But the result of Marmont’s very partial fulfilment of Joseph’s orders, and of Soult’s and Suchet’s entire neglect of them, was that Jourdan’s main design of providing for close and speedy co-operation between the Armies of Portugal and Andalusia was completely foiled. When, on May 17th-19th, Hill made his celebrated irruption into the valley of the Tagus, with the object of destroying the bridge and forts of Almaraz, the point where the interests of Soult and Marmont were linked together, he found no French troops within fifty miles of his objective, save the single division of Foy and D’Armagnac’s 3,000 men from the Army of the Centre. Marmont’s nearest division in support was at Avila, Soult’s in the Sierra Morena; both lay so far off from Almaraz that Hill could not only deliver his blow, but could depart at leisure when it was struck, without any risk of being beset by superior forces. If King Joseph’s orders of April had been carried out, Wellington’s stroke in May would have been impossible—or risky to the verge of rashness. Indeed we may be certain, on Wellington’s record, that he would not have made it, if three French divisions, instead of one, had been about Talavera and Almaraz. We may add that his self-reliance during the Salamanca campaign rested largely on the fact that Soult could not succour Marmont, within any reasonable space of time, even if he wished to do so, because the bridge of Almaraz was broken. Wherefore Jourdan and King Joseph must be pronounced to have been wise in their foresight, and the Dukes of Ragusa and Dalmatia highly blameworthy for their disregard of the orders given them. They looked each to their own local interests, not to the general strategic necessities of the French position in Spain, which the King and his Chief-of-the-Staff were keeping in mind.

So far their precautions were wise: to blame them for not taking the tremendous step of evacuating Andalusia without the Emperor’s leave, and concentrating such a force in central Spain as would have paralysed Wellington’s offensive, would be unjust. They dared not have given such an order—and if they had, Soult would have disobeyed it.

Napoleon himself, indeed, would have agreed with Soult at this time. For not long after Jourdan’s Mémoire of May 1812, with its request for leave to abandon Andalusia, had started on its journey for Dresden, there arrived at Madrid a dispatch from Berthier, setting forth the final instructions left by the Emperor before he started from Paris on May 9th. It was of a nature to strike dismay into the heart of the level-headed and rather despondent Jourdan; for it ignored all the difficulties which his recently dispatched appeal set forth with such clearness. The King was directed to keep a grip on all the conquered provinces of Spain, and to extend their limits till the enemy should be extirpated. The conquest of Portugal might be postponed till ‘les événements détermineraient absolument cette mesure.’ The region to which the Emperor devoted most attention was the sphere of the Army of the North. ‘This is the part on which it is indispensable to keep a firm hold, never to allow the enemy to establish himself there, or to threaten the line of communications. Wherefore a most active war must be waged upon the “Brigands” [Mina, Porlier, Longa, &c.]: it is of no use to hunt and scatter them, leaving them power to reunite and to renew their incursions. As to the English, the present situation seems rather to require a defensive posture: but it is necessary to maintain an imposing attitude in face of them, so that they may not take any advantage of our position. The strength of the forces at the King’s disposition enables him to do, in this respect, all that circumstances may demand. Such are the principal ideas which the Emperor, before departing, has expressed on the Spanish problem.’

This was a heart-breaking document. Just when the King and Jourdan had demonstrated that they had no available field army left to hold back Wellington, they were informed that their forces were ample for the purpose. When they had asked leave to evacuate Andalusia they are told to ‘conserver les conquêtes et les étendre successivement.’ They had been wishing to concentrate at all costs a central reserve—now they were directed to spread the already scattered army of occupation over a still greater surface—presumably the Emperor’s phrase meant that he wished to see Murcia, the Catalonian inland, the whole of the Asturias, and the Condado de Niebla garrisoned, in addition to all that was held already. The one central problem to Joseph and Jourdan was how to face Wellington’s expected onslaught by making the armies co-operate—the Emperor forbids concentration, and recommends ‘the assumption of an imposing attitude!’ As if Wellington, whose knowledge of the movements and plans of his adversaries was beginning to appear almost uncanny to them, was to be contained by ‘attitudes,’ imposing or otherwise.

The unhappy Commander-in-Chief and Chief-of-the-Staff of the united armies of Spain were reduced to a sort of apathetic despair by the Emperor’s memorandum. Jourdan, in his Mémoires, appears to shrug the shoulders of resignation in commenting on its effect. ‘If only instead of “hold all you have, and conquer the rest bit by bit,” we had been told that we might evacuate some provinces and concentrate the troops, there would have been much good in the instructions. The King might have dared to abandon the South in order to keep down the North, if he had not received this dispatch. But he could not take that portentous step without the imperial permission. All that he could now do, was to reiterate his directions to Soult and Marmont that they must so place their troops as to be able to succour each other. We shall see how they obeyed those orders[349].’

So, by the special and deliberate directions of the Emperor, the 230,000 effective men ‘present under arms,’ forming the five imperial armies of Spain, were placed at the mercy of Lord Wellington and his modest force of eight divisions of Anglo-Portuguese. In a flight of angry rhetoric, Berthier, writing under Napoleon’s dictation, had once asked whether it was reasonable ‘que quarante mille Anglais gâtent toutes les affaires d’Espagne.’ The reply of the fates was to be that such a contingency was perfectly possible, under the system which the Emperor had instituted, and with the directions which he persisted in giving.

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SECTION XXXIII: CHAPTER II

THE BRIDGE OF ALMARAZ. MAY 1812

On April 24th Wellington halted his pursuing army at Fuente Guinaldo and Sabugal, on hearing that Marmont had escaped him by a margin of twenty-four hours. The French were in full march for Salamanca, and it was impossible to pursue them any further, firstly because the allied army needed a few days of rest after the forced march from Badajoz, and secondly because its train had dropped behind, food was nearly out, and convoys had to be brought up from Lamego and São João de Pesqueira. There was, of course, nothing to be got out of the unhappy region in which Marmont’s locusts had just been spread abroad. The only fortunate thing was that the Duke of Ragusa had turned his raid against the Beira Baixa, and left the great dépôts on the Douro unmolested. From them ample sustenance could be got up, in a week, to the positions behind the Agueda and Coa where the army had halted.

Wellington, as it will be remembered, had contemplated an attack on Andalusia after Badajoz fell. But the necessity for seeing to the relief and revictualling of Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo had brought him up to the frontiers of Leon with the main body of his host. In the position where he now lay, he was well placed for an advance on Salamanca, and an attack on the Army of Portugal. To return to Estremadura would involve a long and weary countermarch. Moreover there was no doubt that operations in Leon would be more decisive than operations in Andalusia. As Marmont was to write to Berthier a few days later, a victory of the allies in the North would involve the evacuation of the South by Soult, while a victory in Andalusia would leave the French power in the valleys of the Douro and Tagus unshaken[350]. Advancing from the line of the Agueda against Salamanca and Valladolid, Wellington would have his base and his main line of communications in his direct rear, safe against any flank attack. A raid against Andalusia, even if successful, would separate him from Lisbon, and compel him to take up a new base at Cadiz—a doubtful expedient. But what seems, in the end, to have been the main cause for Wellington’s choosing Leon rather than Andalusia as his next sphere of operations, was that Marmont (as he judged) had the larger available army for field movements outside his own ground. Soult was more pinned down to his viceroyalty by local needs: he would not raise the siege of Cadiz or evacuate Granada and Cordova. Therefore he could not collect (as his movement at the time of the fall of Badajoz had shown) more than 24,000 men for an offensive operation. This was the absolute limit of his power to aid Marmont. But the latter, if he chose to evacuate Asturias and other outlying regions, could bring a much larger force to help Soult. Therefore an attack on Andalusia would enable the enemy to concentrate a more numerous defensive force than an attack on Leon. ‘Of the two armies opposed to us that of Portugal can produce the larger number of men for a distant operation. Marmont has nothing to attend to but the British army, as he has been repeatedly told in [intercepted] letters from Berthier. By abandoning Castille and Leon for a short time he may lose some plunder and contributions, but he loses nothing that can permanently affect his situation, or which he could not regain as soon as he has a superiority, particularly of cavalry, in the open plains of Castille. Marmont’s, then, being what may be called of the two the operating army, the movement which I might make into Andalusia would enable the enemy to bring the largest body of men to act together on one point. It would be a false movement, and this must by all means be avoided[351].’

This decision was not made immediately on Marmont’s retreat of April 24th: for some days after the British headquarters settled down at Fuente Guinaldo, Wellington had not quite made up his mind between the two operations: his letters to Lord Liverpool, to Hill, and Graham, are full of the needs of the moment, and do not lay down any general strategical plan. The staff, in their discussions with each other, canvassed the situation. ‘While Marmont remains in Old Castile he [Wellington] must leave a certain force near the frontier of the Beira. But leaving the 3rd, 4th, 5th Divisions, and Pack’s and Bradford’s Portuguese (perhaps 18,000 men) for that purpose, he can move upon Andalusia, if he wishes, with the 1st, 6th, 7th, and Light Divisions, afterwards picking up Power’s Portuguese brigade and all General Hill’s corps d’armée—perhaps 36,000 infantry. This would do.’ So wrote D’Urban the chief of the Portuguese staff in his private diary, on May 5, evidently after discussion with Beresford, and others of those who were nearest the centre of decision. Wellington, however, was pondering over alternatives: he could not move for a week or two at the best, for he had to replenish his stores at the front, and to see that the repairs and revictualling of Almeida and Rodrigo were completed, before he could start on any offensive movement. In that time, too, he would be able to learn how Marmont was disposing of his army, and whether Soult was showing any tendency to reinforce Drouet’s force in Estremadura.

It seems that an insight into his enemies’ purposes was made specially easy for Wellington at this moment by the successive capture of a great deal of French correspondence. When Marmont was in Portugal, between the 1st and 23rd of April, three of the duplicates of his dispatches were captured, one by Portuguese Ordenança, the others by Julian Sanchez between Rodrigo and Salamanca[352]. They were all in cipher, but the ingenuity of Captain Scovell, the cipher-secretary at head-quarters, was capable of dealing with them, and from them could be made out a great deal about the strength of the Marshal’s army, and his general views on the campaign. If they had been taken and sent in a little earlier, they might have enabled Wellington to complete that surprise and dispersion of the French expeditionary force which had been in his mind.

But though they arrived too late for this purpose, they were valuable, as showing Marmont’s dislike of the imperial orders that he had been sent to carry out, and his preference for his own schemes. They were also full of bitter complaints of the neglect in which the Army of Portugal was left as to pay, stores, and transport. Wellington might reasonably deduce from them that any reconcentration of that army would be slow, and that if it had to march to reinforce Soult in the South, the effort would be a severe one.

But shortly after Marmont’s return to Salamanca, his adversary got an even more valuable insight into his plans. The guerrilleros carried off, between Salamanca and Valladolid, an officer bearing five dispatches, dated April 28 and April 30th. One was directed to Dorsenne, two to Berthier, one to Jourdan, the fifth contained the parole to Bayonne of the great scout, Colquhoun Grant[353]. The first, couched in very peremptory terms, asked for food—the Army of Portugal must absolutely receive 8,000 quintals of wheat, once promised, without delay—it was in a state of danger and penury, and could not keep concentrated to face the British. Of the letters to Berthier one announced that Bonnet’s division was duly in march for the Asturias, and that without it the Marshal thought his own strength dangerously low. The other asked for 4,000,000 francs owing to the Army of Portugal for pay and sustenance, and declared that, unless money came to hand at once, it was impossible to see how the troops were to be kept alive in the two months still remaining before harvest. A postscript asked for a siege-train to be sent on at all costs—the Marshal had heard that one was on the way from Bayonne: but nothing was known about it at Burgos. The letter to Jourdan was the most important of all[354]: it was the document, already quoted in the previous chapter, in which the Marshal detailed his intentions as to the dispersion of his army, protested against being obliged to send too many men into the valley of the Tagus, and explained the importance of the bridge-forts and magazines at Almaraz, by which his troops at Avila, &c., would debouch southward whenever they were ordered to concentrate for a junction with Soult. ‘On ne peut agir que par Lugar Nuevo [the name by which Marmont always designates the Almaraz forts] ... il faut bien se garder de jeter trop de troupes sur le Tage, et se contenter de bien assurer une défense de huit jours pour les forts de Lugar Nuevo et Mirabete, temps suffisant pour que les troupes rassemblées à Avila débouchent.... Un dépôt de 400 à 500 mille fanegas (qui n’est pas au delà de ce que Madrid et La Manche peuvent fournir) donnerait les moyens d’agir sans compromettre la subsistance des troupes.’

Undoubtedly it was the deciphering of the greater part of this letter, which set forth so clearly the importance of the Almaraz bridge, and showed at the same time that only one French division [Foy’s at Talavera] was anywhere near it, that determined Wellington to make the sudden stroke at that central strategical point which he had thought of in February[355]. At that time he had refused to try it, because there were three French divisions on the Tagus. Now there was only one at Talavera, two marches from Almaraz, and the nearest reinforcements at Avila were two very long marches from Talavera. The possibility presented itself that a column might strike at Almaraz from somewhere on the Portuguese frontier, and take the place by a coup-de-main, with or without first beating Foy, whose strength of 5,000 men was perfectly known to Wellington.

Hill could count on two or three days of undisturbed operations before the nearest reinforcing division, that of Foy, could reach Almaraz: on four or five more, before troops from Avila could come up. It must be noted that everything would depend on the absolute secrecy that could be preserved as to the start of the expedition: but on this Wellington thought that he could count. The Spanish peasantry seldom or never betrayed him: the French had no outlying posts beyond Almaraz which might give them warning. The garrison was in a normal state of blockade by guerrillero bands haunting the Sierra de Guadalupe.

It may be added that a blow at Almaraz was just as useful as a means for keeping Soult from joining Marmont as Marmont from joining Soult. It would be profitable if Wellington’s final decision should be given in favour of an Andalusian expedition. But his mind was by now leaning towards an attack on Leon rather than on the South. The final inclination may have been given by the receipt of another intercepted dispatch—Soult’s to Jourdan of April 17[356], sent in by guerrilleros who had probably captured the bearer in the Sierra Morena about April 20th. This document, which we have already had occasion to quote for another purpose[357], was full of angry denunciations of Marmont for letting Badajoz fall unaided, and served to show that, if Soult had to help the Army of Portugal, he would do so with no good will to its commander. Moreover it was largely occupied by proposals for the circumventing of Ballasteros and the siege of Tarifa—movements which would disperse the Army of the South even more than it was already dispersed, and would clearly prevent it from succouring Marmont within any reasonable space of time.

The decision that Hill should make his long-deferred coup-de-main upon Almaraz first appears in Wellington’s dispatches on May 4th[358], but Hill had been warned that the operation was likely to be sanctioned some days earlier, on April 24, and again more definitely on April 30th[359]. That the final judgement of Wellington was now leaning in favour of the advance on Salamanca rather than the Andalusian raid appears to emerge from a note of D’Urban dated May 6th—’The retirement of Marmont within a given distance—the slow progress of the Spaniards at Rodrigo, which renders it unsafe to leave that place and this frontier—the retiring altogether of Soult, and the state of his army not making him dangerous now—these and other combining reasons determine Lord Wellington to make his offensive operation north of the Tagus, and to move upon Marmont. All necessary preparations making, but secretly: it will be very feasible to keep the movement unforeseen till it begins. Meanwhile General Hill is to move upon and destroy everything at Almaraz[360].’

The orders for Hill’s move were given out on May 7th. He was to march from his head-quarters at Almendralejo with two British brigades (Howard’s and Wilson’s) of the 2nd Division, and the Portuguese brigade attached to the division (Ashworth’s), one British cavalry regiment (13th Light Dragoons), and to cross the Guadiana at Merida. Beyond the Guadiana he would pick up Campbell’s Portuguese cavalry brigade, which was lying at Arroyo dos Molinos. The march was then to be as rapid as possible, via Jaraicejo and Miravete. The expeditionary force made up 7,000 men in all.

There were left in Estremadura to ‘contain’ Drouet the two English cavalry brigades of Hill’s force (Slade’s and Long’s)[361], one British infantry brigade (Byng’s) of the 2nd Division, Hamilton’s Portuguese division, and Power’s unattached Portuguese brigade (late the garrison of Elvas, and more recently acting as that of Badajoz). The whole would make up 11,000 men. Power, or at least some of his regiments, was now disposable, because the Spaniards destined to hold Badajoz had begun to arrive, and more were daily expected[362].

But this was not the only precaution taken against Drouet, who had recently been reported as a little inclined to move northward from Fuente Ovejuna—detachments of his cavalry had been seen as far north as Zalamea[363]. Wellington determined to move down towards the Guadiana the southern or right wing of his main army—the 1st and 6th Divisions under Graham. First one and then the other were filed across the bridge of Villa Velha and sent to Portalegre. Here they would be in a position to support the force left in front of Drouet, if Soult should unexpectedly reinforce his Estremaduran corps. Wellington acknowledged that he disliked this wide extension of his army, but justified himself by observing that, if he had now his left wing almost touching the Douro, and his right wing almost touching the Sierra Morena, he might risk the situation, because he was fully informed as to Marmont’s similar dispersion. The Army of Portugal was scattered from the Asturias to Talavera, and from its want of magazines and transport, which Marmont’s intercepted dispatches made evident, would be unable to concentrate as quickly as he himself could.

The movement of Graham’s two divisions from the Castello Branco region to south of the Tagus had an additional advantage. If reported to the French it would tend to make them believe that the next offensive operation of the allied army would be in the direction of Andalusia, not towards the Tormes. If Soult heard of it, he would begin to prepare to defend his own borders, and would not dream that Marmont was really the enemy at whom Wellington was about to strike; while Marmont, on the other hand, thinking that Soult was to be the object of Wellington’s attentions, might be less careful of his own front. The expedition to Almaraz would not undeceive either of them, since it was well suited for a preliminary move in an attack on Andalusia, no less than for one directed against Leon.

Hill’s column reached Merida on May 12th, but was delayed there for some hours, because the bridge, broken in April, had not yet been repaired, as had been expected, the officers sent there having contented themselves with organizing a service of boats for the passage. The bridge was hastily finished, but the troops only passed late in the day; they picked up in the town the artillery and engineers told off for the expedition, Glubb’s British and Arriaga’s Portuguese companies of artillery, who brought with them six 24-pounder howitzers, a pontoon train, and wagons carrying some 30-foot ladders for escalading work. The importance attached to the raid by Wellington is shown by the fact that he placed Alexander Dickson, his most trusted artillery officer, in charge of this trifling detachment, which came up by the road north of the Guadiana by Badajoz and Montijo to join the main column.

Once over the Guadiana, Hill reached Truxillo in three rapid marches [May 15], and there left all his baggage-train, save one mule for each company with the camp-kettles. The most difficult part of the route had now been reached, three successive mountain ranges separating Truxillo from the Tagus. On the 16th, having crossed the first of them, the column reached Jaraicejo: at dawn on the 17th, having made a night march, it was nearing the Pass of Miravete, the last defile above the river. Here, as Hill was aware, the French had outlying works, an old castle and two small forts, on very commanding ground, overlooking the whole defile in such a way that guns and wagons could not possibly pass them. The British general’s original intention was to storm the Miravete works at dawn, on the 17th, and at the same time to attack with a separate column the forts at the bridge. With this purpose he divided his troops into three detachments. Ashworth’s Portuguese and the artillery were to keep to the chaussée, and make a demonstration of frontal attack on the Castle: General Tilson-Chowne [interim commander of the 2nd Division at the moment[364]] was, with Wilson’s brigade and the 6th Caçadores, to make a détour in the hills to the left and to endeavour to storm the Castle from its rear side. General Howard, with the other British brigade, was to follow a similar bridle path to the right, and to descend on to the river and attack the forts by the bridge.

A miscalculation had been made—the by-paths which the flanking columns were to take proved so far more steep and difficult than had been expected, that by dawn neither of them had got anywhere near its destination. Hill ordered them to halt, and put off the assault. This was fortunate, for by a long and close reconnaissance in daylight it was recognized that the Castle of Miravete and its dependent outworks, Forts Colbert and Senarmont, were so placed on a precipitous conical hill that they appeared impregnable save by regular siege operations, for which the expeditionary force had no time to spare. The most vexatious thing was that the garrison had discovered the main column on the chaussée, and it could not be doubted that intelligence must have been sent down to the lower forts, and most certainly to Foy at Talavera also. After a thorough inspection of the ground, Hill concluded that he could not hope to master Miravete, and, while it was held against him, his guns could not get through the pass which it so effectively commanded. It remained to be seen what could be done with the forts at the bridge.

The Almaraz forts crowned two hills on each side of the Tagus. The stronger, Fort Napoleon, occupied the end of a long rising ground, about 100 yards from the water’s edge; below it, and connecting with it, was a masonry tête-de-pont covering the end of the pontoon-bridge. The weaker work, Fort Ragusa, was on an isolated knoll on the north bank, supporting the other end of the bridge. Fort Napoleon mounted nine guns, had a good but unpalisaded ditch around its bastioned front, and a second retrenchment, well palisaded, with a loopholed stone tower within. Fort Ragusa was an oblong earthwork mounting six guns, and also provided with a central tower. It had as outwork a flèche or lunette, commanding the north end of the bridge. The small tête-de-pont mounted three guns more. Half a mile up-stream was the ruined masonry bridge which had formed the old crossing, with the village of Almaraz on the north bank behind it. Between the tête-de-pont and the old bridge were the magazines and storehouses in the village of Lugar Nuevo.

The garrison of the works consisted of a depleted foreign corps, the régiment de Prusse or 4th Étranger, mustering under 400 bayonets, of a battalion of the French 39th of the Line, and of two companies of the 6th Léger, from Foy’s division, with a company of artillery and another of sappers. The whole may have amounted to 1,000 men, of whom 300 were isolated in the high-lying Castle of Miravete, five miles from the bridge-head. The governor, a Piedmontese officer named Aubert, had manned Fort Napoleon with two companies of the 6th and 39th. The foreign corps and one company of the 6th were in Fort Ragusa and the bridge-head; Miravete was held by the centre companies of the 39th.

Though delay after the French had got the alarm was dangerous, Hill spent the whole of the 17th in making fruitless explorations for vantage-ground, from which Miravete might be attacked. None was found, and on the 18th he made up his mind to adopt a scheme hazardous beyond his original intention. It would be possible to mask the Castle by a false attack, in which all his artillery should join, and to lead part of his infantry over the hills to the right, by a gorge called the Pass of La Cueva, for a direct attack by escalade, without the help of guns, upon the Almaraz forts.

The detachment selected for this purpose was Howard’s brigade (1/50th, 1/71st, 1/92nd), strengthened by the 6th Portuguese Line from Ashworth’s brigade, and accompanied by 20 artillerymen in charge of the ladders. So rough was the ground to be covered, that the long 30-foot ladders had to be sawn in two, being unwieldy on slopes and angles, as was soon discovered when they were taken off the carts for carriage by hand. The route that had to be followed was very circuitous, and though the forts were only five miles, as the crow flies, from the place where the column left the road, it took the whole night to reach them. An eye-witness[365] describes it as a mazy sheep-walk among high brushwood, which could not have been used without the help of the experienced peasant-guide who led the march. The men had to pass in Indian file over many of its stretches, and it resulted from long walking in the darkness that the rear dropped far behind the van, and nearly lost touch with it. Just before dawn the column reached the hamlet of Romangordo, a mile from the forts, and rested there for some time before resuming its march.

The sun was well up when, at 6 o’clock, the leading company, coming to the edge of a thicket, suddenly saw Fort Napoleon only 300 yards in their front. The French had been warned that a column had crossed the hills, and had caught some glimpse of it, but had lost sight of its latest move: many of the garrison could be seen standing on the ramparts, and watching the puffs of smoke round the Castle of Miravete, which showed that the false attack on that high-lying stronghold had begun. General Tilson-Chowne was making a noisy demonstration before it, using his artillery with much ostentation, and pushing up skirmishers among the boulders on the sides of the castle-hill[366].

Hill was anxious to assault at once, before the sun should rise higher, or the garrison of the forts catch sight of him. But some time had to be spent to allow a sufficient force to accumulate in the cover where the head of the column was hiding. So slowly did the companies straggle in, that the General at last resolved to escalade at once with the 50th and the right wing of the 71st, all that had yet come up. Orders were left behind that the left wing of the 71st and the 92nd should attack the bridge-head entrenchment when they arrived, and the 6th Portuguese support where they were needed.

At a little after 6 o’clock the 900 men available, in three columns of a half-battalion each, headed by ladder parties, started up out of the brake on the crest of the hillside nearest Fort Napoleon, and raced for three separate points of its enceinte. The French, though taken by surprise, had all their preparations ready, and a furious fire broke out upon the stormers both from cannon and musketry. Nevertheless all three parties reached the goal without any very overwhelming losses, jumped into the ditch, and began to apply their ladders to such points of the rampart as lay nearest to them. The assault was a very daring one—the work was intact, the garrison adequate in numbers, the assailants had no advantage from darkness, for the sun was well up and every man was visible. All that was in their favour was the suddenness of their onslaught, the number of separate points at which it was launched, and their own splendid dash and decision. Many men fell in the first few minutes, and there was a check when it was discovered that the ladders were over-short, owing to their having been sawn up before the start. But the rampart had a rather broad berm[367], a fault of construction, and the stormers, discovering this, climbed up on it, and dragging some of the ladders with them, relaid them against the upper section of the defences, which they easily overtopped. By this unexpected device a footing was established on the ramparts at several points simultaneously—Captain Candler of the 50th is said to have been the first man over the parapet: he was pierced by several balls as he sprang down, and fell dead inside. The garrison had kept up a furious fire till the moment when they saw the assailants swarm over the parapet—then, however, there can be no doubt that most of them flinched[368]: the governor tried to lead a counter-charge, but found few to follow him; he was surrounded, and, refusing to surrender and striking at those who bade him yield, was piked by a sergeant of the 50th and mortally wounded. So closely were the British and French mixed that the latter got no chance of manning the inner work, or the loopholed tower which should have served as their rallying-point. Many of the garrison threw down their arms, but the majority rushed out of the rear gate of the fort towards the neighbouring redoubt at the bridge-head. They were so closely followed that pursuers and pursued went in a mixed mass into that work, whose gunners were unable to fire because their balls would have gone straight into their own flying friends. The foreign garrison of the tête-de-pont made little attempt to resist, and fled over the bridge[369]. It is probable that the British would have reached the other side along with them if the centre pontoons had not been sunk: some say that they were struck by a round-shot from Fort Ragusa, which had opened a fire upon the lost works; others declare that some of the fugitives broke them, whether by design or by mischance of overcrowding[370].

This ought to have been the end of Hill’s sudden success, since passage across the Tagus was now denied him. But the enemy were panic-stricken; and when the guns of Fort Napoleon were trained upon Fort Ragusa by Lieutenant Love and the twenty gunners who had accompanied Hill’s column, the garrison evacuated it, and went off with the rest of the fugitives in a disorderly flight towards Naval Moral. The formidable works of Almaraz had fallen before the assault of 900 men—for the tail of Hill’s column arrived on the scene to find all over[371]. Four grenadiers of the 92nd, wishing to do something if they had been disappointed of the expected day’s work, stripped, swam the river, and brought back several boats which had been left moored under Fort Ragusa. By means of these communication between the two banks was re-established, and the fort beyond the river was occupied[372].

The loss of the victors was very moderate—it fell mostly on the 50th and 71st, for Chowne’s demonstration against Miravete had been almost bloodless—only one ensign and one private of the 6th Caçadores were wounded. But the 50th lost one captain and 26 men killed, and seven officers and 93 men wounded, while the half-battalion of the 71st had five killed and five officers and 47 men wounded[373]. The 92nd had two wounded. Thus the total of casualties was 189.

Of the garrison the 4th Étranger was pretty well destroyed—those who were neither killed nor taken mostly deserted, and its numbers had gone down from 366 in the return of May 15 to 88 in that of July 1. The companies of the 39th and 6th Léger also suffered heavily, since they had furnished the whole of the unlucky garrison of Fort Napoleon. Hill reports 17 officers and 262 men taken prisoners, including the mortally wounded governor and a chef de bataillon of the 39th[374]. It is probable that the whole loss of the French was at least 400.

The trophies taken consisted of a colour of the 4th Étranger, 18 guns mounted in the works, an immense store of powder and round-shot, 120,000 musket cartridges, the 20 large pontoons forming the bridge, with a store of rope, timbers, anchors, carriages, &c., kept for its repair, some well-furnished workshops, and a large miscellaneous magazine of food and other stores. All this was destroyed, the pontoons, &c., being burnt, while the powder was used to lay many mines in the forts and bridgehead, which were blown up very successfully on the morning of the 20th, so that hardly a trace of them remained. Thiele of the German artillery, the officer charged with carrying out the explosions, was unfortunately killed by accident: a mine had apparently failed; he went back to see to its match, but it blew up just as he was inspecting it.

Having accomplished his purpose with complete success, Hill moved off without delay, and by two forced marches reached Truxillo and his baggage on the 21st. Here he was quite safe: Foy, being too weak to pursue him to any effect, followed cautiously, and only reached Miravete (whose garrison he relieved) on the 23rd and Truxillo on the 25th, from whence he turned back, being altogether too late. He had received news of Hill’s movement rather late on the 17th, had been misinformed as to his strength, which report made 15,000 men instead of the real 7,000, and so had been disposed to act cautiously. He had ordered a battalion of the 6th Léger from Naval Moral to join the garrison of Almaraz, but it arrived on the afternoon of the 19th, only in time to hear from fugitives of the disaster[375]. He himself was confident that the forts could hold out eight days even against artillery, which was also Marmont’s calculation. Hence their fall within 48 hours of Hill’s appearance was a distressing surprise: Foy had calculated on being helped not only by D’Armagnac from Talavera but by the division of Clausel from Avila, before moving to fight Hill and relieve them.

Wellington appears to have been under the impression that this expedition, which Hill had executed with such admirable celerity and dispatch, might have been made even more decisive, by the capture of the castle of Miravete, if untoward circumstances had not intervened. In a letter to Lord Liverpool, written on May 28[376], he expresses the opinion that Tilson-Chowne might have taken it on the night of the 16th—which must appear a hazardous decision to those who look at the precipitous position of the place and the strength of its defences. He also says that Hill might have stopped at Almaraz for a few days more, and have bombarded Miravete with Dickson’s heavy howitzers, if he had not received false news from Sir William Erskine as to Drouet’s movements in Estremadura. There can be no doubt, as we shall see, about the false intelligence: but whether the bombardment would have been successful is another thing. Probably Wellington considered that the garrison would have been demoralized after what had happened at Almaraz.

As to Drouet’s movements, having received rather tardy notice of Hill’s northward march from Merida, he had resolved to make a push to ascertain what was left in his front. Lallemand’s dragoons, therefore, pressed out in the direction of Zafra, where they came into contact with Slade’s outposts and drove them in. At the same time Drouet himself, with an infantry division and some light cavalry, advanced as far as Don Benito, near Medellin, on the 17th May, from whence he pushed patrols across the Guadiana as far as Miajadas. This movement, made to ascertain whether Hill had departed with his whole corps, or whether a large force had been left in Estremadura, was reported to Sir William Erskine, the commander of the 2nd cavalry division, along with rumours that Soult was across the Sierra Morena and closely supporting Drouet. Erskine sent on the news to Graham at Portalegre, and to Hill, who was then before Miravete, with assertions that Soult was certainly approaching. This, as Wellington knew, was unlikely, for the Marshal had been before Cadiz on the 11th, and could not possibly have crossed the Sierra Morena by the 17th. As a matter of fact he only learnt on the 19th, at Chiclana, that Hill had started, and Drouet’s move was made purely to gain information and on his own responsibility. But Graham, naturally unaware of this, brought up his two divisions to Badajoz, as he had been directed to do if Estremadura were attacked during Hill’s absence. And Hill himself was certainly induced to return promptly from Almaraz by Erskine’s letter, though it is doubtful whether he would have lingered to besiege Miravete even if he had not received it. For Foy might have been reinforced by D’Armagnac and the Avila division up to a strength which would have made Hill’s longer stay on the Tagus undesirable.

Drouet did no more; indeed, with his own force he was quite helpless against Hill, since when he discovered that there was a large body of allied troops left in Estremadura, and that more were coming up, it would have been mad for him to move on Merida, or take any other method of molesting the return of the expedition from Almaraz. Though Soult spoke of coming with a division to his aid, the succours must be many days on the way, while he himself could only act effectively by marching northward at once. But if he had taken his own division he would have been helpless against Hill, who could have beaten such a force; while if he had crossed the Guadiana with his whole 12,000 men, he would have been cut off from Soult by the ‘uncontained’ allied force left in Estremadura, which he knew to be considerable.

But to move upon Almaraz on his own responsibility, and without Soult’s orders, would have been beyond Drouet’s power: he was a man under authority, who dared not take such a step. And when Soult’s dispatches reached him, they directed him not to lose touch with Andalusia, but to demonstrate enough to bring Hill back. The Marshal did not intend to let Drouet get out of touch with him, by bidding him march toward the Tagus.

Hill’s column, then, was never in any danger. But Wellington, who had for a moment some anxiety in his behalf, was deeply vexed by Erskine’s false intelligence, which had given rise to that feeling, and wrote in wrath to Henry Wellesley and Graham[377] concerning the mischief that this very incapable officer had done. He was particularly chagrined that Graham had been drawn down to Badajoz by the needless alarm, as he was intending to bring him back to join the main army within a short time, and the movement to Badajoz had removed him three marches from Portalegre, so that six days in all would be wasted in bringing him back to his original starting-point. It is curious that Wellington did not harden his heart to get rid of Erskine after this mishap: but though he wrote bitterly about his subordinate’s incapacity, he did not remove him. ‘Influence’ at home was apparently the key to his long endurance: it will be remembered that this was by no means the first of Erskine’s mistakes[378].

The fall of the Almaraz forts, as might have been expected, was interpreted by Marmont and Soult each from his own point of view. The former, rightly as it turned out, wrote to Foy that he must be prepared to return to Leon at short notice, and that the Army of the Centre and Drouet must guard the valley of the Tagus on his departure[379]. Soult, on the other hand, having heard of Graham’s arrival at Badajoz and Hill’s return to Merida, argued that the allies were massing on the Guadiana for an advance into Andalusia. He made bitter complaints to Jourdan that he had violated the rules of military subordination by sending a letter to Drouet warning him that he might be called up to the Tagus. It was unheard of, he said, to communicate directly with a subordinate, who ought to be written to only through the channel of his immediate superior. He even threatened to resign the command of the Army of the South[380]—but when Joseph showed no signs of being terrified by this menace, no more was heard of it. The viceroyalty of Andalusia was not a thing to be lightly given up.

It soon became evident to Wellington that the surprise of Almaraz was not to be resented by the enemy in any practical form. Foy was not reinforced, nor was Drouet brought up to the Tagus: it was clear that the French were too weak to take the offensive either in the North or the South, even under such provocation. They could not even rebuild the lost bridge: the transport from Madrid of a new pontoon train as a substitute for the lost boats was beyond King Joseph’s power. One or two boats were finally got to Almaraz—but nothing that could serve as a bridge. Nor were the lost magazines ever replaced.

It was at this same time that Wellington took in hand a scheme for facilitating his communications north and south, which was to have a high strategical importance. As long as Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz were in the enemy’s hands, the most eastern crossing of the Tagus practicable for the Anglo-Portuguese army was the boat-bridge of Villa Velha. But when these two fortresses were regained, it was possible to open up a line farther east, which had not been available for two years. Since Mayne blew up the ancient Roman bridge of Alcantara in June 1809[381], the Middle Tagus had been impassable for both sides. The allies had usually been in possession of both banks of the Tagus in this direction, but so intermittently that it had never been worth their while to restore the passage, which would have been lost to them whenever the French (as not unfrequently happened) extended their operations into the Coria-Zarza Mayor country on the north bank, or the Caçeres-Albuquerque country on the other. But when the enemy had lost both Badajoz and Rodrigo, and had no posts nearer to Alcantara than the Upper Tormes, the forts of Miravete, and Zalamea, when, moreover, he had adopted a distinctly defensive attitude for many months, Wellington thought it worth while to recover possession of a passage which would shorten the route from Estremadura to the frontiers of Leon by a hundred miles, and would therefore give him an advantage of six marches over the enemy in transferring troops from north to south. Whether Almaraz were again seized and reoccupied by the French mattered little: the restoration of Alcantara would be safe and profitable.

Accordingly, on May 24th, Colonel Sturgeon[382] and Major Todd of the Royal Staff Corps were sent to Alcantara to report on the practicability of restoring the broken arch, which, owing to the immense depth of the cañon of the Tagus, overhung the river by no less than 140 feet. It was intended that if the engineering problem should prove too hard, a flying bridge of rafts, boats, or pontoons should be established at the water level[383]. But Sturgeon and Todd did more than Wellington had expected, and succeeded in a very few days in establishing a sort of suspension-bridge of ropes between the two shattered piers of Trajan’s great structure. The system adopted was that of placing at each end of the broken roadway a very large and solid beam, clamped to the Roman stones, by being sunk in channels cut in them. These beams being made absolutely adhesive to the original work, served as solid bases from which a series of eighteen cables were stretched over the gap. Eight more beams, with notches cut in them to receive the cables, were laid at right angles across the parallel ropes, and lashed tight to them. The long cables were strained taut with winches: a network of rope yarn for a flooring was laid between the eight beams, and on this planks were placed, while a screen of tarpaulins supported on guide-ropes acted as parapets. The structure was sound enough to carry not only infantry and horses, but heavy artillery, yet could always be broken up in a short time if an enemy had ever appeared in the neighbourhood[384]. Several times it was rolled up, and then replaced.

When the completion of the repairs of Alcantara and the destruction of the French bridge of Almaraz are taken together, it must be concluded that Wellington’s work in May gave him an advantage over the French of at least ten or twelve marches in moving troops from north to south or vice versa. For the route from Ciudad Rodrigo to Merida, now open to him, had at least that superiority over the only itinerary of the enemy, which would be that by Avila, Talavera, Toledo, and the eastern passes of the Sierra Morena. Though the narrow bridge of Arzobispo on the Middle Tagus still remained in French hands, it did not lead on to any good road to Estremadura or Andalusia, but on to the defiles of the Mesa d’Ibor and the ravines of the Sierra de Guadalupe. No large force could march or feed in those solitudes.

All was now ready for the advance upon the Tormes, which Wellington had made up his mind to execute.

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SECTION XXXIII: CHAPTER III

WELLINGTON’S ADVANCE INTO LEON

It was not till June 13th that Wellington crossed the Agueda and began his march upon Salamanca, the first great offensive movement against the main fighting army of the French since the advance to Talavera in 1809. But for many days beforehand his troops were converging on Fuente Guinaldo and Ciudad Rodrigo from their widely-spread cantonments. Graham’s divisions quitted Portalegre on May 30th, and some of the other troops, which had been left on the western side of the Beira, had also to make an early start. Every available infantry unit of the Anglo-Portuguese army had been drawn in, save the 2nd Division and Hamilton’s Portuguese—left as usual with Hill in Estremadura—and Power’s new Portuguese brigade—once the garrisons of Elvas and Abrantes—which had become available for the field since the fall of Badajoz made it possible to place those fortresses in charge of militia. Its arrival made Hill stronger by 2,000 in infantry than he had ever been before, and he was also left the three brigades (Long’s and Slade’s British and John Campbell’s Portuguese) of Erskine’s cavalry division. The total was 18,000 men. Wellington’s own main army, consisting of the seven other infantry divisions, Pack’s and Bradford’s Portuguese brigades, and the cavalry of Anson, Bock, Le Marchant, and Victor Alten, made up a force of 48,000 men, of which 3,500 were cavalry: there were only eight British and one Portuguese batteries with the army—a short allowance of 54 guns.

But though these 48,000 men constituted the striking force, which was to deal the great blow, their action was to be supported by a very elaborate and complicated system of diversions, which were intended to prevent the French armies of the South, North, Centre, and Aragon from sending any help to Marmont, the foe whom Wellington was set on demolishing. It is necessary to explain the concentric scheme by which it was intended that pressure should be brought to bear on all the outlying French armies, at the same moment at which the Anglo-Portuguese main body crossed the Agueda.

Soult had the largest force—over 50,000 men, as a recently captured morning-state revealed to his adversary[385]. But he could not assemble more than some 24,000 men, unless he abandoned the siege of Cadiz and the kingdom of Granada—half his army was pinned down to occupation-work. Wherefore Wellington judged that his field-force could be ‘contained’ by Hill, if only means were found of preventing him from reinforcing Drouet’s divisions in Estremadura by any appreciable succours. This means lay to hand in the roving army of Ballasteros, whose random schemes of campaign were often irrational, but had the solitary advantage of being quite inscrutable. He might do anything—and so was a most tiresome adversary for Soult to deal with, since his actions could not be foreseen. At this moment Wellington had urged the Cadiz Regency to stir up Ballasteros to activity, and had promised that, if Soult concentrated against him, Hill should press in upon Drouet, and so call off the Marshal’s attention. Similarly if Soult concentrated against Hill, Ballasteros was to demonstrate against Seville, or the rear of the Cadiz Lines. There was always the possibility that the Spanish general might refuse to obey the orders of his Government, or that he might commit himself to some rash enterprise and get badly beaten. Both these chances had to be risked. The one that occurred was that Ballasteros took up the idea desired, but acted too early and too incautiously, and sustained a severe check at the battle of Bornos (June 1). Fortunately he was ‘scotched but not slain,’ and kept together a force large enough to give Soult much further trouble, though he did not prevent the Marshal from sending reinforcements to Drouet and putting Hill upon the defensive. Of this more in its due place.

So much for the diversion against Soult. On the other flank Wellington had prepared a similar plan for molesting the French in the Asturias, and threatening Marmont’s flank and rear, at the same moment that his front was to be assailed. The force here available was Abadia’s Army of Galicia, which nominally counted over 24,000 men, but had 6,000 of them shut up in the garrisons of Corunna, Ferrol, and Vigo. About 16,000 could be put into the field by an effort, if only Abadia were stirred up to activity. But there were many hindrances: this general was (like most of his predecessors) at strife with the Galician Junta. He was also very jealous of Sir Howard Douglas, the British Commissioner at Corunna, who was in favour with the Junta and people, and was inclined to resent any advice offered by him[386]. His army was not only (as in 1810-11) very short of cavalry—there were only about 400 effective sabres—but also of artillery. For the Cadiz government, searching for troops to send against the rebels of South America, had recently drafted off several batteries, as well as several foot regiments, to the New World. The most effective units had been taken, to the wild indignation of the Galicians, who wanted to keep the troops that they had raised for their own protection. There were only about 500 trained artillerymen left in Galicia, and when deduction was made for the garrisons of Ferrol, Vigo, and Corunna, very few remained for the active army. Abadia had, therefore, many excuses to offer for taking the field late, and with insufficient equipment[387]. It was fortunate that his superior, Castaños, who commanded (as Captain-General both of Estremadura and Galicia) all the troops in western Spain, fell in completely with Wellington’s plan, and brought pressure to bear upon his subordinate, coming up to Santiago in person to expedite matters.

The part which the Army of Galicia was to play in the general scheme was that of marching upon Astorga, and laying siege to the considerable French garrison which was isolated in that rather advanced position. If Marmont should attempt to succour it, he would be left weak in front of the oncoming British invasion. If he did not, its fall would turn and expose his right flank, and throw all the plains of northern Leon into the power of the allies. A move in force upon Astorga would also have some effect on the position of General Bonnet in the Asturias, and ought certainly to keep him uneasy, if not to draw him away from his conquests.

It will be remembered that Bonnet had been directed to reoccupy the Asturias by Napoleon’s special command, and by no means to Marmont’s liking[388]. He marched from Leon on May 15, by the road across the pass of Pajares, which he had so often taken before on similar expeditions. The Asturians made no serious resistance, and on May 17-18 Bonnet seized Oviedo and its port of Gijon. But, as in 1811, when he had accomplished this much, and planted some detachments in the coast towns, his division of 6,000 men was mainly immobilized, and became a string of garrisons rather than a field-force. It was observed by Porlier’s Cantabrian bands on its right hand, and by Castañon’s division of the Army of Galicia on its left, and was not strong enough to hunt them down, though it could prevent them from showing themselves anywhere in the neighbourhood of Oviedo.

But if the Galicians should lay siege to Astorga, and push advanced guards beyond it, in the direction of the city of Leon, it was clear that Bonnet’s position would be threatened, and his communications with his chief, Marmont, imperilled. Wellington, who knew from intercepted dispatches the importance attached by the Emperor to the retention of the Asturias, judged that Bonnet would not evacuate it, but would spend his energy in an attempt to hold back the Galicians and keep open his connexion with Leon. He thus hoped that the French division at Oviedo would never appear near Salamanca—an expectation in which he was to be deceived, for Marmont (disregarding his master’s instructions) ordered the evacuation of the Asturias the moment that he discovered the strength of the attack that was being directed against his front on the Tormes. Hence Wellington’s advance cleared the Asturias of the enemy, and enabled the Galicians to besiege Astorga unmolested for two months—good results in themselves, but not the precise benefits that he had hoped to secure by putting the Galician army in motion.

No item of assistance being too small to be taken into consideration, Wellington also directed Silveira to advance from the Tras-os-Montes, with the four militia regiments of that province[389], to cross the Spanish frontier and blockade Zamora, the outlying French garrison on the Douro, which covered Marmont’s flank, as Astorga did his rear. To enable this not too trustworthy irregular force to guard itself from sudden attacks, Wellington lent it a full brigade of regular cavalry[390], which was entrusted to General D’Urban, who dropped the post of Chief-of-the-Staff to Beresford to take up this small but responsible charge. His duty was to watch the country on each side of the Douro in Silveira’s front, so as to prevent him from being surprised, and generally to keep Wellington informed about Marmont’s right wing, when he should begin to concentrate. Toro, only 20 miles farther up the Douro than Zamora, was another French garrison, and a likely place for the Marshal to use as one of his minor bases. Silveira being as rash as he was enterprising, it was D’Urban’s task to see that he should be warned betimes, and not allowed to get into trouble. He was to retreat on Carvajales and the mountains beyond the Esla if he were attacked by a superior force.

A much more serious diversion was prepared to distract the free movement of the French Army of the North, from which Caffarelli might naturally be expected to send heavy detachments for Marmont’s assistance, when the British striking-force should advance on Salamanca. Caffarelli’s old enemies were the patriot bands of Cantabria and Navarre, who had given his predecessor, Dorsenne, so much trouble earlier in the year. Mina, on the borders of Navarre, Aragon, and Old Castile, was very far away, and not easy to communicate with or to bring into the general plan, though his spirit was excellent. But the so-called ‘Seventh Army,’ under Mendizabal, was near enough to be treated as a serious factor in the general scheme. This force consisted of the two large bands under Porlier in Cantabria, and Longa in the mountains above Santander, each of which was several thousands strong: these were supposed to be regular divisions, though their training left much to be desired: in addition there were several considerable guerrilla ‘partidas’ under Merino, Salazar, Saornil, and other chiefs, who lived a hunted life in the provinces of Burgos, Palencia, and Avila, and were in theory more or less dependent on Mendizabal. The chief of the Seventh Army was requested to do all that he could to keep Caffarelli employed during the month of June—a task that quite fell in with his ideas—he executed several very daring raids into Old Castile, one of which put the garrison of Burgos in great terror, as it was surprised at a moment when all its better items chanced to be absent, and nothing was left in the place but dépôts and convalescents[391].

But the main distraction contrived to occupy the French Army of the North was one for which Wellington was not primarily responsible, though he approved of it when the scheme was laid before him. This was a naval expedition to attack the coast-forts of Cantabria and Biscay, and open up direct communication with Mendizabal’s bands from the side of the sea. The idea was apparently started by Sir Howard Douglas and Sir Home Popham, the former of whom was a great believer in the guerrilleros, and the latter a strong advocate of the striking power of the navy. Nothing serious had been done on the Biscay coast since the two expeditions of 1810, of which the former had been very successful, but the latter had ended in the disastrous tempest which wrecked Renovales’s flotilla on that rocky shore[392]. Lord Liverpool consented to give Popham two battalions of marines and a company of artillery, to add to the force provided by the crews of the Venerable, his flagship, five frigates (Surveillante, Rhin, Isis, Diadem, Medusa), and several smaller vessels. The plan was to proceed eastward along the coast from Gijon, to call down Longa and Porlier to blockade each isolated French garrison from the land side, and to batter it with heavy ship guns from the water. The opportunity was to be taken at the same time of making over to the Cantabrian bands a large store of muskets and munitions which had been prepared for them. The arrangements were made in May, and Popham’s squadron was ready to move precisely at the same moment that Wellington crossed the Agueda. Its first descent was made on June 17th, a day exactly suitable for alarming the Army of the North at the same time that Marmont’s first appeals for help were likely to reach Caffarelli. The plan, as we shall see, worked exceedingly well, and the fact that the Army of Portugal got no reinforcements from Burgos or Biscay was due entirely to the dismay caused to Caffarelli by this unexpected descent on his rear. He conceived that the squadron carried a large landing force, and that he was about to see Biscay slip out of his hands. The tale of this useful diversion will be told in its due place.

There was yet one more item in the long list of outlying distractions on which Wellington relied for the vexing of the French. He was strongly of opinion that Suchet would spare troops to reinforce King Joseph at Madrid, if his own invasion of Leon had a prosperous start. Indeed, he somewhat overvalued the Duke of Albufera’s will and power to interfere in central Spain, his idea being that King Joseph had a much more direct control over the Valencian and Aragonese armies than was really the case. One of the king’s intercepted dispatches, directing Suchet to send troops into La Mancha, had fallen into his hands, and he was unaware that the Marshal had refused to obey it, and had found plausible reasons to cloak his disobedience[393].

The opportunity of finding means to harass Suchet depended on the general posture of affairs in the Mediterranean caused by the outbreak of the Russian war. As long as Napoleon kept a large army in Italy, there was always a possibility that he might some day try a descent on Sicily, where the authority of King Ferdinand rested on the bayonets of a strong British garrison. There were a dozen red-coated battalions always ready in Sicily, beside the rather inefficient forces of King Ferdinand. In September 1810 Murat had massed a Franco-Neapolitan army at Reggio, and tried an actual invasion, which ended ignominiously in the capture of the only two battalions that succeeded in landing. But by the early spring of 1812 it was known that nearly all the French troops in Italy had been moved northward, and a great part of Murat’s Neapolitan army with them. By April, indeed, there was only one French division left in the whole Peninsula, nearly all the old ‘Army of Italy’ having marched across the Alps. Lord William Bentinck, the commander of the British forces in Sicily, had early notice of these movements, and being a man of action and enterprising mind, though too much given to wavering councils and rapid changes of purpose, was anxious to turn the new situation to account. He was divided between two ideas—the one which appealed to him most was to make a bold descent on the under-garrisoned Italian peninsula, either to stir up trouble in Calabria—where the ruthless government of Murat’s military satraps had barely succeeded in keeping down rebellion, but had not crushed its spirit—or, farther away, in the former dominions of the Pope and the small dukes of the Austrian connexion. But the memory of the fruitless attempt against the Italian mainland in 1809 under Sir John Stuart survived as a warning: it was doubtful whether the occasional adventurers who came to Palermo to promise insurrection in northern Italy had any backing[394], and though Calabria was a more promising field, it was to be remembered that such troops as the enemy still retained were mainly concentrated there. Thus it came to pass that Lord William Bentinck at times despaired of all Italian expeditions, and thought of sending a force to Catalonia or Valencia to harass Suchet. ‘I cannot but imagine,’ he wrote, ‘that the occasional disembarkation at different points of a large regular force must considerably annoy the enemy, and create an important diversion for other Spanish operations[395].’ But when he wrote this, early in the year, he was hankering after descents on Elba and Corsica—the latter a most wild inspiration! These schemes the ministry very wisely condemned: Lord Liverpool wrote in reply that ‘though there might be a considerable degree of dissatisfaction, and even of ferment, pervading the greater part of Italy,’ there was no evidence of any systematic conspiracy to shake off the yoke of France. Corsica and Elba, even if conquered, would only be of secondary importance. A diversion to be made upon the east coast of Spain would be far the best way in which the disposable force in Sicily could be employed. Wellington had been informed of the proposal, and might probably be able to lend part of the garrison of Cadiz, to make the expedition more formidable. Sir Edward Pellew, the admiral commanding on the Mediterranean station, would be able to give advice, and arrange for the co-operation of the fleet[396]. Lord Liverpool wrote on the next day (March 4) to inform Wellington of the answer that had been made to Bentinck, but pointed out that probably the aid could only be given from May to October, as the expedition would depend on the fleet, and naval men thought that it would be impossible to keep a large squadron in attendance on the Sicilian force during the winter months. The troops would probably have to return to their old quarters at the close of autumn[397].

Wellington, as it chanced, was already in communication with Bentinck, for the latter had sent his brother, Lord Frederick, to Lisbon, with a dispatch for the Commander-in-Chief in Portugal, in which he stated that he leaned himself to the Corsican scheme, but that if the home government disliked it, he would be prepared to send in April or May an expedition of 10,000 men to operate against Suchet[398]. The letter from London reached Wellington first, about March 20th[399], and was a source of great joy to him, as he saw that the Cabinet intended to prohibit the Italian diversion, and wished to direct Bentinck’s men towards Spain. He wrote to London and to Palermo, to state that a descent upon the coast of Catalonia seemed to him ‘the most essential object.’ It should be aimed at Barcelona or Tarragona: it might not succeed so far as its immediate object was concerned, but it would have the infallible result of forcing Suchet to come up with all his available forces from Valencia, and would prevent him from interfering in the affairs of western and central Spain during the next campaign. Ten thousand men, even with such aid as Lacy and the Catalan army might give, were probably insufficient to deal with a place of such strength as Barcelona; but Tarragona, which was weakly garrisoned, might well be taken. Even if it were not, a great point would be gained in opening up communication with the Catalans, and throwing all the affairs of the French in eastern Spain into confusion. Bentinck was advised in the strongest terms to land north of the Ebro, and not in Valencia: an attack on Catalonia would draw Suchet out of Valencia, which would then fall of its own accord. Wellington added, writing to Lord Liverpool only, not to Bentinck, that he did not see how any appreciable aid could be got from the Cadiz garrison, or those of Tarifa or Cartagena[400]: the British regiments there had been cut down to a necessary minimum, but there were 1,400 Portuguese and two foreign regiments, of whom some might possibly be spared. The government must give him a definite order to detach such and such battalions, and it should be done—the responsibility being their own. Lord Frederick Bentinck arrived from Palermo at Badajoz just after that place fell: Wellington charged him with additional advices for his brother, to the effect that he would send him a siege-train and officers and gunners to work it, which might serve to batter Tarragona, if that proved possible. Though he could himself spare no British troops, the Spanish Regency should be urged to lend, for an expedition to Catalonia, two divisions, one under Roche at Alicante, the other under Whittingham in Majorca, which consisted each of 3,000 men recently entrusted for training to those British officers. Their aid was hardly likely to be refused, and they had been better trained, fed, and clothed of late than other Spanish troops. Wellington was not deceived in this expectation, the Regency very handsomely offered to place both divisions at Bentinck’s disposition[401], and they turned out to have swelled in numbers of late, owing to vigorous recruiting of dispersed men from Blake’s defunct army. The available figure was far over the 6,000 of which Wellington had spoken.

There seemed, therefore, in May to be every probability that a force of some 17,000 men might be available for the descent on Catalonia which Wellington advised: and both Admiral Pellew and Roche and Whittingham made active preparations to be found in perfect readiness when Lord William Bentinck should start off the nucleus of the expeditionary force from Palermo[402]. Wellington had fixed the third week in June as the date at which the appearance of the diversion would be most effective[403]. On June 5th he was able to state that two separate divisions of transports had already been sent off from Lisbon, one to Alicante and one to Majorca, to pick up the two Spanish divisions.

Now, however, came a deplorable check to the plan, which only became known to Wellington when he had already committed himself to his campaign against Marmont. Bentinck could never get out of his head the original idea of Italian conquest which he had laid before the Cabinet in January. There was no doubt that it had been discouraged by the home government, and that he had received very distinct instructions that Spain was to be the sphere of his activity, and that he was to take Wellington into his councils. But Lord Liverpool’s dispatch had contained the unfortunate phrase that ‘unless the project of resistance to the French power in Italy should appear to rest upon much better grounds than those of which we are at present apprised,’ the diversion to Catalonia was the obvious course[404].’ This gave a discretionary power to Bentinck, if he should judge that evidence of discontent in Italy had cropped up in unexpected quantity and quality since March. It does not appear, to the unprejudiced observer, that such evidence was forthcoming in May. But Bentinck, with his original prejudice in favour of a descent on Italy running in his brain, chose to take certain secret correspondence received from the Austrian general Nugent, and other sources, as justification for holding back from the immediate action in eastern Spain, on which Wellington had been led to rely. No troops sailed from Palermo or Messina till the very end of June, and then the numbers sent were much less than had been promised, and the directions given to Maitland, the general entrusted with the command, were by no means satisfactory[405]. The underlying fact would appear to be that, since March, Bentinck had begun to be alarmed at the intrigues of the Queen of Sicily, and feared to send away British troops so far afield as Spain. That notorious princess and her incapable spouse had been deprived in the preceding autumn of their ancient status as absolute sovereigns, and a Sicilian constitution and parliament, somewhat on the British model, had been called into being. For some time it had been supposed that Caroline, though incensed, was powerless to do harm, and the native Sicilians were undoubtedly gratified by the change. But Bentinck presently detected traces of a conspiracy fostered by the Queen among the Italian and mercenary troops employed by the Sicilian government: and, what was more surprising, it was suspected (and proved later on) that the court had actually opened up negotiations with Napoleon and even with Murat, in order to get rid of the English from Sicily at all costs[406]. In view of the fact that there were 8,000 Italian and foreign troops of doubtful disposition quartered in Sicily, Bentinck was seized with qualms at the idea of sending away a large expedition, mainly composed of British regiments. In the end he compromised, by detaching only three British and two German Legion battalions, along with a miscellaneous collection of fractions of several foreign corps, making 7,000 men in all[407]. They only arrived off the coast of Catalonia on July 31st, and Maitland’s freedom of operations was hampered by instructions to the effect that ‘the division of the Sicilian army detached has for its first object the safety of Sicily; its employment on the Spanish coast is temporary.’ He was told that he was liable to be withdrawn at any moment, if complications arose in Sicily or Italy, and was not to consider himself a permanent part of the British army in Spain. Yet at the same time that Bentinck had given these orders, the home government had told Wellington to regard the expeditionary force as placed at his disposal, and authorized him to send directions to it.

All this worked out less unhappily than might have been expected; for though Wellington got little practical military help from the Sicilian corps, and though Maitland’s operations were most disappointing and started far too late, yet the knowledge that great transport squadrons were at Alicante and Majorca, and the rumour that a large force was coming from Sicily, most certainly kept Suchet in a state of alarm, and prevented him from helping Soult or King Joseph. It is interesting to find from his correspondence[408] that in the earliest days of July he was anxiously watching the ships at Alicante, and expecting a descent either on Valencia or on Catalonia, though Maitland was yet far away, and did not appear off Palamos till July 31. The fear of the descent was an admirable help to Wellington—perhaps more useful than its actual appearance at an early date might have been, since the expeditionary troops were decidedly less in numbers than Wellington had hoped or Suchet had feared. At the same time the news that the Sicilian force had not sailed, and perhaps might never appear, reached Salamanca at one of the most critical moments of the campaign, and filled Wellington with fears that the Army of Valencia might already be detaching troops against him, while he had calculated upon its being entirely distracted by the projected demonstration[409]. The news that Maitland had sailed at last, only came to hand some time after the battle of Salamanca had been won, when the whole position in Spain had assumed a new and more satisfactory aspect.

Such were the subsidiary schemes with which Wellington supported his main design of a direct advance against Marmont’s army. Some of them worked well—Hill, Home Popham, and Mendizabal did all, and more than all, that had been expected of them, in the way of containing large French forces. Others accomplished all that could in reason have been hoped—such was the case with Silveira and Ballasteros. Others fell far below the amount of usefulness that had been reckoned upon—both the Galician army and the Sicilian army proved most disappointing in the timing of their movements and the sum of their achievements. But on the whole the plan worked—the French generals in all parts of Spain were distracted, and Marmont got little help from without.

It is certain that, at the moment of Wellington’s starting on his offensive campaign, the thing that gave him most trouble and anxiety was not the timing or efficacy of the various diversions that he had planned, but a purely financial problem. It was now a matter of years since the money due for the pay and maintenance of the army had been coming in with terrible unpunctuality. Officers and men had grown to regard it as normal that their pay should be four or six months in arrears: the muleteers and camp followers were in even worse case. And the orders for payment (vales as they were called) issued by the commissariat to the peasantry, were so tardily settled in cash, that the recipients would often sell them for half or two-thirds of their face value to speculators in Lisbon, who could afford to wait many months for the money.

This state of things was deplorable: but it did not proceed, as Napier usually hints, and as Wellington himself seems sometimes to have felt, from perversity on the part of the home government. It was not the case that there was gold or silver in London, and that the ministers did not send it with sufficient promptness. No one can be so simple as to suppose that Lord Liverpool, Mr. Perceval, the Marquess of Wellesley, or Lord Castlereagh, did not understand that the Army of Portugal must have cash, or it would lose that mobility which was its great strength. Still less would they wittingly starve it, when the fortunes of the ministry were bound up with the successful conduct of the war.

But the years 1811-12, as has been already pointed out in the last volume of this work, were those of the greatest stringency in the cash-market of Great Britain. The country was absolutely drained dry of metallic currency in the precious metals: no silver had been coined at the Mint since the Revolutionary war began: no guineas since 1798. England was transacting all her internal business on bank-notes, and gold was a rare commodity, only to be got by high prices and much searching. This was the time when the Jews of Portsmouth used to board every home-coming transport, to offer convalescents or sailors 27s., or even more, in paper for every guinea that they had on them. The Spanish dollar, though weighing much less than an English five-shilling piece (when that valuable antiquity could be found[410]), readily passed for six shillings in paper. And even this coin could not now be got so easily as in 1809 or 1810, for the growing state of disturbance in the Spanish-American colonies was beginning to affect the annual import of silver from the mines of Mexico and Peru, which had for a long time been the main source from which bullion for Europe was procured. To buy dollars at Cadiz with bills on London was becoming a much more difficult business. In May 1812 a special complication was introduced—Lord William Bentinck wishing to provide Spanish coin for the expedition which was about to sail for Catalonia, sent agents to Gibraltar, who bought with Sicilian gold all the dollars that they could procure, giving a reckless price for them, equivalent to over six shillings a dollar, and competing with Wellington’s regular correspondents who were at the same moment offering only 5s. 4d. or 5s. 6d. for the coin. Of course the higher offer secured the cash, and Wellington made bitter complaints that the market had been spoilt, and that he suddenly found himself shut out from a supply on which he had hitherto reckoned with security[411]. But the competition was only transient, though very tiresome at a moment when silver coin was specially wanted for payments in Leon. For, as Wellington remarked, the people about Salamanca had never seen the British army before, and would be wanting to do business on a prompt cash basis, not being accustomed to credit, as were the Portuguese.

The army started upon the campaign with a military chest in the most deplorable state of depletion. ‘We are absolutely bankrupt,’ wrote Wellington, ‘the troops are now five months in arrears instead of one month in advance. The staff have not been paid since February; the muleteers not since June 1811! and we are in debt in all parts of the country. I am obliged to take money sent me by my brother [Henry Wellesley, British Minister at Cadiz] for the Spaniards, in order to give my own troops a fortnight’s pay, who are really suffering for want of money[412].’ Some weeks before this last complaint Wellington had sounded an even louder note of alarm. ‘We owe not less than 5,000,000 dollars. The Portuguese troops and establishments are likewise in the greatest distress, and it is my opinion, as well as that of Marshal Beresford, that we must disband part of that army, unless I can increase the monthly payments of the subsidy. The Commissary-General has this day informed me that he is very apprehensive that he will not be able to make good his engagements for the payment for the meat for the troops. If we are obliged to stop that payment, your Lordship may as well prepare to recall the army, for it will be impossible to carry up salt meat (as well as bread) to the troops from the sea-coast.... It is not improbable that we may not be able to take advantage of the enemy’s comparative weakness in this campaign for sheer want of money[413].’ One almost feels that Wellington is here painting the position of the army in the blackest possible colours, in order to bring pressure on his correspondent at home. But this dismal picture was certainly reflected in the language of his staff at the time: a letter from his aide-de-camp, Colin Campbell, speaks (on May 30) of the depleted state of the military chest being a possible curb to the campaign: ‘Lord W. cannot take supplies with him to enable him to do more than demonstrate towards Valladolid, when so good an opportunity offers, and an inconsiderable addition would suffice. The harvest is ripening, the country round Salamanca is full of all requisite supplies, but they are not procurable without cash[414].’

Yet it is hard to be over-censorious of the home government. They were in the most bitter straits for money. Gold and silver were simply not to be got in the quantities that Wellington required. The amount actually sent was very large: it would have been larger if economic conditions had not been desperate. The rupture with the United States of America which took place in June (fortunately too late to serve Napoleon’s purpose), had just added a new source of anxiety to the troubles of the Cabinet: both money and men were now wanted for Canada. There can be no doubt that when Lord Bathurst wrote, in the middle of the Salamanca campaign, that ‘£100,000 in cash, chiefly gold, had been sent off,’ and that ‘I wish to God we could assist you more in money,’ he was writing quite honestly, and amid most adverse financial circumstances. Great Britain was at the most exhausting point of her long struggle with Napoleon. The Russian war had begun—but there was no sign as yet that it was to be the ruin of the Emperor: his armies seemed to be penetrating towards Moscow in the old triumphant style: many politicians spoke of a humiliating peace dictated to Czar Alexander in the autumn as the probable end of the campaign, and speculated on Napoleon’s appearance at Madrid in 1813 as a possible event. Wheat had risen in this spring to 130s. the quarter. The outbreak of the long-threatened but long-averted American war looked like the last blow that was to break down the British Empire. It was no wonder that the national credit was low in June 1812. There was nothing to revive it till Wellington’s Salamanca triumph in July: nor did any one understand that Napoleon’s star had passed its zenith, till the news of the disasters of the Moscow retreat began to drift westward in November and December.

Meanwhile, if the financial outlook was gloomy, the actual military situation was more promising than it had ever been before. Well aware, from intercepted dispatches, of the quarrels of his adversaries, and perfectly informed as to their numbers and their cantonments, Wellington considered with justice that he had such a game in his hands as he had never before had set before him. On June 13th he crossed the Agueda with his army in three parallel columns. The left was under charge of Picton, and consisted of the 3rd Division, Pack’s and Bradford’s Portuguese, and Le Marchant’s brigade of heavy dragoons. The centre, which Beresford conducted, was composed of the Light, 4th, and 5th Divisions. It was preceded by Alten’s German hussars, and accompanied by Bock’s dragoons. The right column, under Graham, had the 1st, 6th, and 7th Divisions, with a regiment of Anson’s horse for purposes of exploration. It is to be noted that both Picton and Graham were destined to remain only a few weeks with the army: the former had taken the field ere his Badajoz wound was properly healed: it broke open again, he fell into a high fever, and had to be sent to the rear. Wellington’s brother-in-law, Pakenham, took over charge of the 3rd Division on June 28th. Graham had been suffering for some months from an affection of the eyes, which the physicians told him might at any time grow worse and threaten his sight. He persisted on staying with the army till the last possible moment, but became more blind each day, and was compelled to throw up his command on July 6th and to return to England for skilled medical advice. Thus, during the greater part of the Salamanca campaign, Wellington was working without his best-trusted lieutenants—Craufurd was dead, both Picton and Graham invalided. In consequence of Graham’s departure a very difficult point was raised. If some illness or wound should disable the Commander-in-Chief, to whom would the charge of operations fall[415]? Wellington considered that Beresford was entitled to expect the succession, and deprecated the sending out of some senior officer from England with a commission to act as second in command. He observed that no one coming fresh from home would have a real grasp of the conditions of the war: that he would probably start with a priori views, and have to unlearn them in a time of imminent danger. Moreover, a second-in-command was, when his superior was in good health, either an unnecessary person or else a tiresome one, if he presumed on his position to offer advice or remonstrances. Fortunately the question remained a wholly academic one, since Wellington’s iron physique, and unbroken luck when bullets were flying, never failed him. An understudy turned out to be superfluous.

The three columns of the allied army advanced on a very narrow front of not more than ten miles, though the cavalry spread out considerably to the flanks. On the 13th the columns bivouacked on the Guadapero river, in front of Ciudad Rodrigo, between Santi Espiritus and Tenebron. On the 14th they advanced four leagues to the Huebra, and camped on each side of San Muñoz, with head-quarters at Cabrillas. On the 15th a rather longer march took them to Matilla and Cayos. Nothing had yet been seen of any enemy. It was only on the 16th, in the morning, that the advanced cavalry of the centre column, after crossing the Valmusa river, came into contact with two squadrons of French chasseurs, not more than two leagues outside of Salamanca. These outposts gave way when pushed, and retired across the Tormes. The British army bivouacked in sight of Salamanca that night, and received the information that Marmont had already evacuated the city, save for a garrison left in its three new forts[416].

The Army of Portugal had been caught, just as Wellington had hoped, in a condition of wide dispersion. It was not that Marmont did not expect the attack, but that, till the day when it should be actually delivered, he dared not concentrate, because of his want of magazines and the paucity of transport. He had resolved that he must be content to abandon all the land west of Salamanca, in order that his point of concentration should be out of reach of his enemy’s first stroke. It was fixed at Bleines and Fuente Sauco, twenty miles north of Salamanca on the road to Toro. On the morning of the 14th, when the news that Wellington was over the Agueda first reached him, the Marshal issued orders to all his divisions to march on this point, not even excepting that of Bonnet in the Asturias. For, despite of the Emperor’s wish to keep a hold upon that province, Marmont held, and rightly, that it was more important to place in front of the Anglo-Portuguese every possible bayonet, and he could not spare a solid division of 6,500 men. Unfortunately for him, however, it was clear that Bonnet could not arrive for fifteen or twenty days. The other seven divisions were concentrated by the fifth night from the giving of the alarm[417]. They formed a mass of 36,000 infantry, with 80 guns, but only 2,800 horse. This total does not include either Bonnet, nor three battalions of Thomières’s division left to hold Astorga, nor small garrisons placed in Toro, Zamora, the Salamanca forts, and certain other posts farther east[418]. Nor does it take account of a dépôt of 3,000 men, including many dismounted dragoons, at Valladolid. The total of the field army, including artillery, sappers, &c., was about 40,000 of all arms.

This force was distinctly inferior in number to that of the Anglo-Portuguese, who, without counting three infantry battalions on their way to the front from Lisbon, or D’Urban’s Portuguese horse on the side of Zamora, had some 40,000 infantry in line, and 3,500 excellent cavalry, in which arm Wellington, for the first time in his life, had a slight advantage over the enemy. Carlos de España was also approaching, with the 3,000 Spanish infantry that were available after the garrison of Ciudad Rodrigo had been completed, and in all the allied army must have had 48,000 men at the front[419]. The balance of numbers, of which each general was pretty well informed, was such as to make both sides careful—Marmont was 8,000 men short of his adversary’s power, and was particularly depressed by the knowledge of his inferiority in cavalry, an arm on which the French had hitherto relied with confidence. But the horse of the Army of Portugal had never recovered from the consequences of Masséna’s retreat in the last spring, and all the regiments were very weak: while Wellington was at last profiting from the liberal way in which the home government had reinforced his mounted arm during the autumn of 1811. He had ten British regiments with him, whereas at Fuentes de Oñoro he had owned but four.

On the other hand Wellington, among his 48,000 men, had only 28,000 British; there were 17,000 Portuguese and 3,000 Spaniards with him, and excellent though the conduct of the former had been during the late campaign, it would be hypocrisy to pretend that their commander could rely upon them under all circumstances, as he would have done upon a corresponding number of British infantry. He was ready to give battle, but it must be a battle under favourable conditions. Marmont felt much the same: it was necessary to beat Wellington if the French domination in Spain was to be preserved. But it would be rash to attack him in one of his favourite defensive positions: there must be no more Bussacos. And every available man must be gathered in, before a general action was risked. The only justification for instant battle would be the unlikely chance of catching the Anglo-Portuguese army in a state of dispersion or some other unlucky posture—and Wellington’s known caution did not make such a chance very probable.

Marmont’s main purpose, indeed, was to hold Wellington ‘contained’ till he should have succeeded in bringing up Bonnet, and also reinforcements from the Armies of the North and Centre—if not even from some distant forces. On Bonnet’s eventual arrival he could rely—but not on any fixed date for his appearance, for it was difficult to get orders promptly to the Asturias, and there might be many unforeseen delays in their execution. But Marmont was also counting on aid from Caffarelli, which would presumably reach him even before Bonnet appeared. In expectation of Wellington’s advance, he had written to the Commander of the Army of the North on May 24th and 30th, and again on June 5th, asking for assurances of help, and reminding his colleague of the Emperor’s directions. The answers received were, on the whole, satisfactory: the last of them, dated at Vittoria on June 14th, said that the disposable field-force was 8,000 men, including a brigade of light cavalry and 22 guns. They should march from Vittoria as soon as some troops of Abbé’s division arrived from Pampeluna to replace them, and they should be écheloned along the high-road from Burgos to Valladolid ready to move up when called upon[420]. It must be remembered that on this date Caffarelli was answering a hypothetical inquiry as to his exact power to help, not a definite demand for men, since Wellington had only crossed the Agueda on the previous day, and nothing was known at Vittoria of his actual start. But the dispatch was encouraging, as it seemed to show a good spirit, and named the exact force available, and the route that it would take. Marmont received it upon the 19th, just as he had completed his own concentration at Fuente Sauco. It seemed to justify him in believing that before July 1 he would have 8,000 men from Caffarelli at his disposition, including, what was specially valuable, 1,000 horse.

The dispatches from King Joseph and Jourdan were less satisfactory. At this moment they were in a state of hesitation caused by contradictory intelligence. ‘Your letter of June 6th,’ wrote Jourdan to Marmont, ‘says that Wellington will soon fall upon you. But we have similar letters from Soult, declaring that the blow is to be delivered against him: he encloses two notes of June 2nd and 5th from General Daricau in Estremadura, declaring that 60,000 of the allies are just about to begin an invasion of Andalusia. We are too far off from the scene of operations to determine whether it is you or the Duke of Dalmatia who is deceived. We can only tell you, meanwhile, not to be misled by demonstrations, and to be ready to start off three divisions to Soult’s help without a moment’s delay, if Lord Wellington’s real objective is Andalusia. Similarly we have sent Soult express orders that he shall move Drouet to the north bank of the Tagus, if Wellington has called up Hill to join him, and is making the true attack on you. Caffarelli has stringent orders to support you with what troops he can collect, when you are able to tell him definitely that you are the person threatened, not Soult[421].’

It is clear that the hallucinations of the Duke of Dalmatia were most valuable to Wellington, who had foreseen them long ago by a study of intercepted dispatches. Whatever happened, Soult could not refrain from believing that he had the great rôle to play, and that his Andalusian viceroyalty was the centre of all things. At this moment his picture of Wellington about to move on Cordova with 60,000 men seems to have been a belated conception caused by Graham’s march to Elvas on May 20. He had not yet realized that ten days later Graham’s corps had gone northward again, and had joined Wellington on the Agueda about the time that he was writing his alarmist letters. There was nothing in front of him save Hill’s 18,000 men: but he refused to see the facts, and deceived Joseph and Jourdan for some days by the definite and authoritative restatement of absolutely erroneous intelligence. Hence it was not till Marmont was able to say, without any possible chance of error, that Wellington was across the Agueda, and had advanced to Salamanca at the head of at least 40,000 men, that the King and his Chief-of-the-Staff at last recognized the true seat of danger. Long after they had detected it, they continued (as we shall see) to receive preposterous dispatches from Soult, still maintaining that they were mistaken, and still discovering excuses for not obeying the peremptory orders that they sent him.

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SECTION XXXIII: CHAPTER IV

THE SALAMANCA FORTS. TEN DAYS OF MANŒUVRES,
JUNE 20th-30th, 1812

Wellington’s conduct on reaching Salamanca was not that which might have been expected. When a general has, by a careful and well-arranged concentration, collected all his own troops into one solid mass, and then by a rapid advance has thrown himself into the midst of the scattered cantonments of an enemy who has no superiority to him in numbers, it is natural for him to press his pursuit vigorously. Far the most effective way of opening the campaign would have been to cut up the two divisions which Marmont had just led out of Salamanca, or at least to follow them so closely that they could be brought to action before all the outlying divisions had come in. This would certainly have been Napoleon’s method.

Wellington, however, wanted to fight a battle in one of his favourite defensive positions, and he thought that he had a means of compelling Marmont to attack him, by laying siege to the Salamanca forts. After Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, no French marshal would like to see a third important post captured ‘under his nose.’ The British general judged that Marmont would fight him, in order to save his prestige and his garrison. And since he believed that Bonnet would not evacuate the Asturias, and that Caffarelli would send help late, if at all, he thought that he could count upon a superiority of numbers which rendered victory certain.

This seems to be the only rational way of explaining Wellington’s conduct on June 17th. On arriving in front of Salamanca his army made a majestic encircling movement, Picton’s column crossing the Tormes by the fords of El Canto below the city, Beresford’s and Graham’s by those of Santa Marta above it. The use of the unbroken town-bridge was made impossible by Marmont’s forts. The heads of the two columns met on the north side, and they then moved three miles on, and took up a long position below the heights of San Cristobal, which lie outside Salamanca on its northern and eastern front. These formed the chosen defensive fighting-ground which Wellington had already in his mind.

Only the 14th Light Dragoons and Clinton’s infantry of the 6th Division turned into Salamanca by the Toro gate, and acted as Wellington’s escort, while he was received by the municipality and made his arrangements for the attack on the forts, which, though they commanded the bridge, had no outlook on the spacious arcaded Plaza Mayor, where the reception took place. It was a lively scene. ‘We were received with shouts and vivas,’ writes an eye-witness. ‘The inhabitants were out of their senses at having got rid of the French, and nearly pulled Lord Wellington off his horse. The ladies were the most violent, many coming up to him and embracing him. He kept writing orders upon his sabretash, and was interrupted three or four times by them. What with the joy of the people, and the feeling accompanying troops about to attack a fortress, it was a half-hour of suspense and anxiety, and a scene of such interest as I never before witnessed[422].’

Head-quarters were established that night in the city, and Clinton’s division invested the forts, which looked formidable enough to require close study before they were attacked. The rest of the army took up its bivouacs, with the cavalry out in front, and remained practically without movement on the ground now selected, for the next two days, till Marmont came to pay his expected visit.

The three Salamanca forts were built on high ground in the south-west corner of the city, which overlooks the long Roman bridge. To make them Marmont had destroyed a great part of the old University quarter of the place, levelling the majority of the colleges—for Salamanca, till 1808, had been a university of the English rather than the usual continental type, and had owned a score of such institutions. Nearly all the buildings on the slopes had been pulled down, leaving a wide open glacis round three massive convents, which had been transformed into places of strength. San Vincente occupied the crest of the knoll overlooking the river, and lay in the extreme angle of the old city wall, which enclosed it on two sides. The smaller strongholds, San Cayetano and La Merced, were separated from San Vincente by a narrow but steep ravine, and lay close together on another rising-ground of about the same height. The three formed a triangle with crossing fires, each to a large extent commanding the ground over which the others would have to be approached. The south and west sides of San Vincente and La Merced overhung precipitous slopes above the river, and were almost inaccessible. The north sides of San Cayetano and San Vincente were the only fronts that looked promising for attack, and in each elaborate preparations had been made in view of that fact. Marmont had originally intended to enclose all three forts and many buildings more—such as the Town Hospital, the convent of San Francisco, and the colleges of Ireland and Cuenca, in an outer enceinte, to serve as a large citadel which would contain several thousand men and all his magazines. But money and time had failed, and on the slopes below the forts, several convents and colleges, half pulled to pieces, were still standing, and offered cover for besiegers at a distance of some 250 yards from the works. The garrison consisted of six flank-companies from the 15th, 65th, 82nd, and 86th of the line and the 17th Léger, and of a company of artillery, under the chef de bataillon Duchemin of the 65th. They made up a total of 800 men, and had thirty-six guns in position, of which, however, the greater part were only light field-pieces: two guns (commanding the bridge) were in La Merced, four in San Cayetano, the remaining thirty in San Vincente, the most formidable of the three.

Wellington had come prepared to besiege ‘three fortified convents,’ and had been sent a confused sketch of them drawn by an amateur’s hand[423]. They turned out much stronger than he had been led to expect, owing to the immense amount of hewn stone from the demolished colleges and other buildings that was available to build them up. The walls had been doubled in thickness, the windows stopped, and scarps and counterscarps with solid masonry had been thrown around them. The roofs of the two minor forts had been taken off, and the upper stories casemated, by massive oak beams with a thick coating of earth laid upon them. This surface was so strong that guns, protected by sandbag embrasures, had been mounted on it at some points. There was also an ample provision of palisades, made from strong oak and chestnut beams. Altogether it was clear that the works would require a systematic battering, and were not mere patched-up mediaeval monasteries, as had been expected.

It was, therefore, most vexatious to find that the very small battering-train which Wellington had brought with him from Ciudad Rodrigo was obviously insufficient for the task before it; there were no more than four iron 18-pounder guns, with only 100 rounds of shot each, at the front; though six 24-pound howitzers, from the train that had taken Badajoz, were on their way from Elvas to join, and were due on the 20th. It was not, however, howitzers so much as more heavy 18-or 24-pounders that were required for battering, and the lack of them at the moment was made all the more irksome by the known fact that there were plenty of both sorts at Rodrigo and Almeida, five or six marches away. The mistake was precisely the same that was to be made again at Burgos in the autumn—undervaluation of the means required to deal with works of third-class importance. Whether Wellington himself or his artillery and engineer advisers were primarily responsible is not clear[424].

The responsibility for the working out of the little siege with inadequate means fell on Lieut.-Colonel Burgoyne, as senior engineer (he had with him only two other officers of that corps and nine military artificers!), and Lieut.-Colonel May, R.A., who was in charge of the four 18-pounders. The latter borrowed three howitzers from field-batteries to supplement his miserable means, and afterwards two 6-pounder field-guns, which, of course, were only for annoying the garrison, not for battering.

It looked at first as if the only practicable scheme was to build a battery for the 18-pounders on the nearest available ground, 250 yards from San Vincente to the north, and lower down the knoll on which that fort stood. There was good cover from ruined buildings up to this distance from the French works. On the night of the occupation of Salamanca 400 workmen of the 6th Division commenced a battery on the selected spot and approaches leading to it from the cover in the ruins. The work done was not satisfactory: it was nearly full moon, the night was short, and the enemy (who knew well enough where the attack must begin), kept up a lively fire of artillery and musketry all night. Unfortunately the 6th Division workmen had no experience of sieges—they had never used pick or shovel before, and there were only two engineer officers and nine artificers to instruct them. ‘Great difficulty was found in keeping the men to work under the fire: the Portuguese in particular absolutely went on hands and knees, dragging their baskets along the ground[425].’ By daylight the projected line of the battery was only knee-high, and gave no cover, so that the men had to be withdrawn till dusk. An attempt had been made during the night to ascertain whether it were possible to creep forward to the ditch, and lay mines there, to blow in the counterscarp. But the party who tried to reach the ditch were detected by the barking of a dog, who alarmed the French out-picket, and the explorers had to retire with several men wounded.

Seeing that the fire of the garrison was so effective, the officers in charge of the siege asked for, and obtained from Wellington, three hundred marksmen to keep down the tiraillade. They were taken from the Light Brigade of the King’s German Legion, and spread among the ruins to fire at the embrasures and loopholes of the French. They also hoisted, with some difficulty, two field-guns on to the first floor of the convent of San Bernardo, which lies north-west of San Vincente, and kept up a lively discharge ‘out of the drawing-room window, so to speak. We fired for some hours at each other, during which time an unlucky shot went as completely through my captain’s (Eligé’s) heart as possible. But considering how near we were, I am much surprised that our loss was so slight—one killed and one wounded at my own gun[426].’ But the fire of the San Vincente artillery was by no means silenced.

On the night of June 18th-19th the working party of the 6th Division succeeded in finishing the battery which was to breach the main fort, and also commenced two smaller batteries, to right and left, in places among the ruins, one by the College of Cuenca, the other below San Bernardo[427]. On the morning of the 19th the four 18-pounders and three howitzers opened, and brought down the upper courses of the masonry of that part of San Vincente on which they were trained. But they could not move its lower part, or reach the counterscarp. Wherefore two howitzers were put into the second battery, near the College of Cuenca, which could command the counterscarp. The play of these guns proved insufficient, however, to shake it, and the garrison concentrated such a fire upon them, mainly from musketry at loopholes, that twenty gunners were killed or hurt while working the two howitzers.

Next morning Dickson’s six howitzers from Elvas came up, and served to replace those borrowed from the field companies, wherefore there was only an addition of three pieces net to the battering-train. Two of the 18-pounders were moved round to the battery (No. 2) which had been so hard hit on the preceding day: their fire proved much more effective than that of the howitzers, and brought down an angle of the upper wall of San Vincente and part of its roof, which fell on and crushed many of the French.

But on the 21st it was impossible to continue the battering, for the ignominious reason that there were hardly any more shot left to fire. Only sixty balls remained in store for the 18-pounders, and a little over one hundred for the howitzers[428]. The calculations of the besiegers had been so erroneous that they had used up their stock just as the critical moment had arrived. On the previous day Wellington, seeing what was coming, had sent a hurried message to Almeida for more shot and powder—but the convoy, though urged on with all possible speed, did not arrive at Salamanca till the 26th.

Meanwhile the general engagement for which Wellington had prepared himself seemed likely to come off. Marmont had all his army, save Bonnet alone, collected by the 19th, at Fuente Sauco. On the following day he came boldly forward and drove in the British cavalry vedettes. He showed three columns moving on a parallel front, which observers estimated at 18,000 foot and 2,000 horse—but there were more behind, still invisible. At four in the afternoon he was drawing so close that Wellington assumed his battle position. Five divisions and the two independent Portuguese brigades formed the fighting-line, from San Cristobal southward to Cabrerizos on the bank of the Tormes: the order was (from right to left) 1st-7th-4th-Light-3rd-Pack and Bradford. The reserve was composed of the 5th Division, of Hulse’s brigade of the 6th (of which the remainder was left to blockade the Salamanca forts), and of Carlos de España’s 3,000 Spaniards. Alten’s cavalry covered the British right, Ponsonby’s[429] the left, Bock’s and Le Marchant’s heavy squadrons were in reserve.

It looked at first as though Marmont intended to force on the battle that Wellington desired. Moving with great order and decision, his three columns deployed opposite the heights, and advanced to within a very moderate distance of them—not more than 800 yards at one point. They were extremely visible, as the whole country-side below the British position was a fine plain covered with ripening wheat. The only breaks in the surface were the infrequent villages—in this part of Spain they are all large and far apart—and a few dry watercourses, whose line could be detected winding amid the interminable cornfields. Warning to keep off the position was given to the French by long-range fire from several of the British batteries on salient points of the line. The enemy replied noisily and with many guns: Wellington’s officers judged that he was doing his best to make his approach audible to the garrison of the besieged forts.

At dusk the French occupied the village of Castellanos de Morisco, in front of the right centre of the heights, and then advanced a regiment to attack Morisco, which was absolutely at the foot of them, and had been occupied by Wellington as an advanced post. It was held by the 68th regiment from the 7th Division, a battalion which had come out from England in the preceding autumn, but had, by chance, never been engaged before. It made a fine defence, and beat off three attacks upon the village: but after dark Wellington called it back uphill to the line of the position, abandoning Morisco[430]. Apparently he was glad to see the French pressing in close, and looked for an attack upon his position next morning. Standing on the sky-line above Castellanos at dusk, with a map in his hand, he demonstrated to all the assembled generals commanding divisions the exact part which they were to play, till several French round-shot compelled him to shift his position a little farther back[431]. The whole army slept that night in order of battle, with strong pickets pushed down to the foot of the slopes.

There was, however, no attack at dawn. Marmont’s two rear divisions (those of Foy and Thomières) and a brigade of dragoons were not yet on the ground, and only got up in the course of the afternoon: hence he was naturally unwilling to move, as he had a certain knowledge that he was outnumbered. It would seem that Wellington had, that morning, an opportunity of crushing his enemy, which he must have regretted to have lost on many subsequent days of the campaign. Marmont’s position was one of very great risk: he had pushed in so close to the British heights, that he might have been attacked and brought to action in half an hour, and could not have got away without fighting. His position was visible from end to end—it had no flank protection, and its only strong points were the two villages of Morisco and Castellanos de Morisco on its left centre. Behind was an undulating sea of cornfields extending to the horizon. Wellington (after deducting the two missing brigades of the 6th Division) could have come down in a general charge from his heights, with 37,000 Anglo-Portuguese infantry, and 3,500 horse—not to speak of Carlos de España’s 3,000 Spaniards. Marmont had only five divisions of infantry (about 28,000 bayonets) on the ground at daybreak, and less than 2,000 horse. He was in a thoroughly dominated position, and it is hard to see what he could have done, had Wellington strengthened his left wing with all his cavalry and delivered a vigorous downhill assault on the unprotected French right. The opportunity for an attack was so favourable that Wellington’s staff discussed with curiosity the reasons that might be preventing it, and formed varying hypotheses to account for his holding back[432]. As a matter of fact, as his dispatch to Lord Liverpool explains[433], the British Commander-in-Chief was still hoping for a second Bussaco. He saw that Marmont was not going to attack till his rear had come up, but hoped that he might do so that afternoon or next morning, when he had all his men in hand. The daring way in which the Marshal continued to hold on to an untenable position, within cannon shot of his enemy’s line, seemed to argue an ultimate intention to bring on an action.

Nor was Wellington very far out in his ideas: Marmont was in a state of indecision. When the missing 10,000 men came up he called a council of war—the regular resort of generals in a difficulty. We have concerning it only the evidence of Foy, who wrote as follows in his diary.

‘At dusk on the 21st there was a grand discussion, on the problem as to whether we should or should not give battle to the English. The Marshal seemed to have a desire to do so, but a feeble and hesitating desire. Remembering Vimeiro, Corunna, and Bussaco, I thought that it would be difficult to beat the English, our superiors in number, on such a compact position as that which they were occupying. I had not the first word: I allowed Maucune, Ferey[434], and La Martinière to express their views, before I let them see what I thought. Then Clausel having protested strongly against fighting, I supported his opinion. Because we had left a small garrison in the Salamanca forts, we were not bound to lose 6,000 killed and wounded, and risk the honour of the army, in order to deliver them. The troops were in good spirits, and that is excellent for the first assault: but here we should have a long tough struggle: I doubted whether we had breath enough to keep it up to the end. In short, I saw more chances of defeat than victory. I urged that we ought to keep close to the English, “contain” them, and wait for our reinforcements; this could be done by manœuvring along the left bank of the Tormes above and below Salamanca. Clausel and I set forth this policy from every aspect. The Marshal was displeased: he fancied that his generals were plotting to wreck his plan: he wanted to redeem the blunder which he saw that he had made in leaving a garrison in Salamanca: he dreads the Emperor and the public opinion of the army. He would have liked a battle, but he had not determination enough to persist in forcing it on[435].’

It seems, therefore, certain that Wellington nearly obtained the defensive general action that he had desired and expected, and was only disappointed because Marmont was talked down by his two best divisional generals. If the Marshal had made his attack, it is clear that his disaster would have been on a far more complete and awful scale than the defeat which he was actually to endure on July 22. For he would have had behind him when repulsed (as he must have been) no friendly shelter of woods and hills, such as then saved the wrecks of his army, but a boundless rolling plain, in which routed troops would have been at the mercy of a cavalry which exceeded their own in the proportion of seven to five (or slightly more).

On the morning of the 22nd, the British general, who had now kept his army in position for thirty-six hours on end, began to guess that he was not to be attacked. Was it worth while to advance, since the enemy refused to do so? The conditions were by no means so favourable as at the dawn of the 21st, when Marmont had been short of 10,000 men. But the allied army still possessed a perceptible superiority in numbers, a stronger cavalry, and a dominating position, from which it would be easy to deliver a downhill attack under cover of their artillery.

Wellington, however, made no decisive movement: he threw up some flèches to cover the batteries in front of the 1st and 7th Divisions, of which the latter was pushed a little nearer to the Tormes. He brought up the six heavy howitzers which had been used against the forts, and placed them on this same right wing of his position. Then he commenced a partial offensive movement, which was apparently designed to draw Marmont into a serious bickering, if he were ready to stand. The 7th Division began to make an advance towards Morisco: the skirmishers of the Light Brigade of the King’s German Legion moved down, and began to press in the pickets opposite them, their battalions supporting. Soon after the 51st and 68th, from the other brigade of the division, that of De Bernewitz, were ordered to storm a knoll immediately above Morisco, which formed the most advanced point of the enemy’s line. Wellington directed Graham to support them with the whole 1st and Light Divisions, if the enemy should bring up reinforcements and show fight. But nothing of the kind happened: the two battalions carried the knoll with a single vigorous rush, losing some 30 killed and wounded[436]. But the French made no attempt to recapture it, drew back their skirmishing line, and retired to the village, only 200 yards behind, where they stood firm, evidently expecting a general attack. It was not delivered: Wellington had been willing to draw Marmont into a fight, but was not intending to order an advance of the whole line, and to precipitate a general offensive battle.

There was no more fighting that day, and next morning the whole French army had disappeared save some cavalry vedettes. These being pressed in by Alten’s hussars, it was discovered that Marmont had gone back six miles, to a line of heights behind the village of Aldea Rubia, and was there in a defensive position, with his left wing nearly touching the Tormes near the fords of Huerta. Wellington made no pursuit: only his cavalry reconnoitred the new French position. He kept his army on the San Cristobal heights, only moving down Anson’s brigade of the 4th Division to hold Castellanos, and Halkett’s of the 7th Division to hold Morisco. Hulse’s brigade of the 6th Division was sent back to Salamanca, as were also Dickson’s six howitzers, and Clinton was directed to press the siege of the forts—notwithstanding the unhappy fact that there was scarcely any ammunition left in the batteries.

Marmont had undoubtedly been let off easily by Wellington: yet he hardly realized it, so filled was his mind with the idea that his adversary would never take the offensive. His report to King Joseph shows a sublime ignorance of his late danger. As the document has never been published and is very short, it may be worth quoting.

‘Having concentrated the greater part of this army on the evening of the 19th, I marched on Salamanca the same day. I seized some outlying posts of the enemy, and my army bivouacked within half cannon-shot of the English. Their army was very well posted, and I did not think it right to attack yesterday (June 21) without making a reconnaissance of it. The result of my observations has convinced me that as long as my own numbers are not at least equal to theirs, I must temporize, and gain time for the arrival of the troops from the Army of the North, which General Caffarelli has promised me. If they arrive I shall be strong enough to take an enterprising course. Till then I shall manœuvre round Salamanca, so as to try to get the enemy to divide his army, or to move it out of its position, which will be to my advantage. The Salamanca forts are making an honourable defence. Since we came up the enemy has ceased to attack them, so that I have gained time, and can put off a general action for some days if I think proper[437].’

Marmont’s plan for ‘manœuvring around Salamanca’ proved (as we shall see) quite ineffective, and ended within a few days in a definite retreat, when he found that the succours promised by Caffarelli were not about to appear.

Meanwhile the siege of the Salamanca forts had recommenced, on the 23rd, under the depressing conditions that the artillery had only 60 rounds (15 apiece!) for the four heavy 18-pounders, which were their effective weapons, and 160 for the six howitzers, which had hitherto proved almost useless. The two light field-guns (6-pounders) were also replaced on the first floor of San Bernardo to shell the enemy’s loopholes—they were no good at all for battering. This time the besiegers placed one of their heavy guns in the right flanking battery near San Bernardo, to get an oblique enfilading fire against the gorge of the San Cayetano fort. The new idea was to leave San Vincente alone, as too hard a nut to crack with the small supply of shot available, and to batter the lesser fort from flank and rear with the few rounds remaining. The entire stock, together with a hundred rounds of shell, was used up by the afternoon, when no practicable breach had been made, though the palisades of San Cayetano had been battered down, and its parapet much injured. Nevertheless Wellington ordered an attempt to storm (or rather to escalade) the minor fort at 10 p.m. on the same evening. It was to be carried out by the six light companies of Bowes’s and Hulse’s brigades of the 6th Division, a force of between 300 and 400 men. ‘The undertaking was difficult, and the men seemed to feel it,’ observes the official historian of the Peninsular sieges[438]. The major of one of the regiments engaged remarks, ‘the result was precisely such as most of the officers anticipated—a failure attended with severe loss of life.’ The storming-column, starting from the ruins near the left flanking battery, had to charge for the gorge of San Cayetano, not only under the fire of that work, but with musketry and artillery from San Vincente taking them in the rear. The casualties from the first moment were very heavy—many men never got near the objective, and only two ladders out of twenty were planted against the fort[439]. No one tried to ascend them—the project being obviously useless, and the stormers ran back under cover after having lost six officers and 120 men, just a third of their numbers[440]. Among the killed was General Bowes, commanding the second brigade of the division, who had insisted on going forward with his light companies—though this was evidently not brigadier’s work. Apparently he thought that his personal influence might enable his men to accomplish the impossible. He was hit slightly as the column started, but bound up his wound, and went forward a second time, only to be killed at the very foot of the ladders, just as his men broke and retired.

This, as all engaged in it agreed, was a very unjustifiable enterprise; the escalade was impracticable so long as San Vincente was intact, and able to cover the gorge of San Cayetano with an effective fire from the rear. The siege now had a second period of lethargy, all the shot having been used up. It was only on the morning of the 26th, three days later, that the convoy from Almeida, ordered up on the 20th by Wellington, arrived with 1,000 rounds carried by mules, and enabled the battering to begin once more.

Meanwhile Marmont had been making persistent but ineffective diversions against Wellington. The advantage of the position to which he had withdrawn was that it commanded the great bend, or elbow, of the Tormes, where (at the ford of Huerta) that river turns its general course from northward to westward. Troops sent across the river here could threaten Salamanca from the south, and, if in sufficient strength, might force Wellington to evacuate part of the San Cristobal position, in order to provide a containing force to prevent them from communicating with and relieving the besieged forts. The Marshal’s own statement of his intention[441] was that he hoped, by manœuvring, to get Wellington either to divide his army or to leave his strong ground, or both. He aimed, no doubt, at obtaining the opportunity for a successful action with some isolated part of Wellington’s force, but was still too much convinced of the danger of fighting a general action to be ready to risk much. Moreover he was expecting, from day to day, the 8,000 men of the Army of the North whom Caffarelli had promised him: and it would be reckless to give battle before they arrived—if only they were really coming.

Wellington could see, by his own eyes no less than by the map, for he rode along Marmont’s new front on the 23rd, that the French position gave good possibilities for a passage of the elbow of the Tormes at Huerta: wherefore he detached Bock’s brigade of German Dragoons to the south of the river, with orders to watch the roads debouching from the fords, and to act as a detaining force if any hostile cavalry crossed them. He also threw forward Alten’s hussars to Aldea Lengua, a village and ford half-way between Cabrerizos and Aldea Rubia, with the object of keeping a similar close watch on any attempt of Marmont’s to move north of the river. One brigade of the Light Division came forward to support Alten—the other was écheloned a little back, on hills above Aldea Lengua.

On the late evening of the 23rd Marmont sent a squadron or two across the Huerta fords, which turned back after running into Bock’s vedettes. This was merely an exploring party to test the practicability of the passage; but next morning, in a heavy fog, skirmishing fire and occasional reports of cannon told Wellington that some more important detachment was across the Tormes, and engaged with the Germans. The British head-quarters staff rode to the hill above Aldea Lengua, which commands a wide view over the south bank, and, when the morning vapours rolled up at 7 o’clock, saw Bock retiring across the rolling plain in very good order, pressed by a heavy force of all arms—two divisions of infantry headed by a light cavalry brigade with a horse artillery battery, which was doing some harm to the two dragoon regiments as they retired in alternate échelons across the slopes.

Fortunately there was excellent defensive fighting-ground south of the Tormes, in prolongation of the San Cristobal position north of it. The ravine and brook[442] called the Ribera de Pelagarcia with wooded heights above them, run in front of Santa Marta and its ford, for some miles southward from the Tormes. There was a similar line of high ground facing it, with the villages of Pelabravo and Calvarisa de Ariba on its top, which the French might occupy, but on passing down from them they would run against a formidable position. Along these hills, indeed, Wellington’s first line of defence was to be formed a month later, on the day of the battle of Salamanca. On seeing Bock’s careful retreat in progress, the Commander-in-Chief ordered Graham to cross the Tormes at Santa Marta with the 1st and 7th Divisions, and to occupy the ground in front of him. This was a short move, and easily accomplished while the French detachment was pushing the German dragoons slowly backward. The 4th and 5th Divisions moved down to the north bank of the Tormes, ready to follow if Marmont should support his advanced guard, by sending more men over the Huerta fords. Le Marchant’s heavy brigade crossed the river with a horse artillery battery, and went to reinforce Bock, whom the French could now only push in by bringing forward infantry. Their advance continued as far as the village of Calvarisa de Abaxo, and a little beyond, where the whole 9,000 or 10,000 men deployed, as if intending to attack Graham. But just as observers on the Aldea Lengua heights were beginning to think that serious fighting was probable[443], the whole fell back into column of march, and, retiring to Huerta covered by their chasseurs, recrossed the river.

The state of affairs at nightfall was just what it had been at dawn. Graham and Le Marchant went back to their old ground north of the river, and south of it cavalry alone was left—this time Alten’s brigade, for Bock’s had had a heavy day, and needed rest. So ended a spectacular but almost bloodless manœuvre—the German dragoons lost three killed and two wounded: the French light horse probably no more.

In a dispatch written the same night Marmont frankly owns that he was foiled by Wellington’s counter-move. This hitherto unpublished document is worth quoting. It is addressed to General Caffarelli, and runs as follows[444]. ‘The movement which I have made toward Salamanca has caused the enemy to suspend his attack on the forts of that town. [An error, as it was not the movement but the lack of ammunition which stopped the bombardment.] This consideration, and the way in which I found him posted to keep me off, and not least your assurance that your powerful reinforcements would reach me very soon, have determined me to suspend the attack which I was about to deliver against him. I stop here with the object of gaining time, and in the expectation of your arrival.’ From this it is clear that if Graham had not been found so well posted, in a position where he could readily be reinforced from San Cristobal, Marmont would have followed up his advanced guard with the rest of his army, and have struck at Salamanca from the South. But finding the ground on the left bank of the river just as unfavourable to him as that on the north, he gave up the game and retired. He risked a serious check, for Wellington might have ordered Graham to follow and attack the retreating divisions, who would have had great difficulty in recrossing the Tormes without loss, if they had been pursued and attacked while jammed at the fords. But Wellington was still in his defensive mood, and took no risks, contented to have foiled most effectively his enemy’s manœuvre.

On the 25th Marmont remained stationary, waiting for further advices from Caffarelli, which failed to come to hand. Nor did Wellington make any move, save that of sending orders that the siege of the forts was to be pressed as early and as vigorously as possible. The guns were back in their batteries, waiting for the ammunition which was yet to appear. All that could be done without shot was to push forward a trench along the bottom of the ravine between San Vincente and the other two forts, to cut off communication between them. The French fired fiercely at the workers, where they could look down into the ravine, and killed some of them. But there was much ‘dead ground’ which could not be reached from any point in the forts, and by dawn on the 26th the trench was far advanced, and a picket was lodged safely in it, close under the gorge of San Cayetano.

On the morning of the 26th the convoy of powder and shot from Almeida reached the front, and at three in the afternoon the besiegers recommenced their fire. This time no guns were placed in the original battery opposite the north front of San Vincente; the four 18-pounders all went into the right flank attack, and were concentrated on the gorge of San Cayetano. Four of the howitzers were placed in the left flank battery, near the College of Cuenca, and directed to fire red-hot shot into the roof and upper story of San Vincente. The field-guns in San Bernardo, aided by one howitzer, took up their old work of trying to keep down the fire of the forts.

The battering in of the gorge of San Cayetano made considerable progress, but the most effective work was that of the red-hot shot, which before night had set the tower of San Vincente and several points of its roof in flames. By heroic exertions the garrison succeeded in extinguishing them, but the besiegers’ fire was kept up all night, and from time to time new conflagrations burst out. The governor afterwards informed the British engineers that eighteen separate outbreaks were kept down within the twenty-four hours before his surrender[445]. The fort was very inflammable, owing to the immense amount of timber that had been used for casemating, traverses, barricades, and parapets, inside its walls. Still it was holding out at daybreak, though the garrison was nearly exhausted: the governor signalled to Marmont that he could not resist for more than three days—a sad over-estimate of his power, as was to be shown in a few hours. As a subsidiary aid to the work of the guns two mines were commenced, one from the ravine, destined to burrow under San Cayetano, the other from the cliff by the river, intended to reach La Merced. But neither was fated to be used, other means sufficing.

After four hours’ pounding on the morning of the 27th, the gorge of San Cayetano had been battered into a real and very practicable breach, while a new fire had broken out in San Vincente, larger than any one which had preceded it. It reached the main store of gabions and planks within the fort, and threatened the powder magazine. The garrison were evidently flinching from their guns, as the counter-fire from the place, hitherto very lively, began to flag, and the whole building was wrapped in smoke.

Thereupon Wellington ordered San Cayetano to be stormed for the second time. The column charged with the operation crept forward along the trench at the bottom of the ravine, fairly well covered till it had reached the spot immediately below the gorge of the fort. Just as the forlorn hope was about to start out of the trench, a white flag was shown from the breach. The captain commanding in San Cayetano asked for two hours’ truce, to enable him to communicate with his chief in San Vincente, promising to surrender at the end of that time. Wellington offered him five minutes to march out, if he wished to preserve his garrison’s lives and baggage. As the Frenchmen continued to haggle and argue, he was told to take down his white flag, as the assault was about to be delivered. When the stormers ran in, San Cayetano made practically no defence, though a few shots were fired, which caused six casualties in the assaulting column: the greater part of the garrison threw down their muskets and made no resistance.

At the same moment the white flag went up on San Vincente also: here the conflagration was now burning up so fiercely that the French had been able to spare no attention for the storming-party that captured San Cayetano. The governor, Duchemin, asked for three hours’ suspension of arms, and made a proposal of terms of surrender. Wellington, here as at the smaller fort, refused to grant time, as he thought that the fire would be subdued and the defence prolonged, if he allowed hours to be wasted in negotiations. He sent in the same ultimatum as at San Cayetano—five minutes for the garrison to march out, and they should have all the ‘honours of war’ and their baggage intact. Duchemin, like his subordinate, returned a dilatory message, but while his white flag was still flying, the 9th Caçadores pushed up out of the ravine and entered the battery on the east side of the work. They were not fired on, no one in San Vincente being prepared to continue the defence, and the French standard came down without further resistance.

Not quite 600 unwounded men of the garrison were captured. They had lost just 200 during the siege, including 14 officers[446]. The casualties among the British were, as might have been expected, much heavier, largely owing to the unjustifiable assault of June 23rd. They amounted to 5 officers and 94 men killed, and 29 officers and 302 men wounded. A considerable store of clothing, much powder, and 36 guns of all sorts were found in the three forts. The powder was made over to Carlos de España, one of whose officers, having moved it into the town on the 7th July, contrived to explode many barrels, which killed several soldiers and twenty citizens, besides wrecking some houses[447]. The three forts were destroyed with care, when they had been stripped of all their contents.

The fall of the Salamanca forts happened just in time to prevent Marmont from committing himself to a serious offensive operation for their succour. It will be remembered that, on June 24th, he had used the plea that Caffarelli’s troops must be with him, ere many days had passed, as a justification for not pushing on to attack the British divisions in front of Santa Marta. And this expectation was reasonable, in view of that general’s last dispatch from Vittoria of June 14th[448], which spoke of his appearance with 8,000 men as certain and imminent. On the 26th, however, the Marshal received another letter from the Army of the North, couched in a very different tone, which upset all his plans. Caffarelli, writing on the 20th, reported the sudden arrival on the Biscay coast of Sir Home Popham’s fleet, whose strength he much exaggerated. In co-operation with the English, Longa, Renovales, and Porlier had all come down from their mountains, and Bilbao was in danger from their unexpected and simultaneous appearance. It would probably be necessary to march to drive off the ‘7th Army’ and the British expedition without delay. At any rate the transference of any infantry towards the Douro for the succour of the Army of Portugal had become impossible for the moment. The brigade of light cavalry and the guns might still be sent, but the infantry division had become indispensable elsewhere. ‘I am sorry,’ ended Caffarelli, ‘but I could not have foreseen this development, and when I spoke of marching towards you I was far from suspecting that it could arise.’

This epistle changed the whole aspect of affairs: if the infantry division from Vittoria had been diverted into Biscay for an indefinite period, and if even the cavalry and guns (an insignificant force so far as numbers went, yet useful to an army short of horse) had not even started on June 20th, it was clear that not a single man would be available from the North for many days. Meanwhile the governor of the forts signalled at dawn on the 27th that seventy-two hours was the limit of his power of resistance. Thereupon Marmont came to the desperate resolve to attempt the relief of San Vincente with no more than his own 40,000 men. He tells us that he intended to move by the south side of the Tormes, crossing not at Huerta (as on the 24th) but at Alba de Tormes, seven miles higher up, where he had a small garrison in the old castle, which protected the bridge. This move would have brought him precisely on to the ground where he ultimately fought the disastrous battle of July 22nd. He would have met Wellington with 7,000 men less than he brought to the actual battle that was yet to come, while the Anglo-Portuguese army was practically the same in July as it was in June[449]. The result could not have been doubtful—and Marmont knew that he was taking a serious risk. But he did not fathom its full danger, since he was filled with an unjustifiable confidence in his adversary’s aversion to battle, and thought that he might be manœuvred and bullied out of his position, by a move against his communications[450]. He would have found out his error in front of the Arapiles on June 29th if he had persevered.

But he did not persevere: in the morning of June 27 the firing at Salamanca ceased, and a few hours later it was known that the forts had fallen. Having now no longer any reason for taking risks, the Marshal changed his whole plan, and resolved to remove himself in haste from Wellington’s neighbourhood, and to take up a defensive position till he should receive reinforcements. Two courses were open to him—the first was to retire due eastward toward Arevalo, and put himself in communication, by Avila and Segovia, with the Army of the Centre and Madrid. The second was to retire north-eastward toward Valladolid, and to go behind the strong defensive line of the Douro. Taking this line the Marshal would sacrifice his touch with Madrid and the South, but would be certain of picking up the reinforcement under Bonnet which he was expecting from the Asturias, and would also be able to receive with security whatever succour Caffarelli might send—even if it turned out to be no more than cavalry and guns.

This alternative he chose, probably with wisdom, for in a position on the Douro he threatened Wellington’s flank if he should advance farther eastward, and protected the central parts of the kingdom of Leon from being overrun by the Army of Galicia and Silveira’s Portuguese, who would have had no containing force whatever in front of them if he had kept south of the Douro and linked himself with Madrid. His retreat, commenced before daybreak on the 28th, took him behind the Guarena river that night: on the 29th he crossed the Trabancos, and rested for a day after two forced marches. On the 30th he passed the Zapardiel, and reached Rueda, close to the Douro, on the following morning. From thence he wrote to King Joseph a dispatch which explains sufficiently well all his designs: it is all the more valuable because its details do not entirely bear out the version of his plans which he gives in his Mémoires.

‘The Salamanca forts,’ he said, ‘having surrendered, there was no reason for lingering on the Tormes; it was better to fall back on his reinforcements. If he had not done so, he would have been himself attacked, for Wellington was preparing to strike, and pursued promptly. He had detached one division [Foy] towards Toro and the Lower Douro to keep off Silveira, who had passed that river at Zamora. Moreover the Galicians had blockaded Astorga, and crossed the Orbigo. He felt that he could defend the line of the Douro with confidence, being aided by the line of fortified posts along it—Zamora, Toro, and Tordesillas. But to take the offensive against Wellington he must have 1,500 more cavalry and 7,000 more infantry than he actually had in hand—since the Anglo-Portuguese army was nearly 50,000 strong, and included 5,000 English horse.’ This reinforcement was precisely what Caffarelli had promised, but by the 28th not one man of the Army of the North had reached Valladolid. ‘If the general can trump up some valid excuse for not sending me the infantry, there is none for keeping back the cavalry—which is useless among his mountains—or the artillery, which lies idle at Burgos.’ Would it not be possible for the Army of the Centre to lend the Army of Portugal Treillard’s division of dragoons from the valley of the Tagus, since Caffarelli sent nothing? If only the necessary reinforcements, 1,500 horse and 7,000 foot, came to hand, the Army of Portugal could take the offensive with a certainty of success[451]; in eight days Wellington’s designs could be foiled, and Salamanca could be recovered. But without that succour the Marshal must keep to the defensive behind the Douro—’I can combat the course of events, but cannot master them[452].’

This interesting dispatch explains all that followed. Marmont was prepared to fight whenever he could show a rough numerical equality with Wellington’s army. He obtained it a few days later, by the arrival of Bonnet with his 6,500 infantry, and the increase of his cavalry by 800 or 900 sabres owing to measures hereafter to be described. On July 15th he had got together nearly 50,000 men of all arms, and at once took the offensive, according to the programme which he had laid down. It is, therefore, unfair to him to say that he declared himself unable to fight till he should have got reinforcements either from Caffarelli or from Madrid, and then (in despite of his declaration) attacked Wellington without having received them. He may have been presumptuous in acting as he did, but at least he gave his Commander-in-Chief fair notice, a fortnight beforehand, as to his intentions. It was the misfortune of the French that some of their dispatches miscarried, owing to the activity of the guerrilleros, while others came to hand very late. Marmont and King Joseph—as we shall see—were very imperfectly and intermittently informed as to each other’s doings. But the Marshal cannot reasonably be accused of betraying or deluding the King out of jealousy or blind ambition. When he had collected a force very nearly equal to Wellington’s in numbers, and far superior in national homogeneity, he cannot be blamed over-much for attacking a foe whose fighting spirit and initiative he much undervalued. That his conception of Wellington’s character and capacity was hopelessly wrong cannot be denied: the estimate was to prove his ruin. But it had not been formed without much observation and experiment: after what he had seen on the Caya, and at Aldea da Ponte, and recently on the heights of San Cristobal, he thought he could take liberties with his opponent. He was to be undeceived in a very rude fashion before July was out.

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SECTION XXXIII: CHAPTER V

MARMONT TAKES THE OFFENSIVE. JULY 1812

On July 2nd Wellington had arrived at the end of the first stage of his campaign. He had cleared the French out of the whole of southern Leon as far as the Douro, had taken the Salamanca forts, and had beaten off with ease Marmont’s attempts to meddle with him. All this had been accomplished with the loss of less than 500 men. But the success, though marked, was not decisive, since the enemy’s army had not been beaten in the open field, but only manœuvred out of the considerable region that it had evacuated. The most tangible advantage secured was that Marmont had been cut off from Madrid and the Army of the Centre: he could now communicate with King Joseph only by the circuitous line through Segovia. All the guerrilleros of Castile, especially the bands of Saornil and Principe, were thrown on the Segovia and Avila roads, where they served Wellington excellently, for they captured most of the dispatches which were passing between King Joseph and Marmont, who were really out of touch with each other after the Marshal’s retreat from the Tormes on June 27th.

But till Marmont had been beaten in action nothing was settled, and Wellington had been disappointed of his hope that the Army of Portugal would attack him in position, and allow him to deal with it in the style of Bussaco. The Marshal had retired behind the Douro with his host intact: it was certain that he would be joined there by Bonnet’s division from the Asturias, and very possible that he might also receive succour from the Army of the North. The junction of Bonnet would give him a practical equality in numbers with the British army: any considerable reinforcement from Caffarelli would make him superior in force. And there was still a chance that other French armies might intervene, though hitherto there were no signs of it. For it was only during the first fortnight of the campaign that Wellington could reckon on having to deal with his immediate adversary alone. He was bound to have that much start, owing to the wide dispersion of the French, and their difficulty in communicating with each other. But as the weeks wore on, and the enemy became more able to grasp the situation, there was a growing possibility that outlying forces might be brought up towards the Douro. If Marmont had only been defeated on June 21st this would have mattered little: and Wellington must have regretted more and more each day that he had not taken the obvious opportunity, and attacked the Army of Portugal when it placed itself, incomplete and in a poor position, beneath the heights of San Cristobal.

Now, however, since Marmont had got away intact, everything depended on the working of the various diversions which had been prepared to distract the other French armies. One of them, Sir Home Popham’s, had succeeded to admiration, and had so scared Caffarelli that not a man of the Army of the North was yet in motion toward the Douro. And this fortunate expedition was to continue effective: for another three weeks Marmont got no succours from the army that was supposed to constitute his supporting force by the instructions of the Emperor and of King Joseph. But Wellington—not having the gift of prophecy, though he could see further into the fog of war than other men—was unable to rely with certainty on Caffarelli’s continued abstinence from interference. As to Soult, there were as yet no signs of any trouble from Andalusia. The Duke of Dalmatia had somewhat reinforced D’Erlon’s corps in Estremadura, but not to such an extent as threatened any real danger to Hill, who reported that he could keep D’Erlon in check on the Albuera position, and was not certain that he might not be able to attack him at advantage—a move for which he had his chief’s permission[453]. If only Wellington had been fortunate enough to receive some of Soult’s letters to King Joseph, written in the second half of June, he would have been much reassured: for the Marshal was (as we shall see) refusing in the most insubordinate style to carry out the orders sent him to move troops northward. Two minor pieces of intelligence from the South were of no primary importance—though vexatious enough—one was that Ballasteros had ventured on a battle at Bornos on June 1, and got well beaten: but his army was not destroyed. The second was that General Slade had suffered a discreditable check at Maguilla on June 11th in a cavalry combat with Lallemand’s dragoons. But neither of these events had much influence on Soult’s general conduct at the time, as we shall show in the proper place.

There remained one quarter from which Wellington had received information that was somewhat disturbing. An intercepted letter from King Joseph to D’Erlon showed that the latter had been directed to move towards the Tagus, and that the King himself was evidently thinking of bringing succour to Marmont, so far as his modest means allowed[454]. But since this projected operation seemed to depend on assistance being granted by Soult, and since it was doubtful in the highest degree whether Soult would give it, Wellington was not without hopes that it might come to nothing. ‘I have requested the Empecinado,’ he writes to Lord Liverpool, ‘to alarm the King for the safety of his situation about Madrid, and I hope that Marshal Soult will find ample employment for his troops in the blockade of Cadiz, the continued operations of General Ballasteros, and those in Estremadura of Lieut.-General Hill, whose attention I have called to the probable march of this corps of the Army of the South through Estremadura.’ As a matter of fact Soult prevented D’Erlon from giving any help to the King or Marmont; but a contingency was to arise of which Wellington, on July 1st, could have no expectation—viz. that, though refused all help from the South, Joseph might come to the desperate but most soldier-like determination to march with his own little army alone to the Douro, in order to bring to bear such influence as he possessed on what was obviously a critical moment in the war. The King and Jourdan were the only men in Spain who showed a true appreciation of the crisis: but they made their move too late: the fault was undoubtedly Soult’s alone. However, on July 1st, Wellington was justified in doubting whether any danger would arise on the side of Madrid. Joseph could not move the Army of the Centre to the Douro, without risking his capital and abandoning all New Castile. As late as July 11th Wellington suspected that he would not make this extreme sacrifice, but would rather push a demonstration down the Tagus to alarm central Portugal, a hypothesis which did not much alarm him[455]. The King and Jourdan knew better than to make this indecisive move, and marched where their 14,000 men might have turned the whole course of the campaign—but marched too late.

There was still a chance that Suchet might be helping the King—this depended entirely on an unknown factor in the game, the diversion which Lord William Bentinck had promised to execute on the coast of Catalonia. If it had begun to work, as it should have done, by the second half of June, there was little chance that any troops from the eastern side of Spain would interfere in the struggle on the Douro. But no information of recent date was yet forthcoming: it was not till July 14th that the vexatious news arrived that Lord William was faltering in his purpose, and thinking of plans for diverting his expeditionary force to Italy.

The situation, therefore, when Marmont went behind the Douro on July 1st, had many uncertain points: there were several dangerous possibilities, but nothing had yet happened to make ultimate success improbable. On the whole the most disappointing factor was the conduct of the Army of Galicia. It will be remembered that Wellington had arranged for a double diversion on Marmont’s flank and rear. Silveira, with the militia of the Tras-os-Montes and D’Urban’s Portuguese cavalry brigade, was to cross the Esla and besiege Zamora. Santocildes, with the Army of Galicia, had been directed to attack Astorga with part of his force, but to bring the main body forward to the Esla and overrun the plains of northern Leon. Silveira had but a trifling force, and the task allotted to him was small: but on July 1st he had not yet reached Zamora with his infantry, and was only at Carvajales on the Esla[456]. On the other hand D’Urban’s cavalry had pushed boldly forward in front of him, had swept the whole north bank of the Douro as far as Toro, and reported that all the French garrisons save Astorga, Zamora, and Toro had been drawn in—that Benavente, Leon, and all the northern plain were unoccupied. On July 2 D’Urban was at Castronuevo, north of Toro, right in the rear of Marmont’s flank—a very useful position, since it enabled him to keep up communication between Silveira and the Galicians, as well as to report any movement of the French right. Moreover, though his force was very small, only 800 sabres, it was enough to prevent any foraging parties from Marmont’s rear from exploiting the resources of the north bank of the Douro. Some such appeared, but were driven in at once, so that the Marshal had to live on his magazines and the villages actually within his lines: in the end these resources would be exhausted, and the old choice—starvation or dispersion—would once more be presented to the Army of Portugal[457].

But as a military body neither D’Urban’s 800 horse nor Silveira’s 4,000 militia had any threatening power against Marmont’s rear. They might almost be neglected, while the real pressure which Wellington had intended to apply in this quarter was not forthcoming. He had hoped that, by the time that he and Marmont were at close quarters, the Army of Galicia would have been taking a useful part in the campaign. It was not that he intended to use it as a fighting force: but if it could have appeared in the French rear 15,000 strong, it would have compelled Marmont to make such a large detachment for the purpose of ‘containing’ it, that he would have been left in a marked numerical inferiority on the Douro.

Unfortunately the Galicians moved late, in small numbers, and with marked timidity. They exercised no influence whatever on the course of the campaign, either in June or in July. Yet after Bonnet evacuated the Asturias and went off eastward on June 15th, the Army of Galicia had no field-force of any kind in front of it. The only French left in its neighbourhood were the 1,500 men[458] who formed the garrison of Astorga. Castaños, who had moved up to Santiago in June, and assumed command, did not take the field himself, but handed over the charge of the troops at the front to Santocildes. The latter sat down in front of Astorga with his main body, and only pushed forward a weak division under Cabrera to Benavente, where it was still too remote from Marmont to cause him any disquiet. The siege of Astorga was only a blockade till July 2nd, as no battering-train was brought up till that date. First Abadia, and later Castaños had pleaded that they had no means for a regular siege, and it was not till Sir Howard Douglas pointed out a sufficient store of heavy guns in the arsenal of Corunna, that Castaños began to scrape together the battering-train that ultimately reached Astorga[459]. But this was not so much the weak point in the operations of the Galician army, as the fact that, of 15,000 men brought together on the Orbigo, only 3,800 were pushed forward to the Esla, while the unnecessarily large remainder conducted a leisurely siege of the small garrison of Astorga. Wellington had reckoned on having an appreciable force, 10,000 or 12,000 men, at the front, molesting Marmont’s flank; this would have forced the Marshal to make a large detachment to keep it off. But not a man appeared on the east bank of the Esla, and the operations of D’Urban’s small brigade were of far more service to the main army than that of the whole of the Galicians. Marmont ignored the presence of the few thousand men pushed forward to Benavente, and was justified in so doing. Meanwhile Santocildes, with an optimism that proved wholly unjustifiable, sent messages that Astorga would be taken within a few days, and that he would then move forward with his main body. As a matter of fact the place held out till the 18th of August.

Wellington, therefore, was building on a false hypothesis when he wrote to Lord Bathurst, on July 7, that he was surveying all the fords of the Douro, and waiting till the river should have fallen a little and made them more practicable. ‘By that time I hope that the Army of Galicia under General Santocildes will have been able to advance, the siege of Astorga having been brought to a conclusion[460].’ Two days later he added, ‘it would not answer to cross the river at all in its present state, unless we should be certain of having the co-operation of the Galician troops[461].’ His delay in making an attempt to force the line of the Douro, therefore, may be attributed in the main to the tiresome conduct of Santocildes, who played to him much the same part that Caffarelli played to Marmont.

While remaining in this waiting posture, Wellington placed his troops opposite the various passages of the Douro, on a line of some fifteen miles. His left, consisting of the 3rd Division, Pack’s and Bradford’s Portuguese, and Carlos de España’s Spaniards, with Le Marchant’s and Bock’s heavy dragoons, lay near the point where the Trabancos falls into the Douro, holding the ford of Pollos, where the favourable configuration of the ground enabled them to be sure of the passage, the enemy’s line being perforce drawn back to some distance on the north bank. It was always open to Wellington to use this ford, when he should determine on a general advance. The Light, 4th, 5th, and 6th Divisions, forming the right wing, lay opposite Tordesillas, with Rueda and La Seca behind them. Their front was covered by Alten’s cavalry brigade, their right (or outer) flank by Anson’s. The reserve was formed by the 1st and 7th Divisions quartered at Medina del Campo, ten miles to the rear. The whole could be assembled for an offensive or a defensive move in a day’s march.

Marmont was drawn up, to face the attack that he expected, in an almost equally close and concentrated formation: his front, extending from the junction of the Pisuerga with the Douro near Simancas on his left, to the ground opposite the ford of Pollos on his right, was very thickly held[462]; but on the 5th he rightly conceived doubts as to whether it would not be easy for Wellington to turn his western flank, by using the ford of Castro Nuño and other passages down-stream from Pollos. He then detached Foy’s division to Toro and the neighbourhood, to guard against such a danger: but this was still an insufficient provision, since Toro is fifteen miles from Pollos, and a single division of 5,000 men would have to watch rather than defend such a length of river-line, if it were attacked in force. Therefore when Bonnet, so long expected in vain, arrived from the North on July 7th, Marmont placed him in this portion of his line, for the assistance of Foy. He still retained six divisions massed around Tordesillas, whose unbroken bridge gave him a secure access to the southern bank of the Douro. With this mass of 35,000 men in hand, he could meet Wellington with a solid body, if the latter crossed the Douro at or below Pollos. Or he might equally well take the more daring step of assuming a counter-offensive, and marching from Tordesillas on Salamanca against his adversary’s communications, if the allies threatened his own by passing the river and moving on Valladolid.

A word to explain the tardiness of Bonnet’s arrival in comparison with the earliness of his start is perhaps required. He had evacuated Oviedo and Gijon and his other posts in the Asturias as early as June 14th, the actual day on which Wellington commenced his offensive campaign. This he did not in consequence of Marmont’s orders, which only reached him when he had begun to move, but on his own responsibility. He had received correct information as to the massing of the allied army round Ciudad Rodrigo, and of the forward movement of the Galicians towards Astorga. He knew of the dispersed state of Marmont’s host, and saw the danger to himself. Should the Marshal concentrate about Salamanca, he could never join him, if the whole Army of Galicia threw itself between. Wherefore not only did he resolve to retreat at once, but he did not move by the pass of Pajares and Leon—the obvious route to rejoin the Army of Portugal. For fear that he might be intercepted, he took the coast-road, picking up the small garrisons that he had placed in one or two small ports. He reached Santander on the 22nd, not molested so much as he might have been by the bands of Porlier and Longa (whose haunts he was passing), because the bulk of them had gone off to help in Sir Home Popham’s raid on Biscay. From Santander he turned inland, passed Reynosa, in the heart of the Cantabrian Sierras, on the 24th June, and arrived at Aguilar del Campo, the first town in the province of Palencia, on the 29th. From thence he had a long march of seven days in the plains, before he reached Valladolid on the 6th, and reported himself at Marmont’s head-quarters on the 7th of July. He brought with him a strong division of 6,500 infantry, a light field-battery, and a single squadron of Chasseurs—even 100 sabres[463] were a welcome reinforcement to Marmont’s under-horsed army. It was an odd fact that Bonnet’s division had never before met the English in battle, though one of its regiments had seen them during the last days of Sir John Moore’s retreat in January 1809[464]. For the three years since that date they had always been employed in the Asturias.

The arrival of Bonnet brought up the total of Marmont’s infantry to 43,000 men, and his guns to 78. The cavalry still remained the weak point: but by a high-handed and unpopular measure the Marshal succeeded, during his stay on the Douro, in procuring nearly 1,000 horses for the dismounted dragoons who were encumbering his dépôt at Valladolid. In the French, as in the British, Peninsular army it had become common for many of the junior officers of the infantry to provide themselves with a riding-horse; most captains and many lieutenants had them. And their seniors, chefs de bataillon and colonels, habitually had several horses more than they were entitled to. Marmont took the heroic measure of proclaiming that he should enforce the regulations, and that all unauthorized horses were confiscated. He paid, however, a valuation for each beast on a moderate scale—otherwise the act would have been intolerable. In this way, including some mounts requisitioned from doctors, commissaries, and suttlers, about 1,000 horses in all were procured. The number of cavalry fit for the field had gone up by July 15th from about 2,200 to 3,200—a total which was only 300 less than Wellington’s full strength of British sabres. It occurs to the casual observer that the horses, having never been trained to squadron drill or to act in mass, must have been difficult to manage, even though the riders were competent horsemen. This may have something to do with the very ineffective part played by the French cavalry in the next fortnight’s campaigning.

A quaint anecdote of the time shows us General Taupin, an old Revolutionary veteran, with all the officers of his brigade called together in a village church. ‘He ascended the pulpit and thundered against the abuse of horses in the infantry: he would make an end of all baggage carried on mules or asses, but most especially of the officers’ riding-horses. “Gentlemen,” he cried, “in 1793 we were allowed a haversack as our only baggage, a stone as our only pillow.” Well—it was a long time since 1793: we were in 1812, and the speaker, this old and gallant soldier, had six baggage mules himself[465].’

During the first ten days after the deadlock on the Douro began, the French were much puzzled by Wellington’s refusal to continue his advance. Foy, the ablest of them, noted in his diary that he must conclude either that the enemy was not numerous enough to take the offensive—his strength might have been over-valued—or else that he was waiting for Hill to bring up his corps from Estremadura. This last idea, indeed, was running in the brains of many French strategists: it obsessed Jourdan and King Joseph at Madrid, who were well aware that Hill, marching by Alcantara and the passes of the Sierra de Gata, could have got to the Douro in half the time that it would have taken his opponent, D’Erlon, who would have had to move by Toledo, Madrid, and Segovia. But the simple explanation is to be found in Wellington’s dispatch to Lord Bathurst of July 13. ‘It is obvious that we could not cross the Douro without sustaining great loss, and could not fight a general action under circumstances of greater disadvantage.... The enemy’s numbers are equal, if not superior, to ours: they have in their position thrice the amount of artillery that we have, and we are superior in cavalry alone—which arm (it is probable) could not be used in the sort of attack we should have to make[466].’ He then proceeds to demonstrate the absolute necessity of bringing forward the Army of Galicia against Marmont’s rear. Its absence was the real cause of the deadlock in which he found himself involved. All offensive operations were postponed—meanwhile the enemy might receive reinforcements and attack, since he had not been attacked. ‘But I still hope that I shall be able to retain, at the close of this campaign, those acquisitions which we made at its commencement.’

Meanwhile Marmont, having had a fortnight to take stock of his position, and having received reinforcements which very nearly reached the figure that he had named to King Joseph as the minimum which would enable him to take the offensive, was beginning to get restless. He had now realized that he would get no practical assistance from Caffarelli, who still kept sending him letters exaggerating the terrors of Sir Home Popham’s raid on Biscay. They said that there were six ships of the line engaged in it, and that there was a landing-force of British regulars: Bonnet’s evacuation of the Asturias had allowed all the bands of Cantabria to turn themselves loose on Biscay—Bilbao was being attacked—and so forth. This being so, it was only possible to send a brigade of cavalry and a horse artillery battery—anything more was useless to ask[467]. This was written on June 26th, but by July 11th not even the cavalry brigade had started from Vittoria, as was explained by a subsequent letter, which only reached Marmont after he had already started on an offensive campaign[468]. As a matter of fact, Caffarelli’s meagre contribution of 750 sabres[469] and one battery actually got off on July 16th[470]. Marmont may be pardoned for having believed that it would never start at all, when it is remembered that a month had elapsed since he first asked for aid, and that every two days he had been receiving dispatches of excuse, but no reinforcements. He had no adequate reason for thinking that even the trifling force which did in the end start out would ever arrive.

Nor, as he demonstrates clearly enough in his defence of his operations, had he any more ground for believing that Joseph and Jourdan would bring him help from Madrid. They resolved to do so in the end, and made a vigorous effort to collect as large a force as was possible. But the announcement of their intention was made too late to profit Marmont. The dispatch conveying it was sent off from Madrid only on July 9th[471], and never reached the Marshal at all, for the two copies of it, sent by separate messengers, were both captured by guerrilleros between Madrid and Valladolid, and came into Wellington’s instead of into Marmont’s hands. This was a consequence of the insecurity of the communication via Segovia, the only one route open when the Army of Portugal retired behind the Douro. On July 12th the last piece of intelligence from Madrid which Marmont had received was a dispatch from Jourdan dated June 30th—it had taken twelve days to get 150 miles, which shows the shifts to which its bearer had been exposed. This letter is so important, as showing what the King and Jourdan opined at the moment, that its gist is worth giving.

Jourdan begins by complaining that on June 30 the last dispatch from the Army of Portugal to hand was sixteen days old, of the date of June 14th. It is clear, then, that no copies of the reports sent by Marmont on June 22 and June 24 had got to Madrid—a circumstance to be explained by the fact that Wellington had them instead of their destined recipient[472]. Jourdan then proceeds to say that he is informed that Wellington has 50,000 men, but only 18,000 of them British. ‘The King thinks that if this is so, you are strong enough to beat his army, and would like to know the motives which have prevented you from taking the offensive. He charges me to invite you to explain them by express messenger.’ In the South it was known that Hill, with 18,000 men, was advancing on June 18th against D’Erlon. That officer was to be reinforced from Seville, and was probably at close quarters with Hill. The King had sent orders that D’Erlon was to move northward into the valley of the Tagus, if Hill marched up to join Wellington. But, it being probable that the order would not be very promptly executed, ‘his Majesty would like you to take advantage of the moment, when Wellington has not all his forces in hand, to fight him. The King has asked for troops from Marshal Suchet, but they will never be sent. All that His Majesty can do at present is to reinforce the garrison of Segovia, and order its governor, General Espert, to help the garrison of Avila, if necessary, and to supply it with food.’

This letter, which clearly gives no hope of immediate help for the Army of Portugal from Madrid, and which might be taken as a direct incitement to bring Wellington to action at once, must be read in conjunction with the last epistle that Marmont had received from the same quarter. This was a letter of the King’s dated June 18. The important paragraph of it runs as follows:—

‘If General Hill has remained with his 18,000 men on the left (south) bank of the Tagus, you ought to be strong enough to beat the English army, more especially if you have received any reinforcements from the Army of the North. You must choose your battlefield, and make your best dispositions. But if Hill joins the main English army, I fancy they are too strong for you. In that case you must manœuvre to gain time. I should not hesitate to give you a positive order to defer fighting, if I were certain that Count D’Erlon and his 15,000 men, and a division from the Army of Aragon, were on their way to you: for on their arrival the English army would be seriously compromised. But being wholly uncertain about them, I must repeat to you that if General Hill is still on the south side of the Tagus, you should choose a good position and give battle with all your troops united: but if General Hill joins Lord Wellington, you must avoid an action as long as possible, in order to pick up the reinforcements which will certainly reach you in the end[473].’

I think that there can be no doubt in the mind of any honest critic that on the strength of these two dispatches from his Commander-in-Chief, Marmont was justified in taking the offensive against Wellington, without waiting for that help from Madrid which the King had not offered him. Hill being far away, and Wellington having no more than his own seven divisions of Anglo-Portuguese, Marmont is decidedly authorized to bring him to action. The sole factor which the second Madrid dispatch states wrongly, is the proportion of British troops in the allied army: Jourdan guesses that there are 50,000 men, but only 18,000 British. As a matter of fact there were 49,000 men at the moment[474], but about 30,000 were British. This made a difference, no doubt, and Marmont, if he had been determined to avoid a battle, might have pleaded it as his justification. But he was not set on any such timid policy: he had wellnigh attacked Wellington at San Cristobal on June 21st, when he had not yet received his own reinforcements. When Bonnet had come up, and the British had obtained no corresponding addition to their strength, he was eager to take the offensive, and Joseph’s and Jourdan’s dispatches distinctly authorized him to do so.

After the disaster of Salamanca, Napoleon drew up an indictment of Marmont, of which the three chief heads were:

(1) He took the offensive without waiting for reinforcements which were to join him.

(2) He delivered battle without the authorization of his Commander-in-Chief.

(3) He might, by waiting only two days longer, before he committed himself to a general action, have received at least the cavalry and guns which he knew that Caffarelli had sent him[475].

The very complete answer to these charges is that:

(1) When the Marshal took the offensive he had no reason to suppose that any reinforcements were coming. Caffarelli had excused himself: the King had promised succour only if Hill joined Wellington, not otherwise. Hill had never appeared: therefore no help was likely to come from the southward.

(2) He had clear permission from Joseph to give battle, unless Hill should have joined Wellington.

(3) The succours from Caffarelli, a weak cavalry brigade and one battery, were so small that their arrival would have made no practical difference to the strength of the army. But to have waited two days for them, after the campaign had commenced, would have given Wellington the opportunity of concentrating, and taking up a good position. It was only after the manœuvring had begun [July 15th] that this little brigade started from Vittoria, on July 16th. The Army of Portugal had already committed itself to offensive operations, and could not halt for two days in the midst of them, without losing the initiative.

From his own point of view, then, Marmont was entirely justified in recrossing the Douro and assuming the offensive. He had got all the reinforcements that he could count upon: they made his army practically equal to Wellington’s in numbers: in homogeneity it was far superior. If he had waited a little longer, he might have found 12,000 men of the Army of Galicia at his back, setting all Old Castile and Leon aflame. Moreover Astorga was only victualled up to August 1st, and might fall any day. He could not have foreseen King Joseph’s unexpected march to his aid, which no dispatch received before July 12th rendered likely. His misfortune (or fault) was that he undervalued the capacity of Wellington to manœuvre, his readiness to force on an offensive battle, and (most of all) the fighting value of the Anglo-Portuguese army.

It cannot be denied that Marmont’s method of taking the offensive against Wellington was neat and effective. It consisted in a feint against his adversary’s left wing, followed by a sudden countermarch and a real attack upon his right wing.

On July 15th Foy and Bonnet, with the two divisions forming the French right, received orders to restore the bridge of Toro, to drive in Wellington’s cavalry screen in front of it, and to cross to the south bank of the Douro. At the same time the divisions of the French centre, opposite the fords of Pollos, made an ostentatious move down-stream towards Toro, accompanied by the Marshal himself, and those on the left, near Tordesillas, shifted themselves towards Pollos. Almost the whole French army was clearly seen marching westward, and the two leading divisions were actually across the river next morning, and seemed to be heading straight for Salamanca by the Toro road.

Wellington was deceived, exactly as Marmont had intended. He drew the obvious conclusion that his adversary was about to turn his left flank, and to strike at Salamanca and his line of communications. It would have been in his power to make a corresponding move against Valladolid, Marmont’s base. But his own line of communications meant much more to him than did Marmont’s. There was a great difference between the position of an army living by transport and magazines, and that of an army living on the country by plunder, like that of the French marshal. Wellington had always been jealous of his left wing, and as early as July 12 had drawn up an elaborate order of march, providing for the contingency of the enemy crossing the Douro at Toro and the ford of Castro Nuño. If his entire force seemed on the move, the whole British army would make a corresponding shift westward—if only a division or two, the mass transferred would be less in similar proportion. He had no idea of defending the actual course of the river: in a letter written a few days later to Lord Bathurst, he remarked that ‘it was totally out of my power to prevent the enemy from crossing the Douro at any point at which he might think it expedient, as he had in his possession all the bridges [Toro and Tordesillas] and many of the fords[476].’ His plan was to concentrate against the crossing force, and fight a defensive action against it, wherever a good position might be available.

There were two reasons for which Wellington regarded a genuine offensive move of Marmont by Toro and Castro Nuño as probable. The first was that he had received King Joseph’s dispatch of July 9th, captured by guerrilleros, which gave him the startling news that the King had resolved to evacuate all New Castile save Madrid and Toledo, and to march with his field-force of some 14,000 men to join the Army of Portugal[477]. Wellington wrote to Graham (who was now on his way home) early on the 16th, that either the Galicians’ approach on his rear had induced Marmont to collect his troops near Toro, or he had heard that Joseph was gathering the Army of the Centre at Madrid, and was threatening the allied left ‘in order to prevent us from molesting the King.’ It was clear that if Wellington had to shift westward to protect his line of communications, he could make no detachment to ‘contain’ King Joseph, who would be approaching from the south-east. Another letter, written an hour or so later, says, ‘these movements of Marmont are certainly intended to divert our attention from the Army of the Centre (which is collecting at Madrid), if he knows of this circumstance, which I doubt[478].’ The doubt was well grounded.

That the whole movement on Toro was a feint did not occur to Wellington, but his orders of the 16th, given in the evening, after he had heard that two French divisions were actually across the Douro on his left, provide for the possibility that some serious force may still remain at Tordesillas and may require observation.

The orders direct the transference of the great bulk of the allied army to a position which will cover the road Toro-Salamanca. They were issued in the evening to the following effect. The reserve (1st and 7th Divisions) was to march from Medina del Campo to Alaejos beyond the Trabancos river, and subsequently to Canizal and Fuente la Peña behind the Guarena river. The left wing, which was watching the fords of Pollos (3rd Division, Bock’s cavalry, Bradford’s and Carlos de España’s infantry), to Castrillo on the Guarena. Of the right wing the 6th Division and two regiments of Le Marchant’s horse were to move on Fuente la Peña, the 5th Division on Canizal. Alten’s cavalry brigade was to follow the 1st Division. This left the 4th and Light Divisions and Anson’s cavalry still unaccounted for. They were set aside to act as a sort of rearguard, being directed to move westward only as far as Castrejon on the Trabancos river, ten miles short of the concentration-point on the Toro road, to which the rest of the army was ordered to proceed. It is clear (though Wellington does not say so) that they would serve as a containing force, if the enemy had left any troops at Tordesillas, and brought them over the Douro there, or at the fords of Pollos.

All these moves were duly executed, and on the morning of the 17th Wellington’s army was getting into position to withstand the expected advance of the enemy on Salamanca by the Toro road. This attack, however, failed to make itself felt, and presently news came that the two divisions of Foy and Bonnet, which had crossed the Douro at Toro, had gone behind it again, and destroyed their bridge. What Marmont had done during the night of the 16th-17th was to reverse the marching order of his whole army, the rear suddenly becoming the head, and the head the rear. The divisions to the eastward, which had not yet got near Toro, countermarched on Tordesillas, and crossed its bridge, with the light cavalry at their head. Those which had reached Toro brought up the rear, and followed, with Foy and Bonnet, at the tail of the column. This was a most fatiguing march for all concerned, the distance from Toro to Tordesillas being about twenty miles, and the operation being carried out in the night hours. But it was completely successful—during the morning of the 17th the vanguard, consisting of Clausel’s and Maucune’s divisions and Curto’s chasseurs à cheval, was pouring over the bridge of Tordesillas and occupying Rueda and La Seca, which the British had evacuated fifteen hours before. The rest followed, the two rear divisions cutting a corner, and saving a few miles, by crossing the ford of Pollos. This was a safe move, when the cavalry had discovered that there were none of Wellington’s troops left east of the Trabancos river. By night on the 17th the bulk of the French army was concentrated at Nava del Rey, ten miles south-west of Tordesillas. In the afternoon Wellington’s rearguard, the 4th and Light Divisions, and Anson’s cavalry had been discovered in position at Castrejon, where their commander had halted them, when he discovered that he had been deceived as to his adversary’s purpose. The rest of the British army had concentrated, according to orders, in the triangle Canizal-Castrillo-Fuente la Peña, behind the Guarena river and in front of the Toro-Salamanca road.

Wellington’s first task was to drawback his rearguard to join his main body, without allowing it to become seriously engaged with the great mass of French in its front. This he undertook in person, marching at daylight with all his disposable cavalry, the brigades of Bock and Le Marchant, to join the force at Castrejon, while he threw out the 5th Division to Torrecilla de la Orden to act as a supporting échelon on the flank of the retiring detachment. The remaining divisions (1st, 3rd, 6th, 7th) took up a position in line of battle on the heights above the Guarena, ready to receive their comrades when they should appear.

The charge of the rearguard this day was in the hands of Stapleton Cotton, the senior cavalry officer with the army, who outranked Cole and Charles Alten, the commanders of the 4th and Light Divisions. He had received no orders during the night, and his last, those of the preceding afternoon, had directed him to halt, till his chief should have discovered the true position and aim of the French army. Wellington explained, in his next dispatch home, that the various details of intelligence, which enabled him to grasp Marmont’s whole plan, did not reach him till so late on the 17th that it was useless to send Cotton orders to start. They could only be carried out at dawn, and he himself intended to be present with the rearguard before the sun was far above the horizon. He arrived at seven o’clock in the morning, in time to find his lieutenant already engaged with the French van, but not committed to any dangerous close fighting. Cotton had, very wisely, sent out patrols before daylight to discover exactly what was in front of him; if it was only a trifling body he intended to drive it in, and advance towards La Nava and Rueda[479]; if Marmont was in force he would take up a defensive position at Castrejon, and wait for further orders.

The patrols soon ran into French cavalry advancing in force, and were driven back upon Anson’s brigade, which was drawn up on a long front in advance of the village of Castrejon. On seeing it, the enemy brought up two batteries of horse artillery, and began to play upon the scattered squadrons. Bull’s and Ross’s troops[480] were ordered out to reply, and did so with effect, but the total strength of the French cavalry was too great, and Anson’s regiments had presently to give way, though not so much owing to the pressure on their front as to the sight of a large column of French infantry turning the left of their line, and marching on Alaejos, with the obvious intention of getting round to their left rear and molesting their retreat towards the Guarena, where the main body of the British army was awaiting them.

Wellington was involved in person in the end of the cavalry bickering, and in no very pleasant fashion. He and Beresford, with their staffs, had arrived on the field about seven o’clock, in advance of the two heavy cavalry brigades, who were coming up to reinforce Cotton. He rode forward to the left of the skirmishing line, where two squadrons, one of the 11th and one of the 12th Light Dragoons, were supporting two guns of Ross’s troop, on high ground above the ravine of the Trabancos river. Just as the Commander-in-Chief came on the scene, a squadron of French cavalry, striking in from the flank, rode at the guns, not apparently seeing the supporting troops. They met and broke the squadron of the 12th Light Dragoons, which came up the hill to intercept them. ‘Some of Marshal Beresford’s staff, seeing this, and conceiving the guns to be in danger, rode up to the retiring squadron calling “Threes about[481]!”’ This unfortunately was heard by the supporting squadron of the 11th, who, imagining the order to be directed to themselves, went about and retired, instead of advancing to relieve their broken comrades above. Therefore the mass of pursuers and pursued from the combat on the flank, came hurtling down on the guns, and on the head-quarters staff just behind them. Wellington and Beresford and their followers were swept away in the rout, and had to draw their swords to defend themselves. Fortunately the misdirected squadron of the 11th soon saw their mistake; they halted and turned, and falling on the scattered and exhausted French dragoons drove them back with great loss; few, it is said, except their chef d’escadron, who showed uncommon gallantry, got away[482]. It was a dangerous moment for the allied army—a chance thrust in the mêlée might have killed or disabled Wellington, and have thrown the command into the hands of Beresford or Stapleton Cotton.

Wellington had no sooner detected the flank movement of Marmont’s infantry towards Alaejos, than he ordered the 4th and Light Divisions to retire towards the Guarena, covered by G. Anson’s brigade, while Bock’s and Le Marchant’s heavy dragoons, farther to the left, drew up in front of the infantry of the turning column, and detained it, retiring, when pressed, by alternate brigades. Marmont’s whole army was now visible, moving on in two long columns, of which the more southern followed the 4th and Light Divisions, in the direction of Torrecilla de la Orden, and tried to come up with their rear, while the other, passing through Alaejos, made by the high-road for Castrillo on the Guarena, where the British reserves were posted.

There was a long bickering fight across the eight miles of rolling ground between the Trabancos and the Guarena, not without some exciting moments for Wellington’s rearguard. After passing Torrecilla de la Orden, and picking up there the 5th Division, which had been waiting as a supporting échelon to cover their southern flank, all the British infantry had to march very hard, for troops diverging from the northern French column got close in upon their right, and, moving parallel with them, bid fair to reach the Guarena first. In the retreat the 4th Division moved on the right, and was therefore most exposed, the Light Division next them, the 5th Division farther south and more distant from the turning column of the French. The cavalry pursuit in the rear of the retreating force was never really dangerous: it was held off by Le Marchant’s Heavy and Anson’s Light Dragoons without any great difficulty, and the 5th and Light Divisions only suffered from some distant shelling by the French horse artillery. But the 4th Division, though covered from the pursuit in their direct rear by Bock’s German squadrons, found a dangerous point about a mile on the near side of the Guarena, where two batteries from the French turning column had galloped forward to a knoll, commanding the ground over which they had to pass, and opened a teasing fire upon the flank of the brigades as they marched by. General Cole, however, threw out his divisional battery and all his light companies to form a screen against their attack, and moved on, protected by their fire, without turning from his route. The covering force fell in to the rear when the defiling was over, and the division suffered small loss from its uncomfortable march[483].

Wellington allowed all the three retreating divisions to halt for a moment on the farther side of the stream, at the bottom of the trough in which it runs. ‘The halt near the water, short as it was, gave refreshment and rest to the troops, after a rapid march over an arid country in extremely hot weather[484].’ But it could not be allowed to last for more than a very few minutes, for the pursuing enemy soon appeared in force at several points on the heights above the eastern bank of the Guarena, and many batteries opened successively on the three divisions, who were of necessity compelled to resume their march up the slope to the crest, on their own side of the water. Here they fell into position on Wellington’s chosen defensive fighting-ground, the 4th Division forming the extreme northern section of the battle array, by the village of Castrillo, the Light and 5th Divisions falling in to the line of troops already drawn up in front of Canizal, while the 1st and 7th Divisions were extended to the south, to form the new right wing, and took their place on the heights of Vallesa, above the village and ford of El Olmo.

Some anxious hours had been spent while the retreat was in progress, but Wellington was now safe, with every man concentrated on an excellent position, where he was prepared to accept the defensive battle for which he had been waiting for the last month. It seemed likely at first that his wish might be granted, for the French made a vigorous attack upon his left wing, almost before it had got settled down into its appointed ground. It would appear that General Clausel, who commanded the more northerly of the two great columns in which the French army was advancing (while Marmont himself was with the other), thought that he saw his chance of carrying the heights above Castrillo and turning the allied left, if he attacked at once, before the 4th Division had been granted time to array itself at leisure. Accordingly, without wasting time by sending to ask permission from his chief, he directed a brigade of dragoons to outflank Cole’s left by crossing the Guarena down-stream, while Brennier’s division passed it at Castrillo and assailed the front of the 4th Division. Clausel’s own division advanced in support of Brennier’s.

This move brought on very sharp fighting: the turning movement of the French dragoons was promptly met by Victor Alten’s brigade [14th Light Dragoons, 1st Hussars K.G.L.], whose squadrons had been watching the lower fords of the Guarena all day. Alten allowed the hostile cavalry to cross the river and come up the slope, and then charged suddenly, in échelon of squadrons, the left squadron of the 1st Hussars K.G.L. leading[485]. The enemy had only begun to deploy when he was attacked, Alten’s advance having been too rapid for him. The two French regiments (15th and 25th Dragoons) were, after a stiff fight, completely routed and driven downhill with great loss, till they finally found refuge behind a half-battery and an infantry battalion which formed their supports. General Carrié, commanding the two regiments, was taken prisoner by a German hussar, having got cut off from his men in the flight. The French lost in all 8 officers and more than 150 men, of whom 94 were prisoners—mostly wounded. How sharp the clash was may be seen from the fact that Alten’s victorious brigade had not much fewer casualties—the 14th Light Dragoons lost 75 killed and wounded, the German hussars 60[486]. But no doubt some of these losses were suffered not in the cavalry combat, but a little later in the day, when Alten charged the French infantry[487].

While this lively fight was in progress on the flank, Brennier’s division had crossed the Guarena in a mass, and on a very short front, apparently in three columns of regiments, battalion behind battalion. They were ascending the lower slopes below Cole’s position, when Wellington, who was present here in person, suddenly took the offensive against them, sending W. Anson’s brigade (3/27th and 1/40th) against them in line, with Stubbs’s Portuguese (11th and 23rd regiments) supporting, in columns of quarter distance. The French division halted, apparently with the intention of deploying—but there was no time for this. The line of Anson’s brigade enveloped both the hostile flanks with its superior frontage, and opened fire: after a short resistance the French gave way in great disorder, and streamed down to the Guarena. As they fled Alten let loose part of his brigade against their flank: the horsemen rode in deep among the fugitives, and cut off 6 officers and 240 men as prisoners. Clausel had to bring up a regiment of his own division to cover the broken troops as they repassed the river; it suffered severely from Cole’s artillery, losing 6 officers killed and wounded, and many men[488].

The attempt to take liberties with Wellington’s army, when it had assumed the defensive on favourable ground, had thus failed in the most lamentable style, and with very heavy loss—at least 700 men had been killed, wounded, or taken in Marmont’s army that day, and all but a few scores belonged to the four infantry and two cavalry regiments which Clausel sent to attack the heights by Castrillo[489]. The corresponding British loss that day was 525, including about 50 stragglers taken prisoners during the retreat from the Trabancos to the Guarena, because they had fallen behind their regiments—foot-sore infantry, or troopers whose horses had been shot. The cavalry, which had so successfully covered the long march across the open, had a certain amount of casualties, but the only units that had suffered heavily were the four regiments—horse and foot—that dealt with Clausel’s attack, who lost 276 men between them.

Wellington must have felt much disappointment at seeing Clausel’s offensive move at Castrillo unsupported by the rest of the French divisions, who were lining the farther bank of the Guarena parallel with the whole of his front. But Marmont, unlike his venturesome subordinate, nourished no illusions about the advisability of attacking a British army in position. He made no move in the afternoon; in his memoirs he points out that the infantry was absolutely exhausted, having been continuously on the march for three days and one night.

This day had been a disappointing one for the French marshal also. He had failed to cut off Wellington’s two detached divisions, so that all the advantage which he had obtained by his marches and countermarches between Toro and Tordesillas was now exhausted. The allied army had succeeded in concentrating, and was now drawn up in his front, covering Salamanca and its own line of communications in a very tenable position. Napier truly remarks that, since the attempt to isolate and destroy Cotton’s detachment had miscarried, Marmont had gained no more by his elaborate feint and forced marches than he would have obtained by continuing his original advance across Toro bridge on the 16th. He had got the whole Anglo-Portuguese army arrayed in a defensive position in front of him, on the line of the Guarena, instead of somewhere in the neighbourhood of Fuente Sauco, a few miles farther east.

On the morning of the 19th July it seemed as if a new deadlock was to bring the campaign to a standstill, for the two armies continued to face each other across the Guarena, Wellington hoping rather than expecting to be attacked, Marmont looking in vain for a weak point between Castrillo and Vallesa, where it would be worth while to try a forward thrust. While he was reconnoitring, his weary infantry got a much-needed rest. At about four o’clock in the afternoon, however, the whole French army was seen falling into column, and presently edged off southward till it lay between Tarazona and Cantalapiedra. Wellington thereupon made a corresponding movement, evacuating Castrillo to the north, and extending his line of battle beyond Vallesa to the south. There was a little distant cannonading across the valley of the Guarena, and some of the shells set fire to the vast fields of ripe wheat which covered the whole country-side in this region. The conflagration went rolling on for a long way across the plain, leaving a trail of smoke behind.

The situation on this evening had nothing decisive about it. It was clear that neither side intended to fight save at an advantage. Marmont had shown himself more cautious than had been expected. Wellington had at this moment every motive for risking nothing, unless the enemy proved more obliging than he had shown himself hitherto. He had reasons for self-restraint at this moment of which his adversary knew nothing. The first was that he was aware (from intercepted dispatches) of King Joseph’s intention to march from Madrid to join the Army of Portugal: with a possible 15,000 men about to appear on his flank, he must look to the future with care. The second was that he had received a few days before the untoward news that Lord William Bentinck’s long-promised expedition to Catalonia might not ever take place. The Commander-in-Chief in Sicily wrote that he had found new opportunities in Italy, which it might be his duty to seize. His troops had been embarked, but they were not to be expected for the present off the coast of Spain. This was a disheartening piece of intelligence: Wellington had been told to count upon this support both by Bentinck himself and by the Home Government. If it should fail, Marshal Suchet, left undisturbed by this diversion, might send considerable reinforcements to Madrid[490].

As a matter of fact he did not—being, like Soult, a general of much too self-centred a type of mind to help a neighbour if he could avoid it. Only one regiment of the Valencian army ever got to Madrid, and that came too late for King Joseph’s purpose. But so far as Wellington could guess on July 19, it was quite possible that Suchet might find 10,000 men, to add to the disposable 15,000 of the Army of the Centre.

There was also the possibility that D’Erlon, obeying the orders which King Joseph kept sending to him, might make up his mind to cross the Guadiana and Tagus, and come north by Arzobispo and Madrid. If so, Hill was to make a parallel march by Alcantara, and would certainly arrive many days before D’Erlon. This was a mere possibility; there were good reasons for holding that Soult might forbid any such move; and till D’Erlon started northward, Hill must remain behind to contain him. The problem was not pressing: it could not develop for many days[491].

On the other hand there was news that the Galicians were at last on the move. Santocildes had been prevailed upon to leave a smaller force to besiege Astorga, and had come down with a second division to join Cabrera at Benavente. This force, advancing up the Douro valley, would find absolutely no enemy in front of it, and must obviously disturb Marmont’s operations, since it might be at the gates of Valladolid, his base and storehouse, in a few days. He would then be forced to detach a division or so to save his dépôts, and he could not spare even a brigade if he wished to continue on the offensive. Certain intelligence that there was not a Frenchman left behind on the Douro, save the trifling garrisons of Toro, Zamora, and Tordesillas, had been brought in by General D’Urban. That officer, after conducting a very daring exploration round the rear of Marmont’s army, almost to the gates of Valladolid, had recrossed the Douro by Wellington’s orders at the ford of Fresno de Ribera, and fell in upon the left flank of the allied army near Fuente Sauco on July 18th[492]. For the rest of the campaign his 700 sabres were at Wellington’s disposal[493]. His report showed that Marmont’s rear was absolutely undefended, and that the Galicians could march up the Douro, if desired, without finding any opponents: it would be perfectly possible for them to cut all Marmont’s communications with Valladolid and Burgos, without being in any danger unless the Marshal detached men against them.

The 20th of July proved to be a most interesting day of manœuvring, but still brought no decisive results. Early in the morning the whole French army was seen in march, with its head pointing southward, continuing the movement that it had begun on the previous day. Marmont had made up his mind to proceed with the hitherto unsuccessful scheme for turning his adversary’s right wing[494], in the hope of either cutting him off from his communication with Salamanca, or of catching him with his army strung out on too long a line from continuous and rapid movement. The character of this day’s march differed from that of the 19th, because the single well-marked Guarena valley ceased after a time to separate the two hostile armies. That little river is formed by three tributaries which meet at and above the village of El Olmo: each of them is a paltry brook, and their courses lie along trifling irregularities of the broad tableland from which they descend. It is only after their junction that they flow in a deep well-marked valley, and form a real military obstacle. Of the three brooks, that which keeps the name of Guarena lies most to the east: up its right bank and towards its source Marmont’s march was directed. Wellington’s parallel movement southward, on the other hand, was directed along the left bank of the Poreda, the middle brook of the three. Between them there was at first a narrow triangular plateau, on which neither party trespassed save with cavalry scouts.

After a few miles of marching Marmont ordered his advanced guard to cross the Guarena, which they could do with ease, no British being near, save a few cavalry vedettes. He then turned the head of his column south-westward, instead of keeping to his original direction due south. Having crossed the Guarena he came in sight of the British column marching on the other side of the Poreda brook from Vallesa. The movements of the two armies tended to converge, the point on which both were moving being the village of Cantalpino. It seemed likely that the heads of the marching columns must collide, and that a combat, if not a general action, would ensue. Each army was marching in an order that could be converted into a battle line by simply facing the men to right or to left respectively. Wellington had his troops in three parallel columns, the first one, that nearest to the French, being composed of the 1st, 4th, 5th, and Light Divisions, the second, which would have formed the supporting line if the army had fronted and gone into action, contained the 6th and 7th and Pack’s and Bradford’s brigades: the 3rd Division and España’s Spaniards formed a reserve, moving farthest from the enemy. The light cavalry were marching ahead of the column, the heavy cavalry and D’Urban’s Portuguese brought up their rear. Marmont was clearly seen to be moving in a similar formation, of two columns each composed of four infantry divisions, with Curto’s chasseurs ahead, and Boyer’s dragoons at the tail of the line of march[495].

The day was warm but clouded, so that the sun did not shine with full July strength, or the long march which both armies carried out would have been brought to an end by exhaustion at a much earlier hour than was actually the case. As the long morning wore on, the two hostile forces gradually grew closer to each other, owing to the new westward turn which Marmont had given to his van. At last they were within long artillery range; but for some time no shot was fired, neither party being willing to take the responsibility of attacking an enemy in perfect order and well closed up for battle. Either general could have brought on a fight, by simply fronting to flank, in ten minutes; but neither did so. Marmont remarks in his Mémoires that in his long military service he never, before or after, saw such a magnificent spectacle as this parallel march of two bodies of over 40,000 men each, at such close quarters. Both sides kept the most admirable order, no gaps occurred in either line, nor was the country one that offered advantage to either: it was very nearly flat, and the depression of the Poreda brook became at last so slight and invisible that it was crossed without being noticed. The ground, however, on which the French were moving was a little higher than that on which the allies marched[496].

The converging lines of advance at last almost touched each other at the village of Cantalpino: the light cavalry and the 1st Division, at the head of Wellington’s front (or eastern) column of march had just passed through it, when Marmont halted several batteries on a roll of the ground a few hundred yards off, and began to shell the leading battalions of the 4th Division, which was following closely behind the 1st. Wellington ordered Cole not to halt and reply, nor to attack, but to avoid the village and the French fire by a slight westerly turn, to which the other divisions conformed, both those in the first and those in the second line[497]. This amounted to the refusing of battle, and many officers wondered that the challenge of Marmont had been refused: for the army was in perfect order for fighting, and in excellent spirits. But Wellington was taking no risks that day.

The slight swerve from the direct southerly direction at Cantalpino made by the allied army, distinctly helped Marmont’s plan for turning its right, since by drawing back from its original line of movement it allowed the enemy to push still farther westward than his original line of march had indicated. This meant that he was gradually getting south of Wellington’s vanguard, and would, if not checked, ultimately arrive at the Tormes river, near the fords of Huerta, from which he would have been edged off, if both armies had continued in their original direction. During the early afternoon the parallel move continued, with a little skirmishing between cavalry vedettes, and an occasional outbreak of artillery fire, but no further developments. The baggage in the English rear began to trail behind somewhat, owing to the long continuance of the forced marching, and D’Urban’s Portuguese, who shepherded the stragglers, had great difficulty in keeping them on the move. A few score sick and foot-sore men, and some exhausted sumpter-beasts, fell behind altogether, and were abandoned to the French[498].

Late in the afternoon the armies fell further apart, and all save the outlying vedettes lost sight of each other. This was due to the fact that Wellington had made up his mind to settle down for the night on the heights of Cabeza Vellosa and Aldea Rubia, where Marmont had taken up his position a month before, when he retired from before San Cristobal. This was good fighting-ground, on which it was improbable that the French would dare to deliver an attack. The 6th Division and Alten’s cavalry brigade were detached to the rear, and occupied Aldea Lengua and its fords.

This had been a most fatiguing day—the British army had marched, practically in battle formation, not less than four Spanish leagues, the French, by an extraordinary effort, more than five. When the camp-fires were lighted up at night, it was seen that the leading divisions of the enemy were as far south as Babila Fuente, quite close to the Tormes and the fords of Huerta: the main body lay about Villaruela, opposite the British bivouacs at Aldea Rubia and Cabeza Vellosa. An untoward incident terminated an unsatisfactory day: D’Urban’s Portuguese horse coming in very late from their duty of covering the baggage-train, were mistaken for prowling French cavalry by the 3rd Division, and shelled by its battery, with some little loss of men and horses. The mistake was caused by a certain similarity in their uniform to that of French dragoons—the tall helmets with crests being worn by no other allied troops[499].

The net result of the long parallel march of July 20th was that Marmont had practically turned Wellington’s extreme right, and was in a position to cross the Upper Tormes, if he should choose, in prolongation of his previous movement. The allied army was still covering Salamanca, and could do so for one day more, if the marching continued: but after that limit of time it would be forced either to fight or to abandon Salamanca, the main trophy of its earlier campaign. There remained the chance of falling upon Marmont’s rear, when his army should be occupied in crossing the Tormes, and forcing him to fight with his forces divided by the river. If this offensive move were not taken, and the parallel march were allowed to continue, the next day would see the armies both across the Tormes, in the position where Graham and Marmont had demonstrated against each other on June 24th. Wellington could not, however, begin his southward move till he was certain that the enemy was about to continue his manœuvre on the same plan as that of the last two days. If he started too early, Marmont might attack the San Cristobal position when it was only held by a rearguard, and capture Salamanca. Till an appreciable fraction of the French were seen passing the Tormes it was necessary to wait.

It appeared to Wellington that his adversary’s most probable move would be the passage of the Tormes by the fords at and just above Huerta. That he would abandon his previous tactics, and attack the British army, was inconsistent with the caution that he had hitherto displayed. That he would continue his march southward, and cross the river higher up, was unlikely; for the obvious passage in this direction, by the bridge of Alba de Tormes, was commanded by the castle of that town, which had been for some time occupied by a battalion detached from Carlos de España’s division. Wellington looked upon this route as completely barred to the French: he was unaware that the Spanish general had withdrawn his detachment without orders on the preceding afternoon. This astonishing move of his subordinate was made all the worse by the fact that he never informed his chief that he had taken upon himself to remove the battalion. Indeed Wellington only heard of its disappearance on the 23rd, when it was too late to remedy the fault. He acted on the 21st and 22nd as if Alba de Tormes were securely held. It would appear that Carlos de España thought the castle too weak to be held by a small force, and moved his men, in order to secure them from being cut off from the main army, as they clearly might be when the French had reached Babila Fuente. But the importance of his misplaced act was not to emerge till after the battle of Salamanca had been fought.

At dawn on the 21st Wellington withdrew his whole army on to the San Cristobal position[500], and waited for further developments, having the fords of Aldea Lengua and Santa Marta conveniently close if Marmont should be seen crossing the Tormes. This indeed was the move to which the Marshal committed himself. Having discovered at an early hour that Alba de Tormes was empty, and that there was no allied force observing the river bank below it, he began to cross in two columns, one at the fords of Huerta, the other three miles higher up-stream at the ford of La Encina. Lest Wellington should sally out upon his rear, when the greater part of his army had got beyond the Tormes, he left a covering force of two divisions in position between Babila Fuente and Huerta. This, as the day wore on, he finally reduced to one division[501] and some artillery. As long as this detachment remained opposite him, Wellington could not be sure that the French might not attack him on both sides of the Tormes.

The defile of the French army across the fords naturally took a long time, and Wellington was able to allow his weary infantry some hours of much-needed rest in the morning. Only cavalry was sent forward at once, to form a screen in front of the hostile force that was gradually accumulating on the near side of the fords. In the afternoon, however, when the greater part of the French were over the water, nearly the whole allied army received orders to cross the Tormes, and occupy the heights to the south of it. It moved practically in battle order, in two lines, of which the front passed by the ford of Cabrerizos, the second by that of Santa Marta. Only a reserve, now consisting of the 3rd Division and D’Urban’s Portuguese horse, remained on the north side of the river near Cabrerizos, to contain the French force which was still visible at dusk on the slopes by Babila Fuente. Till this detachment had disappeared, Wellington was obliged to leave a corresponding proportion of his men to contain it, lest the enemy might try a dash at Salamanca by the north bank. Marmont made no such attempt, and in the morning it was obvious that this rearguard was following the rest of his army across the Tormes.

During the night the French advanced cavalry were holding Calvarisa de Ariba on their left and Machacon on their right: the infantry were bivouacked in a concentrated position in the wooded country south of those villages. The British cavalry screen held Calvarisa de Abaxo[502], Pelabravo, and the height of Nuestra Señora de la Peña, close in to the corresponding front line of the enemy’s vedettes. The infantry were encamped in two lines behind the Ribera de Pelagarcia, the ravine, which runs north from Nuestra Señora de la Peña to the Tormes, between Santa Marta and Cabrerizos. This was Graham’s old position of June 24th, and excellent for defence. The right was on well-marked high ground, the centre was covered by woods. Only the left, near Santa Marta, was on lower slopes.

About an hour after nightfall the hills where French and English lay opposite each other were visited by an appalling tempest. ‘The rain fell in torrents accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning, and succeeded by instantaneous peals of thunder:’ writes one annalist: ‘a more violent crash of the elements has seldom been witnessed: its effects were soon apparent. Le Marchands brigade of cavalry had halted to our left: the men, dismounted, were either seated or lying on the ground, holding their horses’ bridles. Alarmed by the thunder, the beasts started with a sudden violence, and many of them breaking loose galloped across the country in all directions. The frightened horses, in a state of wildness, passing by without riders, added to the awful effect of the tempest[503].’ The 5th Dragoon Guards suffered most by the stampede—eighteen men were hurt, and thirty-one horses were not to be found. Another diarist speaks of the splendid effect of the lightning reflected on the musket-barrels of belated infantry columns, which were just marching to their camping-ground. Before midnight the storm had passed over—the later hours of sleep were undisturbed, and next morning a brilliant sun rose into a cloudless sky[504]. The last day of manœuvring was begun, and the battle which both sides had so long avoided was at last to come.

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SECTION XXXIII: CHAPTER VI

THE BATTLE OF SALAMANCA, JULY 22, 1812.
THE EARLY STAGES

The decisive moment of the campaign of 1812 had now been reached—though Marmont was wholly unaware of it, and was proposing merely to continue his manœuvring of the last five days, and though Wellington hardly expected that the 22nd of July would turn out more eventful than the 21st. Both of them have left record of their intentions on the fateful morning. The Duke of Ragusa wrote to Berthier as follows: ‘My object was, in taking up this position, to prolong my movement to the left, in order to dislodge the enemy from the neighbourhood of Salamanca, and to fight him at a greater advantage. I calculated on taking up a good defensive position, against which the enemy could make no offensive move, and intended to press near enough to him to be able to profit from the first fault that he might make, and to attack him with vigour[505].’ He adds in another document, ‘I considered that our respective positions would bring on not a battle, but an advantageous rearguard action, in which, using my full force late in the day, with a part only of the British army left in front of me, I should probably score a point[506].’ It is clear that he reckoned that his adversary would continue his policy of the last five days; Wellington, if his flank were once more turned, would move on as before—always parrying the thrusts made at him, but not taking the offensive himself.

Nor was he altogether wrong in his expectation. Writing to Lord Bathurst on the evening of July 21st, the British Commander-in-Chief summed up his intentions in these words. ‘I have determined to cross the Tormes, if the enemy should: to cover Salamanca as long as I can: and above all not to give up our communication with Ciudad Rodrigo: and not to fight an action unless under very advantageous circumstances, or if it should become absolutely necessary[507].’ This determination is re-stated in a dispatch which Wellington wrote three days later, in a very different frame of mind. ‘I had determined that if circumstances should not permit me to attack him on the 22nd, I should move toward Ciudad Rodrigo without further loss of time[508].’ Wellington was therefore, it is clear, intending simply to continue his retreat without delivering battle, unless Marmont should give him an opportunity of striking a heavy blow, by putting himself in some dangerous posture. He desired to fight, but only if he could fight at advantage. Had Marmont continued to turn his flank by cautious movements made at a discreet distance, and with an army always ready to form an orderly line of battle, Wellington would have sacrificed Salamanca, and moved back toward the Agueda. He was not prepared to waste men in indecisive combats, which would not put the enemy out of action even if they went off well. ‘It is better that a battle should not be fought, unless under such favourable circumstances that there would be reason to hope that the allied army would be able to maintain the field, while that of the enemy would not[509].’ For if the French were only checked, and not completely knocked to pieces, Wellington knew that they would be reinforced within a few days by the 14,000 men whom King Joseph (unknown to Marmont) was bringing up from Madrid. Retreat would then again become necessary, since the enemy would be superior in numbers to a hopeless extent. Wellington added that the 22nd was his best day of advantage, since within thirty-six hours Marmont would have been reinforced by the cavalry brigade under General Chauvel, which Caffarelli had at last sent forward from Burgos. It had reached the Douro at Valladolid on the 20th, and would be up at the front on the 23rd: this he well knew, and somewhat overrated its strength[510].

But though ready to take his advantage, if it were offered him, Wellington evidently leaned to the idea that it would not be given. He prepared for retreat, by sending off his whole baggage-train on the Ciudad Rodrigo road at dawn, escorted by one of D’Urban’s three Portuguese cavalry regiments. This was a clear expression of his intention to move off. So is his letter of July 24 to Graham in which, writing in confidence to a trusted subordinate, he remarks, ‘Marmont ought to have given me a pont d’or, and then he would have made a handsome operation of it.’ Instead of furnishing the proverbial bridge of gold to the yielding adversary, the Marshal pressed in upon him in a threatening fashion, yet with his troops so scattered and strung out on a long front, that he was not ready for a decisive action when Wellington at last saw his opportunity and dashed in upon him.

At dawn on the 22nd each party had to discover the exact position of his adversary, for the country-side was both wooded and undulating. Wellington’s army, on the line of heights reaching southward from Santa Marta, was almost entirely masked, partly by the woods in the centre of his position, but still more by his having placed all the divisions far back from the sky-line on the reverse slope of the plateau. The front was about three miles long, but little was visible upon it. Foy, whose division was ahead of the rest of the French army, describes what he saw as follows:—

‘The position of San Cristobal had been almost stripped of troops: we could see one English division in a sparsely-planted wood within cannon-shot of Calvarisa de Ariba, on the Salamanca road: very far behind a thin column was ascending the heights of Tejares: nothing more could be made out of Wellington’s army: all the rest was hidden from us by the chain of heights which runs from north to south, and ends in the high and precipitous knolls of the Arapiles. Wellington was on this chain, sufficiently near for us to recognize by means of the staff surrounding him[511].’

All, then, that Foy, and Marmont who was riding near him, actually saw, was the 7th Division in the wood opposite Nuestra Señora de la Peña, and the distant baggage-column already filing off on the Ciudad Rodrigo road, which ascends the heights beyond Aldea Tejada four miles to the rear.

The French army was a little more visible to Wellington, who could not only make out Foy’s division behind Calvarisa de Ariba, but several other masses farther south and east, in front of the long belt of woods which extends on each side of the village of Utrera for some two miles or more. It was impossible to see how far the French left reached among the dense trees: but the right was ‘refused:’ no troops were opposite Wellington’s left or northern wing, and the villages of Pelabravo and Calvarisa de Abaxo, far in advance of it, were still held by British cavalry vedettes. In short, only the allied right and centre had enemies in front of them. This indicated what Wellington had expected—an attempt of Marmont to continue his old policy of outflanking his adversary’s extreme right: clearly the British left was not in danger.

Marmont, as his exculpatory dispatch to Berthier acknowledges, was convinced that Wellington would retire once more the moment that his flank was threatened. ‘Everything led me to believe,’ he writes, ‘that the enemy intended to occupy the position of Tejares [across the Zurgain] which lay a league behind him, while at present he was a league and a half in front of Salamanca[512].’ Foy’s diary completely bears out this view of Marmont’s conception of the situation. ‘The Marshal had no definite plan: he thought that the English army was already gone off, or at least that it was going off, to take position on the heights of Tejares on the left [or farther] bank of the river Zurgain. He was tempted to make an attack on the one visible English division, with which a skirmishing fire had already begun. He was fearing that this division might get out of his reach! How little did he foresee the hapless lot of his own army that day! The wily Wellington was ready to give battle—the greater part of his host was collected, but masked behind the line of heights: he was showing nothing on the crest, lest his intention should be divined: he was waiting for our movement[513].’

The skirmish to which Foy alludes was one begun by the voltigeurs of his own division, whom Marmont had ordered forward, to push back the English pickets on the height of Nuestra Señora de la Peña. These belonged to the 7th Division, which was occupying the wood behind. Not wishing his position to be too closely examined, Wellington sent out two whole battalions, the 68th and the 2nd Caçadores, who formed a very powerful screen of light troops, and pushed back the French from the hill and the ruined chapel on top of it. Marmont then strengthened his firing line, and brought up a battery, which checked the further advance of the allied skirmishers. The two screens continued to exchange shots for several hours, half a mile in front of Wellington’s position. The tiraillade had many episodes, in one of which General Victor Alten, leading a squadron of his hussars to protect the flank of the British skirmishers, received a ball in the knee, which put him out of action, and threw the command of his brigade into the hands of Arentschildt, colonel of the 1st Hussars K.G.L. After much bickering, and when noon had long passed, the 68th and Caçadores were relieved by some companies of the 95th from the Light Division, as Wellington wished to employ the 7th Division elsewhere. He had at first thought it possible that Marmont was about to make a serious attack on this part of his front; but the notion died away when it was seen that the Marshal did not send up any formed battalions to support his voltigeurs, and allowed the light troops of the allies to cling to the western half of the slopes of Nuestra Señora de la Peña.

From photographs by Mr. C. Armstrong.

It was soon evident that the French were—as so often before during the last six days—about to extend their left wing. The right or southern flank of Wellington’s line rested on the rocky knoll, 400 feet high, which is known as the ‘Lesser Arapile.’ Six hundred yards from it, and outside the allied zone of occupation, lay the ‘Greater Arapile,’ which is a few feet higher and much longer than its fellow. These two curious hills, sometimes called the ‘Hermanitos’ or ‘little brothers,’ are the most striking natural feature in the country-side. They rise a hundred and fifty feet above the valley which lies between them, and a hundred feet above the heights on either side. Their general appearance somewhat recalls that of Dartmoor ‘Tors,’ rough rock breaking out through the soil. But their shapes differ: the Greater Arapile shows crags at each end, but has a comparatively smooth ascent to its centre on its northern front—so smooth that steep ploughed fields have been laid out upon it, and extend almost to the crest. The Lesser Arapile is precipitous on its southern front, where it faces its twin, but is joined at its back (or northern) side by a gentle slope to the main line of the heights where Wellington’s army lay. It is in short an integral part of them, though it rises far above their level. The Greater Arapile, on the other hand, is an isolated height, not belonging to the system of much lower knolls which lies to its south. These, three-quarters of a mile away, are covered with wood, and form part of the long forest which reaches as far as the neighbourhood of Alba de Tormes.

Wellington had left the Greater Arapile outside his position, partly because it was completely separated from the other heights that he held, partly (it is said) because he had surveyed the ground in the dusk, and had judged the knoll farther from the Lesser Arapile than was actually the case; they were within easy cannon-shot from each other[514]. At about eight o’clock, French skirmishers were observed breaking out from the woods to the south of the Arapile and pushing rapidly toward it. They were followed by supporting columns in strength—indeed Marmont had directed the whole of Bonnet’s division to move, under cover of the trees, to the point where the woods approach nearest to the hill, and from thence to carry it if possible. Wellington, now judging that it was uncomfortably near to his right flank, ordered the 7th Caçadores—from the 4th Division, the unit that lay nearest—to race hard for the Greater Arapile and try to seize it before the French had arrived. They made good speed but failed: the enemy was on the crest first, and repulsed them with some loss. They had to fall back to behind the Lesser Arapile, which was held by the first British brigade of their division (W. Anson’s).

Marmont had seized the Greater Arapile, as he tells us, to form a strong advanced post, behind which he could move his main body westward, in pursuance of his old design of turning Wellington’s right. It was to be the ‘pivot on which the flanking movement should be made,’ the ‘point d’appui of the right of his army’ when it should reach its new position[515]. Bonnet’s troops being firmly established on and behind it, he began to move his divisions to their left. On his original ground, the plateau of Calvarisa de Ariba, he left Foy’s division in front line—still bickering with the skirmishing line of the allies—Ferey’s division in support, and Boyer’s dragoons to cover the flank against any possible attack from the British cavalry, who were in force on Wellington’s left, and still had detachments out on the plateau by Pelabravo, beyond Foy’s extreme right. Having made this provision against any possible attempt to attack him in the rear while he was executing his great manœuvre, Marmont marched his five remaining divisions[516], under cover of Bonnet’s advanced position, to the edge of the wooded hills in rear of the Great Arapile, where they remained for some time in a threatening mass, without further movement.

Wellington, clearly discerning from the summit of the Lesser Arapile this general shift of the enemy to the left, now made great alterations in the arrangement of his troops, and adopted what may be called his second battle-position. The 4th Division, about and around that height, was placed so as to serve for the allied army the same purpose that Bonnet was carrying out for the French on the other Hermanito. Of Cole’s three brigades, that of Anson occupied the Arapile—the 3/27th on the summit, the 1/40th in support on the rear slope. Pack’s independent Portuguese brigade was placed beside Anson. The Fusilier brigade (under Ellis of the 1/23rd) and Stubbs’s Portuguese, the remaining units of the 4th Division, were formed up to the right of the hill, extending as far as the village which takes its name of Arapiles from the two strange knolls. Two guns of Cole’s divisional battery (that of Sympher[517]) were hoisted up with some difficulty to the level of the 3/27th. The other four were left with the Fusiliers near the village[518]. Thus the little Arapile became the obtuse angle of a formation ‘en potence,’ with Pack and two brigades of the 4th Division on its right, and the 7th Division (still engaged at a distance with Foy) and the 1st and Light Divisions on its left. At the same time Wellington moved down the troops which had originally formed his left wing (5th and 6th Divisions, España’s Spaniards, and Bradford’s Portuguese) to a supporting position behind his centre, somewhere near the village of Las Torres, where they could reinforce either his right or his left, as might prove necessary in the end. As a further general reserve G. Anson’s and Le Marchant’s cavalry brigades, and the greater part of Victor Alten’s, were brought away from the original left, and placed in reserve near the 6th Division; but Bock and two of Victor Alten’s squadrons[519] remained on the left, opposite Boyer’s dragoons.

In connexion with this same general move, Wellington sent a most important order to the troops which he had left till this moment on the north bank of the Tormes, covering Salamanca, in the position by Cabrerizos. These consisted of the 3rd Division—which was under the temporary command of Edward Pakenham (Wellington’s brother-in-law) during Picton’s sickness—and the 500 sabres that remained of D’Urban’s Portuguese horse, after one regiment had been sent off on escort-duty with the baggage-train. These corps were directed to march over the town-bridge of Salamanca, and take up a position between Aldea Tejada and La Penilla, to the east of the high-road to Ciudad Rodrigo. There placed, they were available either as a reserve to the newly-formed right wing, or as a supporting échelon, if the whole army should ultimately fall back for a retreat along the high-road, or as a detached force placed so far to the right that it could outflank or throw itself in front of any French troops which might continue Marmont’s advance from the Arapiles westward. It is probable that Wellington, at the moment when he gave the orders, would have been quite unable to say which of these three duties would fall to Pakenham’s share. The 3rd Division marched from Cabrerizos at noon, passing through the city, which was at this moment full of alarms and excursions. For the sight of Marmont close at hand, and of the British baggage-train moving off hastily toward Rodrigo, had filled the inhabitants with dismay. Some were hiding their more valuable property, others (who had compromised themselves by their friendly reception of the allied army) were preparing for hasty flight. Some used bitter language of complaint—the English were retreating without a battle after betraying their friends.

Pakenham and D’Urban reached their appointed station by two o’clock,[520] and halted in a dip in the ground, well screened by trees, between La Penilla and Aldea Tejada, where they could barely be seen from the highest slopes of Wellington’s position, and not at all from any other point. For some time they were left undisturbed, listening to a growing noise of artillery fire to their left front, where matters were evidently coming to a head.

At about eleven o’clock Marmont had climbed to the summit of the French Arapile, from whence he obtained for the first time a partial view into the British position; for looking up the dip in the ground between the Lesser Arapile and the heights occupied by the Fusilier brigade of the 4th Division, he could catch a glimpse of some of the movements that were going on at the back of Wellington’s first line. Apparently he saw the 1st and Light Divisions behind the crest of their destined fighting position, and the 5th and 6th and Bradford’s Portuguese taking ground to their right. Pack’s Portuguese on the flank and rear of the British Arapile must also have been visible at least in part. The conclusion to which he came was that his adversary was accumulating forces behind the Lesser Arapile with the object of sallying out against Bonnet, whose post was very far advanced in front of the rest of the French army, and against Foy and Ferey, who were left in a somewhat isolated position on the plateau by Calvarisa, when the main body of the army had moved so far to the west.

Some such intention seems for a moment to have been in Wellington’s mind, though he says nothing of it in his dispatch. ‘About twelve o’clock,’ writes one of the most trustworthy British diarists, ‘the troops were ordered to attack, and the 1st Division moved forward to gain the other Arapile, which the French had taken.... There was something singular, I think, in Lord Wellington’s ordering the 1st and Light Divisions to attack early in the day, and then counter-ordering them after they had begun to move. Marshal Beresford, no doubt, was the cause of the alteration, by what he urged. Yet at the same time Lord W. is so little influenced (or indeed allows any person to say a word) that his attending to the Marshal was considered singular. From all I could collect and observe “the Peer” was a little nervous: it was the first time he had ever attacked. When he did finally determine on the attack it was well done, in the most decided manner. There was possibly some little trouble in arriving at that decision[521].’ Oddly enough this contemporary note is exactly borne out by Marmont’s statement in his Mémoires, that meeting Wellington years after, he inquired about the point, and was frankly told that an attack had been projected at this moment, but that it had been put off in consequence of the representation of Beresford, who had counselled delay[522]. There was a heavy mass of troops available behind the Lesser Arapile and to both sides of it—the 4th Division, Pack’s Portuguese, and the 1st, 7th, and Light Divisions, with the 5th and 6th and Bradford and the cavalry in reserve. The blow might have succeeded—but undoubtedly that delivered four hours later was much more effective.

The idea of an attack at noon having been finally rejected Wellington turned his mind to another possibility. If Marmont should commit no blunders, and should continue his turning movement at a safe distance, and with his whole army well concentrated, it was quite possible that a retreat might become necessary. The Commander-in-Chief called up Colonel Delancey, then acting as Adjutant-General[523], and directed him to draft a comprehensive scheme for the order in which the troops should be withdrawn, and the route which each division would take in the event of an evacuation of the position. The next stand was to be made, as Marmont had supposed, on the heights above Aldea Tejada, behind the river Zurgain[524]. Such a move would have involved the abandonment of the city of Salamanca to the French. The news spread from the staff round the commanding officers of divisions, and so downwards to the ranks, where it caused immense discontent. Every one was ‘spoiling for a fight,’ and the cautious tactics of the last six days had been causing murmurs, which were only kept from becoming acute by the long-tried confidence that the army felt in its chief.

At this very moment Marmont began to act in the fashion that Wellington most desired, by making an altogether dangerous extension of his left wing, and at the same time pressing in so close to his adversary that he could not avoid a battle if it were thrust upon him. His own explanation is that he took the putting off of Wellington’s tentative movement against Bonnet as a sign that the allied army was actually commencing its retreat. ‘Wellington renounced his intention of fighting, and from that moment he had to prepare to draw away, for if he had remained in his present position I should from the next day have threatened his communications, by marching on to my left. His withdrawal commenced at midday.... He had to retreat by his right, and consequently he had to begin by strengthening his right. He therefore weakened his left, and accumulated troops on his right. Then his more distant units and his reserves commenced to move, and in succession drew off towards Tejares [Aldea Tejada]. His intention was easy to discern.... The enemy having carried off the bulk of his force to his right, I had to reinforce my left, so as to be able to act with promptness and vigour, without having to make new arrangements, when the moment should arrive for falling upon the English rearguard[525].’

It is clear that the Duke of Ragusa had drawn his conclusion that Wellington was about to retreat at once, and had argued, from partly-seen motions in his adversary’s rear, that the whole allied army was moving off. But this was not yet the case: Wellington was taking precautions, but he was still not without hope that the French would commit themselves to some unwise and premature movement. He had still every man in hand, and the supposed general retreat on Aldea Tejada, which the Marshal thought that he saw, was in reality only the shifting of reserves more to the right.

Unwitting of this, Marmont, a little before two o’clock, began his extension to the left. To the westward of the woods on whose edge the five divisions composing his main body were massed, is a long plateau facing the village of Arapiles and the heights behind it. It is about three-quarters of a mile broad and three miles long, gently undulating and well suited for marching: in 1812 it seems to have been open waste: to-day it is mainly under the plough. Its front or northern side slopes gently down, toward the bottom in which lies the village of Arapiles: at its back, which is steeper, are woods, outlying parts of the great forest which extends to Alba de Tormes. It ends suddenly in a knoll with an outcrop of rock, called the Pico de Miranda, above the hamlet of Miranda de Azan, from which it draws its name. Along this plateau was the obvious and easy route for a force marching to turn Wellington’s right. It was a very tempting piece of ground, with a glacis-like slope towards the English heights, which made it very defensible—a better artillery position against a force advancing from the village of Arapiles and the ridges behind it could not be conceived. The only danger connected with it seemed to be that it was over-long—it had more than two miles of front, and a very large force would be required to hold it securely from end to end. From the Pico de Miranda, if the French should extend so far, to Foy’s right wing by Calvarisa de Ariba was a distance of six miles in all—far too much for an army of 48,000 men in the battle-array of the Napoleonic period.

Marmont says that his first intention was only to occupy the nearer end of the plateau, that part of it which faces the village of Arapiles. In his apologetic dispatch to Berthier, he declares that he wished to get a lodgement upon it, lest Wellington might seize it before him, and so block his way westward. ‘It was indispensable to occupy it, seeing that the enemy had just strengthened his centre, from whence he could push out en masse on to this plateau, and commence an attack by taking possession of this important ground. Accordingly I ordered the 5th Division (Maucune) to move out and form up on the right end of the plateau, where his fire would link on perfectly with that from the [Great] Arapile: the 7th Division [Thomières] was to place itself in second line as a support, the 2nd Division (Clausel) to act as a reserve to the 7th. The 6th Division (Brennier) was to occupy the high ground in front of the wood, where a large number of my guns were still stationed. I ordered General Bonnet at the same time to occupy with the 122nd regiment a knoll intermediate between the plateau and the hill of the [Great] Arapile, which blocks the exit from the village of the same name. Finally, I directed General Boyer to leave only one regiment of his dragoons to watch Foy’s right, and to come round with the other three to the front of the wood, beside the 2nd Division. The object of this was that, supposing the enemy should attack the plateau, Boyer could charge in on their right flank, while my light cavalry could charge in on their left flank[526].’

All this reads very plausibly and ingeniously, but unfortunately it squares in neither with the psychology of the moment, nor with the manœuvres which Maucune, Thomières, and Clausel executed, under the Marshal’s eye and without his interference. He had forgotten when he dictated this paragraph—and not unnaturally, for he wrote sorely wounded, on his sick-bed, in pain, and with his head not too clear—that he had just before stated that Wellington was obviously retreating, and had begun to withdraw towards Aldea Tejada. If this was so, how could he possibly have conceived at the moment that his adversary, far from retreating, was preparing an offensive movement en masse against the left flank of the French position? The two conceptions cannot be reconciled. The fact was, undoubtedly, that he thought that Wellington was moving off, and pushed forward Maucune, Thomières, and Clausel, with the object of molesting and detaining what he supposed to be the rearguard of his adversary. The real idea of the moment was the one which appears in the paragraph of his Mémoires, already quoted on an [earlier page]: ‘I hoped that our respective positions would bring on not a battle but an advantageous rearguard action, in which, using my full force late in the day, with a part only of the British army left in front of me, I should probably score a point.’ Jourdan, a severe critic of his colleague, puts the matter with perfect frankness in his Guerre d’Espagne. After quoting Marmont’s insincere dispatch at length, he adds, ‘it is evident that the Marshal, in order to menace the point of retreat of the allies, extended his left much too far[527].’ Napoleon, after reading Marmont’s dispatch in a Russian bivouac[528], pronounced that all his reasons and explanations for the position into which he got himself had ‘as much complicated stuffing as the inside of a clock, and not a word of truth as to the real state of things.’

What happened under the eyes of Marmont, as he took a long-delayed lunch on the top of the Greater Arapile[529], was as follows. Maucune, with his strong division of nine battalions or 5,200 men, after breaking out from the position in front of the woods where the French main body was massed, marched across the open ground for about a mile or more, till he had got well on to the central part of the plateau which he was directed to occupy. He then drew up opposite the village of Arapiles, and sent out his voltigeur companies to work down the slope toward that place, which lay well in front of the British line. The position which he took up was on that part of the plateau which sweeps forward nearest to the opposite heights, and is little more than half a mile from them. A fierce artillery engagement then set in: Maucune’s divisional battery began to shell the village of Arapiles. Sympher’s battery, belonging to the 4th Division, replied from the slope behind the village and from two guns on the Lesser Arapile. The French pieces which had been dragged up on to the Greater Arapile then started shelling the Lesser, and silenced the two guns there, which were drawn off, and sent to rejoin the rest of the battery, on a less exposed position. The 3/27th on the hilltop had to take cover behind rocks as best it could. Soon after at least two more French batteries, from the artillery reserve, took ground to the right of Maucune, and joined in the shelling of the village of Arapiles. Wellington presently supported Sympher’s battery with that of Lawson, belonging to the 5th Division, which turned on to shell Maucune’s supporting columns from ground on the lower slopes, not far to the right of Sympher’s position. The effect was good, and the columns shifted sideways to get out of range. But one [or perhaps two] of the French batteries then shifted their position, and began to play upon Lawson diagonally from the left, so enfilading him that he was ordered to limber up and move higher on the hill behind the village, from whence he resumed his fire. Wellington also, a little later, brought up the horse-artillery troop belonging to the 7th Division [’E’, Macdonald’s troop] and placed it on the Lesser Arapile—two guns on the summit, four on the lower slopes near the 1/40th of W. Anson’s brigade. The British fire all along the heights was effective and accurate, but quite unable to cope with that of the French, who had apparently six batteries in action against three. Marmont, indeed, had all along his line an immense superiority of guns, having 78 pieces with him against Wellington’s 54. His artillery-reserve consisted of four batteries—that of his adversary of one only—Arriaga’s Portuguese 24-pounder howitzers[530].

While Maucune and the French artillery were making a very noisy demonstration against the British line between the Lesser Arapile and the village of the same name, which looked like the preliminaries of a serious attack, more troops emerged from the woods of Marmont’s centre, and began to file along the plateau, under cover of Maucune’s deployed line. These were Thomières’s division, succeeded after a long interval by that of Clausel. ‘During the cannonade column followed column in quick and continued succession along the heights occupied by the enemy: Marmont was moving his army in battle-order along his position, and gaining ground rapidly to his left[531].’ According to the Marshal’s own account of his intentions, he had proposed to place Maucune on the (French) right end of the plateau, Thomières and Clausel in support of him. What happened, however, was that Maucune went well forward on to the right-centre of the plateau, and that Thomières marched along past Maucune’s rear, and continued moving in a westerly direction along the summit of the plateau, though Clausel soon halted: before Thomières stopped he had gone nearly three miles. It is clear that if Marmont had chosen, he could have checked the manœuvres of his subordinates, the moment that they passed the limit which he alleges that he had set them. An aide-de-camp sent down from the back of the Greater Arapile could have told Maucune not to press forward toward the English position, or Thomières to stop his march, within a matter of twenty minutes or half an hour. No such counterorders were sent—and the reason clearly was that Marmont was satisfied with the movements that he saw proceeding before him, until the moment when he suddenly realized with dismay that Wellington was about to deliver a counter-stroke in full force.

We must now turn to the movements of the allied army. The instant that Maucune deployed on the plateau in front of the village of Arapiles, and that the cannonade began, Wellington judged that he was about to be attacked—the thing that he most desired. A very few orders put his army in a defensive battle-position. The 5th Division was sent from the rear side of the heights to occupy the crest, continuing the line of the 4th Division. The 6th Division was brought up from the rear to a position behind the 4th. The 7th Division, abandoning the long bickering with Foy in which its light troops had been engaged, was drawn back from the left wing, and took post in second line parallel to the 6th and in rear of the 5th Division. The place of its skirmishers on the slopes in front of Nuestra Señora de la Peña was taken by some companies of the 95th, sent out from the Light Division. That unit and the 1st Division now formed the total of the allied left wing, with Bock’s heavy dragoons covering their flank. They were ‘containing’ an equivalent French force—Foy’s and Ferey’s infantry divisions, and the single regiment of Boyer’s dragoons which Marmont had left in this quarter.

There still remained in reserve, near the village of Las Torres, Bradford’s Portuguese and España’s Spanish battalions, with the bulk of the allied cavalry—all Anson’s and Le Marchant’s and the greater part of Arentschildt’s squadrons, and in addition Pakenham and D’Urban were available a little farther to the right, near Aldea Tejada. If the French were going to attack the heights on each side of the village of Arapiles, as seemed probable at the moment, all these remoter reserves could be used as should seem most profitable.

But the battle did not go exactly as Wellington expected. The cannonade continued, and Maucune’s skirmishing line pushed very boldly forward, and actually attacked the village of Arapiles, which was defended by the light companies of the Guards’ brigade of the 1st Division and of the Fusilier brigade of the 4th Division. The voltigeurs twice seized the southern outlying houses of the straggling village, and were twice driven out. But the battalions in support of them did not come forward, nor did Bonnet attack on the right of them, nor Thomières on the left. The former remained stationary, on and about the Great Arapile: the latter continued to march westward along the plateau: a perceptible gap began to appear between him and Maucune.

Wellington at this moment was toward the right rear of his own line—occupied according to some authorities in snatching a late and hasty lunch[532] while matters were developing, but not yet developed—according to others in giving orders concerning the cavalry to Stapleton Cotton, near Las Torres—when he received an urgent message from Leith. It said that Maucune had ceased to advance, but that the French extreme left was still in march westward. ‘On being made acquainted with the posture of affairs,’ writes the officer who bore Leith’s report[533], ‘Lord Wellington declared his intention of riding to the spot and directed me to accompany him. When he arrived at the ground of the 5th Division—now under arms and perfectly prepared to receive the attack, his Lordship found the enemy still in the same formation, but not displaying any intention of trying his fortune, by crossing the valley at that point. He soon became satisfied that no operation of consequence was intended against this part of the line. He again galloped off toward the right, which at this time became the most interesting and important scene of action.’

The critical moment of the day was the short space of time when Wellington was surveying the French army, from the height where Leith’s men were lying prostrate behind the crest, above the village of Arapiles, under a distant but not very effective artillery fire. The whole plateau opposite was very visible: Maucune could be seen halted and in line, with much artillery on his flank, but no infantry force near—there was half a mile between him and Bonnet. Thomières was still pushing away to his left, already separated by some distance from Maucune. Clausel had apparently halted after the end of his march out of the woods. Foy and Ferey were at least two miles off to the French right. The enemy, in short, were in no solid battle order, and were scattered on an immense arc, which enveloped on both sides the obtuse angle en potence formed by the main body of the allied army. From Foy’s right to Thomières’s left there was length but no depth. The only reserves were the troops imperfectly visible in the woods behind the Great Arapile—where lay Brennier in first line, and Sarrut who was now nearing Marmont’s artillery-park and baggage. Their strength might be guessed from the fact that Marmont was known to have eight infantry divisions, and that six were clearly visible elsewhere. Wellington’s determination was suddenly taken, to turn what had been intended for a defensive into an offensive battle. Seeing the enemy so scattered, and so entirely out of regular formation, he would attack him with the whole force that he had in position west of the little Arapile, before Marmont could get into order. Leith, Cole, and Pack in front line, supported by the 6th and 7th Divisions in second line, and with Bradford, España, and Stapleton Cotton’s cavalry covering their right flank in a protective échelon, should cross the valley and fall upon Bonnet, Maucune, Clausel, and Thomières. Meanwhile Pakenham and D’Urban, being in a hidden position from which they could easily outflank Thomières, should ascend the western end of the plateau, get across the head of his marching column, and drive it in upon Maucune, whom Leith would be assailing at the same moment. Pakenham’s turning movement was the most delicate part of the plan; wherefore Wellington resolved to start it himself. He rode like the wind across the ground behind the heights, past Las Torres and Penilla, and appeared all alone before D’Urban’s Portuguese squadrons. It was only some time later that first Colonel Delancey and then others of his staff, quite outdistanced, came dropping in with blown horses. The orders to D’Urban were short and clear: Pakenham was about to attack the western end of the plateau where Thomières was moving—near the Pico de Miranda. It would be D’Urban’s duty to cover his right flank[534]. A minute later Wellington was before the 3rd Division, which had just received orders to stand to its arms.

‘The officers had not taken their places in the column, but were in a group together, in front of it. As Lord Wellington rode up to Pakenham every eye was turned towards him. He looked paler than usual; but, notwithstanding the sudden change he had just made in the disposition of his army, he was quite unruffled in his manner, as if the battle to be fought was nothing but a field-day. His words were few and his orders brief. Tapping Pakenham on the shoulder, he said, “Edward, move on with the 3rd Division, take those heights in your front—and drive everything before you.” “I will, my lord,” was the laconic reply of the gallant Sir Edward. A moment after, Lord Wellington was galloping on to the next division, to give (I suppose) orders to the same effect, and in less than half an hour the battle had commenced[535].’ The time was about a quarter to four in the afternoon.

Having set Pakenham and D’Urban in motion, Wellington rode back to the ground of the 5th Division, sending on his way orders for Arentschildt to leave the cavalry reserve, and join D’Urban with the five squadrons that remained of Victor Alten’s brigade[536]. Bradford, España, and Cotton at the same time were directed to come forward to Leith’s right flank. On reaching the hilltop behind the village of Arapiles, the Commander-in-Chief gave his orders to Leith: the 5th Division was to advance downhill and attack Maucune across the valley, as soon as Bradford’s Portuguese should be close up to support his right, and as Pakenham’s distant movement should become visible. Wellington then rode on to give the corresponding orders to Cole, more to the left[537].

The 5th Division thereupon sent out its light companies in skirmishing line, and came up to the crest: the two neighbouring brigades of the 4th Division followed suit, and then Pack’s Portuguese, opposite the Greater Arapile. Considerable loss was suffered in all these corps from the French artillery fire, when the battalions rose from their lying posture behind the crest and became visible. Some thirty or forty minutes elapsed between Wellington’s arrival on the scene and the commencement of the advance: the delay was caused by the necessity for waiting for Bradford, who was coming up as fast as possible from Las Torres. The attack did not begin till about 4.40 p.m.

By the time that Leith and Cole came into action the French army had been deprived of its chief. Somewhere between three and four o’clock in the afternoon[538], and certainly nearer the latter than the former hour, Marmont had been severely wounded. According to his own narrative he had begun to be troubled by seeing Maucune pressing in too close to the village of Arapiles, and Thomières passing on too far to the left, and had been roused to considerable vexation by getting a message from the former that he observed that the troops in front of him were retiring, and therefore would ask leave to support his voltigeurs and attack the British position with his whole division. Marmont says that it was his wish to stop Maucune from closing that induced him to prepare to depart from his eyrie on the Great Arapile, and to descend to take charge of his left wing. Be this as it may, there is no doubt that he was starting to climb down and mount his horse, when a shell from one of Dyneley’s two guns on the British Arapile burst near him, and flung him to the ground with a lacerated right arm, and a wound in his side which broke two ribs[539]. He himself says that there was nothing irremediable in the state of his army at the moment that he was disabled. His critic, Foy, held otherwise. ‘The Duke of Ragusa,’ he wrote, ‘insinuated that the battle of the 22nd was lost because, after his own wounding, there was a gap in the command, anarchy, and disorder. But it was the Duke who forced on the battle, and that contrary to the advice of General Clausel. His left was already beaten when he was disabled: already it was impossible either to refuse a battle or to give it a good turn. It was only possible to attenuate the disaster—and that was what Clausel did[540].’ Foy also insinuates that Maucune’s advance, at least in its early stages, was consonant with Marmont’s intentions. ‘He had made his arrangements for a decisive blow: when the English were seen to take up their position, the heads of the columns were turned to the left, so as to occupy the elevations which dominate the plain, and swell up one after another. The occupation of one led to the temptation to seize the next, and so by advance after advance the village of Arapiles was at last reached. Maucune’s division actually held it for some minutes. Nevertheless we had not yet made up our minds to deliver battle, and the necessary dispositions for one had not been made. My division was still occupying the plateau of Calvarisa, with the 3rd and 4th Divisions (Ferey and Sarrut) and the dragoons supporting me in the rear. Here, then, was a whole section of the army quite out of the fight: and the other divisions were not well linked together, and could be beaten one after the other.’

Foy is certainly correct in asserting that, at the moment of the Marshal’s wound, he himself and Ferey were too far off to be brought up in time to save Maucune, and that Bonnet, Maucune, Clausel, and Thomières were in no solid connexion with each other. This indeed was what made Wellington deliver his attack. It is probable that the Marshal’s wound occurred just about the moment (3.45) when Pakenham and D’Urban were being directed by Wellington to advance. Even if it fell a trifle earlier, the French left wing was already too dislocated to have time to get into a good position before it was attacked. Marmont, it must be confessed, rather gave away his case when, in his reply to Napoleon’s angry query why he had fought a battle on the 22nd, he answered that he had not intended to deliver a general action at all—it had been forced on him by Wellington[541]. If so, he was responsible for being caught by his adversary with his army strung out in such a fashion that it had a very poor chance of avoiding disaster. If it be granted that the unlucky shell had never struck him, it would not have been in ‘a quarter of an hour[542]’ (as he himself pretends), nor even in a whole hour, that he could have rearranged a line six miles long[543], though he might have stopped Maucune’s attack and Thomières’s flank march in a much shorter time.

On Marmont’s fall, the command of the army of Portugal fell to Bonnet, the senior general of division. He was within a few yards of his wounded chief, since his division was holding the Great Arapile, and took up the charge at once. But it was an extraordinary piece of ill-luck for the French that Bonnet also was wounded within an hour, so that the command passed to Clausel before six o’clock. As Foy remarks, however, no one could have saved the compromised left wing—Marmont had let it get into a thoroughly vicious position before he was disabled.

Since the main clash of the battle of Salamanca started at the western end of the field, it will be best to begin the narrative of the British advance with the doings of Pakenham and D’Urban. These two officers had some two miles of rough ground to cover between the point where Wellington had parted from them, and the point which had now been reached by the head of the French advance. They were ordered to move in four ‘columns of lines,’ with D’Urban’s cavalry forming the two outer or right-hand columns, the third composed of Wallace’s brigade (1/45th, 1/88th, 74th) and of Power’s Portuguese (9th and 21st Line and 12th Caçadores), while the fourth consisted of Campbell’s brigade (1/5th, 2/5th, 94th, 2/83rd). The object of this formation was that the division, when it came into action, should be able to deploy into two lines, without the delay that would have been caused if the third brigade had followed in the wake of the other two[544].

The way in which the two sides came into collision was rather peculiar. Thomières’s column was accompanied by the whole, or nearly the whole, of Curto’s light cavalry division, which, as one would have supposed, would naturally have been keeping a squadron or so in advance to explore the way, as well as others on the flanks to cover the infantry. But it appears that this simple precaution was not taken, for Pakenham and D’Urban met no French cavalry at all, till they had got well in touch with the hostile infantry. Curto, we must suppose, was marching parallel with the centre, not certainly with the head, of Thomières’s division, without any vedettes or exploring parties in front. For D’Urban describes the first meeting as follows:—

‘The enemy was marching by his left along the wooded heights, which form the southern boundary of the valley of the Arapiles, and the western extremity of which closes in a lower fall, which descends upon the little stream of the Azan, near the village of Miranda. As the head of our column approached this lower fall, or hill, skirting it near its base, and having it on our left, we became aware that we were close to the enemy, though we could not see them owing to the trees, the dust, and the peculiar configuration of the ground. Anxious, therefore, to ascertain their exact whereabouts I had ridden out a little in front, having with me, I think, only my brigade-major Flangini and Da Camara, when upon clearing the verge of a small clump of trees, a short way up the slope, I came suddenly upon the head of a French column of infantry, having about a company in front, and marching very fast by its left. It was at once obvious that, as the columns of the 3rd Division were marching on our left, the French must be already beyond their right, and consequently I ought to attack at once[545].’

This was apparently the leading battalion of the French 101st, marching with its front absolutely uncovered by either cavalry vedettes or any exploring parties of its own. D’Urban galloped back, unseen by the enemy, and wheeled his leading regiment, the 1st Portuguese dragoons—three weak squadrons of little over 200 sabres—into line, with orders to charge the French battalion, before it should take the alarm and form square. The 11th Portuguese, and two squadrons of the British 14th Light Dragoons, which had only just arrived on the ground, being the foremost part of Arentschildt’s brigade, followed in support. The charge was successful—the French were so much taken by surprise that the only manœuvre they were able to perform was to close their second company upon the first, so that their front was six deep. The two squadrons of the Portuguese which attacked frontally suffered severe loss, their colonel, Watson, falling severely wounded among the French bayonets. But the right-hand squadron, which overlapped the French left, broke in almost unopposed on the unformed flank of the battalion, which then went to pieces, and was chased uphill by the whole of the Portuguese horsemen, losing many prisoners[546].

This sudden assault on his leading unit, which seems to have been acting as an advanced guard, and was considerably ahead of the next, must have been sufficiently startling to Thomières, who was taken wholly unawares. But the next moment brought worse trouble: the first brigade of the 3rd Division—Wallace’s—emerged almost simultaneously with the cavalry charge from the scattered trees which had hitherto covered its advance, and was seen coming uphill in beautiful order against him. He was caught in a long column—battalion marching behind battalion, with considerable intervals between the regiments, of which there were three (101st, three battalions; 62nd, two battalions; 1st, three battalions)[547]. If he was able to see Pakenham’s supporting lines, which is a little doubtful, Thomières must have known that he was considerably outnumbered: the British division had 5,800 men against his 4,500, while Curto’s 1,800 light cavalry were not forthcoming at the critical moment to save the situation.

The space between the advancing line of Wallace’s brigade and the head of the French column, when they came in sight of each other, was about 1,000 yards—the time that it took to bring them into collision just sufficed to enable Thomières to make some sort of hasty disposition of his battalions: those in the rear pushed out on to the flanks of the leading regiment, and made an irregular line of columns badly spaced. The voltigeurs of each battalion had time to run to the front: ‘their light troops,’ says a witness from the Connaught Rangers, ‘hoping to take advantage of the time which our deploying from column into line would take, ran down the face of the hill in a state of great excitement.’ Pakenham appears to have sent out against them his three companies of the 5/60th and the whole of the 12th Caçadores, a skirmishing line of superior strength. Wallace’s three battalions formed line from open column without halting, when they had got to within 250 yards of the enemy: ‘the different companies, by throwing forward their right shoulders, were in line without the slow manœuvre of a deployment.’ The French fire is said to have been rather ineffective, because delivered downhill. The most serious loss was that caused by Thomières’s divisional battery, which got up and into action very promptly. It was answered by Douglas’s battery, the divisional artillery of the 3rd Division, which unlimbered on a knoll at the edge of the wood, and sent a raking discharge uphill, against the right of the French division, shelling it over the heads of the brigade advancing up the slope. The two Portuguese line regiments, from the rear of Wallace’s brigade, formed in support of him: Campbell’s brigade followed as a third line.

The main body of the French[548] stood in a group, rather than a line, of battalion columns near the brow of the hill, while Wallace’s brigade continued to press upwards with a front which outflanked the enemy at both ends. ‘Regardless of the fire of the tirailleurs, and the shower of grape and canister, the brigade continued to press onward. The centre (88th regiment) suffered, but still advanced, the right and left (l/45th and 74th) continued to go forward at a more rapid pace, and as the wings inclined forward and outstripped the centre, the brigade assumed the form of a crescent[549].’ They were nearly at the brow, when Thomières directed the French columns to charge down in support of his tirailleurs. The mass, with drums beating and loud shouts of Vive l’Empereur, ran forward, and the leading files delivered a heavy fire, which told severely on the 88th. But on coming under fire in return the French halted, and then wavered: ‘their second discharge was unlike the first—it was irregular and ill-directed, the men acted without concert or method: many fired in the air.’ The three British battalions then cheered and advanced, when the enemy, his columns already in much confusion and mixed with the wrecks of his tirailleurs, gave way completely, and went off in confusion along the top of the plateau.

Just at this moment Curto’s chasseurs at last appeared—where they had been up to this moment does not appear, but certainly not in their proper place. Now, however, six or seven squadrons of them came trotting up on the outer flank of the broken division, of whom some charged the two battalions which formed the right of Pakenham’s first and third lines—the 1/45th and 1/5th respectively. The former, feebly attacked, threw back some companies en potence and beat off their assailants easily. The latter fell back some little way, and had many men cut up, but finally rallied in a clump and were not broken[550]. Their assailants disappeared a moment after, being driven off by Arentschildt, who had just come up on Pakenham’s right with the five squadrons of the 1st Hussars K.G.L. and 14th Light Dragoons[551]. D’Urban’s Portuguese were now a little to the rear, rallying after their successful charge and collecting prisoners: their commander says in his narrative of this part of the battle that he never saw any French cavalry till later in the day, but does not dispute that the 5th may have been attacked by them without his knowledge.

Curto’s cavalry being driven off, the 3rd Division and its attendant squadrons pursued the broken French division of infantry along the top of the plateau, and very nearly annihilated it. Thomières was killed, his divisional battery was captured whole; of his two leading regiments the 101st Line lost 1,031 men out of 1,449 present: its colonel and eagle were both taken with many hundred unwounded prisoners: the 62nd Line lost 868 men out of 1,123. The rear regiment, the 1st Line, got off with the comparatively trifling casualty-list of 231 out of 1,743: it was possibly not up in time to take part in resisting Pakenham’s first attack, and may perhaps have done no more than cover the retreat of the wrecks of the two leading regiments. The whole division was out of action as a fighting body for the rest of the day, having lost 2,130 men out of a little over 4,500.[552] The victorious British 3rd Division, whose casualties had not amounted to more than 500 of all ranks, continued to press the fugitives before it, till it had gone a mile, and came in on the flank of Maucune’s division, the next unit in the French line; D’Urban’s cavalry accompanied it close on its right flank, Arentschildt’s squadrons lay farther out, watching Curto’s defeated first brigade of chasseurs, which rallied upon a reserve, his second brigade, and made head once more against the pursuers, just about the same time that Pakenham’s infantry began again to meet with resistance.

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SECTION XXXIII: CHAPTER VII

THE BATTLE OF SALAMANCA: THE MAIN ENGAGEMENT

We must now turn from the exploits of Pakenham and the 3rd Division to deal with the great central attack of Wellington’s frontal striking force, the 5th and 4th Divisions, under Leith and Cole, upon the French left centre. They had been told to move on when Bradford’s Portuguese brigade should be sufficiently near to cover the right flank of the 5th Division, and the necessity of waiting for this support caused their attack to be delivered perceptibly later than that of Pakenham. Leith had drawn out his division in two lines, the first consisting of Greville’s brigade (3/1st, 1/9th, and both battalions of the 38th) and the first battalion of the 4th, brought up from the rear brigade (Pringle’s) to equalize the front of the two lines: the second consisted of the rest of that brigade (the second battalion of the 4th, the 2/30th, and 2/44th) and the Portuguese of Spry (3rd and 15th Line). There was a heavy skirmishing line in front, composed of all the British light companies and the 8th Caçadores[553]. Cole had a smaller force, as his left brigade (Anson’s) had been told off to the defence of the British Arapile: the 3/27th was holding that rocky knoll, the 1/40th was at its foot in support. Only therefore the Fusilier brigade (under Ellis of the 23rd) and Stubbs’s Portuguese formed the attacking force. They were in a single line of seven battalions, with a heavy skirmishing screen composed of four light companies and the whole of the 7th Caçadores[554]. The Fusilier brigade of the 4th Division went through the end of the village of Arapiles, which it did by files from the right of companies, the companies forming up again on the east side of the place, upon their sergeants regularly sent out as markers. This defile delayed the advance of the division, which therefore attacked decidedly later than Leith’s men, the joint movement being in an échelon, with the right leading and the left considerably refused. It was obvious that when the 4th Division drew near to the French line on the plateau, it would be exposing its left flank to the hostile division (Bonnet’s) which was massed on and near the Greater Arapile. Wellington had noted this, and had given special discretionary orders to Pack, directing him to use his independent brigade for the sole purpose of protecting the near flank of the 4th Division; he might attack the Arapile, as the best means of holding back Bonnet from descending against Cole’s line, or might manœuvre below the knoll for the same purpose. When the dangerous moment came, Pack, as we shall see, took the bull by the horns, and assailed the precipitous height in front with his whole 2,000 men.

In the rear of the 4th Division the 6th was now coming up the back slope of the hill behind the Arapile in second line: similarly the 7th Division was following the 5th. To the right of the 7th, Stapleton Cotton was moving up from Las Torres with the cavalry reserve, now consisting only of the six regiments of Le Marchant and G. Anson. Bradford, more to the right still, and not yet in line with Leith and Cole, moved with España’s small Spanish division behind him.

Of Wellington’s front line Leith with the 5th Division had Maucune in front of him: Cole would have to deal with Clausel, who had arrived late on the ground, and was only just taking up his position on the extreme right end of the French plateau. Pack and W. Anson’s detached brigade from the 4th Division, with the Lesser Arapile in their power, looked across the valley at Bonnet, massed around its greater twin-hill. The British attacking line was amply provided with reserves: the defensive line of the French was still very thin, though Brennier’s division was hurrying up from the head of the wood to support Maucune. Sarrut’s division was still invisible in the forest far to the rear: Ferey’s was better seen—it was hastening up across the open ground on its way from the extreme French right, but must obviously be too late to join in meeting Wellington’s first attack.

The roar of the cannon and musketry away in the direction of the Pico de Miranda had been announcing for some time that Pakenham was at close grips with Thomières, before Leith marched down from his heights to cross the valley that separated him from Maucune’s position. Soon after five, however, the 5th Division was in close contact with the enemy, having suffered a considerable amount of casualties in reaching him, mainly from the very superior French artillery fire, which swept every yard of the glacis-like slope that ascends from the bottom of the Arapiles valley to the brow of the plateau that forms its southern limit.

‘The ground,’ writes Leith Hay, ‘between the advancing force and that which it was to assail was crowded by the light troops of both sides in extended order, carrying on a very incessant tiraillade. The general desired me to ride forward, to make our light infantry press up the heights to cover his line of march, and to bid them, if practicable, make a rush at the enemy’s guns. Our light troops soon drove in those opposed to them: the cannon were removed to the rear: every obstruction to the general advance of our line vanished. In front of the centre of that beautiful line rode General Leith, directing its movements. Occasionally every soldier was visible, the sun shining bright upon their arms, though at intervals all were enveloped in a dense cloud of dust, from whence at times issued the animating cheer of the British infantry.

‘The French columns, retired from the crest of the heights, were formed in squares, about fifty yards behind the line at which, when arrived, the British regiments would become visible. Their artillery, although placed more to the rear, still poured its fire upon our advancing troops. We were now near the summit of the ridge. The men marched with the same orderly steadiness as at the first: no advance in line at a review was ever more correctly executed: the dressing was admirable, and the gaps caused by casualties were filled up with the most perfect regularity. General Leith and the officers of his staff, being on horseback, first perceived the enemy, and had time to observe his formation, before our infantry line became so visible as to induce him to commence firing. He was drawn up in contiguous squares, the front rank kneeling, and prepared to fire when the drum should beat. All was still and quiet in these squares: not a musket was discharged until the whole opened. Nearly at the same instant General Leith ordered our line to fire and charge. At this moment the last thing I saw through the smoke was the plunge of the horse of Colonel Greville, commanding the leading brigade, who, shot through the head, reared and fell back on his rider. In an instant every individual present was enveloped in smoke and obscurity. No serious struggle for ascendancy followed, for the French squares were penetrated, broken, and discomfited, and the victorious 5th Division pressed forward no longer against troops formed up, but against a mass of disorganized men flying in all directions.... When close to the enemy’s squares Leith had been severely wounded and reluctantly forced to quit the field; at the same moment I was hit myself, and my horse killed by a musket-ball: thus removed, I cannot detail the further movements of the division[555].’

In this clear and simple narrative the most remarkable point is Leith Hay’s distinct statement that the French received the charge of the 5th Division in a line of squares, a most strange formation to adopt against infantry advancing deployed, even when it was supplemented by a strong screen of tirailleurs, and flanked by several batteries of artillery. It is possible that Maucune adopted it because, from his commanding position on the plateau, he could see a considerable body of cavalry coming up on Leith’s right rear. This was composed of the brigades of Le Marchant and G. Anson, which Stapleton Cotton was bringing up to the front by Wellington’s orders. While Leith was advancing they pressed forward, Le Marchant leading, and passed up the hill in the interval between the 5th Division and Pakenham’s front—leaving behind them Bradford, who had crossed the valley parallel to, but much behind, the right of Leith. Bradford had no solid body of troops in front of him, being outside Maucune’s extreme left, and suffered practically no loss—the total casualty list of his brigade that day was only seventeen men. This contrasts marvellously with the loss of Leith’s front line, where Greville’s brigade in their triumphant advance lost 350 men—mainly from the artillery fire endured while the long slope of the French plateau was being mounted: for there were at least four batteries aligned on Maucune’s right, and their guns had been worked till the last possible minute.

Whatever was the cause of the formation in square adopted by the French division, it would have been fortunate if only it could have preserved that formation a little longer; for precisely when it had lost its order, and fallen back before Leith’s shattering volleys of musketry, Le Marchant’s heavy dragoons arrived upon the crest of the plateau. No better opportunity for the use of cavalry could have been conceived, than that which existed at this moment. Infantry already engaged with, and worsted by, other infantry is the destined prey of cavalry coming on the scene from the flank in unbroken order. Le Marchant had received his instructions directly from Wellington, who had told him to ‘charge in at all hazards[556],’ when he saw the French battalions on the plateau hotly engaged. He had formed his 1,000 sabres in two lines, the 5th Dragoon Guards and 4th Dragoons in front, the 3rd Dragoons in support, and had come over the sky-line and trotted down into the valley just as Leith’s division got to close quarters with Maucune. Passing Bradford on his right, he came to the crest to find all confusion in front of him. The squares that Leith had just broken were rolling back in disorder: directly behind a new division (Brennier’s), only just arriving upon the field, was beginning to form up, to cover and support the shaken battalions. Some distance to their left rear the remains of Thomières’s division, in a disorderly crowd, were falling back in front of the triumphant advance of Pakenham.

Le Marchant charged in diagonally upon the flank of Maucune’s left brigade, and caught the two battalions of the 66th regiment falling back from the crest. The Frenchmen were courageous enough to make a desperate attempt to club themselves together in a solid mass: their rear ranks faced about and opened a heavy fire upon the advancing squadrons. But it was given with uncertain aim and trifling effect, and before they could reload the dragoons were among them. A desperate minority attempted to resist with the bayonet, and were sabred: some hundreds cast down their muskets, raised their hands, and asked quarter. The rear ranks scattered and fled southward across the plateau. Leaving the gathering up of the prisoners to the infantry of Leith, Le Marchant led his brigade, so soon as some order could be restored, against the next regiment of Maucune’s division, the 15th Line; they were better prepared for resistance than the 66th, which had been caught quite unawares, they showed a regular front, and gave a more effective fire. Many of the dragoons fell; but nevertheless their impetus carried them through the mass, which went to pieces and dispersed into a disorderly crowd: it fled in the same direction as the wrecks of the 66th.

Le Marchant’s brigade had now lost its formation, ‘the three regiments had become mixed together, the officers rode where they could find places: but a good front, without intervals, was still maintained, and there was no confusion[557].’ In front of them there was now a fresh enemy—the 22nd Line, the leading regiment of the division of Brennier, which had just arrived on the field, and was getting into order to save and support Maucune’s routed battalions. It would seem that in the midst of the dust and smoke, and surrounded and interfered with by the fugitives of the broken regiments, the 22nd had either no time or no good opportunity for forming squares: they were found in colonne serrée, in good order, partly covered by a clump of trees, an outlying thicket from the great forest to their rear. They reserved their fire, with great composure, till the dragoons were within ten yards distance, and poured a volley so close and well aimed upon the leading squadron [5th Dragoon Guards] that nearly a fourth of them fell. Tremendous as was the effect of the discharge, the dragoons were not arrested: they broke in through the opposing bayonets, and plunged into the dense masses of the enemy. In the combat which ensued, broadsword and bayonet were used against each other with various results: the French, hewn down and trampled under the horses’ feet, offered all the resistance that brave men could make. Le Marchant himself had some narrow escapes—he fought like a private, and had to cut down more than one of the enemy. It was only after a fierce struggle that the French yielded, and he had the satisfaction of seeing them fly before him in helpless confusion. The brigade had now lost all order: the dragoons, excited by the struggle, vied with each other in the pursuit, and galloped recklessly into the crowd of fugitives, sabring those who came within their reach. To restrain them at such a moment was beyond the power of their officers[558].’

Le Marchant endeavoured to keep a few men in hand, in order to guard against any attempt of the French to rally, but he had only about half a squadron of the 4th Dragoons with him, when he came upon some companies which were beginning to re-form in the edge of the great wood. He led his party against them, and drove them back among the trees, where they dispersed. But at the moment of contact he was shot dead, by a ball which entered his groin and broke his spine. Thus fell an officer of whom great things had been expected by all who knew him, in the moment when he had just obtained and used to the full his first chance of leading his brigade in a general action. One of the few scientific soldiers in the cavalry arm whom the British army owned, Le Marchant had been mainly known as the founder and administrator of the Royal Military College at High Wycombe, which was already beginning to send to the front many young officers trained as their predecessors had never been. He was the author of many military pamphlets, and of a new system of sword exercise which had lately been adopted for the cavalry[559]. On his promotion to the rank of Major-General, in 1811, he had been unexpectedly sent to the Peninsula in command of the heavy brigade, which reinforced Wellington during that autumn. As an executive commander in the field he had given the first proofs of his ability at the combat of Villagarcia[560]—but this was a small affair—at Salamanca he proved himself a born commander of cavalry, and his services would have been invaluable to Wellington in later fields but for the disastrous shot that ended his career. He was a man of a lofty and religious spirit, ill to be spared by his country[561].

Le Marchant’s charge made a complete wreck of the left wing of the French army. The remnants of the eight battalions which he had broken fled eastward in a confused mass, towards the edge of the woods, becoming blended with the separate stream of fugitives from Thomières’s division. The 5th Division swept in some 1,500 prisoners from them, as also the eagle of the 22nd Line, which the heavy brigade had broken in their last effort, while five guns were taken by the 4th Dragoons[562]. The French, flying blindly from the pursuit, were so scattered that some of them actually ran in headlong among D’Urban’s Portuguese horse, on the back side of the plateau. ‘We were so far in their rear,’ writes that officer, ‘that a mass of their routed infantry (to our astonishment, since we did not know the cause) in the wildness of their panic and confusion, and throwing away their arms, actually ran against our horses, where many of them fell down exhausted, and incapable of further movement.’ The same happened in the front of the 3rd Division, where, according to a narrator in the Connaught Rangers, ‘hundreds of men frightfully disfigured, black with dust, worn out with fatigue, and covered with sabre-cuts and blood, threw themselves among us for safety.’

The 3rd Division had now, in its advance along the plateau, come in contact with the right flank of the fifth, and both of them fell into one line reaching across the whole breadth of the heights, while in front of them were recoiling the wrecks of Thomières, Maucune, and Brennier. The four French regiments which had not been caught in Le Marchant’s charge were still keeping together, and making occasional attempts at a stand, but were always outflanked on their left by the 3rd Division and Arentschildt’s and D’Urban’s horse. Curto’s French light cavalry had rallied, and picked up their second brigade, and were now doing their best to cover the southern flank of the retreating multitude[563]. An officer of one of their regiments speaks in his memoirs of having charged with advantage against red dragoons—these must apparently have been scattered parties of Le Marchant’s brigade, pursuing far and furiously, since no other red-coated cavalry was in this part of the field[564]. But Curto’s squadrons had mainly to do with Arentschildt and D’Urban, both of whom report sharp fighting with French horse at this moment. The 3rd French Hussars charged the 1st Hussars K.G.L., while the latter were employed in gleaning prisoners from the routed infantry, and were only driven off after a severe combat[565]. The pursuit then continued until the disordered French masses were driven off the plateau, and on to the wooded hills parallel with the Greater Arapile, where Marmont had massed his army before his fatal move to the left.

Meanwhile the 4th Division and Pack’s Portuguese had fought, with much less fortunate results, against the French divisions of Clausel and Bonnet. There are good narratives of their advance from three officers who took part in it, all so full and clear that it is impossible to have any doubts about its details. One comes from the Assistant Quarter-Master-General of the 4th Division, Charles Vere: the second is from the captain commanding one of the four light companies of the Fusilier brigade, Ludwig von Wachholz of the Brunswick-Oels Jägers: the third is the narrative of Pack’s aide-de-camp, Charles Synge, who was with the front line of the Portuguese in their vigorous but unsuccessful attack on the Greater Arapile. The three narratives have nothing contradictory in them.

The sequence of events was as follows. After deploying the three battalions of the Fusilier brigade (1/7th, 1/23rd, 1/48th) beyond the end of the village of Arapiles, and Stubbs’s Portuguese brigade to their left, Cole started to cross the valley, having a very strong skirmishing line, composed of the whole of the 7th Caçadores and of the four light companies of the British brigade. During the first stage of the advance, which started at 5.45[566], a perceptible time after that of the 5th Division, the two brigades suffered severely from French artillery fire, but had no infantry opposed to them. Their objective was the division of Clausel, which had by this time come into line on the extreme eastern end of the plateau occupied by Maucune. When the advancing line had reached the trough of the valley which separated it from the French heights, Cole saw that his left front was faced by a detached French force[567] on a low rocky ridge half-way between the end of the plateau and the Great Arapile, and also that behind the Arapile, and in a position to support this detachment, were several other French battalions. Pack was deploying to assault the Arapile, but even if he won a first success there was visible a considerable mass of troops behind it. After the valley was crossed Stubbs’s Portuguese brigade, coming first into action, with the caçadores in front, attacked the French regiment on the knoll and drove it back. It retired towards the Arapile and the bulk of Bonnet’s division, to which it belonged. Cole detached his caçador battalion to follow it, hoping that Pack might succeed in ‘containing’ the rest of the French force in this direction. The remainder of his line pushed on, with the light companies of the Fusilier brigade acting as its screen, and attacked Clausel on the plateau. The advance was steady, but cost many lives, and the line was enfiladed by a tiresome flank fire from the French guns on the top of the Great Arapile. Nevertheless the crest was reached—on it lay the front line of the French division—five battalions—which engaged in a furious frontal combat of musketry with the Fusiliers and their Portuguese comrades, but was beaten in it, and fell back some 200 yards on to its reserves. The impetus of the attack was exhausted, Cole had just been wounded, so that there was a gap in the command, and the troops were re-forming and recovering their breath, when it was seen that things were going very badly behind and to the left. The attack on the Arapile had by this time been delivered, and had failed completely.

Pack had grasped the fact that when the 4th Division had crossed the valley, it would be much at the mercy of Bonnet’s troops in the direction of the Arapile, which were now on its flank, and would presently be almost in its rear. He therefore resolved to use the option of attacking that Wellington had given him. He deployed the 4th Caçadores as a skirmishing line, gave them as an immediate support the four grenadier companies of his line regiments, and followed with the rest in two columns, the 1st Line on the right, the 16th on the left. The caçadores went up the comparatively level field which formed the central slope between the two rocky ends of the Arapile—it was sown with rye some three feet high that year. French skirmishers in small numbers gave way before them, but the main opposition of the enemy was from his battery placed on the summit. The skirmishing line got four-fifths of the way to the crest, and then found an obstacle before it, a bank of some four feet high, where the field ended. It was perpendicular, and men scrambling up it had to sling their muskets, or to lay them down, so as to be able to use both hands. The caçadores were just tackling the bank—a few of them were over it—when the French regiment on top, the 120th, which had been waiting till the Portuguese should reach the obstacle, delivered a shattering volley and charged. The caçadores were quite helpless, being more engaged in climbing than in using their arms[568]. They were swept off in a moment, and the French, jumping down into the field, pursued them vigorously, and overthrew first the supporting grenadier companies, and then the two regiments, which were caught half-way up the slope. As Napier truly observes, ‘the Portuguese were scoffed at for their failure—but unjustly: no troops could have withstood that crash upon such steep ground, and the propriety of attacking the hill at all seems questionable.’ Pack made the attempt purely because he thought that it was the only way of taking off the attention of the French from Cole’s flank. The brigade suffered heavily, losing 386 men in ten minutes. It took refuge at the foot of the British Arapile, where it was covered by the 1/40th of Anson’s brigade, which was standing there in reserve.

The French brigadier in command on the Greater Arapile wisely made little attempt to pursue Pack’s fugitives, but having his front now clear of any danger, sallied out from behind his hill with three regiments, the 118th and 119th and the re-formed 122nd, against the flank and rear of the British 4th Division. There was nothing in front of him save the 7th Caçadores, which Cole had detached as a covering force, when he stormed the heights with the remainder of the brigades of Ellis and Stubbs. This isolated battalion behaved very well, it stood its ground in line, but was absolutely overwhelmed and broken up by the superior numbers converging on it[569].

Nearly at the same moment Clausel’s whole force in column charged the two brigades of the 4th Division which had carried the heights. The French were in superior numbers—ten battalions to seven—and their two reserve regiments were fresh troops, acting against men who had just won a dearly-bought success by a great effort. The Anglo-Portuguese line gave way, from the left first, where the 23rd Portuguese began the movement. But it spread down the whole front, and the Fusiliers, no less than Stubbs’s brigade, recoiled to the very foot of the plateau[570].

This reverse gave Clausel, who was now in command since Bonnet’s wound, an opportunity that looked unlikely a few minutes before. He could either withdraw the Army of Portugal in retreat, covering the three disorganized divisions with those which were still intact—his own, Bonnet’s, and the two reserve divisions of Ferey and Sarrut, which had just come on the ground—Foy was far off and otherwise engaged—or he might adopt a bolder policy, and attempt to take advantage of the disaster to Pack and Cole, by bursting into the gap between Leith and the British Arapile, and trying to break Wellington’s centre. Being an ambitious and resolute man he chose the latter alternative—though it was a dangerous one when Leith and Pakenham were bearing in hard upon his routed left wing. Accordingly he left Sarrut to rally and cover the three beaten divisions, and attacked with his right centre. His own division followed the retreating brigades of Ellis and Stubbs down the heights, while the three disposable regiments of Bonnet came into line to its right, and Boyer’s three regiments of dragoons advanced down the depression between the Greater Arapile and the recovered plateau. Ferey was left in second line or reserve on the crest.

At first the advance had considerable success. Bonnet’s regiments pushed forward on the right, driving in the 1/40th[571], which had come forward to cover Pack’s routed battalions, and pressing quite close to the British Arapile, whose battery was turned upon them with much effect. Clausel’s own division pushed the Fusiliers some way down the slope and right into the valley at its foot. The dragoons charged Stubbs’s retreating Portuguese, and cut up many of them, though the 11th regiment finally succeeded in forming square with what remained solid of its companies, and beat off the main attack. Part of the French horsemen, however, pushed on, and reached the front of Wellington’s reserve line, the 6th Division, which had now descended the heights to relieve the broken 4th. One battalion of Hulse’s brigade, the 2/53rd, was charged by several squadrons, but formed square in time and repulsed them. Some little way to the right the Fusiliers and the Portuguese 23rd formed a large parti-coloured square, expecting a similar attack, but it did not come their way[572].

Wellington, thanks to his own prescience, had ample reserves with which to parry Clausel’s desperate stroke. Setting aside the Light Division, which now paired off against Foy on the extreme left of the field, there were the 1st, 6th, and 7th Divisions, not to speak of Bradford’s Portuguese and España’s Spaniards, all of them perfectly intact. And of these, such was his strength, only one fresh unit, Clinton’s 6th Division, required to be brought up to turn the day. It was now coming over the valley where the 4th had preceded it, in a long majestic line, Hulse’s brigade on the right, Hinde’s on the left, the Portuguese of the Conde de Rezende in second line. The 1st Division, if it had been needed, could have supported Clinton, from its post just to the north of the Lesser Arapile, but had not yet got under way.

The repulse of the new French attack was carried out with no great difficulty, if not without serious fighting. The advance of Clausel’s own division was checked by Marshal Beresford, who took Spry’s Portuguese brigade out of the second line of the victorious 5th Division, and led it diagonally along the southern slope of the plateau to fall upon Clausel’s flank. This it did effectively, for the French division could not dare to press on against the Fusiliers, and had to throw back its left, and form up opposite Spry, with whom it became engaged in a lively musketry fight. It could no longer move forward, and was immobilized, though it held its own: Beresford was wounded in the chest and taken to the rear, but Spry’s five battalions had served the desired purpose, and stopped the French advance in this quarter.

But the decisive check to Clausel’s offensive was given by Clinton and the 6th Division, who advancing straight before them—over the ground previously traversed by Cole—fell upon, overlapped at both ends, and thoroughly discomfited in close musketry duel the nine battalions of Bonnet’s division, which had pressed forward close to the Lesser Arapile, as if to insert a wedge in the British line. Unsupported by Boyer’s dragoons, who had shot their bolt too early, and were now re-forming far to the rear, this French division was badly cut up. Each of the three regiments which had taken part in its advance lost more than 500 men in the struggle[573]: they fell back in disorder towards the hill behind them, and their rout compelled Clausel’s division to give way also, since it exposed its flank to the oncoming line of Hulse’s brigade on Clinton’s right. Moreover the Great Arapile had to be evacuated, for while the routed troops passed away to its left rear, the 1st British Division was soon after seen steadily advancing towards its right. The regiment on the hill (the 120th) was exposed to be cut off and surrounded, and hastily ran down the back of the mount: while retreating it was much molested by the skirmishers of the German Legion Brigade of the 1st Division. It lost heavily, and the battery that had been on the summit was captured before it could get away.

Thus Clausel’s brief half-hour of triumph ended in complete disaster, and the two divisions with which he had made his stroke were flung back against the slope in front of the woods in their rear, where they took refuge behind the intact division of Ferey, the sole available reserve in this part of the field. They were now as badly beaten as Thomières and Maucune had been earlier in the day[574].

While this lively action was in progress, the 5th and 3rd Divisions, supported by the 7th and by Bradford’s Portuguese, in second line, and assisted on their flanks by Arentschildt’s, D’Urban’s, and Anson’s horse, had been driving in the wrecks of the French left wing towards the woods. There was much resistance: on Sarrut’s intact battalions many of the broken regiments had rallied. ‘These men, besmeared with blood, dust, and clay, half naked, and some carrying only broken weapons, fought with a fury not to be surpassed,’ says a 3rd Division narrator of the battle. But the tide of battle was always moving backward, towards the woods from which the French had originally issued, and though it sometimes seemed about to stop for a minute or two, a new outflanking manœuvre by the troops of Pakenham, D’Urban, and Arentschildt, sufficed on each occasion to set it in motion again.

The last stage of the conflict had now been reached: the French centre was as thoroughly beaten as their left had been earlier in the day: many of the battalions had gone completely to pieces, and were pouring into the woods and making their way to the rear, with no thought except for their personal safety. Of intact troops there were only two divisions left, Ferey’s in the centre, and Foy’s on the extreme right near Calvarisa de Ariba. It was generally considered that Foy ought to have been overwhelmed by the much superior British force in front of him, for not only was he opposed by the Light Division, whose skirmishers had been bickering with him all the afternoon, but the 1st Division became available for use against him the moment that it was clear that the French offensive against the 4th Division had been shattered, by the advance of Clinton and Spry. Wellington, it is said[575], dispatched orders for the 1st Division to move forward and strike in between Foy and the Greater Arapile, at the moment that he saw that the 6th Division had broken Bonnet’s troops. If so, the order was not executed, and General Campbell led out his three brigades much too late, and not in time either to cut off Foy or to encircle the right of the disordered mass of the enemy now retiring into the woods. He seems to have acted simply as a link between the 6th Division on his right, and the Light Division on his left, for the latter alone pressed Foy vigorously. The only part of Campbell’s division which suffered any appreciable loss at this time of the day were the light companies of Löwe’s brigade—that which was composed of the King’s German Legion: they fell on the flank of the French regiment that was evacuating the Greater Arapile, and did it considerable harm[576].

Meanwhile the last and not the least bloody fighting of the day was beginning, on the hillside just outside the head of the forest, where Marmont had deployed his main body at midday, and where Ferey’s division was now standing in reserve, while the broken troops both from its front and from its flank were streaming by to the rear. Clausel had given Ferey orders to cover the retreat at all costs, warning him that unless he could hold back the advancing enemy for some time the disaster would be complete. The general to whom this unenviable task was assigned carried it out with splendid courage, and by his constancy gave time for the escape of the whole of the confused mass behind him. He drew out his nine battalions in a single line, the centre a little advanced to suit the shape of the hillside, the flanks a little thrown back. The extreme battalions at each end were in square, to guard against possible attacks by cavalry, but the seven central units were deployed en bataille in three-deep line, a formation which had not been seen in the other episodes of the battle, and which made their fire much more effective than that of regiments fighting in ‘column of divisions,’ as most of their comrades had done[577].

Against the orderly front thus disposed Clinton came up with the 6th Division, pursuing his victorious advance. He was flanked on the left by the Fusilier brigade of the 4th Division, which had long ago rallied and come up to the front since its disaster of an hour back. On Clinton’s right were the 5th and 3rd Divisions, but both were at the moment re-forming, after their long struggle with Sarrut and the wrecks of the French left wing. Anson’s cavalry had at last got to the front in this direction, and replaced D’Urban and Arentschildt—whose squadrons were quite worn out—upon the extreme right of the allied line.

Clinton, it is said[578], refused to wait till the troops on his right were re-formed, and hurried on the attack: it was growing dark, and a few more minutes of delay would allow the French to make off under cover of the night. Therefore he advanced at once, and found himself engaged at once in a most desperate musketry contest, whose deadly results recalled Albuera, so heavy were the losses on both sides. But here the French had the advantage of being deployed, and not (as at Albuera) wedged in deep columns. The first fire of the French line, as Clinton’s brigades closed in, was particularly murderous, and swept away whole sections of the attacking force. ‘The ground over which we had to pass,’ writes an officer in Hinde’s brigade[579], ‘was a remarkably clear slope, like the glacis of a fortress, most favourable for the defensive fire of the enemy, and disadvantageous for the assailant. The craggy ridge, on which the French were drawn up, rose so abruptly that the rear ranks could fire over the heads of the front. But we had approached within two hundred yards before the musketry began: it was far the heaviest fire that I have ever seen, and accompanied by constant discharges of grape. An uninterrupted blaze was thus maintained, so that the crest of the hill seemed one long streak of flame. Our men came down to the charging position, and commenced firing from that level, at the same time keeping touch to the right, so that the gaps opened by the enemy’s fire were instantly filled up. At the first volley about eighty men of our right wing fell to the rear in one group. Our commanding officer rode up to know the cause, and found that they were every one wounded!’ But heavy as was the loss of this regiment (137 out of 600 present), it was trifling compared to that of its neighbours to the right, in Hulse’s brigade, where the right and centre regiments in the line, the 1/11th and 1/61st, lost respectively 340 men out of 516 and 366 out of 546—a proportion to which only Albuera could show a parallel. For many minutes—one observer calls it nearly an hour, but the stress of the struggle multiplied time—the two hostile lines continued blazing at each other in the growing dusk. ‘The glare of light caused by the artillery, the continued fire of musketry, and by the dry grass which had caught fire, gave the face of the hill a terrific appearance: it was one sheet of flame, and Clinton’s men seemed to be attacking a burning mountain, whose crater was defended by a barrier of shining steel[580].’ The French, so far as losses went, probably suffered no more, or perhaps less, than their assailants: but their casualties were nevertheless appalling. And at last they gave way: ‘the cruel fire cost us many lives,’ writes an officer of the 31st Léger, ‘and at last, slowly, and after having given nearly an hour’s respite to the remainder of the army, Ferey gave back, still protected by his flanking squares, to the very edge of the forest, where he halted our half-destroyed division. Formed in line it still presented a respectable front, and halted, despite of the English batteries, which enfiladed us with a thundering fire. Here Ferey met the form of death which the soldier prefers to all others, he was slain outright by a round-shot[581].’

Clinton’s English regiments were so disordered and reduced by the awful fire through which they had passed in their victorious march, that he put into front line for a final assault on the enemy his Portuguese brigade, that of the Conde de Rezende, which was still intact, as it had hitherto been in reserve. Its five battalions deployed, and advanced against the now much contracted line of Ferey’s division: they were supported on the left by the Fusilier brigade of the 4th Division, on the right by the 5th Division, which was now re-formed and well to the front. Anson’s cavalry was also in this direction.

The dying effort of Ferey’s division was worthy of its previous hard fighting. ‘Formed right up against the trees,’ writes the French officer, whom we have already quoted, ‘no longer with any artillery to help, we saw the enemy marching up against us in two lines, the first of which was composed of Portuguese. Our position was critical, but we waited for the shock: the two lines moved up toward us; their order was so regular that in the Portuguese regiment in front of us we could see the company intervals, and note the officers behind keeping the men in accurate line, by blows with the flat of their swords or their canes. We fired first, the moment that they got within range: and the volleys which we delivered from our two first ranks were so heavy and so continuous that, though they tried to give us back fire for fire, the whole melted away. The second line was coming up behind—this was English, we should have tried to receive it in the same way, still holding our ground though under a flank fire of artillery, when suddenly the left of our line ceased firing and fell back into the wood in complete disorder. The 70th Ligne had found itself turned by cavalry; it broke; the rout spread down the front to the 26th and 77th; only our two battalions of the 31st Léger held firm, under the fire of the enemy, which continued so long as we showed outside the edge of the forest. We only gave back as the day ended, retiring some 250 yards from our original position, and keeping our voltigeur companies still in a skirmishing line in front[582].’

This vigorous account of the last stand of the French reserve is not far from being accurate. It is quite true that the Portuguese brigade of the 6th Division suffered terribly in its attack, and was completely checked. It lost 487 men during the fifteen minutes in which it was engaged—the heaviest casualty list in any of the brigades of its nation, even heavier than that of Stubbs’s troops in the 4th Division. The only point that requires to be added is that it was not so much a panic caused by a partial cavalry charge which broke the 70th Ligne, and finally dispersed Ferey’s regiments[583], as the pressure of the 5th Division upon the whole of the left of their line, which collapsed almost simultaneously. But they had done their work—before they dispersed, leaving only the 31st Léger to act as a most inadequate rearguard, they had detained the allies for a half-hour or more, and night had set in. Wellington ordered the 6th Division to pursue, but it was so much cut up and fatigued that it only advanced a hundred yards into the forest, and then halted and settled down for the night. Why the intact 7th Division was not rather used for the pursuit it is hard to understand. Still more so is the fact that no cavalry was sent forward in this direction: the woods, no doubt, looked uninviting and dangerous, but the enemy was in a state of absolute panic, and ready to disperse at the least pressure. ‘But,’ says the most intelligent of the British diarists with the mounted arm, ‘the cavalry during the assault on the last hill was ordered back to the point on the left where we assembled before the attack, leaving the infantry to pursue without us. Had this not been done (though it might not have been prudent to pursue with both in the night), yet by their being at hand there was a greater chance of accomplishing more. The order came from Sir Stapleton Cotton himself. The infantry moved in pursuit by moonlight.... I have heard from an officer in the 6th Division that although they had been marching all day, and were so tired, when ordered to halt for the night, that they could not possibly have marched much farther, yet they sat up through the night, talking over the action, each recalling to his comrade the events that happened[584].’

Some part of the slackness of the pursuit is to be explained by an unfortunate misconception by which Wellington (through no fault of his own) was obsessed that night. He was under the impression that the Castle of Alba de Tormes was still held by the Spanish garrison which he had left there, and that the bridge and the neighbouring ford were therefore unavailable for the retreat of the French, who (as he supposed) must be retiring by the fords of Huerta and Villa Gonzalo, which they had used to reach the field. Unhappily—as has been already mentioned—Carlos de España had withdrawn the battalion at Alba without making any mention of the fact to his Commander-in-Chief[585]. Wellington therefore put more thought to urging the pursuit in the direction of the East than of the South, and it was not till late in the night, and when nothing but stragglers had been picked up on the Huerta road, that he discovered what had really occurred.

It remains to relate the unimportant happenings on this front during the evening. At the moment when the French attack on Wellington’s centre failed, about 7 o’clock or soon after, Clausel sent to Foy, whose division still lay behind Calvarisa de Ariba, covering the way to the Huerta fords, the order to retire. His instructions were to cover the flank of the line of retreat of the broken army, and to take up successive detaining positions on its right, on the eastern side of the brook and ravine which lie between the two Arapiles and the village of Utrera. These orders Foy carried out skilfully and well. He fended off the Light Division, which had moved out in pursuit of him, with a heavy rearguard of light troops, always giving way when pressed. His concern was almost entirely with this British unit, for the 1st Division had started too late to get near him. The Light Division and its battery kept him on the run, but never came up with his main body. ‘Night alone saved my division, and the troops that I was covering,’ wrote Foy, ‘without it I should probably have been crushed, and the enemy would have arrived at Alba de Tormes before the wrecks of our seven routed divisions got there. An hour after dark the English cavalry was still pushing charges home against my regiments, which I had placed in alternate chequers of line and column. I had the luck to keep the division in hand till the last, and to steer it in the right direction, though many routed battalions kept pressing in upon my left, and threatened to carry disorder into my ranks. The pursuit ceased near Santa Maria de Utrera[586].’

It is difficult to make out what became of the heavy dragoons of Bock during this long retrograde movement of Foy’s division: they were certainly not the cavalry of which the French general speaks as charging him during his retreat, for they returned no single man or horse killed or wounded that day[587]. Perhaps, far away to the left, they may have been driving in from position to position, the one regiment of Boyer’s dragoons which had been left to cover Foy’s extreme outer flank. More probably they may have been pushing their march towards the fords of Huerta, in the vain hope of finding masses of disbanded enemies on the way, and ultimately cutting them off from the river. This hypothesis is borne out by the fact that the bivouac of the heavy German brigade was that night in front of Pelabravo, much to the north-east of the resting-places of the rest of the army, and in the general direction of the fords[588].

That the pursuit was misdirected was a most lamentable chance for Wellington. If it had been urged in the right direction, the Army of Portugal would have been annihilated as a fighting-body, and would never have been able to make head again in the autumn. For the forest of Alba de Tormes was full of nothing but a disorderly crowd, making the best of its way towards the bridge, with no proper rearguard and no commander in charge of the retreat. Clausel, wounded in the foot, was being looked after by the surgeons in Alba, and was barely able to mount his horse next day. The rout was complete: ‘a shapeless mass of soldiery was rolling down the road like a torrent—infantry, cavalry, artillery, wagons, carts, baggage-mules, the reserve park of the artillery drawn by oxen, were all mixed up. The men, shouting, swearing, running, were out of all order, each one looking after himself alone—a complete stampede. The panic was inexplicable to one who, coming from the extreme rear, knew that there was no pursuit by the enemy to justify the terror shown. I had to stand off far from the road, for if I had got near it, I should have been swept off by the torrent in spite of myself[589].’ So writes the officer, already twice quoted for the narrative of the end of the battle, whose regiment, still hanging together in the most creditable fashion, brought up the rear of the retreat. It is clear that any sort of a pursuit would have produced such a general block at the bridge-head that a disaster like that of Leipzig must have followed, and the whole of the rear of the Army of Portugal, brought up against the river Tormes, must have surrendered en masse.

From eight o’clock at night till three in the morning the routed army was streaming across the bridge and the ford. Once covered by the Tormes some regiments regained a certain order, but many thousands of fugitives, pressing on ahead in unthinking panic, were scattered all over the country-side, and did not come back to their colours for many days, or even weeks.

The actual loss of the Army of Portugal would appear to have been some 14,000 to 15,000 men, not including the ‘missing,’ who afterwards turned up and came back to the ranks. Marmont in his dispatch had the effrontery to write that he lost only 6,000 men[590], and 9 guns: a statement only equalled in mendacity by Soult’s assertion that Albuera had cost him but 2,800 casualties[591]. No general list of losses by regiments was ever given to Napoleon, though he demanded it: but a return proposing to include the casualties not only of Salamanca but of the minor combats of Castrillo and Garcia Hernandez was drawn up, giving a total of 12,435[592]. On the whole, however, it would be safe to allow for 14,000 men as the total loss, exclusive of stragglers. Among officers of rank the Commander-in-Chief was wounded: Ferey and Thomières were killed: the latter died inside the English lines after the battle. Clausel and Bonnet were both wounded, the former slightly, the latter severely, so that four of the eight divisional generals of infantry were hit. Of the brigadiers, Desgraviers (division Thomières) was mortally and Menne (division Foy) severely wounded. The trophies lost were 2 eagles (those of the 22nd and 101st), 6 other colours[593], and 20 guns[594]. Of these last 12 represented the divisional batteries of Thomières and Bonnet, which were taken whole, and the other 8, as it would seem, pieces captured from the long line of batteries on Maucune’s flank, which was rolled up when Le Marchant and Leith swept the plateau in their triumphant advance. Of the eight French divisions those of Thomières and Bonnet would appear to have lost about 2,200 men apiece, Maucune nearly 2,000, Clausel, Brennier, and Ferey above 1,200 each, Sarrut perhaps 500: Foy’s very heavy losses nearly all fell on the next day. The cavalry, with 43 officers hit, must account for at least 500 more of the total[595], and the artillery must have lost, along with their 20 guns, at least 300 or 400 gunners[596]. Of prisoners (wounded and unwounded), there were according to Wellington’s dispatch 137 officers[597] and nearly 7,000 men.

Wellington returned his loss in the British units as 3,129, in the Portuguese as 2,078: of España’s Spaniards 2 were killed and 4 wounded. This makes up the total of 5,173, sent off immediately after the battle. The separate Portuguese return forwarded by Beresford to Lisbon gives the loss of the troops of that nation as somewhat less—1,637 instead of 2,078: the difference of 441 is partly to be accounted for by the reappearance of stragglers who were entered as ‘missing’ in the first casualty-sheet, but cannot entirely explain itself in that fashion. Which of the returns is the more accurate it is hard to be sure, but a prima facie preference would naturally be given to the later and more carefully detailed document. Taking British and Portuguese together, it is clear that the 6th Division, which lost 1,500 men, was far the hardest hit. The 3rd and 5th, which decided the day on the right, got off easily, with a little more than 500 each: the 4th Division, owing to the mishap to the Fusilier brigade and Stubbs’s Portuguese, had very nearly 1,000 casualties. Pack’s five battalions lost 386 men in the one short episode of the battle in which they were engaged, the unsuccessful attack on the Great Arapile, and were lucky to fare no worse. The cavalry total of 173 killed and wounded was also very moderate considering the good work that the brigades of Le Marchant, D’Urban, and Arentschildt performed. In the 1st, 7th, and Light Divisions, the trifling losses were all in the flank-companies sent out in skirmishing line: of the battalions none was engaged as a whole[598]. The artillery were overmatched by the French guns all through the day, and it is surprising to find that they returned only four men killed, and ten wounded. The casualty list of officers of high rank was disproportionately large—not only was Le Marchant killed, but Marshal Beresford, Stapleton Cotton, commanding the cavalry[599], and Leith and Cole, each a divisional general, were disabled. Of officers in the Portuguese service, Collins, commanding a brigade of the 7th Division, was mortally hurt, and the Conde de Rezende, who led the Portuguese of the 6th Division, was wounded.

The victory of Salamanca was certainly an astonishing feat of rapid decision and instantaneous action. The epigrammatic description of it as ‘the beating of 40,000 men in forty minutes’ hardly over-states its triumphant celerity: before that time had elapsed, from the moment when Pakenham and Leith struck the French left, the battle was undoubtedly in such a condition that the enemy had no chance left—he could only settle whether his retreat should be more or less prompt. Clausel chose to make a hopeless counter-offensive move, and so prolonged the fight till dark—he would probably have been wiser to break off at once, and to retreat at six o’clock, covering his routed left with his intact reserve divisions. He would certainly have lost several thousand men less if he had retired after repulsing Cole and Pack, and had made no attempt to press the advantage that he had gained over them. It may be argued in his defence that the last hour of battle, costly though it proved to him, prevented Wellington’s pursuit from commencing in the daylight, an undoubted boon to the defeated army. But at the most the victor would have had only one hour at his disposition before dusk; the French were taking refuge in a forest, where orderly pursuit would have been difficult; and looking at Wellington’s usual methods of utilizing a victory (e. g. Vittoria) we may feel doubtful whether the beaten enemy—if covered by Sarrut, Ferey, and Foy, as a regular rearguard, would have suffered more than he actually did. For Wellington’s whole idea of pursuit turned on the false notion that the castle, bridge, and ford of Alba de Tormes were still blocked by the Spaniards whom he had left there. By the time that he had discovered that the enemy was not retreating towards Huerta and Villa Gonzalo, but escaping over the Tormes in some other way, the hour would have been late.

Undoubtedly the best summary and encomium of Wellington’s tactics on this eventful day is that of an honest enemy, the very capable and clear-sighted Foy, who wrote in his diary six days after the fight[600]:

‘The battle of Salamanca is the most masterly in its management, the most considerable in the number of troops engaged, and the most important in results of all the victories that the English have gained in these latter days. It raises Lord Wellington almost to the level of Marlborough. Hitherto we had been aware of his prudence, his eye for choosing a position, and his skill in utilizing it. At Salamanca he has shown himself a great and able master of manœuvres. He kept his dispositions concealed for almost the whole day: he waited till we were committed to our movement before he developed his own: he played a safe game[601]: he fought in the oblique order—it was a battle in the style of Frederic the Great. As for ourselves, we had no definite intention of bringing on a battle, so that we found ourselves let in for it without any preliminary arrangements having been made. The army was moving without much impulse or supervision, and what little there was stopped with the wounding of the Marshal.’ In another note he adds: ‘The Duke of Ragusa committed us to the action—he brought it on contrary to Clausel’s advice. The left was already checked when he received his wound: after that moment it was impossible either to refuse to fight, or to give the fight a good direction: all that could be done was to attenuate the sum of the disaster—that Clausel did. There was no gap in the command—we should have been no better off if the Marshal had never been hurt. He is not quite honest on that point in his dispatch[602].’

With this criticism we may undoubtedly agree. Foy has hit upon the main points in which Salamanca was a startling revelation to the contemporary observer—no one on the French side, and but few upon the British, had yet realized that Wellington on the offensive could be no less formidable and efficient than Wellington on the defensive. After July 22, 1812, no opponent could dare to take liberties with him, as Soult, Masséna, and Marmont, each in his turn, had done up till that date. The possible penalty was now seen to be too great. Moreover, the prestige of the British general was so much enhanced that he could safely count upon it as not the least of his military assets—as we shall see him do in the Pyrenees, a little more than a year after Salamanca had been won. To the other thesis that Foy lays down—the statement that Marmont had, by his initial movement, made disaster inevitable before he was wounded—we may also give our assent. Jourdan came to the same conclusion—the Emperor Napoleon also fixed the responsibility in the same way. The Marshal’s ingenious special pleading, to the effect that but for his personal misadventure he would yet have won the day, will convince none but blind enemies of Wellington. Of some of the charges which Napoleon laid to his charge he must be acquitted: he did not know in the least that King Joseph was on his way to join him from Madrid with 15,000 men. The dispatches sent to warn him of this fact had all miscarried, and the last news from the Army of the Centre which had reached him had intimated that no immediate help was to be expected from that quarter. Nor was he wrong in not waiting for the succours from Caffarelli: these were so trifling—800 sabres and one horse battery—that their presence or absence could make little difference in the battle.

But the Marshal’s flagrant and irreparable fault was that, having made up his mind that Wellington would not fight under any provocation—a conclusion for which the earlier episodes of the campaign gave him some justification—he got his army into a position in which he had battle suddenly forced upon him, at a moment when he was not in a position to accept it with advantage. The attempt to turn Wellington’s right wing on the afternoon of July 22nd was an unpardonable liberty, only taken because the Marshal had come to despise his opponent. The liberty was resented in the most forcible way—and there was no means of avoiding disaster when Thomières and Maucune had once started out on their rash turning movement.

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SECTION XXXIII: CHAPTER VIII

THE CONSEQUENCES OF SALAMANCA

The dawn of July 23rd revealed to Wellington that the French army had passed the Tormes at the bridge and forts of Alba, and that nothing remained on the western bank of the river save small parties of fugitives and wounded, who had lost their way in the forest. Some of these were gleaned up by Anson’s and Bock’s brigades of cavalry, who were pushed forward to search the woods and seek for the enemy. Anson’s patrols reached the bridge, and found a French rearguard watching it. This was composed of Foy’s division, to whom Clausel had committed the covering of his retreat. It cleared off, after firing a few shots. Foy had been told to block the passage till 9 o’clock, but went off long before, when the disordered main body had got a good start. On the report that he was gone, Wellington sent Anson’s squadrons across the bridge of Alba de Tormes, while Bock forded the river lower down at La Encina. The state of the roads, strewn with baggage and wounded men, showed that the French had used all the three roads leading east from Alba[603], and were on their way to Arevalo, not towards their base at Valladolid: to have marched in that direction would have brought them right across the front of the advancing British army. Wellington sent out detachments on all the roads which the enemy had taken, but urged the main pursuit by the central and most important road, that by Garcia Hernandez on Peñaranda. Contrary to his wont, he pushed on this day with great celerity, riding himself with the head of the column formed by the main body of Anson’s light dragoons. This vanguard was followed, at some distance, by the 1st and Light Divisions. Those infantry units which had fought hard on the previous day were allowed a rest. About seven miles beyond Alba de Tormes Anson’s patrols came upon a regular rearguard of the enemy, behind the Caballero brook (a tributary of the Almar), in and about the village of Garcia Hernandez. This was, of course, Foy and the French 1st Division, the only troops in Clausel’s army which had not been seriously engaged in the battle. They were accompanied by a battery and a brigade of Curto’s chasseurs. Around and about the formed troops scattered parties were visible—the village was full of men drawing water from the wells. On the approach of the British cavalry column—the infantry were still miles behind—Foy prepared to resume his retreat, the cavalry drew up on a rising ground, to the north of Garcia Hernandez, to cover the movement: the leading regiments of the foot started off at once along the high-road, the others halted for a space, to the right of the chasseurs, out of sight of the British, whose view of them was intercepted by the slope on which the French cavalry were drawn up.

Wellington, as it seems, saw only the hostile squadrons, and resolved to drive them off without delay, in order to be able to press in upon the infantry columns which were retiring farther away. He directed Anson to attack the chasseurs with so much of his brigade as was up at the front: several squadrons were absent, some guarding the prisoners of yesterday, others exploring on distant roads. Two squadrons each of the 11th and 16th Light Dragoons delivered the frontal attack on the French brigade, while the leading squadrons of Bock’s brigade, which was coming up rapidly from the flank, and was not yet formed in line, were to turn its right wing.

The French light cavalry, which had been much mauled on the preceding day, and was evidently in no fighting mood, gave way precipitately before the attack of the Light Dragoons, and rode off in confusion to their own right rear. There was no time for Bock’s Germans to come up with them: but the leading squadrons of the 1st Heavy Dragoons of the Legion, pushing on in pursuit, received, to their surprise, a heavy volley in their flank from a French battalion in square, which they had not noticed in their advance.

There were, in fact, two regiments of infantry to the right of the routed chasseurs, and by the sudden flight of their comrades they found themselves suddenly uncovered and engaged. They were the 6th Léger and 76th Line, each two battalions strong, and counting together about 2,400 bayonets. Of these the unit nearest the cavalry was a battalion of the 76th in square: it was the fire of this body which had struck the leading German squadron in flank, and thrown it into disorder as it was charging the routed French horse. Farther to the east were the other battalion of the 76th and the two of the 6th Léger, on the slopes above the road, which here winds below the small eminence which the French cavalry had occupied and the hill of La Serna, a long and fairly steep height, which gives its name in many histories to the combat that ensued.

What followed on the unexpected discovery of the French infantry was the effect not of Wellington’s direct orders, nor of the leading of the short-sighted Bock, who had hardly realized the situation when his subordinates were already making their decision. It was entirely the exploit of the gallant squadron-leaders of the two regiments of German dragoons. They were coming up in a sort of échelon of squadrons, the first regiment leading, so that when the fire of the French square struck and disordered the leading unit, the responsibility for action fell on the officers commanding the others. Captain von der Decken who led the 3rd squadron determined without hesitation to charge the French square—his men were already getting up speed, and the enemy was but a short distance from him. Shouting to the squadron to throw forward its right wing and ride home, he led it straight at the French. The first fire of the square, delivered at eighty yards, brought down several men and horses, and wounded (mortally as it proved in the end) von der Decken himself. He kept his saddle, however, and only fell when the second fire was given, at twenty yards range. This volley was destructive, but did not break the impetus of the squadron, which charged right home. In most cases where cavalry reached the bayonets of a square during the Peninsular War, it had proved unable to break in, and had recoiled with loss—like Craufurd’s squadrons at the combat of Barquilla[604], and Montbrun’s at Fuentes de Oñoro. Here, however, the rare feat of riding down well-formed infantry was performed—it is said by several eye-witnesses that the breach was originally made by a mortally-wounded horse, which reared right on top of the kneeling front rank of the French, and then rolled over kicking, and bore down six or eight men at once. Several dragoons leapt the bank of struggling and overthrown soldiers, and broke into the rear ranks—thereupon the whole square fell to pieces in disorder. Many of the Frenchmen were hewn down, but the majority dropped their muskets and surrendered unhurt. The lists of prisoners at the Record Office give the names of sixteen officers of the 76th sent to England, of whom only two were wounded. Of the rank and file not more than fifty, it is said, got away[605]. Observers who came on the field later in the day noted with curiosity the long lines of muskets laid down in orderly rows. This was an astonishing achievement for a single squadron of 120 men—they had captured or cut down five times their own numbers of veteran troops of Ney’s old 6th Corps.

Some way to the right of this unlucky battalion were two more, forming the 6th Léger. Seeing the havoc made of his comrades, and noting the remaining squadrons of the Germans sweeping across the slope toward him, the colonel of this regiment ordered his men to retreat uphill and climb the steep slope behind. He hoped to get upon ground where cavalry could not easily follow. The two battalions, still in column, for they had not (like the 76th) formed square, moved hastily upwards: the voices of officers were heard shouting, ’allongez le pas, gagnons la hauteur[606].’ The nearest enemy to them was the second squadron of the 1st Dragoons K.G.L., led by Captain von Reizenstein, who put on the pace when he saw the French scrambling higher, and came up with the rearmost battalion before it was very far from the road. The two rear companies faced about when the dragoons drew near, and delivered a fire that was fairly effective, when it is considered that the men had been going as hard as they could trot, and were halted and put into action at a second’s notice. But it did not suffice to stop the dragoons, who rode in, at the cost of many killed and wounded, and cut up the companies that had stood to meet them: many men were sabred, more taken prisoners. The rear of the column, however, scrambled uphill in a mass, and there joined the other battalion of the 6th Léger, which formed square on the sky-line. They had on their flank a squadron or so of chasseurs, apparently a fragment of the brigade that had given way so easily before Anson’s attack twenty minutes before.

Against this mass charged the leading squadrons of the 2nd Heavy Dragoons K.G.L., which had at last come up to the front, and some of the officers and men of the 1st, who had already done such good work lower down the hill. The French square was not perfect or regular—apparently it was disordered by the fugitives from the broken battalion, who ran in for shelter, and formed up as best they could. The charge of the Germans was delivered with splendid impetus—though the regiment had been galloping for 300 yards uphill—and was completely successful. The French chasseurs rode off without engaging: the ill-formed square crumpled up: many of the men threw down their arms and surrendered, the rest dispersed and ran in coveys along the slopes of the plateau, towards the nearest friendly troops. These were the four battalions of the 39th and 69th Line, the surviving regiments of the division. Foy himself was in one of the squares; his surviving brigadier, Chemineau, in the other.

Intoxicated with the glorious successes that they had gained, a large but disordered mass of the victorious dragoons rode after the fugitives, and charged the nearest of the French squares—one of the 69th Line. The enemy held firm, their fire was given with effect, and killed the officer who led this last effort (Captain von Uslar) and many of his men. The rest swerved back, and rode away under a pelting fire from the battalion that they had attacked and from the other three, which lay close on its flank.

So ended the charge of Garcia Hernandez, the most dashing and successful attack made by any of Wellington’s cavalry during the whole war, as Foy—the best of witnesses—formally states in his history[607]. Though not more destructive in its results than Le Marchant’s onslaught on Maucune at Salamanca, it was a far more difficult affair. For Le Marchant had charged troops not in square, and already shaken by conflict with Leith’s division; while the Germans attacked without any infantry support, and fell upon intact battalions, of which two at least had formed square. Moreover, the French were supported by artillery and cavalry, though the former cleared off promptly, and the latter allowed themselves to be routed very easily by Anson’s squadrons. Altogether it was a glorious first experience of war for the Heavy Dragoons—neither of the regiments had ever charged before, and they had seen but a little skirmishing during the six months since their arrival at Lisbon. They were duly granted the battle-honour, ‘Garcia Hernandez,’ which they continued to bear on their guidons as long as Hanover was an independent state. Two Hanoverian cavalry regiments of to-day in the Prussian army continue to show it, as theoretical heirs of the old Heavy Dragoons. The most astonishing feature of the exploit was that it was the sole work of the squadron-leaders—Wellington had only given the general order to attack—Bock had been with the fraction of the 1st Dragoons which charged along with Anson, and was not directing the marvellous uphill ride. It was a regimental triumph, not an exhibition of cavalry tactics by the Commander-in-Chief or the brigadier[608].

The losses of the victors were very heavy—the 1st Regiment had 2 officers and 28 men killed, 2 other officers wounded (one—von der Decken—mortally), and 37 men. The 2nd Regiment lost 1 officer (von Uslar) killed, with 21 men, and 1 officer and 29 men wounded. In this total the striking figure is the high proportion of killed to wounded—52 to 69—which bears witness to the murderous power of the old musket-ball when delivered point-blank, into the bodies of men who were pressing right up to the muzzles of the infantry in square. There were six men missing to be added to the total of losses—127 in all—whether these were individuals who were taken prisoners in the last attempt to break the square of the 69th, or whether they were mortally wounded men, whose horses carried them far from the scene of action and whose bodies were not found, it is impossible to say. The loss of 127 officers and men out of about 770 present was, however, by no means disproportionately heavy, when the results of the charge are considered.

Of the two French regiments engaged, a whole battalion of the 76th was captured or destroyed—of the 27 officers with it one was killed, 5 wounded, 16 taken prisoners: taking the same proportion of its rank and file, very few out of 650 can have escaped. The 6th Léger was less completely annihilated, but it had its colonel (Molard) and 6 other officers taken prisoners[609], and 8 more wounded, with about 500 rank and file taken or hurt. Allowing for some small losses to the chasseurs, the total casualties of the French must have been about 1,100.

When the last charge of the Heavy Dragoons was over, Foy led his surviving battalions off, followed at a distance by Anson’s brigade, when it had re-formed. The Germans were too fatigued to do more: the leading British infantry, the Light Division, was only just coming in sight far to the rear. The pursuit, therefore, by the four British squadrons had no further results—if they had chanced to have a horse battery with them it might have been much more effective. Six miles from Garcia Hernandez, Foy was relieved to find, waiting for him by the roadside, the long-expected cavalry brigade from the Army of the North—Chauvel’s 1st Hussars and 31st Chasseurs: these fresh squadrons took up the rearguard duty for the rest of the day, and covered the march of the infantry to Peñaranda.

From this day onward Wellington’s pursuit cannot be said to have been urged with any great vigour. On the morning of the 24th the vanguard entered Peñaranda, to find that the French had started off before dawn. G. Anson’s brigade followed, accompanied this time by Bull’s and Ross’s horse artillery, which had come up from the rear. The tail of the enemy’s column was found at Aldea Seca, a few miles beyond Peñaranda: he started off without firing a shot, and was out of sight before more than two guns had been brought to shell him. It seems that opportunities were lost this day—an intelligent observer remarks that ‘if only the whole brigade and twelve guns had come up, we might have taken 500 of them—great part of the infantry were without arms[610].’

That night the British head-quarters and vanguard were at Flores de Avila, but the enemy were quite out of sight. ‘How they get on their troops at such a rate I cannot conceive,’ wrote Wellington, ‘but they left this about two in the morning, and they will arrive in Valladolid to-morrow[611].’ He gave up all attempt at close or rapid pursuit on the 25th, reporting to Lord Bathurst, ‘I find the troops so much fatigued by the battle and their previous and subsequent marches, and the enemy have got so far before our infantry, that I halted this day, and have sent on only the light cavalry and guerrillas.’ After this there was no prospect of doing any further harm to Clausel, or of scattering his demoralized army before it had time to recover its cohesion. ‘This does not look like the quick advance following up a great victory,’ wrote a critical dragoon[612], ‘and I think they will be let off too easily. The peasants report them as in a dreadful state: all their cavalry, except a few for their rearguard, is employed in carrying their sick.’ It may be taken for certain that a general of the Napoleonic school would have urged on his cavalry at all costs—there was plenty of it, and none save Le Marchant’s and Bock’s brigades had suffered any serious loss. Nor can it be doubted that such a hunt would have been richly rewarded by captures. Clausel wrote on the 25th that he could only rally 22,000 men[613]; and as some 48,000 had fought at Salamanca, and the actual losses seem to have been about 14,000, it is clear that he must be allowing for over 12,000 stragglers and unarmed fugitives—whom an active pursuit might have swept up.

Wellington’s defence for the slowness of his movement would undoubtedly have been that a headlong chase might have cost him over-much—he would have lost too many men, and—what was even more important—too many horses by forcing the pace. Clausel’s army had been put out of action for some weeks by the battle of Salamanca—to smash it up still further would give him no such profit as would justify the expenditure of several thousands of his precious British troops. He was looking forward to the possibility of having to fight Soult and Suchet—not to speak of King Joseph—and wished to be as strong as possible for the present. It is probable that he made a mistake in holding back—Clausel, being left practically unmolested, was able to rally his army somewhat sooner than his adversary calculated. By August it was again able to give trouble: in October its strength was sufficient to wreck the Burgos campaign. If it had been well hunted in the last days of July, it would seem that no such reorganization would have been possible—only negligible fragments of it should have reached Valladolid or Burgos. Yet it must always be remembered that economy of men was the cardinal necessity for Wellington—his total British force was so small, the difficulty of getting up drafts and reinforcements was so enormous, the total number of the enemy’s armies in the Peninsula was so overpowering, that he could not afford to thin down his regiments by the exhausting forced marches that were necessary in an active pursuit. It would have been little profit to him if he had exterminated the Army of Portugal, only to find himself left victorious, indeed, but with a force so weak and so tired out that further exertion was impossible. As it was, many of his battalions in August showed only 300 bayonets in line[614], and only recovered their strength, by the reappearance of Badajoz and Salamanca convalescents, and the arrival of drafts, during the following winter.

It was at Flores de Avila on July 25th that Wellington received the news that a new factor had come into the game. King Joseph had left Madrid four days earlier with the Army of the Centre, and was marching northward by the Guadarrama Pass and Villa Castin, with the obvious intention of joining Marmont. This move would have been all-important if it had taken place ten days earlier: but when the Army of Portugal was in absolute rout, and flying by forced marches towards the Douro, the appearance of the King was too late to be dangerous. He could not strengthen the beaten army sufficiently to enable it to fight—and he would expose himself to some peril if he continued his forward march, and came any nearer to the British line of advance.

Joseph’s long hesitation and tardy start require a word of explanation. It will be remembered[615] that his last communication which had got through to Marmont was a dispatch dated June 30, in which he had expressed his surprise that the Army of Portugal was refusing battle, and stated that he could offer no immediate help. If Hill, from Estremadura, should march to join Wellington, he had directed that D’Erlon should move up in a similar fashion northward, and he himself would come also, with all or part of the Army of the Centre. But supposing that Hill should remain in the far south, beyond the Guadiana, Joseph gave no promise of coming to Marmont’s aid. Indeed he never mentioned this contingency at all, except to say that if Wellington had not been joined by his lieutenant, ‘you should choose a good position and give battle with all your troops united.’

Since writing this epistle Joseph had experienced many searchings of heart. On the very day on which it was sent off he had received a dispatch from Soult, which filled him with dismay: the Duke of Dalmatia said that he had forbidden D’Erlon to cross to the north bank of the Tagus, even if it were certain that Hill and his corps had gone to join Wellington. Writing in high wrath, the King, on July 2nd, threatened to remove Soult from his command in Andalusia. ‘If you have formally forbidden D’Erlon to pass the Tagus, in case the English force in Estremadura goes off to join the enemy’s main body, you have given him orders contradictory to those which I sent both to him and to you. You set your authority above mine, you refuse to recognize me as Commander-in-Chief of the Armies of Spain. Consequently, placed as I may be between the two alternatives—of either depriving myself of the service of your talent and military experience, or of allowing the powers confided to me by the Emperor to be broken in my hand almost as soon as given—I can have no hesitation.... Painful as it is to me, therefore, I accept the offer which you formerly made me, to resign your command if I do not revoke my original order; for not only do I refuse to revoke it, but I hereby repeat it again both to you and to Comte d’Erlon. If you prefer to take this extreme step of disobedience, resign your command to D’Erlon, as your senior general of division, and he will take it up till the Emperor shall nominate your successor[616].’

This angry dispatch was followed by another, written on July 6th, which varied the original order to Soult in an important feature. For instead of speaking of a northern movement of D’Erlon’s troops as consequent on a similar transference of Hill’s corps to Castile, it makes no mention of Hill, but prescribes a definite manœuvre without any reference to the action of that British general. ‘Send at once to Toledo a force of 10,000 men: 8,000 infantry, 2,000 horse, with the men and horses for 12 guns. By leaving the guns behind, the march of the corps will be made more rapid, and the roads are good.... I authorize you to evacuate any part of the occupied territory that you may choose, in order to hasten the departure of these 10,000 men, whose arrival I await with great impatience[617].’

Clearly it would take many days for these orders to get to Soult, who was at this time before Cadiz. As a matter of fact they only reached his hands on July 16th, and long before that date Joseph was becoming very anxious at the state of affairs on the Douro. He got news that Caffarelli, scared by Home Popham’s diversion, had sent no succours to Marmont, and he received letters from Suchet, which showed him that he could not count on any reinforcement from Valencia[618]. It was certain that, even if Soult yielded to the peremptory orders sent on July 2 and July 6, the detachment under D’Erlon could not reach Toledo till somewhere about the 1st August. That it would start at all seemed doubtful, in face of a letter of July 3 from D’Erlon, stating that he was being ‘contained’ by no less than 30,000 men under Hill—a scandalous perversion of fact, for Hill had not over two-thirds of that force[619].

The days were running on, Marmont was still unsuccoured: it seemed likely that neither from the North, from Valencia, nor from Andalusia, would any help come to hand. The King grew more and more anxious—all the more so because he had ceased to receive reports from Marmont, since the line of communication with him had been cut by the guerrilleros. Finally, on July 9th[620], he made up his mind that, since no other help could be got for the Army of Portugal, he would march himself with the Army of the Centre, even though to concentrate it he must evacuate all New Castile and La Mancha, and even imperil the safety of Madrid. On that day he issued orders to Treillard to evacuate the valley of the Tagus—all the Talavera and Almaraz region—and to the Rheinbund Germans to abandon La Mancha. All the small posts in the direction of the eastern mountains were also drawn in, even those watching the passes of the Somosierra and the Guadarrama. Only in Toledo, Guadalajara, and Segovia, were small garrisons left behind. By the morning of the 19th July[621] the most distant detachments had all come in, and the Army of the Centre was concentrated at Madrid, about 14,000 strong, and able to spare 10,000 for the field when the capital had been garrisoned. But the King resolved to wait two days longer before marching, because he had just received news of the approach of an unexpected but most welcome reinforcement. Early in the month he had heard that Palombini’s Italian division of the Army of Aragon was hunting the Empecinado and Mina in the direction of Calatayud and Tudela. He had sent out a Spanish emissary with a letter to Palombini, bidding him to draw in towards Madrid, if he had not already marched to join Marmont, who had hoped to get his assistance. It does not seem that the King had built much upon the results of this letter: orders sent to Suchet’s troops had generally been disregarded. But it chanced to reach the Italian general at Alfaro on the Ebro on July 12th, and Palombini, having no opportunity of referring the responsibility to his immediate commander, who was 200 miles away at Valencia, resolved to obey. He marched for Soria and Siguenza, brushing off guerrillero bands that strove to molest him, and sent to Joseph the news that he might be expected at Madrid on the 21st. These tidings came to hand on the 18th, and filled the King with such high satisfaction that he resolved to wait for the Italian division. It arrived on the appointed day, having made a most creditable forced march of 150 miles by mountain roads, through a burnt-up and desolate country. Without leaving it even one night’s rest at Madrid, the King started it off in company with his own troops, which had been awaiting all day the signal for departure[622].

Joseph’s expeditionary force, thus increased to 14,000 men, consisted of his Guards, horse and foot, one French brigade (28th and 75th Ligne), D’Armagnac’s Germans (five battalions and one cavalry regiment), Treillard’s strong division of dragoons, and part of Hugo’s division of Spanish Juramentados, together with Palombini’s detachment, which amounted to six battalions and a regiment of dragoons. The garrisons of Madrid, Toledo, Segovia, and Guadalajara were made up partly of Juramentados, and partly of the large body of drafts for the Army of Andalusia, which had accumulated at Madrid since the posts in the Sierra Morena had been given up in April. The King had been in no hurry to send them on to Soult, and now found them very useful. The command of the garrison was left to General Lafon Blaniac, who was acting as governor of Madrid and Captain-General of New Castile. A few days after Joseph’s departure a welcome addition turned up, in the shape of Suchet’s garrison of Cuenca, under General Maupoint, consisting of two battalions of the 16th regiment and a squadron of chasseurs. On getting the King’s order to evacuate Cuenca, this officer (like Palombini) had obeyed it, and, instead of retiring on Valencia, had come on to Madrid, with his 1,000 men and three millions of reals, representing the provincial treasury[623].

Having once collected his army, the King marched with great speed, passed the defiles of the Guadarrama on the 22nd, and reached Espinar, the great junction of roads in the province of Avila, next day. The cavalry that night were at Villa Castin, eight miles farther to the front, on the road to Arevalo and Valladolid. Here the news came to hand, not from any authorized source but from the rumours of the country-side, that Marmont had crossed the Douro on the 17th, and was closely engaged with Wellington somewhere in the direction of Salamanca. On receiving this information Joseph and Jourdan resolved not to continue their march towards Valladolid, but to swerve westward, with the intention of joining the Duke of Ragusa on the Tormes. Turning off from the main road, the cavalry reached Villanueva de Gomez on the night of the 24th; the King and the infantry got to Blasco Sancho. Orders were issued for the whole army to march on Peñaranda next morning. But during the hours of darkness rumours of the battle of Salamanca and its results came to hand, and on the following morning they were confirmed by the arrival of two Spanish emissaries, one bearing a letter from the wounded Marmont, the other a second from Clausel. The Marshal’s letter was insincere and inconclusive—after giving a long account of the battle, which threw all the blame on Maucune, he said that he had lost 5,000 men, the enemy infinitely more (!), and that the army was falling back to take a position behind the Eresma river[624], or perhaps behind the Douro. Clausel’s epistle was a far more honest document; it said that he was in a state of incapacity to resist Wellington, that he could not put even 20,000 men in line for some days, that he must retreat as fast as possible on Valladolid, to pick up his dépôts and magazines, which he must send off without delay, and that he would then fall back on the Army of the North. He distinctly told the King that, even if the Army of the Centre joined him, they would be unable to resist Wellington for a moment. He recommended Joseph to call up succours from Soult and Suchet: if Wellington and the English main body marched on Madrid the Army of Portugal would remain on the Douro, but only in that case. If pursued by Wellington he must retire towards Burgos. He evidently regarded any junction between his troops and the King’s as impracticable and useless[625].

Confronted by this new and unpromising situation, Joseph and Jourdan had to choose between two policies—they might retire towards Madrid and cover the capital, in the hope that Soult might conceivably have carried out the orders given him on July 6th, and have sent a detachment toward Toledo and Madrid. Or they might, despite of Clausel’s advice and warning, move northward towards the Douro and try to get into communication with the Army of Portugal. If the direct road by Arevalo to Valladolid was too dangerous, there remained another and more circuitous route by Cuellar, which Wellington was too far off to reach.

The King and Jourdan chose the first alternative without a moment’s hesitation[626]: if they joined the Army of Portugal, they had Clausel’s assurance that they could effect nothing. They would be driven back on Burgos; Madrid would be exposed to a raid by any small detachment that Wellington might send against it, and touch with Soult and Suchet would be lost. The King, therefore, marched back by the way that he had come, and had reached on the 26th the Venta de San Rafael, at the foot of the Guadarrama pass. He had got so rapidly out of Wellington’s way that their armies did not touch—save indeed that a patrol of Arentschildt’s brigade surprised and captured near Arevalo 2 officers and 25 men of the King’s light cavalry[627]—Juramentado chasseurs.

When informed that the Army of the Centre had fallen back in haste toward Madrid, Wellington resolved that his duty was to continue pushing Clausel northward, and away from the King. The latter might be disregarded; his strength was known, and it was almost certain that he would not be reinforced. For Hill had just sent in a report, which had come through in four days, that Drouet was showing no signs of moving toward Toledo; and he enclosed an intercepted dispatch of Soult’s, which proved that the latter had no intention whatever of carrying out the King’s oft-repeated orders[628]. Accordingly the British head-quarters were moved on to Arevalo on the 27th of July, and to Olmedo on the 28th. Anson’s and Arentschildt’s light cavalry went on in front: they reported that the enemy was still in a complete state of disorganization. He was burning the villages as he went, and leaving many stragglers dead in the cornfields beside the road, for the wounded were sinking by the way, and any marauders who went far from the main column were being killed by the peasantry and the guerrilleros[629].

Clausel crossed the Douro by the two bridges of Tudela and Puente de Douro on the 27th-28th, leaving only some light troops to the south of the river, and entered Valladolid, where he set to work at once to evacuate all the more valuable stores, and so many of the sick and wounded as could find transport, along the high-road to Palencia and Burgos. The Anglo-Portuguese infantry was already approaching Medina del Campo and Olmedo, while Santocildes, with the section of the Army of Galicia which was not employed on the siege of Astorga, was ordered to march past Toro and Tordesillas to threaten Valladolid from the north bank of the Douro, and Silveira was directed to resume the blockade of Zamora with his militia-division.

On the 29th the Light and 1st Divisions, Wellington’s infantry vanguard, drove in the screen of light troops which Clausel had left in front of the Douro: the French retired and blew up the bridges. But this was of little avail, for the British cavalry forded the river at Boecillo and continued their advance. Thereupon the enemy evacuated the city of Valladolid, and withdrew along the direct road to Burgos, save one division (Foy’s), which retreated excentrically, up the north bank of the river toward Aranda. In Valladolid were found 17 guns, 800 sick and wounded, whose condition had rendered it impossible for them to travel, and a large magazine filled with artillery material, besides other stores. The people received Wellington with every mark of enthusiasm, though they had the reputation of including a greater proportion of Afrancesados than any other city of northern Spain[630]. They treated him to illuminations, a ball, and copious harangues of congratulation. Meanwhile Anson’s brigade swept the country to the east and north, and reported no enemy visible; while the guerrillero Marquinez entered Palencia, and captured 300 stragglers from Clausel’s rearguard. The French had gone back beyond the Arlanza river, and were lying at Lerma, Torquemada, and Santa Maria del Campo, ready to retreat to Burgos itself if any further pressure was applied. It was not forthcoming—much to Clausel’s surprise—and he halted and began to reorganize his shattered army. What survived of his train and stores, his sick, and the cadres of several skeleton battalions were sent back to Burgos. The rest stood still, awaiting further developments.

Wellington, meanwhile, had brought none of his infantry north of the Douro, though all were now near at hand, and the Light Division had repaired the bridge of Tudela. He had resolved to turn his attention to King Joseph and Madrid. Only Santocildes and his two Galician divisions were ordered up to Valladolid (where they arrived on August 6th) to support Anson’s cavalry, who took up cantonments at various villages in front and to the flank of the city.

The movements of the King and his army on July 27th-31st had been somewhat puzzling to the British general. On arriving at the foot of the Guadarrama pass, they had halted, and then (instead of pursuing the straight road to Madrid) had swerved off to Segovia, which lies on the northern slope of the mountains, as if they had abandoned their original intention of leaving the Army of Portugal to its own devices. This flank march was the result of the receipt of letters borne by Marmont’s aide-de-camp, Fabvier, which said that Clausel was no longer being pursued with energy, and that it was possible that he might stop on the Adaja and cover Valladolid[631]. It was a momentary inspiration, with no reality behind it, for Clausel was in full retreat again before the King reached Segovia. But misled by its fallacious cheerfulness, Joseph had made a move which rendered it possible for him to join the Army of Portugal, if it had really halted. He was soon undeceived, and after remaining three days at Segovia in some peril, for Wellington had now turned against him, he evacuated that high-lying city on August 1st, and made his final retreat on Madrid by the Guadarrama pass.

Just after he had left Segovia[632] King Joseph received a dispatch from Soult, dated July 16. It was a reply to the peremptory orders sent him on July 6th, which had directed him to evacuate part of Andalusia and to send a large detachment to Toledo. This was a strange document, which amounted to an absolute refusal to obey instructions. After stating (quite falsely) that Hill was advancing with 30,000 men in Estremadura, and that in consequence he was himself about to repair thither, he announced that the evacuation of Andalusia would be ruinous to the French cause in Spain. ‘We could not find means to subsist either on the Tagus or in Estremadura, and from one position to another we should retreat as far as the Ebro. There is a way to avoid this; by taking the initiative we can save 6,000 sick and maimed men whom I should probably have to abandon, as well as 200,000 Spaniards (who have declared for your Majesty, and will be lost without hope), also 2,000 guns, and the only artillery arsenal now existing in Spain. A single order by your Majesty can effect this, and shorten the Spanish war by six campaigns. Let your Majesty come to Andalusia in person, with every man that can be collected: if the number is large we can increase the expeditionary force in Estremadura to 25,000 or 30,000 men, and transfer the seat of war to the left bank of the Tagus. The Army of Portugal, being relieved of pressure, will be able to come into line again. Whatever occurs, your Majesty will find yourself at the head of a splendid army, ready to deliver battle. If the worst came, and we were unlucky, there is always the resource of retiring on the Army of Aragon [in Valencia] and so keeping the field.... I have the honour to repeat to your Majesty that I cannot send any detachments beyond the Sierra Morena or the Guadiana, save by evacuating all Andalusia and marching with my whole army. I must have a positive order from your Majesty to that effect[633].’

This was an astonishing letter for a Commander-in-Chief to receive from a subordinate. Instead of obeying a very definite order to move a certain number of troops to a certain point, Soult replies by sending to the King an alternative plan of campaign. And this plan, it is not too much to say, was an absolutely perverse and insane one. It must be remembered that, when Soult was writing, the battle of Salamanca was still six days in the future, and the Army of Portugal was known to be at close quarters with Wellington and in urgent need of reinforcements. Soult urges his master to abandon Marmont to the enemy, to evacuate Madrid, to give up his communication with France, and to retire into Andalusia, where he would be cut off from all the other imperial armies, for it was not possible even to communicate with Suchet and Valencia, since the Spanish Army of Murcia blocked the way. The cardinal sin of this project was that if the French were to hold Spain at all, it was necessary for them to be strong in the North: Soult proposed to deliver over the North to Wellington, by leaving Marmont in the lurch. As Napoleon had observed, five months earlier, ‘a check to the Army of Portugal would be a calamity which would make itself felt all over Spain. A check to the Army of the South might force it back on Madrid or Valencia, but would be of a very different degree of importance[634].’ He had said much the same thing four years before, when first his armies were invading Spain; for he then expressed the opinion that a disaster to Bessières in Castile would be the one ruinous possibility: defeats in the South or East mattered comparatively little. Soult, blinded by his own interest in the viceroyalty of Andalusia, refused to see this obvious fact. Long after he had received the news of Salamanca, he persisted in maintaining that the true policy was to hold on to Seville, even when the British army was at Madrid, and the wrecks of Marmont’s forces were retiring on Burgos. Of this we shall hear more presently.

King Joseph on receiving Soult’s letter returned answer: ‘You will see by my letter of the 29th July the errors that you have been labouring under as to Lord Wellington’s real designs. Hasten, therefore, to carry out the orders which I give you—viz. to evacuate Andalusia and march with your whole army on Toledo[635].’ Even so the King did not obtain exact obedience to his commands, but received a second series of counter-projects: and in the end Soult marched not on Toledo but on Valencia, and only many days after he had been instructed to commence his movement.

Wellington was, of course, unaware of the exact motives which had induced King Joseph to make his flank march to Segovia, but he considered that it might mean that there was some intention on the part of Clausel to bring the Army of Portugal to join the Army of the Centre by way of the Upper Douro [i. e. via Aranda]. He therefore resolved to make such a conjunction impossible, by driving the King over the mountains and towards Madrid[636].

While Anson’s and Arentschildt’s cavalry continued the pursuit of Clausel on the 29th-30th, and the 1st and Light Divisions were brought up to the neighbourhood of Tudela, opposite Valladolid, the rest of the army was turned against King Joseph. It was necessary to find out, as a preliminary, whether he was really making a stand at Segovia. To ascertain this point D’Urban’s Portuguese horse pushed out from Olmedo on the 29th, and found the King’s cavalry in Santa Maria de Nieva, ten miles in front of Segovia. Deserters from the Spanish Guards here came in to D’Urban, and gave him useful information as to the exact strength of the Army of the Centre. On the 30th Wellington placed at D’Urban’s disposal the German Heavy Dragoons, a battalion of Halkett’s brigade of the 7th Division, and a British battery, telling him to drive in the enemy’s screen. The French gave way reluctantly, and on hearing of their attitude Wellington ordered the whole 7th Division to follow D’Urban’s detachment, and other divisions to make ready to move in succession. But the report that Segovia was being firmly held, as the point de rassemblement[637] for Clausel, turned out to be false, for when the flying column approached that city it learnt that the main body of the enemy had left it in the morning for the Guadarrama pass. A considerable rearguard, under General Espert[638], however, was left to guard Segovia till the King should have got a fair start; and its mediaeval walls made it defensible for a short time against a force without heavy artillery. D’Urban could do nothing with his cavalry, but sent to Wellington a request that the 7th Division might move round to intercept Espert’s retreat towards the Guadarrama by a forced march. His chief replied that he had no great faith in the success of any of these attempts to ‘cut the French off,’ and that it did not appear to him more practicable at Segovia than elsewhere. ‘The result of such attempts would merely be to fatigue the troops in getting into Segovia, and it might as well be done without fatiguing them.’ And so it was, for Espert decamped by night on August 3 unmolested, and D’Urban entered the place next morning, followed some time later by the infantry. He at once explored the mountain road toward the pass, and found that the French had completely disappeared: not even at the ‘Puerto’ of the Guadarrama was a vedette to be seen.

Wellington had now to revise his whole plan of campaign, since it had become clear that the two armies opposed to him had retreated in different directions, and could not possibly combine. While it was still conceivable that Clausel might defend the line of the Douro, he had brought up the main body of his infantry to Olmedo. But after his entry into Valladolid on the 30th, and the precipitate retreat of the Army of Portugal toward Burgos, he had been for two days under the impression that King Joseph might stand at Segovia. Not only had he sent on the German dragoons and the 7th Division to follow D’Urban, but on July 31st he moved his own head-quarters and the 3rd Division to Cuellar, while the 4th, 5th, and 6th Divisions were at El Pino on the Cega river, a few miles behind. He wrote next morning (August 1st) that he was in such a position that Joseph and Clausel could not possibly join, and that if the King lingered any longer at Segovia, ‘I can move upon him, and make him go quicker than he will like[639].’ But he imagined that the Army of the Centre would fall back instantly on Madrid—as indeed it was doing at the very moment that he was writing his dispatch.

On receiving the information that Joseph had vanished, Wellington halted for three whole days [August 2nd, 3rd, 4th] with his head-quarters at Cuellar, and his infantry gathered round him in its neighbourhood. The 1st and Light Divisions, which had marched as far as the Douro, came southward to join the rest. But it was only on the 5th that orders were issued for the march of nearly the whole army on Segovia, by the road to Mozencillo. During these three days of halt Wellington had made up his mind as to his general policy. Clausel, whose army was harmless for the present, was to be ignored: only a small containing force was to be left in front of him, while the main body of the Anglo-Portuguese host marched on Madrid.

The strategical purpose that determined this decision was never set forth in full by Wellington. His contemporary dispatches to Lord Bathurst and to Hill are short, and lack explanatory detail—he states his decision, but says little of his reasons for making it. Nor did he, at the end of the campaign, write any long official narrative of his doings, as he had done in 1810 and 1811. The causes that governed his action have to be deduced from scattered opinions expressed in many different documents. We need hardly take seriously the common French dictum, found in many a book written by his exasperated opponents, that he ‘wished to parade himself as conqueror and liberator in the Spanish capital.’ That was not the sort of motive which any serious student of Wellington’s character would dream of imputing to him. Nor, if we translate it into less offensive terms, would it be true to say that it was the political advantage of expelling the King from Madrid, and so demonstrating to all Europe the weakness of the French hold on the Peninsula, that was the determining cause of the march into New Castile and the abandonment of the campaign on the Douro. We must rather look for definite military reasons. And of these the predominant one was that he conceived that the most probable result of the battle of Salamanca would be to force the King to call up Soult and Suchet to Madrid, in order to check the Anglo-Portuguese army, even at the cost of abandoning great tracts of conquered land in Andalusia and Valencia. Such indeed, as we have already seen, was Joseph’s purpose. The order to Soult to evacuate his viceroyalty and to march on Toledo with his whole army had been issued a day or two before Wellington had made up his mind to turn southward. Suchet had been directed at the same time to send all that he could spare toward Madrid. Though the pursuit of Clausel to the Ebro offered many advantages, it would be a ruinous move if the enemy should concentrate 70,000 men at Madrid, and then march on Valladolid, to take the allied army in the rear and cut it off from Portugal.

It was quite uncertain whether Soult or Suchet would make this move. But that it was the correct one is certain. Wellington was aware that Soult had been summoned to send troops northward. Hitherto he had found excuses for refusing to obey, as his last intercepted dispatch of July 8th sufficiently showed. But the results of Salamanca might probably render further disobedience impossible: and the moment that Soult should hear of that tremendous event, it was reasonable to suppose that he would abandon his viceroyalty, and march to join the King with every available man. If he found Joseph and his army still in possession of Madrid, they would have a central base and magazines from which to operate, and a very favourable strategic position. It was true that Wellington could call up Hill’s 18,000 men, but this was the only succour on which he could count: neither Ballasteros nor the numerous garrison of Cadiz would ever appear in New Castile, if old experience was to be trusted. If some Spaniards did arrive, they would be very uncertain aid. Granted, therefore, that Soult marched on Toledo and Madrid to join the King, Wellington must take almost every man of the Salamanca army to face them, even allowing for the certain junction of Hill. He could only afford to leave a small ‘containing force’ to look after Clausel.

But there was another possibility which made the situation still more doubtful. Would Suchet also push up to join King Joseph with the Army of Valencia, or the greater part of it? If he should do so, the odds would be too great, and a defensive campaign to cover Portugal, and so much as was possible of the newly regained Spanish provinces, would be the only resource. But Suchet’s action depended upon a factor over which Wellington had some influence, though not a complete and dominating control. When he had started on the Salamanca campaign he had been relying on Lord William Bentinck’s Sicilian expedition to keep the French in Valencia engaged: an attack on Catalonia would draw Suchet northward with all his reserves, and nothing would be left which O’Donnell and the Spanish army of Murcia could not ‘contain.’ It will be remembered that a few days before the battle of Salamanca[640] Wellington had received the disheartening news that Bentinck had countermanded his expedition, and was turning himself to some chimerical scheme for invading Italy. This had left Suchet’s attention free for the moment, and he might conceivably have sent troops to join the Army of the Centre. Fortunately he had not done so—only Palombini’s division and the small garrison of Cuenca had been swept up by King Joseph, without the Marshal’s consent and much to his disgust.

Now, however, the whole prospect in eastern Spain had been transformed by the cheering news, received on July 30th near Valladolid[641], that Bentinck had once more changed his mind, and that a considerable expeditionary force under General Maitland had been sent to Majorca, to pick up the Spaniards of Whittingham and Roche, and to execute, after all, the projected diversion. Maitland’s own dispatch arrived four days later; it had travelled with extraordinary celerity from Palma to Cuellar in fifteen days, and announced his arrival on the Spanish coast and his intention to operate at once. This being so, Suchet would be ‘out of the game’ if all went well, and only the King and Soult need be taken into consideration for the next month. But it was all-important that the diversion on the East Coast should be executed with firmness and decision.

The best summary of Wellington’s views at this moment is to be found in his letter to Lord William Bentinck[642], explaining the importance of Maitland’s action in August.

‘I have lately, on the 22nd, beaten Marshal Marmont in a general action near Salamanca, and I have pursued him beyond the Douro and entered Valladolid. The King is at Segovia with 12,000 or 15,000 men, and, having driven Marmont from the lower Douro, my next object is to prevent him and Marmont (if possible) from joining: this I am about to attempt. Either the French [i. e. King Joseph] must lose all communication with their troops in the north of Spain, or they must oblige me to withdraw towards the frontiers of Portugal. This they cannot effect without bringing against me either Suchet’s army, or Soult’s army, or both. I cannot but think, therefore, that it is very important that the attention of Suchet should be diverted from his possible operations against me by the Sicilian army, which will go to such important objects as Tarragona and Valencia.... If Suchet’s attention cannot be diverted from me, and (notwithstanding Marmont’s defeat) the French become too strong for me, I shall at least have the satisfaction of reflecting, while I am retiring, that General Maitland’s progress will be unopposed, and we shall take Tarragona and Valencia.’

A few days later Wellington was pleased to find that Suchet had been duly scared. An intercepted dispatch from him to King Joseph showed that he was thinking of nothing but the appearance of an English fleet off the Valencian coast, and that it was most unlikely that he would send any serious succours to the King[643]. There remained therefore only Soult to be considered. The natural thing for him to do would be to evacuate Andalusia: as Wellington wrote a fortnight later, ‘any other but a modern French army would now leave that province[644].’ Hill was writing at the same time, ‘Lord Wellington continues advancing, and if he is able to keep his forward position, Soult will be ordered to reinforce the King. Indeed I think that he must quit this part of the country entirely, if matters do not go better with them’ [the French][645].

What neither Wellington nor Hill could foresee, in early August, was that the Marshal would still hang on to Andalusia, and renew, in a more pressing form, his proposal of July 16th that Joseph and the Army of the Centre should take refuge with him beyond the Sierra Morena. But whether King Joseph received, or did not receive, succours from the South or East, it was clearly good military policy to turn him out of Madrid, while the Army of Portugal was still completely negligible as a factor in the game. The loss of Madrid would be ruinous to him if he was left without reinforcements: if he received them, the enemy would find the problem of subsistence much more difficult if he had not Madrid to rely upon as his central base and magazine. Toledo would not serve him half so well. And the political effects of the recovery of the Spanish capital, even if only for a time, must be well worth gaining. It would shake the confidence of the Afrancesado party all over the Peninsula, and it would be noted all round Europe.

Accordingly Wellington resolved to leave only a small containing detachment on the Douro, to look after Clausel, whose recuperative power he somewhat underrated, and to march on Madrid with a force that would enable him, if joined by Hill, to fight Soult and King Joseph in combination. The containing body was put in charge of Clinton, who was almost the only divisional general of the old stock who still remained with the army. Graham and Picton were invalided, Leith and Lowry Cole had been wounded at Salamanca, along with Beresford and Stapleton Cotton. Nearly all the divisions were under interim commanders. Another reason for choosing Clinton for the detached duty was that his division, the 6th, had suffered more than any other unit at the recent battle. It was very low in numbers, only 3,700 men, including its Portuguese brigade, and needed to pick up convalescents and drafts before it could be considered effective for field service. Along with the 6th Division there were left the five battalions[646] that had recently joined the army from England or the Mediterranean stations: they were all Walcheren regiments, and still riddled with sickness; and all had suffered from the forced marches which had brought them to the front just before. Wellington was discontented with their condition. ‘The truth is, neither officers nor soldiers are accustomed to march. The men are very irregular, and owing to their irregularities not able to bear the labour of marching in the heat of the sun[647].’ They were left to strengthen Clinton, and to acclimatize themselves to the Spanish summer: if taken on to Madrid they would have sown the roadside with broken-down stragglers.

The five newly-arrived battalions brought Clinton’s strength up to 7,000 infantry. The whole of this force was cantoned in and about Cuellar, while the cavalry allotted to it, Anson’s brigade, took a more advanced position, along and beyond the Douro, covering not only its own infantry but the two Spanish divisions of Santocildes, who had occupied Valladolid on August 6th. The remainder of the Army of Galicia was still occupied in the interminable siege of Astorga, which to Wellington’s disgust still lingered on. The heavy guns had at last come up from Corunna, but the bombardment seemed to have little effect. Silveira had resumed the blockade of Zamora, but having no siege artillery could only wait till starvation should compel its garrison of 700 men to submit. Toro and Tordesillas were the only other places where Marmont had left a detachment; the latter surrendered to Santocildes on his march to Valladolid—about 300 French were taken there. The former was still holding out, observed by a small Spanish force. The task of keeping a close look-out upon Clausel was handed over to the guerrilleros—the Castilian chiefs Saornil, Marquinez, and Principe. An English officer, who spent some days with the two last at this juncture, describes them as ‘bandits, but very troublesome ones for the French.’ Deducting the Spaniards left before Astorga, and the Portuguese left before Zamora, there were some 18,000 men in all told off to ‘contain’ Clausel. The orders left behind[648] were that they should remain in their cantonments unless the enemy should move—which Wellington did not think a likely contingency, ‘as they have nothing but their cavalry in a state fit for service.’ But if, rallying sooner than he expected, the French should march by Palencia to try to rescue the garrisons of Astorga and Zamora, Santocildes was to retire, and to endeavour to defend the line of the Esla, while Silveira was to raise the blockade of Zamora and fall back behind that same river. If, instead of making a raid westward to save the garrisons, Clausel should move against Valladolid and the line of the Douro, Anson’s cavalry was to retire and join Clinton at Cuellar; and if the enemy came on against them in full force, both were then to fall back on Segovia. Santocildes was then directed to endeavour to move round Clausel’s rear, and to cut his communication with Burgos. Contrary to Wellington’s expectation[649], as we shall presently see, the French general made both the moves suggested—he sent a column to relieve Astorga and Zamora, and marched with his main body on Valladolid. The consequences of his advance will be related in their due place.

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SECTION XXXIII: CHAPTER IX

THE PURSUIT OF KING JOSEPH. MAJALAHONDA. WELLINGTON AT MADRID

Having thus made all his arrangements for ‘containing’ Clausel, and for dealing with what he considered the unlikely chance of an offensive move by the Army of Portugal, Wellington was at liberty to carry out his new strategical move. The mass of troops collected at Cuellar and its neighbourhood was at last set in motion, and, after his short halt and time of doubting, he himself marched against Madrid with the whole remaining force at his disposal—the 1st, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 7th, and Light Divisions, Arentschildt’s, Bock’s, and Ponsonby’s [late Le Marchant’s] cavalry brigades, the Portuguese infantry of Pack and Bradford, with D’Urban’s horse of that same nation, as also Carlos de España’s Spanish infantry and Julian Sanchez’s lancers. The whole, allowing for Salamanca losses and the wear and tear of the high-roads, amounted to about 36,000 men[650]. It was ample for the hunting of King Joseph, and sufficient, if Hill were called up, to face the King and Soult in conjunction, supposing that the latter should at last evacuate Andalusia and march on Toledo. Santocildes and Clinton were informed that it was the intention of the Commander-in-Chief to return to Castile when affairs in the South had been settled in a satisfactory fashion. No date, of course, could be assigned: all would depend on Soult’s next move.

On August 7th the vanguard, consisting of the force that had occupied Segovia—D’Urban’s Portuguese squadrons, the heavy German dragoons, Macdonald’s horse artillery troop, and one light battalion of the German Legion—marched forward six leagues, ‘five of them against the collar,’ remarks an artillery officer. The steep route lay past the royal summer-palace of San Ildefonso, ‘a beautiful place, and most magnificently fitted up: what is very singular, the French have not destroyed a single stick of it: the rooms are hung as thick as can be with paintings of sorts[651].’ No hostile vedettes were discovered on the Guadarrama, and a reconnoitring party pushed as far as the Escurial, and reported that the enemy’s most outlying picket was at Galapagar, three or four miles to the south-east of that melancholy pile. Meanwhile the main body, a march behind the vanguard, started from Segovia on the 8th, Ponsonby’s dragoons and the 7th Division leading; then came Alten’s brigade, the 3rd, 4th, and 5th Divisions, and Pack. The rear was brought up by the 1st and Light Divisions and Bradford, who only started from the neighbourhood of Segovia on the 9th[652]. The necessity for moving the whole army by a single mountain road—though it was a well-engineered one—caused the column to be of an immoderate length, and progress was slow. Head-quarters were at San Ildefonso on the 8th and 9th August, at Nava Cerrada (beyond the summit of the Guadarrama) on the 10th, at Torre Lodones near the Escurial on the 11th.

Meanwhile D’Urban, far ahead of the main body, occupied the Escurial on the 9th, and pushed on cautiously to Galapagar, from whence the enemy had vanished. His rearguard was discovered at Las Rosas and Majalahonda, five miles nearer to Madrid. Wellington’s orders were that his vanguard was to keep well closed up, the Germans close behind the Portuguese, and that nothing was to be risked till support from the leading divisions of the army was close at hand. Wherefore on the 10th D’Urban, finding the French in force at Las Rosas, only advanced a few miles, and bivouacked on the Guadarrama river at the bridge of Retamar. He received news from the peasantry that King Joseph was preparing to evacuate Madrid, that convoys had already started, and that the main body of the Army of the Centre was to march by the road of Mostoles on Toledo, where Soult was expected in a few days. The information—true as regards the evacuation, false as regards the approach of Soult—was duly sent back to Wellington, who lay that night at Nava Cerrada, fifteen miles to the rear, with the 7th Division and Ponsonby’s cavalry[653].

Madrid was at this moment a scene of tumult and despair. The King had retired from Segovia still in a state of uncertainty as to whether Wellington intended to turn against him, or whether he would pursue Clausel. He quite recognized the fact that, even if Soult obeyed the last dispatch sent to him on August 2nd, it would be too late for him to arrive in time to save Madrid. But there was a pause of some days, while Wellington was making up his mind at Cuellar, and it was only on the morning of the 8th that the news arrived that a strong column (D’Urban and the advanced guard) had started from Segovia on the preceding day, and that more troops were following. The orders to make ready for departure were issued at once, and a veritable panic set in among the French residents and the Afrancesados. ‘Every one,’ wrote a keen observer on the 9th August, ‘is packing up his valuables and making ready for a flitting. Not to speak of the many Spaniards of birth and fortune who have committed themselves to the King’s cause, there is an infinite number of minor officials and hangers-on of the palace, who by preference or by force of habit stuck to their old places. All these poor wretches dare not stay behind when the King goes—their lot would be undoubtedly a dreadful one, they would fall victims to the ferocious patriotism of their fellow-citizens, who have never forgiven their desertion. Since the word for departure went round, every one has been hunting for a vehicle or a saddle-beast, to get off at all costs. Add to this crowd a swarm of valets, servants, and dependants of all sorts. Most of the merchants and officials are, as is natural, taking their families with them: the caravan will be interminable. All night the noise of carriages, carts, and wagons, rolling by without a moment’s cessation under my windows, kept me from sleep.’ On the next morning he adds, ‘More than 2,000 vehicles of one sort and another, loaded with bundles and bales and furniture, with whole families squatting on top, have quitted Madrid. Adding those who follow on foot or on horseback, there must be easily 10,000 of them. They are mostly without arms, there are numbers of women, old people, and children: it is a lamentable sight: they take the Aranjuez road, guarded by a considerable escort[654].’

The King, after resigning himself to the retreat, and giving orders for the departure of the convoy and the greater part of his infantry, had still one troublesome point to settle. Should he, or should he not, leave a garrison behind, to defend the great fortified enceinte on the Retiro heights, outside the eastern gate of the city, which his brother had constructed, to serve as a citadel to hold down Madrid, and an arsenal to contain the assortment of stores of all kinds. Heavy material, especially in the way of artillery—had been accumulating there since the French occupation began. Here were parked all the guns captured at Ucles, Almonaçid, and Ocaña, and tens of thousands of muskets, the spoil of those same fields. There was a whole convoy of clothing destined for the Army of the South, and much more that Joseph had caused to be made for his skeleton army of Juramentados. There were 900 barrels of powder and some millions of rounds of infantry cartridges, not to speak of much arsenal plant of all kinds. All this would have either to be blown up or to be defended. The fortifications were good against guerrilleros or insurgents: there was a double enceinte and a star-fort in the interior. But against siege-guns the place could obviously hold out for not more than a limited number of days. After twenty-four hours of wavering, Joseph—contrary to Jourdan’s advice—resolved to garrison the Retiro, on the chance that it might defend itself till Soult reached Toledo, and a counter-attack upon Madrid became possible. If Soult should not appear, the place was doomed clearly enough: and the previous behaviour of the Duke of Dalmatia made it by no means likely that he would present himself in time. However, the King directed Lafon Blaniac, the governor of the province of La Mancha, to shut himself in the works, with some 2,000 men, consisting mainly of the drafts belonging to the Army of Andalusia: he would not leave any of the Army of the Centre. Probably he considered that Soult would feel more interest in the fate of the Retiro if his own men formed its garrison. They were a haphazard assembly, belonging to some dozen different regiments[655], under-officered and mostly conscripts. But they were all French troops of the line; no Juramentados were among them. To their charge were handed over some 500 non-transportable sick of the Army of the Centre, mostly men who had collapsed under the recent forced marches to and from Blasco Sancho. They were not in the Retiro, but at the military hospital in the Prado, outside the fortifications.

Having sent off towards Aranjuez his convoy and the larger part of his troops, the King was suddenly seized with a qualm that he might be flying from an imaginary danger. What if the column that had been heard of on the Guadarrama was simply a demonstration—perhaps half a dozen squadrons and a few battalions of infantry? He would be shamed for ever if he evacuated his capital before a skeleton enemy. Obsessed by this idea, he ordered General Treillard to take the whole of his cavalry—over 2,000 sabres—and drive in Wellington’s advanced guard at all costs: Palombini’s Italian division marched out from Madrid to support the reconnaissance. Treillard was ordered to use every effort to take prisoners, from whom information could probably be extracted by judicious questioning.

On the morning of the 11th the French outpost-line outside of Madrid had been held only by Reiset’s brigade of dragoons (13th and 18th regiments), about 700 sabres. It was these troops that D’Urban had discovered on the previous night at Las Rosas: at dawn he proceeded to drive them in, making sure that they would retire, as they had regularly done hitherto. His own force was much the same as that of the enemy, his three weak regiments (seven squadrons) amounting to a little over 700 men. But he had with him Macdonald’s horse artillery, and the French were gunless. Demonstrating against Reiset’s front with two regiments, D’Urban turned him with the third and two guns. The flank movement had its due effect, and the dragoons gave back, when shelled diagonally from a convenient slope. They retired as far as the village of Las Rosas, and made a stand there: but on the flanking movement being repeated, they again drew back, and passing a second village—Majalahonda—went out of sight, taking cover in woods in the direction of Mostoles and Boadilla. D’Urban was now within seven miles of Madrid, and thought it well to write to Wellington to ask whether he should endeavour to enter the city or not. The reply sent to him was that he was to go no farther than Aravaca—three miles outside the walls—till he should be supported; the head of the main column, headed by Ponsonby’s heavy dragoons, would be up by the evening.

Long before this answer reached him D’Urban was in terrible trouble. The manœuvring of the morning had taken up some four hours; it was about 10 when the French disappeared. While waiting for orders, the brigadier directed his regiments to quarter themselves in Majalahonda, water their horses, and cook their midday meal. After the pickets had been thrown out, all went quietly for five hours, and most of the men were enjoying a siesta at 3.30. They had now support close behind them, as the heavy German brigade, and the 1st Light Battalion of the K.G.L. had come up as far as Las Rosas, only three-quarters of a mile to their rear. The advance was to be resumed when the worst heat of the day should be over.

But a little before four o’clock masses of French cavalry were seen debouching from the woods in front of Boadilla. This was Treillard, who had come up from the rear with four fresh regiments (19th and 22nd Dragoons, Palombini’s Italian Dragons de Napoléon, and the 1st Westphalian Lancers[656]), and had picked up Reiset’s brigade on the way. The whole force was over 2,000 strong, and was advancing in three lines at a great pace, evidently prepared to attack without hesitation. D’Urban had barely time to form a line in front of Majalahonda, when the enemy were upon him.

It is certain that the wise policy would have been to make a running fight of it, and to fall back at once on the Germans at Las Rosas, for the Portuguese were outnumbered three to one. But D’Urban was a daring leader, honourably ambitious of distinction, and the excellent behaviour of his brigade at Salamanca had inspired him with an exaggerated confidence in their steadiness. He sent back messengers to hurry up the German dragoons, and took position in front of Majalahonda, throwing out one squadron in skirmishing line[657], deploying five more in line of battle (1st and 12th regiments), and keeping one in reserve on his left flank to cover four horse artillery guns there placed. Here also were placed a party of forty of the German Dragoons, who had been sent out on exploring duty, and joined the Portuguese in time for the fight.

Treillard came on in three successive lines of brigades, each composed of six squadrons, Reiset’s dragoons (13th and 18th) forming the front line, the other dragoon brigade (19th and 22nd) the second, and the two foreign regiments the reserve. The clash came very quickly, before the British guns had time to fire more than three or four rounds. The Portuguese rode forward briskly enough till they were within a few yards of the enemy, when they checked, wavered, and went about, leaving their brigadier and their colonels, who were riding well in front, actually in the French ranks. D’Urban cut his way out—the Visconde de Barbaçena and Colonel Lobo were both severely wounded and taken prisoners. The broken line shivered in all directions, and went to the rear pursued by the French: some of the fugitives rode into and carried away the reserve squadron, which abandoned the guns on the left as they were limbering up. There was a wild chase for the mile that intervened between the battle spot in front of Majalahonda and the village of Las Rosas. In it three of the four horse artillery guns were captured—one by a wheel breaking, the other two by their drivers being cut down by the pursuing dragoons. Captain Dyneley, commanding the left section of the battery, and fourteen of his men were taken prisoners—mostly wounded. The small party of German dragoons, under an officer named Kuhls, who chanced to be present, made a desperate attempt to save the guns. ‘Oh, how those poor fellows behaved!’ wrote Dyneley, ‘they were not much more than twenty in number, but when they saw the scrape our guns were in, they formed up to support us, which they had no sooner done than down came at least 150 dragoons and lancers: the poor fellows fought like men, but of course they were soon overpowered, and every soul of them cut to pieces.’

The main body of the leading French brigade rode, without a check, up to the first houses of Las Rosas, where they found the German heavy brigade only just getting into order, so swift had the rout been. When D’Urban’s first alarm came to hand, the horses were all unsaddled, the men, some asleep, some occupied in grooming their mounts or leading them to water. The trumpets blew, but the squadrons were only just assembling, when in a confused mass and a cloud of dust flying Portuguese and pursuing French hurtled in among them. That no irreparable disaster took place was due to two causes—two captains[658], who had got a few of these men already together, gallantly charged the head of the French to gain time, and some of the light infantry opened a spattering fire upon them from the houses. Reiset called back his regiments to re-form them, and meanwhile the Germans came pouring out of the village and got into line anyhow, ‘some on barebacked horses, some with bare heads, others in forage-caps, many in their shirt-sleeves.’ By the time that the French were advancing again, all the four squadrons of the heavies were more or less in line, and D’Urban had rallied the greater part of his Portuguese on their left. The fight in front of Las Rosas was very fierce, though the Portuguese soon had enough of it and retired. But the Germans made a splendid resistance, and ended by beating back the front line of the enemy. Treillard then put in his second line, and under the charge of these fresh squadrons the dragoons of the Legion, still fighting obstinately, were pressed back to the entrance of the village: Colonel Jonquières, commanding the brigade in Bock’s absence, was taken prisoner with a few of his men. The salvation of the overmatched cavalry was that the light infantry battalion of the Legion had now lined the outskirts of the village, and opened such a hot fire that the enemy had to draw back.

What Treillard would have done had he been left undisturbed it is impossible to say, but just at this moment Ponsonby’s cavalry brigade and the head of the infantry column of the 7th Division came in sight from the rear, hurrying up to support the vanguard. The French drew off, and retired in mass, with such haste that they did not even bring off the captured guns, which were found by the roadside not much damaged, though an attempt had been made to destroy their carriages.

In this fierce fight, which was so honourable to the Germans and so much the reverse to the Portuguese, the vanguard lost nearly 200 men. The heavy brigade had 1 officer and 13 men killed, 5 officers and 35 men wounded, 1 officer (Colonel Jonquières) and 6 men prisoners. The Portuguese naturally suffered much more—by their own fault, for it was in the rout that they were cut up. They had 3 officers and 30 men killed, 3 officers and 49 men wounded, and 1 officer[659] and 22 men missing. Macdonald’s unfortunate battery lost 6 killed, 6 wounded, and its second captain (Dyneley) and 14 men missing: most of the latter were more or less hurt. The K.G.L. light battalion had 7 wounded. The total casualty list, therefore, was 15 officers and 182 men. It is probable that the French did not suffer much less, for they had as many as 17 officers disabled, including Reiset, the brigadier who led the first line, and 11 more of the officers of his two regiments: the supporting corps lost only 5 officers wounded among the four of them[660]. But a loss of 17 officers must certainly imply that of at least 150 men: the Germans had used their broadswords most effectively. Treillard sought to diminish the effect of his loss by making the preposterous statement that he had killed 150 of the allies, wounded 500, and carried off 60 prisoners; he forgot also to mention that he left the three captured guns behind him.

After this affair Wellington made the memorandum: ‘the occurrences of the 22nd of July [Salamanca] had induced me to hope that the Portuguese dragoons would have conducted themselves better, or I should not have placed them at the outposts of the army. I shall not place them again in situations in which, by their misconduct, they can influence the safety of other troops[661].’ It is fair to D’Urban’s men, however, to remember that they were put into action against superior numbers, and with a knowledge that they themselves were unsupported, while the enemy had two lines of reserve behind him. To be broken under such circumstances was perhaps inevitable. But the second rout, in the vicinity of Las Rosas, was much more discreditable. Their brigadier, very reticent in his dispatch to Wellington, wrote in a private letter: ‘The same men who at Salamanca followed me into the French ranks like British dragoons, on this 11th of August at the first charge went just far enough to leave me in the midst of the enemy’s ranks. In the second, which, having got them rallied, I attempted, I could not get them within ten yards of the enemy-they left me alone, and vanished from before the helmets like leaves before the autumn wind[662].’

Treillard brought back to King Joseph the news that Wellington in person was certainly marching on Madrid with the greater part of his army. Indeed his prisoners had tried to scare him by saying that 8,000 horse were coming down on him, and otherwise exaggerating the numbers of the allies. The cavalry brigades fell back to form the rearguard of the King’s army, which moved on Valdemoro and Aranjuez, not toward Toledo, for certain information had come that none of Soult’s troops were anywhere near that ancient city. The convoy had been turned towards Ocaña, and the road to Valencia.

Wellington entered Madrid unopposed next day—vexed that his arrival should have been marred by the untoward business at Majalahonda, ‘a devil of an affair,’ as he called it in a private letter to Stapleton Cotton[663]. But the inhabitants of the Spanish capital took little heed of the mishap—the departure of the French was the only thing that mattered. Their enthusiasm was unbounded.

‘I never witnessed,’ wrote an intelligent observer in the ranks[664], ‘such a scene before. For a distance of five miles from the gates the road was crowded with the people who had come out to meet us, each bringing something—laurel boughs, flowers, bread, wine, grapes, lemonade, sweetmeats, &c. The road was like a moving forest from the multitude who carried palms, which they strewed in the way for us to march over. Young ladies presented us with laurel, and even fixed it in our caps: others handed us sweetmeats and fruit. Gentlemen had hired porters to bring out wine, which they handed to us as we passed by: every individual strove to outvie each other in good nature. On the other hand the feelings of each British soldier were wound up to the highest pitch—Wellington himself rode at the head of our regiment, we were flushed with victory, and a defeated enemy was flying in our front: proud of the honour paid us by the people, we entered Madrid, the air rent with cries of “Long live Wellington, Long live the English.” The crowd and shouts and ringing of bells was beyond description. The men on the flanks were involuntarily dragged out of their subdivisions into houses, and treated with the best that could be found for them. It was with difficulty that Lord Wellington could keep his seat on horseback-every one was pressing round him.’ They kissed his hands, his sword, even his horse and the ground he had passed over. It would have been a moment of intoxicating exultation to most men: but Wellington looked beyond the laurels and the shouting. ‘It is impossible to describe the joy of the inhabitants on our arrival:’ he wrote, in his rather ponderous style, ‘I hope that the prevalence of the same sentiment of detestation of the French yoke which first induced them to set the example of resistance to the usurper, will again induce them to make exertions in the cause of their country, which, being more wisely directed, will be more efficacious than those they formerly made[665].’ But hope is not the same as expectation.

That evening the whole city was illuminated, and the streets were so full, till long after midnight, of crowds tumultuously joyful, that some cautious officers feared that the French garrison of the Retiro might sally out to make mischief in the confusion. Lafon-Blaniac, however, kept quiet—he was already quailing over two discoveries—the one that his water supply was very short, the other that the inner enceinte of the works was so full of miscellaneous combustible stuff, shot in at the last moment, that nothing was more probable than a general conflagration if he were to be bombarded. It had also begun to strike him that his outer line of defences was very weak, and his second one very constricted for the amount of men and material that he had in charge. The larger enceinte, indeed, only consisted, for the greater part of its extent, of the loopholed wall of the Retiro Park, with some flèches placed in good flanking positions. On the side facing the Prado were buildings—the Retiro Palace and the Museum, which had been barricaded and made tenable: they formed the strongest section of the exterior line. The inner enceinte was a more formidable affair—with ten bastioned fronts on the scale of a powerful field-work. The star-fort, which constituted the final refuge for the garrison, was built around the solid building that had once been the royal porcelain manufactory (where the celebrated Buen Retiro china was made): it had a ditch twelve feet deep and twenty-four wide, and was formidably palisaded.

Wellington reconnoitred the works on the 13th, and directed that the outer line should be stormed that night. Three hundred men of the 3rd Division were told off to break into the Park wall on the north, near the Bull-Ring: 300 more from the 51st and 68th regiments of the 7th Division were to attack the south-west angle of the enceinte, which was formed by the wall of the Botanical Garden. Both assaults were completely successful—the walls were so flimsy that they were easily hewn through with picks, or beaten in with beams used as battering-rams, and the 68th found and broke open a postern. The resistance was very weak—only ten of the storming-parties were killed or wounded, and the enemy retired almost at once into his second line, abandoning the Palace and other fortified buildings.

Lafon-Blaniac was now in a deplorable position, for there was only one well of moderate capacity within the second enceinte to serve the whole garrison. He had lost those in the Palace at the foot of the hill: and the old porcelain manufactory, within the star-fort, had been wont to be supplied by a little aqueduct, which had of course been cut by the British. It was clear that a lack of water would soon be a serious problem: but a superfluity of fire was a still more probable one—the garrison was crowded up among buildings and stores, and the large factory inside the star-fort was specially dangerous—a very few shells would suffice to kindle it and to smoke out or smother its defenders.

On the morning of the 14th Lafon-Blaniac sent out a flag of truce, ostensibly to deliver a threat to fire upon the town if he were pressed, really to see if he could get tolerable terms, before the British had begun to batter him, for he could note preparations to bring up heavy guns being made. Wellington saw the parlementaire in person, and a conclusion was arrived at in a very few minutes. Tolerable conditions of surrender were granted—the garrison to march out with honours of war, the officers to keep their swords, horses, and baggage, the men their knapsacks unsearched. All arms and stores were to be handed over intact. At four o’clock the French marched out, ‘most of them drunk, and affecting a great rage against the governor for surrendering so tamely.’ Yet it is clear that he could not have held out for more than a day or two, with great loss of life and no strategical profit, since there was absolutely no chance of the place being relieved. The prisoners were sent off under escort to Lisbon. On the way they were joined by the garrison of Guadalajara, which had surrendered with equal facility to the Empecinado—this was a force of Juramentados and foreigners—regiments Royal-Étranger and Royal-Irlandais, about 900 strong, under a General de Prieux, of the Spanish not the French service. They feared for their necks if they resisted the guerrilleros, and made practically no resistance.

The stores in the Retiro proved most useful—nearly every regiment at Madrid was supplied with new shoes from them: the stock of blue French regimental coats was issued to the artillery and light dragoons, to be cut up into jackets; Joseph’s Juramentado uniforms served to reclothe Carlos de España’s and Julian Sanchez’s men. The most unexpected find in the fort was the eagles of the 51st Line and 12th Léger, which had somehow got into the Retiro, though the bulk of those corps were with Soult’s army, and only detachments of them were at Madrid. They were sent to the Prince Regent, and now hang in the chapel of Chelsea Hospital[666]. The garrison was found to consist of 4 chefs de bataillon, 22 captains, 42 other officers, and 1,982 men—the latter including some 200 non-military employés. In addition, 6 officers and 429 rank and file had been surrendered in the hospital, which was outside the Retiro, before the attack on the place began[667].

Here we must leave Wellington for a space, triumphant in the Spanish capital, and much worried by the polite and effusive attentions of the authorities and inhabitants, who lavished on him and his officers banquets, balls, and bull-fights for many days, in spite of the penury which had been prevailing for years in the half-ruined city. Never was an army better treated—wine could be had for the asking, and at last the men had to be confined to their quarters for many hours a day, lest they should be killed by kindness. The Constitution was proclaimed in state, a patriotic municipality elected, and Carlos de España was made governor. He signalized his appointment by arresting a good many Afrancesados and garotting with much ceremonial the priest Diego Lopez, who had been one of King Joseph’s most noted spies.[668]

Note.—For the garrison of the Retiro I can find no regular details; Wellington gives only totals of the surrendered force. But a paper of Jourdan’s (at Paris), though dated so far back as July 17th, speaks of the Madrid garrison as containing 230 men of the 3/12th Léger, 250 of the 3/45th, and a whole bataillon de marche more of Soult’s army, 750 strong, together with 200 hommes isolés, and a considerable number of dismounted cavalry. I suspect that these formed the Retiro garrison in August as well as in July. The other troops noted as left at Madrid on July 18th—a battalion of Nassau, the dépôts of the Royal Guard, 28th and 75th, and three Spanish battalions, were certainly not in the surrender, and had marched off on August 10th with the King. But a good many scores of the 50th, belonging to Marmont’s army, were among the prisoners. I suspect that these were the garrison of Avila, which retired on Madrid on getting the news of the battle of Salamanca.

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SECTION XXXIII: CHAPTER X

AFFAIRS IN THE SOUTH. JUNE-AUGUST 1812.
SOULT, HILL, AND BALLASTEROS

Two months elapsed between Wellington’s passage of the Agueda on his offensive march into the kingdom of Leon, and his triumphal entry into Madrid. During this critical time there had been constant alarms and excursions in Andalusia and Estremadura, but nothing decisive had occurred. This was all that Wellington wanted: if employment were found for the French Army of the South, so that it got no chance of interfering with the campaign on the Douro, he was perfectly satisfied, and asked for nothing more.

It will be remembered that his instructions to Hill, before he started on the march to Salamanca, were that Soult must be diverted as far as possible from sending troops northward. The main scheme was that Ballasteros and Hill should, if possible, combine their operations so as to bring pressure upon the enemy alternately[669]. The Cadiz Regency had readily agreed to stir up the Spanish general to activity: if he would demonstrate once more (as in April) against Seville, so as to attract Soult’s attention, and cause him to concentrate, Hill should press in upon Drouet and the French troops in Estremadura, so as to force the Marshal to draw off from the Spaniard. Similarly, if Soult should concentrate against Hill, Ballasteros was to strike again at Seville, or the rear of the Cadiz Lines, which would infallibly bring the Marshal southward again in haste[670].

When Wellington crossed the Agueda [June 13] Hill had his corps collected in central Estremadura—head-quarters at Almendralejo, the troops cantoned about Ribera, Villafranca, Fuente del Maestre, and Los Santos, with Penne Villemur’s Spanish horse in front at Zafra. Hill had in hand his old force—the 2nd Division and Hamilton’s Portuguese, with two (instead of the usual one) British and one Portuguese cavalry brigades. He could also call up, if needed, the three strong Portuguese infantry regiments (5th, 17th, 22nd) which were holding Badajoz till a sufficient native garrison should be provided for it. At present only a few hundred Spaniards [Tiradores de Doyle] had appeared. Far away, to the north of the Guadiana, observing the French posts on the Tagus, there was a detached Portuguese cavalry regiment at Plasencia. This outlying unit was also put under Hill’s charge: its object was to give early notice of any possible stir by the French, in the direction of Almaraz or the recently restored bridge of Alcantara. Morillo’s infantry division of Castaños’s army was lying on the right of Hill, in south-western Estremadura: Wellington suggested that the Spanish general might be willing to throw it into Badajoz, and so liberate the Portuguese regiments lying there, if Soult should advance before the regular garrison intended for the great fortress should arrive from Cadiz. The whole force watching Soult amounted to nearly 19,000 men, not including the Spaniards. Of this total about 7,500 sabres and bayonets were British—something over 11,000 were Portuguese. In addition, Morillo and Penne Villemur had not quite 4,000 Spanish horse and foot. Supposing that a minimum garrison were thrown into Badajoz—Morillo’s infantry for choice—Hill could dispose of 18,000 Anglo-Portuguese for field-operations, not including the Portuguese cavalry by the Tagus, who had the separate duty of watching the Army of the Centre.

The French in Estremadura still consisted of the old contingent which D’Erlon had been administering since the year began, viz. his own and Daricau’s infantry divisions, with Lallemand’s and Perreymond’s cavalry—altogether not more than 12,000 men, for several of the infantry regiments had lost a battalion apiece when Badajoz fell. Since his excursion to Don Benito and Medellin at the time of Hill’s raid on Almaraz, D’Erlon had drawn back, abandoning all southern and most of eastern Estremadura to the allies. He himself was lying at Azuaga and Fuente Ovejuna, on the slopes of the Sierra Morena, while Daricau was more to the north, about Zalamea, rather too far off to give his chief prompt support. Daricau’s detachment in this direction seems to have been caused by a desire to make communication with the Army of Portugal easy, if the latter should ever come southward again from the Tagus, and push to Truxillo as in 1811. It was clear that unless Soult should reinforce his troops to the north of the mountains, Hill need fear nothing: indeed he had a distinct superiority over D’Erlon.

Early in June, however, there was no danger that any troops from Seville would come northward, for Ballasteros’s diversion had taken place somewhat earlier than Wellington had wished, and the disposable reserve of the Army of Andalusia was far away in the extreme southern point of the province. After his success at Alhaurin in April, and his subsequent pursuit by Soult’s flying columns, Ballasteros had taken refuge—as was his wont when hard pressed—under the guns of Gibraltar. The French retired when they had consumed their provisions, and fell back to their usual stations at Malaga and Ronda, and along the line of the Guadalete. When they were gone, the Spanish general emerged in May, and recommenced his wonted incursions, ranging over the whole of the mountains of the South. Having received the dispatches of the Regency, which directed him to execute a diversion in favour of the allied army in Estremadura, he obeyed with unexpected celerity, and took in hand a very bold enterprise. General Conroux, with the column whose task it was to cover the rear of the Cadiz Lines, was lying at Bornos, behind the Guadalete, in a slightly entrenched camp. He had with him about 4,500 men[671]. Ballasteros resolved to attempt to surprise him, on the morning of June 1. Having got together all his disposable troops, 8,500 infantry and a few squadrons of horse[672], he made a forced march, and, favoured by a heavy mist at dawn, fell upon the enemy’s cantonments and surprised them. He won a considerable success at first: but the French rallied, and after a hard fight broke his line by a general charge, and drove him back across the Guadalete. Conroux was too exhausted to pursue, and Ballasteros remained in position, apparently meditating a second attack, when on seeing some cavalry detachments coming up to join the enemy, he sullenly retired. He had lost 1,500 men and 4 guns, the French over 400[673]. The first note of alarm from Bornos had caused Soult to send what reserves he could collect from the Cadiz Lines and Seville—six battalions and two cavalry regiments, and since Ballasteros had been beaten, but not routed, he thought it necessary to give prompt attention to him. Thereupon the Spaniard retreated first to Ubrique, and when threatened in that position, to his old refuge in the lines of San Roque before Gibraltar.

Soult would have liked to make an end of him, and would also have been glad to direct a new attack upon Tarifa, which served as a second base to the roving Spanish corps; he mentions his wish to capture it in more than one of his dispatches of this summer. But his attention was drawn away from Ballasteros and the South by the prompt advance of Hill, who (as had been settled) pressed in upon Drouet at the right moment. On the 7th June he moved forward his head-quarters from Almendralejo to Fuente del Maestre, and two days later to Zafra. On the 11th, Penne Villemur’s cavalry pushed out from Llerena towards Azuaga, while Slade’s brigade, advancing parallel with the Spanish general, pressed forward from Llera on Maguilla, a village some fifteen miles in front of Drouet’s head-quarters at Fuente Ovejuna. This reconnaissance in force brought on the most unlucky combat that was ever fought by the British cavalry during the Peninsular War, the skirmish of Maguilla.

Slade, an officer whose want of capacity we have before had occasion to notice[674], after some hours of march began to get in touch with French dragoon vedettes, and presently, after driving them in, found himself facing Lallemand’s brigade. Their forces were nearly equal—each having two regiments, Slade the 1st Royals and 3rd Dragoon Guards, Lallemand the 17th and 27th Dragoons—they had about 700 sabres a side: if anything Slade was a little the stronger. The French general showed considerable caution and retired for some distance, till he had nearly reached Maguilla, where he turned to fight. Slade at once charged him, with the Royals in front line and the 3rd Dragoon Guards supporting. The first shock was completely successful, the French line being broken, and more than 100 men being taken. But Slade then followed the routed squadrons with headlong recklessness, ‘each regiment,’ as he wrote in his very foolish report of the proceedings, ‘vying with the other which should most distinguish itself.’ The pursuit was as reckless as that of the 13th Light Dragoons at Campo Mayor in the preceding year, and resolved itself into a disorderly gallop of several miles. After the French had passed a defile beyond Maguilla a sudden cry was heard, ‘Look to your right’—a fresh squadron which Lallemand had left in reserve was seen bearing down on the flank of the disordered mass. Charged diagonally by a small force, but one in good order, the British dragoons gave way. Lallemand’s main body turned upon them, and ‘the whole brigade in the greatest disorder, and regardless of all the exertions and appeals of their general and their regimental officers, continued their disgraceful flight till victors and fugitives, equally overcome and exhausted by the overpowering heat and the clouds of thick dust, came to a standstill near Valencia de las Torres, some four miles from Maguilla, where at last Slade was able to collect his regiments, and to retire to the woods beyond Llera[675].’

In this discreditable affair Slade lost 22 killed, 26 wounded, and no less than 2 officers and 116 men taken prisoners—most of the latter wounded—a total casualty list of 166. Lallemand acknowledges in his report a loss of 51 officers and men[676]. The defeated general irritated Wellington by a very disingenuous report, in which he merely wrote that ‘I am sorry to say our loss was severe, as the enemy brought up a support, and my troops being too eager in pursuit, we were obliged to relinquish a good number of prisoners that we had taken, and to fall back on Llera.’ He then added, in the most inappropriate phrases, ‘nothing could exceed the gallantry displayed by both officers and men on this occasion, in which Colonels Calcraft and Clinton, commanding the two regiments, distinguished themselves, as well as all the other officers present[677].’

Wellington’s scathing comment, in a letter to Hill, was: ‘I have never been more annoyed than by Slade’s affair, and I entirely concur with you in the necessity of inquiring into it. It is occasioned entirely by the trick our officers of cavalry have acquired, of galloping at everything—and then galloping back as fast as they galloped on the enemy. They never consider their situation, never think of manœuvring before an enemy—so little that one would think they cannot manœuvre except on Wimbledon Common: and when they use their arm as it ought to be used, viz. offensively, they never keep nor provide for a reserve.... The Royals and 3rd Dragoon Guards were the best cavalry regiments in this country, and it annoys me particularly that the misfortune has happened to them. I do not wonder at the French boasting of it: it is the greatest blow they have struck[678].’ It is curious to find that Slade retained command of his brigade till May 1813. One would have expected to find him relegated to Great Britain at a much earlier date. But Wellington was not even yet in full control of the removal or promotion of his senior officers. Other generals with whom he was equally discontented, such as Erskine and Long, were also left upon his hands after he had set a black mark against their names.

The combat of Maguilla, however unsatisfactory in itself, made no difference to the general strategy of the campaign. Drouet, having drawn back on Hill’s advance, sent messages to Soult, to the effect that unless he were strongly reinforced he must retire from the Sierra Morena, and cover the roads to Cordova on the Andalusian side of the mountains. He reported that he had only 6,000 men in hand, and that Hill was coming against him with 30,000, including the Spaniards. Both these figures were fantastic—for reasons best known to himself D’Erlon did not include Daricau’s division in his own total, while he credited Hill with 15,000 men in the 2nd British division alone [which was really 8,000 strong, including its Portuguese brigade], and reported with circumstantial detail that the 7th Division had come down from Portalegre and joined the 2nd[679].

Soult sent on D’Erlon’s dispatch to Madrid, with the comment that Hill’s advance showed that the main intention of Wellington was certainly to attack Andalusia, and not to fall upon Marmont. But that he did not consider such an attack very imminent is sufficiently shown by the fact that he detached to Drouet’s aid only one division of infantry, that of Barrois—which composed his central reserve—and one of cavalry, that of Pierre Soult, or a total of 6,000 infantry and 2,200 cavalry: such a reinforcement would have been futile if he had really believed that Wellington was marching against Seville. His real view may be gathered from his estimate of Hill’s force at 15,000 Anglo-Portuguese and 5,000 Spaniards—a total very remote from the alarmist reports of Drouet, and not far from the truth. The reinforcement sent under Barrois would give the Estremaduran detachment a practical equality in numbers with Hill, and a great superiority in quality. The orders sent to Drouet were that he was to advance against Hill, to strive to get him to an engagement, at any rate to ‘contain’ him, so that he should not detach troops north of the Guadiana to join Wellington or to demonstrate against Madrid. If things went well, Drouet was to invest Badajoz, and to occupy Merida, from whence he would try to get into communication via Truxillo with the troops of the Army of the Centre. The final paragraph of his directions stated that Drouet’s main object must be to make such a formidable diversion that Wellington would have to reinforce Hill. ‘When the Army of Portugal finds that it has less of the English army in front of it, we may perhaps persuade it [i. e. Marmont] that the enemy’s plan is certainly to invade the provinces of the south of Spain before he acts directly against the North: then, no doubt, changed dispositions will be made.’ Unfortunately for the strategical reputation of Soult, Wellington crossed the Agueda with seven of his eight divisions to attack Marmont, on the very day after this interesting dispatch was written.

D’Erlon had been promised that Barrois should march to his aid on the 14th, but it was not till the 16th that the column from Seville started to join him, and then it marched not by the route of Constantina and Guadalcanal, as D’Erlon had requested, but by the high-road from Andalusia to Badajoz, via Monasterio. If Hill had been pressing the troops in front of him with vigour, the French would have been in an awkward position, since they were on separate roads, and might have been driven apart, and kept from junction by a decisive movement from Llerena, where Hill’s cavalry and advanced guard lay. But the British general had orders to attract the attention of Soult and to ‘contain’ as many of the enemy as possible, rather than to risk anything. He resolved, when he heard of the approach of Barrois, to retire to the heights of Albuera, which Wellington had pointed out to him as the most suitable position for standing at bay, if he were pressed hard. Accordingly he drew back by slow stages from Zafra towards Badajoz, covering his rear by his cavalry, which suffered little molestation. Barrois joined Drouet at Bienvenida near Zafra on the 19th, and their united force, since Daricau had come in to join them from the direction of Zalamea, with the greater part of his division, must have amounted to over 18,000 men, though Drouet in a report to King Joseph states it at a decidedly lower figure[680]. They advanced cautiously as far as Villafranca and Fuente del Maestre, which their infantry occupied on June 21, while their numerous cavalry lay a little way in front, at Villalba, Azeuchal, and Almendralejo. On the same day Hill had taken up the Albuera position, on which several points had been entrenched.

As Hill had just called out the three garrison regiments of Portuguese from Badajoz, he had now between 18,000 and 19,000 of his own army in position, besides Villemur’s Spanish cavalry. This last, together with Long’s and Slade’s squadrons, were thrown out in front of the Albuera river, with their vedettes in Santa Marta, Almendral, and Corte de Peleas, only a mile or two from the French advanced posts. They were directed not to give way till they were severely pressed, as Hill wished to avoid at all costs the kind of surprise that had befallen Beresford in 1811, when Long had retired so precipitately before the French horse that he could give no account of their strength, nor of the position of Soult’s infantry. But the expected advance of the enemy hung fire—from the 21st onwards Hill was waiting to be attacked, and sending almost daily accounts of the situation to Wellington: but the main body of the French moved no farther forward. This was all the more surprising to the English general because he had intercepted a letter written on May 31 from King Joseph to Drouet, in which the latter was directed to ‘passer sur le corps à Hill[681],’ and then to come up to the Tagus to join the Army of the Centre. Not knowing how entirely Soult and D’Erlon were ignoring all orders from Madrid, both Wellington and his trusty lieutenant thought that such instructions must almost certainly bring about an action. The former wrote to the latter on June 28th, after receiving several statements of the situation: ‘if you should find that Drouet separates his troops, or if he pretends to hold you in check with a smaller body of men than you think you can get the better of, fall upon him, but take care to keep a very large proportion of your troops in reserve.... I should prefer a partial affair to a general one, but risk a general affair—keeping always a large body of reserve, particularly of cavalry—rather than allow Drouet to remain in Estremadura and keep you in check.’ But the enemy neither came on for a general action, nor scattered his troops so widely as to induce Hill to risk an attack on any point of his line. He remained with his infantry massed about Villafranca and Fuente del Maestre, and only demonstrated with his cavalry.

The cause of this inactivity on Drouet’s part was partly, perhaps, his over-estimate of Hill’s strength, but much more Soult’s unwillingness to obey the orders sent him from Madrid. He was determined not to detach a third part of his army to the Tagus, to join the Army of the Centre. He was by this time fully embarked on his long course of insubordinate action, with which we have already dealt when writing of the King’s desires and their frustration[682]. On the 26th May Joseph had sent him the dispatch which directed that D’Erlon must come up northward, if Wellington’s main attack turned out to be directed against Marmont and the Army of Portugal: ‘his corps is the pivot on which everything turns: he is the counterpoise which can be thrown into the balance in one scale or the other, according as our forces have to act on the one side or the other[683].’ Drouet himself had at the same time received that order to the same effect, sent to him directly and not through his immediate superior, which so much scandalized Soult’s sense of hierarchical subordination[684]. On getting the Madrid dispatch of May 26 upon June 8th, Soult had written to say that Wellington’s real objective was Andalusia and not the North, that Marmont was utterly misled if he supposed that he was to be attacked by the main body of the allies, that Graham, with two British divisions, was still at Portalegre in support of Hill, and that Drouet had therefore been forbidden to lose touch with the Army of the South by passing towards the Tagus. If he departed, the whole fabric of French power in the South would go to pieces, ‘I should have to pack up and evacuate Andalusia after the smallest check.’ Drouet should ‘contain’ Hill, but could do no more. In a supplementary dispatch of June 12, provoked by the receipt of Joseph’s direct orders to Drouet, Soult went further, definitely stating that the troops in Estremadura should not go to the Tagus, ‘where they would be lost to the Army of the South, but would never arrive in time to help the Army of Portugal.’ If Drouet passed the Tagus, Hill would march on Seville, and on the sixth day would capture that insufficiently garrisoned capital, put himself in communication with Ballasteros, and raise the siege of Cadiz. ‘I repeat that the Army of the South cannot carry out its orders, and send Count D’Erlon and 15,000 men to the valley of the Tagus, without being compelled to evacuate Andalusia within the fortnight.... If your Majesty insists, remove me from command, I do not wish to be responsible for the inevitable disaster that must follow[685].’

At the same time Drouet, much vexed at having personal responsibility thrown upon his shoulders, by the King’s direct orders to him to march without consulting Soult, wrote to Madrid that he was very weak, that Hill was in front of him with a superior force, and that Barrois and Pierre Soult, who had just joined him, were under strict orders not to go beyond the Guadiana, so that if he himself marched towards the Tagus it would be with a very small force. But he dare not make that move: ‘I am absolutely obliged to stop where I am [Villafranca] in presence of Hill, who still remains concentrated on the Albuera position, which he has entrenched, with at least 25,000 men.’ Indeed an attack by Hill was expected day by day: ‘at the moment of writing there is lively skirmishing going on at the outposts, and news has come in that the whole allied army is advancing[686].’ Drouet, in short, was determined to evade responsibility, and summed up the situation by the conclusion that he was acting for the best in ‘containing’ Hill and his very large detachment, who could be of no use to Wellington in the campaign which the latter was now reported to have begun against Marmont in the North. He could do no more.

The deadlock in front of the Albuera position lasted for many days—from June 21st till July 2nd. This was a very trying time for Hill’s corps—the weather was excessively hot, the ground was hideous with the insufficiently buried corpses of the battle of last year, and sickness was very prevalent in some regiments. For the first day or two after the arrival of the French at Villafranca and Almendralejo, an attack was expected each morning, but nothing in particular happened. Drouet kept quiet behind his cavalry screen, and did no more than send foraging parties out on his flanks, which ravaged the countryside as far as Merida and Feria. Over-valuing Hill’s strength, he dreaded to commit himself to an attack on a superior force, covered by field-works and in a fine position. Nothing was seen of him for ten days, save that on the 26th he felt the posts of the allies at Corte de Peleas and Santa Marta, and retired after a little cavalry skirmishing. On July 1, however, he executed a more searching reconnaissance, with three brigades of cavalry under the direction of Pierre Soult, Vinot’s in the centre, Sparre’s on the right, Lallemand’s on the left. Barrois’s infantry division came up in support. Vinot drove in a Portuguese cavalry regiment of J. Campbell’s brigade from Corte de Peleas[687], but retired when he found it supported by Long’s light dragoons in front of the Albuera position. Lallemand found Santa Marta held by Penne Villemur’s cavalry, and turned them out of it with considerable loss, for the Spanish general unwisely offered battle, and was routed after a very short contest. He retired into the wood of Albuera, whose edge was occupied by Slade’s heavy dragoons, supported by the pickets of Byng’s infantry brigade. A troop of the 3rd Dragoon Guards made a gallant charge to cover the retreat of the Spaniards, and suffered some loss in bringing them off. Lallemand at dusk pressed forward, and cut off a small party of the Buffs, who would have been taken prisoners if a troop of the 2nd Hussars K.G.L. had not rescued them by a sudden counter-attack. Sparre’s brigade on the right did no more than skirmish with the allied outposts along the lower course of the river Albuera. At night all the French cavalry retired, and D’Erlon wrote to Soult that his reconnaissance had ‘completely fulfilled its object,’ by making him certain that Hill had 25,000 foot, 3,000 horse, and a very strong force of artillery in position, so that it would be insane to attack him[688].

On the next morning, July 2nd, Hill determined to make use of Wellington’s permission to bring on an action, if he should judge that Drouet was not strong enough to face him. The weakness of the French demonstration had convinced him that the enemy was not ready to fight. Collecting the whole of his army, he advanced from the Albuera position towards Santa Marta, thus challenging Drouet to a fight. The enemy’s vedettes made no stand and retired when pushed. On reaching Santa Marta Hill halted for the night in battle order, and on the morning of the 3rd resumed his movement, which was directed to cutting off Drouet from the great road to Seville. While Erskine with the light cavalry (Long, and J. Campbell’s Portuguese) advanced down the high-road to Villalba, supported by one British and one Portuguese brigade of infantry, Hill himself, with the rest of his army, executed a flank march to Feria, and, having got behind the French left wing, turned inward and moved toward Los Santos. The enemy’s main body, at Villafranca and Fuente del Maestre, were thus prevented from using the high-road to Seville, and placed in a position which compelled Drouet either to fight, or to retire south-eastward towards Usagre and Llerena.

Next morning (July 4) Hill expected a battle, for Barrois’s division and all Pierre Soult’s cavalry were found in a strong position at Fuente del Maestre, and the rest of the French were close behind at Almendralejo. But when he continued his movement toward the right, outflanking Barrois instead of attacking him, the enemy gave way and retired, protected by his cavalry, retreating on Ribera, Hinojosa, and Usagre[689]. There was lively skirmishing between the squadrons of the British advanced guard, and those of the French rearguard, but no serious engagement.

The same general plan of action continued on the 5th. Hill, keeping his army well concentrated, moved in two columns on Usagre and Bienvenida, the bulk of his cavalry riding at the head of his left-hand column and pressing in the French horse. Drouet took up a position at Valencia de las Torres, where he had found strong ground, and thought on the 6th that he would risk a defensive action. But Hill, instead of marching in upon him, continued his flanking movement towards Llerena. Thereupon Drouet, finding that he would be cut off from Andalusia if he remained in his chosen position, evacuated it and fell back by Maguilla on Berlanga and Azuaga [July 7]. The two armies had thus got back into exactly the same positions in which they had lain on June 19th, before Hill’s retreat to Albuera. The tale of their manœuvres bears a curious resemblance to the contemporary movements of Wellington and Marmont between Salamanca and Tordesillas. In each case one combatant, when pressed, retired, and took up a strong position (Marmont at Tordesillas-Pollos-Toro, Hill at Albuera). He then issued from it after some days, and by persistent flank movements dislodged his opponent, and drove him back to the same position from which he had started, so that the situation came back to that which it had been three weeks before. But here the parallel ended—Marmont pressed his advantage too far, and got entangled in the disastrous manœuvre of July 22, which brought on the battle of Salamanca and his own ruin. Hill, contented with what he had achieved, halted at Llerena, and did not push matters to a decisive action. He had done all that Wellington desired in keeping Soult’s attention diverted from Marmont’s peril, and in ‘containing’ a hostile force as great as his own. Moreover he had driven it off the road to Seville, and if it retreated on Andalusia it would have to be on Cordova, by the road of Constantina, since no other remained available.

But a new development of this complicated and indecisive campaign began on July 10th. Drouet, thinking apparently that Hill’s farther advance might be stopped as effectively by assuming a position on his flank as by direct opposition in front, shifted his right wing (Daricau’s division and Sparre’s and Vinot’s cavalry) back to Zalamea and its neighbourhood, where Daricau had lain in May and June. He himself resumed his old head-quarters at Fuente Ovejuna. Now just at this time Hill received an intercepted letter of King Joseph to Drouet, dated June 21st, which repeated in angry terms the long-ignored orders that the Estremaduran detachment of the Army of the South was to march on Toledo without delay. ‘Vous aurez sans doute reçu les renforts que j’ai donné l’ordre au duc de Dalmatie de vous envoyer. Vous devez avoir quinze mille hommes. Agissez avec ce corps, et tout ce qui est sous le commandement du général Daricau. Rapprochez-vous de moi: passez le Tage, et mettez-vous en état d’agir suivant les événements; n’attendez aucun ordre[690].’

The capture of this dispatch coincided with the news that Drouet had pushed Daricau and a large body of cavalry towards Zalamea. Hill drew the natural deduction that the French opposite him were at last about to obey the King’s orders, and to march to the Tagus, via Zalamea, Medellin, and Truxillo. ‘The intelligence that I have of the enemy’s movements’ (he wrote to Wellington) ‘indicates his intention of carrying Joseph’s instructions into execution.... I have received information [false as it chanced] that Drouet was yesterday at Zalamea, with his main body, having sent troops by Berlanga and Azuaga. I shall move immediately in the direction of Zalamea.’ That is to say that if Drouet was going off northward towards the King, Hill was prepared to carry out the original instructions which Wellington had left him, and if he could not stop the enemy, would move parallel to him, so as to join his chief before Drouet could transfer himself to the northern sphere of operations. His route would be by Badajoz or Merida and the newly-restored bridge of Alcantara on Ciudad Rodrigo, a much shorter one than that of his opponent. He had just begun to move his left wing in the direction of Merida, when he received a letter from Wellington exactly conforming to his own ideas. If Drouet is making for the Tagus in full force, wrote Wellington, you must take all the cavalry except one English regiment and Campbell’s Portuguese, along with Byng’s and Howard’s brigades of the 2nd Division, and Hamilton’s division, and send orders to have all preparations made at Alcantara to lay down the bridge: your route across the mountains will be by the pass of Perales: you will find elaborate instructions for the further movement at Ciudad Rodrigo. If Drouet only takes a small force, more allied troops may be left in Estremadura; Zafra had better be their head-quarters. Hill would conduct the marching column as far as Perales, and then return to take charge of whatever is left in the South to watch Soult[691].

A few days later it became evident that no general movement of the French towards the Tagus was in progress. Daricau’s infantry and the attached cavalry settled down at and about Zalamea, and pushed nothing but reconnaissances in the direction of the Guadiana—parties of horse appeared about Don Benito and Medellin, but no solid columns in support[692]. Hill therefore halted, with his head-quarters at Zafra and his rearguard (which had but a moment before been his advanced guard) at Llerena: only a few of J. Campbell’s Portuguese squadrons moved to Merida, though some Spanish infantry came up to the same direction[693]. Things then remained very quiet till July 24th, when Drouet at last appeared to be on the move with some definite purpose. On that day Lallemand’s dragoons appeared at Hinojosa, pressed in a Portuguese cavalry regiment, and seemed inclined to push towards Ribera, but retired when Long’s brigade came up against them: the losses on both sides were trifling. Three days later (July 27) a brigade of Daricau’s infantry advanced to Medellin and drove off the observing force of the Spanish infantry, while Vinot’s cavalry executed a raid on Merida, expelled the Portuguese detachment there, and exacted a requisition of food from the town. They then retired in haste; but Hill thought it well for the future to strengthen his left, and moved up Byng’s British and A. Campbell’s Portuguese infantry brigades to Merida. But Drouet was only feinting, and had no serious intentions of drawing up to the Guadiana, or crossing that river northward. His main purpose was simply the raising of requisitions; for his detachments in the mountains of the Serena were living on the edge of famine, and could only feed themselves by keeping constantly on the move. It is curious to find from the dispatches of the two opposing generals at this time that both were fairly satisfied with themselves: each thought that he was ‘containing’ a somewhat superior force of the enemy, and was doing his duty by keeping it from interfering in the more important theatre of war. Hill knew that he was detaining Drouet, when he was much wanted at Madrid: Drouet knew that he was preventing Hill from joining Wellington on the Douro. But the real balance of advantage was on the side of the allies: Hill, with only 8,000 British and 11,000 Portuguese was claiming the attention of three veteran divisions of the infantry of the Army of the South, and of the major part of Soult’s cavalry. The French in Andalusia were left so weak by the absence of 18,000 men beyond the Sierra Morena, that they could neither molest Cadiz nor the Army of Murcia. Indeed, Ballasteros, though his forces were less than they had been at the time of his defeat at Bornos, was able to provide employment for all the troops that Soult could spare for operations in the open field.

Six weeks after his disaster of June 1st, that enterprising, if irresponsible, general started out again from the lines of San Roque with between 5,000 and 6,000 men. Keeping to mountain roads and concealing his march, he surprised, on July 14, the great harbour-city of Malaga, though he failed to capture its citadel, Gibalfaro, into which the wrecks of the garrison escaped. Ballasteros got money, stores, and recruits from the captured town, but knew that he dare not tarry there for long. For Soult, naturally enraged at such a bold and successful raid, turned troops toward him from all sides. Leval, the governor of Granada, marched against him with every spare battalion that could be got together from the eastern side of Andalusia, some 5,000 bayonets. Villatte, in command before Cadiz, came from the other quarter with 6,000 men; they had orders to catch Ballasteros between them, to intercept his retreat upon Gibraltar, and annihilate him.

In order to cut off the Spaniard from his usual place of refuge, Villatte took a turn to the south, appeared in sight of Gibraltar on July 20, and then, keeping himself between the British fortress and Ballasteros, advanced northward to wait for him. Leval was to have driven him into Villatte’s arms, advancing from Antequera and pressing the hunt southward. But the raider, instead of retreating in the expected direction, slipped unseen across Villatte’s front by Alora, and made off into the plains of central Andalusia. On the 25th at dawn he appeared, most unexpectedly, at Osuna and surprised the small French garrison there. The governor, Colonel Beauvais, cut his way through the streets to a fortified convent, where he held out. But Ballasteros, satisfied with having captured a quantity of stores, mules, and baggage, and a few prisoners, vanished. Leval was on his track, and he had to evade his pursuer by a flank march, first to Grazalema and then to Ubrique. This was bringing him dangerously near to Villatte’s position. But that general had no accurate knowledge of what was going on to the north, and having waited for ten days in the mountains beyond Gibraltar for a prey that never appeared, found himself starved out. On the 30th he started on his enforced return towards the Cadiz Lines, and had reached Medina Sidonia when Ballasteros, who had quite outmarched Leval, came down in safety to Ximena on August 1, and placed himself in touch with Gibraltar once more. Thereupon Leval, seeing that it was no use to push the Spaniard (for about the tenth time) under the guns of the British fortress, and finding his column utterly worn out, went home to Granada[694].

Thus Ballasteros gave no small help to the allied cause by distracting some 11,000 or 12,000 French troops for a long fortnight, while Hill was detaining Drouet in Estremadura. By the time that the hunt after the evasive Spaniard had come to an end, the battle of Salamanca had been fought, and the aspect of affairs in the Peninsula had been completely changed. Even Soult, who had so long shut his eyes to the obvious, had at last to acknowledge that a new situation had arisen.

The news of Salamanca had reached Hill on July 29th, and caused a general expectation that the French in Estremadura would retreat at once, and that Soult would be retiring from Andalusia also in a few days. No such results followed—the intelligence was late in penetrating to the French camps; and Soult, still hoping to induce King Joseph to join him, lingered for many days in his old posture. On August 4 Hill wrote that the ‘recent glorious event’ appeared to have had very little effect on his immediate opponent, who continued in a strong position in his front. ‘Therefore for the present I shall remain where I am, and watch for a favourable opportunity of acting[695].’ Soult at Seville had, as late as August 8, no official news of Marmont’s defeat, and only knew of it by Spanish rumours, which he—of set purpose—discounted. ‘Les relations qu’ils ont publiées exagèrent sans doute les avantages: mais il paraît que quelque grand événement s’est passé en Castille[696].’ He continued to urge King Joseph to come to Seville, join him, and attack Hill with such superior forces that Wellington would be forced to fly to the aid of his subordinate. It was only on August 12th that certain information regarding the battle of July 22nd reached the head-quarters of the Duke of Dalmatia, in the form of Joseph’s Segovia dispatch of July 29th, containing the orders for the complete evacuation of Andalusia, and the march of the whole Army of the South upon Toledo. Even then Soult did not think it too late to make a final appeal to the King: ‘the loss of a battle by the Army of Portugal was nothing more than a great duel, which can be undone by another similar duel. But the loss of Andalusia and the raising of the siege of Cadiz would be events whose effects would be felt all round Europe and the New World.... What does it matter if the enemy is left in possession of the whole space between Burgos and the Sierra Morena, until the moment when great reinforcements come from France, and the Emperor has been able to make his arrangements? But this sacrifice of Andalusia once made, there is no way of remedying it. The imperial armies in Spain will have to repass the Ebro—famine perhaps will drive them still farther[697],’ &c.

On reflection, however, Soult did not venture to disobey, and, before his last appeal could possibly have reached the King’s hands, began to issue orders for evacuation. But so great was his rage that he wrote an extraordinary letter to Clarke, the Minister of War at Paris, in which he made the preposterous insinuation that Joseph was about to betray his brother the Emperor, and to come to an agreement with the Cadiz Cortes. The evidence which he cited for this strange charge was flimsy in the extreme. ‘I have read in the Cadiz newspapers the statement that His Majesty’s Ambassador in Russia has joined the Russian army: that the King has opened intrigues with the Insurrectional Government[698]. Sweden has made peace with England, and the Hereditary Prince (Bernadotte) has begun to treat with the Regency at Cadiz[699].... I draw no deduction from all these facts, but I am all the more attentive to them. I have thought it necessary to lay my fears before six generals of my army, after having made them take an oath not to reveal what I told them save to the Emperor himself, or to some one specially commissioned by him. But it is my duty to inform your Excellency that I have a fear that all the bad arrangements made [by the King] and all the intrigues that have been going on, have the object of forcing the imperial armies to retreat to the Ebro, or farther, and then of representing this event as the “last possible resource” (an expression used by the King himself in a letter of July 20), in the hope of profiting by it to come to some compromise[700].

This letter, as obscurely worded as it was malicious, was not sent to France by the usual channels, lest the King should get wind of it, but consigned to the captain of a French privateer, who was about to sail from Malaga to Marseilles. By an ill chance for Soult, the vessel was chased by a British ship, and compelled to run for shelter into the harbour of Valencia. There the King had recently arrived, on his retreat from Madrid. The privateer-captain, who did not know what he was carrying, sent the letter in to the royal head-quarters. Hence came an explosion of wrath, and a series of recriminations with which we shall have to deal in their proper place.

The evacuation of Andalusia commenced from the western end, because the retreat of the army was to be directed eastwards. The evacuation of the Castle of Niebla on August 12th was its first sign—the troops in the Condado had retired to San Lucar near Seville by the 15th. A little later the garrisons in the extreme south, at Ronda and Medina Sidonia, blew up their fortifications and retired. These were small movements, but the dismantling of the Cadiz Lines was a formidable business, and took several days. Soult covered it by ordering a furious bombardment of the city and the Puntales fort from his batteries across the bay; during each salvo of the heavy guns one or two of them were disabled, others being fired at an angle against their muzzles, so as to split them. More were burst by intentional over-loading, others had their trunnions knocked off, but a good many were only spiked or thrown into the water. The ammunition remaining after two days of reckless bombardment was blown up; the stores set on fire; the flotilla of gunboats was sunk, but so carelessly that thirty of them were afterwards raised with no difficulty and found still seaworthy. This orgy of destruction continued for the whole of the 24th: at night the sky was red all round the bay, from Rota to Chiclana, with burning huts and magazines, and the explosions were frequent.

This was the moment when the large allied force in Cadiz might well have made a general sortie, for the purpose of cutting up the enemy while he was engrossed in the work of destruction. Wellington had written a week before, to General Cooke, then in command of the British contingent in the Isla de Leon, to bid him fall upon the enemy when opportunity should offer, considering that the French troops in the Lines were reduced to a minimum by the detachment of the division that had gone out to hunt Ballasteros. He suggested that the allies should cross the Santi Petri river and attack Chiclana, taking care, however, not to be cut off from their retreat. Unfortunately this letter of August 16th came too late, for Cooke (after conferring with the Spanish authorities) had committed himself to another and a more circuitous expedition to molest the French. General Cruz Murgeon, with a Spanish division of 4,000 men (which had originally been intended for the reinforcing of Ballasteros) had landed at the port of Huelva, in the Condado de Niebla, on August 11th. Cooke reinforced him with the pick of the British contingent—six companies of Guards, half of the 2/87th[701], two companies of Rifles[702], part of the 20th Portuguese, and the squadron of the 2nd Hussars K.G.L., which was the only cavalry at his disposition. These, placed under the charge of Colonel Skerrett, made up 1,600 men in all[703]; they landed at Huelva, joined Cruz Murgeon, and advanced with him against Seville. On the 24th they discovered the French outposts at San Lucar la Mayor, and drove them out of that town. But they hesitated over the idea of attacking Seville, where French troops were collecting from all quarters, though the divisions of Conroux and Villatte from the Cadiz Lines had not yet come up.

On the night of August 26th-27th, however, Soult, apprised of the near approach of his column from the Lines, evacuated Seville with the main part of his force, escorting a vast horde of Spanish refugees, who feared to remain behind to face their countrymen, and a long train of wagons and carriages loaded with the accumulated spoils of three years of tyrannous misrule in Andalusia. He left a rearguard to occupy the outworks of the city, which was to be picked up and taken on by Villatte when he should appear on the next day.

On hearing of the departure of the Marshal, Cruz Murgeon and Skerrett resolved to attack Seville, knowing that the troops left behind to guard it were insufficient to man effectively all its long line of defences. Being on the western side of the Guadalquivir, they had first to win the large transpontine suburb of Triana, the home of potters and gipsies, through which alone access could be got to the city. It was attacked at several points and stormed, but the enemy then held to the great bridge over the river linking Triana and Seville, and made a long resistance there. The bridge had been barricaded, part of its planks had been pulled up, and artillery had been trained on it from the farther side. Notwithstanding these obstacles the Spaniards attacked it; the well-known Irish adventurer Colonel Downie charged three times at the head of his Estremaduran Legion. Repelled twice by the heavy fire, he reached the barricade at the third assault, and leaped his horse over the cut which the French had made in front of it, but found himself alone within the work, and was bayoneted and made prisoner[704]. But soon after the allies brought up guns through the streets of Triana, and so battered the barricade that the French were compelled to evacuate it. Skerrett sent the Guards across: they passed by the beams which had been left unbroken, and many Spanish troops followed. After a running fight in the streets of the city, in which some of the inhabitants took part, the garrison was completely driven out, and fled by the Carmona Gate towards Alcala. The victors captured two field-pieces, about 200 prisoners[705], and a rich convoy of plunder, which was to have been escorted by the French rearguard[706]. Villatte’s column, approaching the city in its march from the Cadiz Lines and Xeres, found it in the hands of the allies, so swerved off eastward and followed Soult, picking up the expelled garrison by the way.

Cruz Murgeon and Skerrett did not pursue, not thinking themselves strong enough to meddle with the French, but only sent their cavalry forward to watch their retreat. They stayed in Seville, where the Cadiz Constitution was proclaimed with great enthusiasm on August 29th. On the other flank of the French Ballasteros was trying at this moment to molest the column formed by the garrisons retiring from Ronda, Malaga, and Antequera on Granada. He followed them for ten days, and fought their rearguard at Antequera on September 3rd, and at Loja on September 5th; but though he captured many stragglers and some baggage, as also three guns, he was unable to do any material harm to the main body, which General Sémélé brought in to join Leval at Granada on September 6th.

Soult, meanwhile, with the troops from Cadiz and Seville, had to halt at Cordova for some days, to allow of the junction of Drouet from Estremadura; for that general had to collect his troops and to bring down detachments from places so far away as Don Benito and Zalamea, before he could concentrate and march across the Sierra Morena to join his chief. Drouet had kept up a bold countenance in front of Hill to the last moment, even after he had received orders from Soult to prepare for a sudden retreat. Indeed one of the most lively of the many cavalry affairs fought in Estremadura during the summer of 1812 took place in August. On the 1st of that month, when Hill was already expecting that the news of Salamanca would have driven his opponent away, Pierre Soult tried a raid upon Ribera, with two regiments of cavalry and two battalions, and drove in the 2nd Hussars of the Legion, who maintained a long and gallant skirmishing fight, till General Erskine came up with Long’s brigade, when the French retreated. Erskine was thought to have missed a fine opportunity of cutting up the raiding detachment by his slow and tentative pursuit[707]. On the 18th Soult made another reconnaissance in force, with four regiments, in the same direction, on a false report that Hill had moved from Ribera and Almendralejo. This brought on another long day of bickering, with no definite result: it was mainly remembered afterwards for the courteous behaviour of Drouet in sending back unharmed Erskine’s aide-de-camp Strenowitz, the most daring officer for raids and reconnaissance work in the German Legion. He had been captured while scouting, and a general fear prevailed that he would be shot, for he had served for a short time in the French army, and might have been treated as a deserter. Drouet most handsomely dispatched him to the British camp on parole, with a request that he might be exchanged for an officer of his own, who had been taken a few days before. ‘A most courteous and liberal enemy!’ wrote a diarist in Hill’s camp, ‘Strenowitz’s exploits are well known: certainly in strict law he might have been hung[708].’

It was not till August 26th that all the French troops in front of Hill suddenly vanished, Drouet having had orders to keep his position till Seville was ready to be evacuated; for Soult feared that if he withdrew his forces in Estremadura too early, in the direction of Cordova, the allied troops might make a forced march on Seville, and arrive there before the divisions from the Cadiz Lines had gone by. Wherefore Drouet was in evidence before Hill till the precise day when Soult left Seville. He then retired through the Sierra Morena, going by the remote mountain road by Belalcazar with such speed that he reached Cordova on the fourth day (August 30). He was not pursued by Hill, whose orders from Wellington were to come up to the Tagus and join the main army, and not to involve himself in operations in Andalusia. Only some of Penne Villemur’s Spanish horse, under the German colonel Schepeler—one of the best historians of the war—followed on Drouet’s track, and saw him join Soult at Cordova[709]. The united French force then marched on Granada, where the garrisons of eastern Andalusia, under Leval, had concentrated to meet the Marshal. Up to this moment Soult had been uncertain whether he should retreat by way of La Mancha, or across the kingdom of Murcia. His decision was settled for him by news brought by Drouet, who had heard in Estremadura of King Joseph’s evacuation of Madrid and Toledo. Since the Army of the Centre was now known to be on the road for Valencia, to join Suchet, it would be too dangerous to cross La Mancha in search of it. Wellington might descend from Madrid in force, upon an enemy who dared to march across his front. Wherefore Soult resolved that his retreat must be made across the kingdom of Murcia. It was true that O’Donnell’s army was in occupation of the inland in that direction, but it was weak and disorganized. Moreover, Suchet had lately inflicted a severe defeat upon it at Castalla (on July 21st), and O’Donnell was practically a negligible quantity in the problem. A far more important factor in determining Soult’s exact route was the news that the yellow fever had broken out at Cartagena and was spreading inland: it had reached the city of Murcia. Wherefore the French army avoided the coast, and took the inferior roads across the northern part of the province.

Soult, when once he had concentrated 45,000 men at Granada, had nothing to fear from any enemy. The gloomy picture of ‘a retreat harrassed by 60,000 foes,’ with which he had tried to scare King Joseph a month before, turned out to be a work of pure imagination. Hill had turned off towards the Tagus: Cruz Murgeon and Skerrett remained at Seville, awaiting the appearance of the 10,000 men left in Cadiz. But these were slow to move, because they had been on garrison duty for long years, and had to provide themselves with transport. Only Ballasteros hung about Granada, bickering with the outposts of the French army, and as he had no more than 5,000 or 6,000 men he was not dangerous, but only tiresome.

Soult therefore was able to spend many days at Granada, making deliberate preparations for the toilsome march that was before him. He only started out, after destroying the fortifications of the Alhambra and other posts, on September 16th. His route was by Baza, Huescar, Caravaca, and Hellin, through a mountainous and thinly-peopled country, where his troops suffered considerable privations. But these were nothing compared to the misery of the immense convoy of Afrancesados of all ages and both sexes, who had joined themselves to his train, and had to be brought through to a place of safety. Nor did the 6,000 sick and wounded whom he was dragging with him enjoy a pleasant journey. Yet it was only the September heat and the mountain roads that harassed the army and its train: Ballasteros did not pursue farther than the borders of Andalusia: the Murcians were cowed by the approach of a force which could have destroyed them with ease if it had lingered within their borders. Some of them shifted north toward Madrid, others south toward Alicante: none did anything to attract the notice of such a formidable enemy. Touch with Suchet’s outposts was secured before September was quite ended, and by the appearance of the whole Army of Andalusia near Valencia, a new military situation was produced by October 1st. With this we shall have to deal in its proper place—the fortunes of Wellington and the main army of the allies have not been followed beyond the middle of August.

Summing up the events of June-July-August 1812 in southern Spain, it is impossible to avoid the conclusion that Soult’s personal interests wrecked any chance that the French might have had of retaining their dominant position in the Peninsula, when once Wellington had committed himself to his offensive campaign upon the Tormes and the Douro. If the Duke of Dalmatia had obeyed in June King Joseph’s peremptory orders to send Drouet to Toledo, he would have had, no doubt, to evacuate certain parts of Andalusia. But Joseph and Jourdan could have marched many weeks earlier, and with a doubled force, to interfere with Wellington’s campaign against Marmont. It is true that Hill would have made a corresponding movement by Alcantara, and would have joined the main allied army under his chief many days before the King and Drouet would have been able to link up with Marmont. But Hill, on leaving Estremadura, would have removed the larger and more efficient part of his corps from Soult’s vicinity, and the Marshal might easily have held Seville and the Cadiz Lines, when faced by no stronger enemies than Ballasteros and the garrison in the Isla. If Soult had made up his mind to sacrifice Andalusia, and had marched with his whole army on Toledo, in June or even early in July, Wellington’s whole game would have been wrecked. It was, perhaps, too much to expect that the Marshal would consent to such a disinterested policy. But if, without making this sacrifice, he had merely obeyed King Joseph, and reinforced the Army of the Centre at an early date, he would have made the Salamanca campaign impossible. Wellington would probably have retired behind the Agueda and abandoned his conquests in Leon, without risking a battle, if the French forces in contact with him had been 25,000 men stronger than they actually were. The junction of Hill and some 12,000 men of the best of his Estremaduran detachment would have given him the power to fight out a defensive campaign on the Portuguese frontier, but hardly to deliver an offensive battle like Salamanca. The net results of all his manœuvres in June would then have been no more than an indirect success—the delivery of eastern Andalusia from Soult. Seville and the Cadiz Lines might still have remained occupied by the French.

It is scarcely necessary to repeat once more that Soult’s counter-plan of inviting the King and the Army of the Centre to retire to Andalusia, throwing up all communication with France and the imperial armies beyond the Douro, was wrongheaded in the extreme, though Napier calls it ‘grand and vigorous[710].’ Joseph could have brought no more than the 15,000 men that he owned, and they, when added to the 50,000 men of the Army of the South, would not have provided a force large enough to make a decisive move. For, as we have already seen, half the French in Andalusia were necessarily pinned down to garrison duties, and the ‘containing’ of Ballasteros and other partisans. Soult could never bring more than 25,000 men of his own into Estremadura: if 15,000 more are added for King Joseph’s troops[711], only 40,000 in all would have been available for a demonstration (or a serious invasion) in the direction of Portugal. Such a force would have given Wellington no very great alarm. It would have had to begin by besieging Badajoz and Elvas, in face of the existing ‘containing’ army under Hill, a delicate business, and one that would have taken time. Meanwhile Wellington could have come down, with reinforcements strong enough to make up a total sufficient to fight and beat 40,000 men, since he had the advantage of a central position and the shorter roads. At the worst he would have blocked the French advance by taking up an unassailable position, as he had before on the Caya in June 1811. But now he would have had a far superior game in his hands, since Badajoz was his and not his enemy’s, and his total disposable force was considerably larger than it had been in 1811.

Thus, if Soult’s plan had been carried out, all central Spain, including the capital, would have been lost just as much as it was by the actual campaign of July-August 1812, and the disorganized Army of Portugal could have done nothing. For Wellington could have left not Clinton’s one division (as he actually did) but three at least to look after it—not to speak of the Galicians and the partidas. Isolated and cut off from all communication with other French armies, Soult and the King would have had to evacuate Andalusia in the end, if they did not suffer a worse fate—a crushing defeat in a position from which there would have been no retreat possible. Hypothetical reconstructions of campaigns which might have happened are proverbially futile—but it is hard to see how any final profit to the French could have come from Soult’s extraordinary plan.

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SECTION XXXIII: CHAPTER XI

THE TWO DIVERSIONS: (1) OPERATIONS IN THE NORTH: SIR HOME POPHAM AND CAFFARELLI. (2) OPERATIONS IN THE EAST: SUCHET, O’DONNELL, AND MAITLAND. JUNE-AUGUST 1812

It has already been made clear that the whole of Wellington’s victorious advance, from Ciudad Rodrigo to Madrid, was rendered possible by the fact that he had only to deal with the Army of Portugal, succoured when it was too late by the Army of the Centre. If Caffarelli and his 35,000 men of the Army of the North had been able to spare any help for Marmont, beyond the single cavalry brigade of Chauvel, matters must have taken a very different turn from the first, and the Douro (if not the Tormes) must have been the limit of the activity of the Anglo-Portuguese army. How Caffarelli was to be detained, according to Wellington’s plan, has been explained in an earlier chapter[712]. The working out of the scheme must now be described.

The essential duty of the French Army of the North was twofold, according to Napoleon’s general conception of the Spanish war. It was Marmont’s reserve, bound to assist him in time of trouble; but it was also the force of occupation for the Biscayan provinces, Navarre, Santander, and Burgos. Of its 35,000 men more than half were at all times immobilized in the innumerable garrisons which protected the high-road from Bayonne to Burgos, and the small harbours of the coast, from San Sebastian to Santoña. The system of posts was complicated and interdependent. Since the great guerrillero Mina started on his busy career in 1810, it had been necessary that there should be fortified places at short intervals, in which convoys moving to or from France (whether by Vittoria and San Sebastian, or by Pampeluna and Roncesvalles) could take refuge when attacked by the bands. And since a convoy, when it had sought shelter in one of the minor garrisons, might be blockaded there indefinitely, unless the high-road were cleared betimes, large movable columns had to be ready in three or four of the larger places. Their duty was to march out on the first alarm, and sweep the guerrilleros away from any post that they might have beset. Such bodies were to be found at Bayonne, where the ‘Reserve of the Army of Spain’ kept a brigade of 3,500 men under General D’Aussenac to watch for any exceptional outbreak of trouble in Guipuzcoa; at Pampeluna, where General Abbé had the head-quarters of his division; and at Vittoria, where the General-in-Chief, Caffarelli himself, normally lay with the brigade of Dumoustier—the last unit of the Imperial Guard still remaining in Spain—ready to keep the line of the Ebro under surveillance, and to communicate when necessary with the three large outlying garrisons of Santoña, Santander, and Burgos. Each of these last consisted of some 1,300 or 1,500 men[713]; even so, they were only strong enough to provide for their own safety in normal times, and might require assistance from head-quarters in face of any specially large and threatening combination of the insurgents. But the larger half of Caffarelli’s army was locked up in small towns, forts, and blockhouses, in bodies ranging down from a battalion to half a company. Every one of the dozen little ports on the Biscay coast had to be held, in order to prevent the bands of the inland from communicating with the English cruisers, which occasionally appeared in the offing to throw weapons and ammunition ashore. And similarly all the little towns along the Ebro had to be garrisoned, in order to keep touch with Reille at Saragossa; wherever there was a gap Mina’s Navarrese slipped in between.

Since the autumn of 1810, when Porlier and Renovales had made their vain attempt, with British naval aid, to break up the line of communication along the coast,[714] there had been no general attempt to shake the French occupation of Biscay and Cantabria. The Spanish resources were at a low ebb whenever Bonnet held the Asturias, and (as we have seen) he was generally in possession of that province, or at least of its capital and its chief harbours, from 1810 down to the summer of 1812. The idea of attacking the harbour-fortresses of the northern coast with a considerable naval force, which should get into regular touch with the patriot forces of the inland, and establish posts to be held permanently on suitable points of the northern littoral, had been started by Sir Home Popham, approved by Sir Howard Douglas, the British Commissioner in Galicia, and warmly adopted by Wellington himself, who at once realized the pressure which such a policy would bring upon Caffarelli. He counted upon this diversion as one of his most valuable assets, when he drew up his scheme for the invasion of Leon in May 1812. It more than fulfilled his expectation.

On June 17th, four days after the Anglo-Portuguese army crossed the Agueda, Sir Home Popham sailed from Corunna with two line of battleships[715], five frigates[716], two sloops[717], and one or two smaller vessels, carrying two battalions of marines, and several thousand stand of small-arms for the insurgents. Popham had credentials from Castaños, as captain-general of Galicia, for Mendizabal, the officer who was supposed to exercise authority over all the bands of Cantabria and Biscay. These scattered forces consisted in the more or less organized brigades of Porlier in the Eastern Asturias, and Longa in Cantabria—both of which were reckoned part of the national army—and in addition of the guerrilleros of Jauregui [’El Pastor’] in Guipuzcoa, Renovales in Biscay, Marquinez, Saornil, the Curé Merino, and others in the mountains between the Douro and the sea. These were bands of varying strength, often scattered by the French, but always reassembled after a space, who roamed from region to region according as the enemy was stronger or weaker at one point or another. Occasionally Mendizabal was in touch with Mina and the Navarrese, but generally the French were in too great force about the high-road from Burgos to Pampeluna to make co-operation practicable.

At the moment of Popham’s start matters were exceptionally favourable along the Biscay coast, because Bonnet was just evacuating the Asturias, in order to join his chief Marmont in the plains of Leon. His departure isolated Santoña and Santander, which had been the links by which he was joined to Caffarelli’s army. It also gave Porlier and Longa an open communication with Galicia, from which they had hitherto been cut off by Bonnet’s presence in Asturias, and a safe retreat thitherward if they should be pressed. In addition Marmont had called up all the small garrisons and detached columns from his rear, for the main struggle with Wellington; so that the Upper Douro valley and the Soria country were much more free from the French than they had been for a long time. The opportunity for molesting Caffarelli and his much-scattered Army of the North was unique.

The idea which lay at the back of Popham’s plan was that a fleet furnished with the heaviest ship guns, and with a landing-force of over 1,000 men, could operate at its choice against any one of the long chain of posts which the French held, calling in to its aid the local bands in each case. The insurgents had never been able to capture any of these places because they lacked a battering-train. The fleet supplied this want, and with few exceptions the French strongholds were not suited for resistance against heavy guns. They were mediaeval castles, fortified convents, or the patched-up walls of little towns, all defensible against irregular bands without cannon, but most vulnerable to 18-or 24-pounders. The number of the French garrisons gave ample liberty of choice between one and another: individually they were generally weak—not over 300, 500, or 1,000 men. There were succouring columns, no doubt, ready to relieve them, at Bayonne and Vittoria and elsewhere. But the squadron had the power of misleading these forces to any extent—of drawing them from one remote port to another by false attacks and demonstrations, and then of attacking some third point when the enemy had been lured as far as possible from it. Here lay the beauty of naval operations—the squadron could appear to threaten any objective that it chose, could attract the enemy thither, and then could vanish, and be fifty miles away next day. The relieving column could only follow slowly over mountain roads, and would invariably be late in learning what new direction the squadron had taken. It was something like the advantage that the Danes had in their attacks on England in the ninth century: a defending army cannot guard all points of a coast-line at once against a movable landing force on shipboard. The weaker points of the scheme were, firstly, the dependence of all operations on fine weather—contrary winds could in those days delay a fleet for whole weeks on end; secondly, the want of a base nearer than Corunna, till some good and defensible haven should have been captured; and third and greatest of all, the difficulty of inducing the local chiefs to combine: they paid a very limited amount of obedience to their nominal chief, Mendizabal: they had private grievances and jealousies against each other: and each of them disliked moving far from the particular region where his men were raised, and where every inch of the mountain roads was known to him.

However, all these dangers were known and were chanced, and the game was well worth the risk. The operations began with the appearance of the squadron before Lequeitio on June 21st. Popham landed a heavy gun and some marines, and the band of El Pastor [’Don Gaspar’ as the English dispatches call him] appeared to co-operate from the inland. The defences consisted of a fort and a fortified convent: the 24-pounder breached the former, which was then stormed by the guerrilleros in a very handsome fashion[718]: its garrison was slain or captured. The gun was then brought up against the fortified convent, whose commander, the chef de bataillon Gillort, surrendered without further fighting; the prisoners amounted to 290 men, a half-battalion of the 119th regiment (June 22). Popham then moved off to Bermeo and Plencia, both of which the French evacuated in haste, leaving guns unspiked and some useful stores of provisions. The British force had set the wildest rumours abroad, and Renovales, the Spanish commander in Biscay, appeared at Orduna with his bands and threatened Bilbao, the capital of the province. It was these reports which made Caffarelli suddenly break off his project for sending reinforcements to Marmont, and prepare rather to march northward when he was most wanted on the Douro[719].

Popham’s next blow was at Guetaria, a most important post, owing to its nearness to the great chaussée leading to Bayonne, which passes quite close to it between Tolosa and Ernani. If it had fallen, the main road from France to Spain would have been blocked for all practical purposes. But being far to the East and near the French border, it was remote from the haunts of the guerrilleros: few of them turned up: after a few days Popham had to re-embark guns and men, and to take his departure, owing to the arrival in his neighbourhood of a strong French flying column. He then sailed off to Castro Urdiales, where he had much better luck: Longa had left the Upper Ebro with his brigade and joined him there on July 6th, by Mendizabal’s orders. Their united force drove off on the 7th a small French column which came up from Laredo to raise the siege. The governor of Castro then surrendered with some 150 men, and 20 guns on his walls fell into Popham’s hands (July 8). The place seemed so strong that the commodore resolved to keep it as a temporary base, and garrisoned it with some of his marines.

Three days later Popham appeared before Portugalete, the fortified village at the mouth of the Bilbao river, and bombarded it from the side of the sea, while Longa (who had marched parallel with the squadron along the shore), demonstrated against its rear. But a French flying column happened just to have arrived at Bilbao, and the force which marched out against the assailants was so powerful that they made off, each on his own element [July 11th.] Popham now turned his attention for a second time to the important strategical post of Guetaria; he had enlisted the support of the Guipuzcoan bands under Jauregui, and the distant Mina had promised to send a battalion to his aid from Navarre. Popham got heavy guns on shore, and began to batter the place, while Jauregui blockaded it on the land side. This move drew the attention of D’Aussenac, commanding the flying column which belonged to the Bayonne reserve: he marched with 3,000 men towards Guetaria, and drove off Jauregui, whereupon Popham had to re-embark in haste, and lost two guns which could not be got off in time and thirty men [July 19], Mina’s battalion came up a day too late to help the discomfited besiegers.

This petty disaster was in the end more favourable than harmful to Popham’s general plan, for he had succeeded in drawing all the attention of the French to the eastern end of their chain of coast-fortresses, between Santoña and San Sebastian. But now he used his power of rapid movement to attack unexpectedly their most important western stronghold. On July 22nd he appeared in front of the harbour of Santander, while (by previous arrangement) Campillo—one of Porlier’s lieutenants—invested it on the land side. Porlier himself, with his main body, was blockading at the moment the not very distant and still stronger Santoña.

There was very heavy fighting round Santander between the 22nd July and August 2. Popham landed guns on the water-girt rock of Mouro, and bombarded from it the castle at the mouth of the port: when its fire was subdued, he ran his squadron in battle order past it, and entered the harbour, receiving little damage from the other French works (July 24). The enemy then evacuated the castle, which the marines occupied: but an attempt to storm the town with the aid of Campillo’s men failed, with a rather heavy casualty list of two British captains[720] and many marines and seamen disabled (July 27th). However, Popham and Campillo held on in front of Santander, and Mendizabal came up on August 2nd to join them, bringing a captured French dispatch, which proved that the enemy intended to evacuate the place, a strong relieving column under Caffarelli himself being at hand to bring off the garrison. And this indeed happened: the General-in-Chief of the Army of the North had marched with all the disposable troops at Vittoria to save his detachment. The governor Dubreton—the same man who afterwards defended Burgos so well—broke out of the place with his 1,600 men on the night of the 2nd-3rd and joined his chief in safety: he left eighteen guns spiked in his works. Caffarelli then drew off the garrison of the neighbouring small post of Torrelavega, but threw a convoy and some reinforcements into Santoña, which he had determined to hold as long as possible. He then hastened back to Vittoria, being under the impression at the moment that Wellington was in march against him from Valladolid, in pursuit of the routed host of Clausel. But the Anglo-Portuguese main army—as will be remembered—had really followed the retreating French no farther than Valladolid, and no longer than the 30th July. Instead of finding himself involved in the affairs of the Army of Portugal, Caffarelli had soon another problem in hand.

The capture of Santander by the allies was the most important event that had happened on the north coast of Spain since 1809, for it gave the squadron of Popham possession of the sole really good harbor—open to the largest ships, and safe at all times of the year—which lies between Ferrol and the French frontier. At last the Spanish ‘Seventh Army’ had a base behind it, and a free communication with England for the stores and munitions that it so much needed. It might be developed into a formidable force if so strengthened, and it lay in a position most inconvenient for the French, directly in the rear of Clausel and Caffarelli. Popham saw what might be made of Santander, and drew up for Wellington’s benefit a report on the possibilities of the harbour, in which he details, from the information given by Porlier and his staff, the state of the roads between it and Burgos, Valladolid, and other points. Six weeks before the siege of Burgos began, he wrote that by all accounts six or eight heavy guns would be required to take that fortress, and that he could manage that they should be got there—a distance of 115 miles—by ox-draught, if they were wanted[721]. But Wellington, at the moment that this useful information was being compiled, was turning away from Valladolid and Burgos toward Madrid; and when his attention was once more drawn back to Burgos, he made no use of Popham’s offers till it was too late. Of this more in its proper place.

Having brought all his squadron into Santander, and made himself a fixed base in addition to his floating one, Popham began to concert plans for further operations with Mendizabal, whom he described as a man of ‘vacillating councils,’ and hard to screw up to any fixed resolution. The scheme which the commodore most recommended to the general was one for a general concentration of all his scattered forces against Bilbao, in which the squadron should give its best help. But he suggested as an alternative the sending of Porlier to join Longa, who had already gone south to the Upper Ebro after the failure at Portugalete on July 11th. Porlier and Longa would together be strong enough to cut the road between Burgos and Vittoria, and so divide Clausel from Caffarelli. If the two French generals combined against them, they could always escape north-westward into their usual mountain refuges.

According to Popham’s notes Mendizabal first seemed to incline to the second scheme, and then decided for the first. He even in the end ordered up Longa—then very usefully employed against Clausel’s rear about Pancorbo and Cubo—to join in the attack upon Bilbao. But Longa came late, being busy in operations that he liked better than those which his chief imposed on him. After waiting a few days for him in vain, Mendizabal marched against Bilbao by land with two battalions belonging to Porlier and one recently raised in Alava, while Popham took three Biscayan battalions belonging to Renovales on board his squadron and sailed for Lequeitio, where he put them ashore. He himself then made for Portugalete, at the mouth of the Bilbao river. The triple attack, though made with no very great total force was successful. The officer commanding in Bilbao, went out to meet Mendizabal, and in order to collect as many men as possible, drew off the garrison of Portugalete. The British squadron, arriving in front of the port, found it undefended and threw the marines ashore. Hearing of this descent in his rear the French general, then indecisively engaged with Mendizabal and Renovales, thought that he was in danger of being surrounded, and retired hastily toward Durango, abandoning Bilbao altogether [August 13].

Learning next day that they had overrated the enemy’s force, the French returned and tried to reoccupy the Biscayan capital, but were met outside by all Mendizabal’s troops, arrayed on the position of Ollorgan. An attack entirely failed to move them, and the French fell back to Durango. General Rouget, the commanding officer in the province, then drew in all his minor garrisons, and sent Caffarelli notice that all Biscay was lost, unless something could be done at once to check Mendizabal’s progress [August 14]. Indeed the situation looked most threatening, for Longa had at last come up and joined his chief with 3,000 men, and the Biscayans were taking arms on every side. A general junta of the Basque provinces was summoned by Mendizabal to meet at Bilbao, and the French had for the moment no foothold left save in San Sebastian and Guetaria. Thereupon Caffarelli, collecting every man that he could at Vittoria, marched to join Rouget. Their united forces, making some 7,000 men, attacked Bilbao on August 27th-29th, and after much confused fighting drove Mendizabal and Longa out of the place, only a fortnight after it had come into Spanish hands. The defeated troops dispersed in all directions, each section seeking the region that it had come from—Porlier’s men retired towards Cantabria, Longa’s toward the Upper Ebro. Renovales and his Biscayan battalions were caught in their retreat, and badly cut up at Dima.

While this fighting was going on around Bilbao, Popham was trying a last attack on Guetaria, with his own resources only, as nearly all the Spaniards were engaged elsewhere. He had accomplished nothing decisive when he heard of Mendizabal’s defeat, and had to reship his guns and take his departure before the victorious Caffarelli came up. He retired to Santander, and heard there that Wellington was leaving Madrid, and once more marching on Burgos. He determined to open up communications with the British army without delay, and on August 31 sent off Lieutenant Macfarlane to seek for the head of the approaching columns. That officer, skirting the flank of Clausel’s retreating host, reached Valladolid betimes, and explained to Wellington that the Santander road would be open and available for the transport of ammunition, guns, and even food, so soon as he should have driven the French past Burgos. And—as will be seen—it was so used during the unlucky siege of that fortress again and again—but not (as Popham recommended) for the bringing up of the heavy artillery that Wellington so much lacked.

By September 1st Caffarelli had patched up matters for a time on the side of Biscay, but though he had recovered Bilbao and preserved Guetaria, all the other coast-towns were out of his power save Santoña, and that important place was cut off from the nearest French garrison by a gap of some sixty miles. Even now Popham’s useful diversion had not ceased to have its effect. But its further working belongs to a later chapter.

So much for the annals of the war in northern Spain from June to August. The diversion which Wellington had planned had been brilliantly successful. A very different story must be told of the equally important scheme that he had concerted for keeping his enemies distracted on the eastern side of the Peninsula, by means of the Anglo-Sicilian expedition and the Spanish Army of Murcia.

Suchet, it will be remembered[722], had been stayed from further conquests after the fall of Valencia partly by the indirect results of Wellington’s operations on the Portuguese frontier—starting with the fall of Ciudad Rodrigo—partly by Napoleon’s action in drawing back to the Ebro the two divisions of Reille, and calling out of Spain the numerous Polish battalions serving in the Army of Aragon. But not the least of the hindering causes was a purely personal one—the long illness which kept Suchet confined to his bed for ten weeks in February, March, and April. By the time that he was in the saddle again a notable change had come over the aspect of the war all over the Peninsula. During his sickness his lieutenants, Habert and Harispe, maintained their position in front of the Xucar river, and observed the wrecks of the Valencian and Murcian divisions that had escaped from Blake’s disaster in January. The whole force remaining under Suchet—excluding the troops left behind in Catalonia and Aragon—was not above 15,000 men, and of these nearly 4,000 were locked up in garrisons, at Valencia, Saguntum, Peniscola, Morella, and other places. It is not surprising, therefore, that no farther advance was made against the Spaniards. Joseph O’Donnell, the successor of the unlucky Mahy, was able during the spring to reorganize some 12,000 men on the cadres of his old battalions. In addition he had Roche’s reserve at Alicante, 4,000 strong, which had now been profiting for many months by the British subsidy and training, and was reckoned a solid corps. He had also Bassecourt’s few battalions in the inland—the troops that D’Armagnac had hunted in December and January in the district about Requeña[723]. Cartagena, the only fortress on the coast still in Spanish hands save Alicante, had been strengthened by the arrival of a British detachment[724]. Altogether there were some 20,000 enemies facing Suchet in April, and he regarded it as impossible to think of attacking Alicante, since he had not nearly enough men in hand to besiege a place of considerable size, and at the same time to provide a sufficient covering army against Joseph O’Donnell. So little was the Murcian army molested that General Freire, O’Donnell’s second-in-command, ignoring Suchet altogether, took advantage of Soult’s absence in Estremadura, at the time of the fall of Badajoz, to alarm eastern Andalusia. He occupied Baza on April 18th, and when driven away after a time by Leval, governor of Granada, turned instead against the coast-land of the South. On May 11th an expedition, aided by English war-ships from Alicante, landed near Almeria, and cleared out all the French garrisons from the small towns and shore batteries as far west as Almunecar. Already before this (on May 1-3) an English squadron had made a descent on Malaga, seized and destroyed the harbour-works, and carried off some privateers and merchant vessels from the port. But naught could be accomplished against the citadel of Gibalfaro. Soult did little or nothing to resent these insults, because he was at the time obsessed with his ever-recurring idea that Wellington was about to invade Andalusia, and his attention was entirely taken up with the movements of Hill and Ballasteros in the West and North, so that the East was neglected. Leval at Granada had a troublesome time, but was in no real danger, since Freire’s raids were executed with a trifling force.

Suchet was occupied at this time more with civil than with military affairs: for some time after his convalescence he was engaged in rearranging the administration of the kingdom of Valencia, and in raising the enormous war-contribution which Napoleon had directed him to exact—200,000,000 reals, or £2,800,000—in addition to the ordinary taxes. The Marshal in his Mémoires gives a most self-laudatory account of his rule; according to his rose-coloured narrative[725], the imposts were raised with wisdom and benevolence, the population became contented and even loyal, the roads were safe, and material prosperity commenced at once to revive. Napier has reproduced most of Suchet’s testimonials to his own wisdom and integrity, without any hint that the Spanish version of the story is different. The Marshal who drove the civil population of Lerida under the fire of the cannon[726], and who signalized his entry into Valencia by wholesale executions of combatants and non-combatants[727], was not the benevolent being of his own legend. Since that legend has been republished in many a later volume, it may be well to give as a fair balance the version of an enemy—not of a Spaniard, but of a Prussian, that Colonel Schepeler whose authority on the war of Valencia we have so often had occasion to quote.

‘Napoleon Bonaparte looked upon Valencia as the prey of France, and Suchet did not fall behind in his oppressive high-handedness. The long-desired goal, the wealthy city, now lay open to their rapacity, and the riches that the clergy had denied to the needs of the nation went to fill the plunder-bag of the conqueror. The miraculous statue of Our Lady of Pity was stripped of her ancient jewelled robe: only a light mantle now draped her, and showed the cut of the nineteenth century. The silver apostles of the cathedral took their way to France with many other objects of value, and the Chapter was forced to pay ransom for hidden treasures. The magnanimous marshal imposed on the new French province, as a sort of “benevolence,” six million dollars (ten had been spoken of at first), with an additional million for the city of Valencia. The churches had to buy off their bells with another 60,000 dollars. Suchet, in his moderation, contented himself with exacting 500 dollars a day for his own table and household expenses.

‘Political persecution began with a decree of March 11, which ordered the judges of the local Audiencia [Law Court] to meet as before, but to administer justice in the name of Napoleon Empereur et Roi. The patriots refused to serve and fled; whereupon their goods were confiscated, their families were harried, and when some of them were captured they were threatened with penal servitude or death. A decree drawn up in words of cold ferocity, declared every Spaniard who continued to oppose the French to be a rebel and a brigand, and therefore condemned to capital punishment. Several villages were punished with fire and sword, because they were too patriotic to arrest and deliver up insurgents. Contrary to the promise made at the capitulation in January[728], many patriots were arrested and executed, under the pretence that they had been concerned in the murder of Frenchmen in 1808, even though they might actually have saved the lives of certain of those unfortunates at that time.

‘Valencia produces little wheat: there was much lack of it, and the French would not accept rice. Their requisitions were exacted with cruel disregard of consequences, even from the poorest, and quickly brought back to the patriotic side the mutable Valencian people, who had already been sufficiently embittered when they found that they were annexed to France. All over the province there began to appear slaughter, rebellion, and finally guerrillero bands[729].’

The point which Schepeler makes as to Valencia being practically annexed to France—as shown by the administration of justice in the name of Napoleon, not of King Joseph—should be noted. It illustrates Suchet’s determination to consider himself as a French viceroy, rather than as the general of one of the armies recently placed by the Emperor under the King as Commander-in-Chief in the Peninsula. We have already noted the way in which he contrived to plead special orders from Paris, exempting him from the royal control, whenever Joseph tried to borrow some of his troops for use against Wellington[730]. At the same time it must be conceded that he had a much better excuse than Soult for his persistent disobedience to such orders—his whole available force was so small, that if he had sent 6,000 men to San Clemente or Ocaña, as Joseph directed, there would have been little or nothing left in Valencia save the garrisons, and the Spaniards from Alicante and Murcia could have taken their revenge for the disasters of the past winter[731]. He represented to the King that to draw off such a body of troops to La Mancha implied the abandonment of all his recent conquests, and that if something had to be evacuated, it was better that Soult should begin the process, since Andalusia was a more outlying possession than Valencia—’les provinces du sud devaient être évacuées avant celles de l’est.’ And here he was no doubt right: as we have been remarking again and again, the only solution for the situation created by Wellington’s successes was to concentrate a great mass of troops at all costs, and the Army of the South could best provide that mass. It had 50,000 men under arms at the moment—Suchet had not in Valencia more than 15,000.

Hitherto we have spoken of those parts of the east coast of Spain which lie south of the Ebro. But if the situation in Valencia had not altered much between February and June, the same was also the case in Catalonia. Since Eroles’s victory over Bourke at Roda in March[732] there had been much marching and counter-marching in that principality, but nothing decisive. Lacy, the unpopular captain-general, was at odds with the Junta, and especially with Eroles, the best of his divisional officers, who was the most influential man in Catalonia, owing to his local connexions and his untiring energy. Lacy was a stranger, an enemy of the ‘Somaten’ system, and a pronounced Liberal. The political tendencies of the Catalans were distinctly favourable to the other or ‘Servile’ party. The captain-general was also accused of nourishing jealousy against Sarsfield, his second-in-command: and it is certain that both that officer and Eroles believed him capable of any mean trick toward them. But though divided counsels and mutual suspicions often hindered the co-operation of the commanders and the people, all were equally bitter enemies of the invader, and none of them showed any signs of slackening in their grim resolve to hold out to the end. The Catalan army did not now count more than 8,000 men in the field, but its central position in the mountains of the interior, round which the French garrisons were dispersed in a long semicircle, gave it advantages that compensated to a certain extent for its lack of numbers. It could strike out at any isolated point on the circumference, and, whether its blow failed or succeeded, generally got off before the enemy had concentrated in sufficient numbers to do it much harm. On the other hand, Decaen, now commanding in Catalonia, and Maurice Mathieu, the governor of Barcelona, though they had some three times as many men under arms as Lacy, were reduced to a position that was little more than defensive. It is true that they occasionally collected a heavy column and struck into the inland: but the enemy avoided them, and replied by counter-attacks on depleted sections of the French circle of garrisons. On April 9th, for example, 4,800 men marched from Gerona against Olot: the local levies under Claros and Rovira skirmished with them, giving ground, and finally losing the town. But though they did not stop the advance of the enemy, Milans, with a larger force, moved on the important harbour of Mataro, and laid siege to the garrison there (April 22), a stroke which soon brought the bulk of French troops back from Olot to drive him off. At the same time Sarsfield’s division pressed in upon the garrison of Tarragona, and cut off its communications with Barcelona.

This forced Decaen to march to open the road, with all the men that Maurice Mathieu could spare from Barcelona (April 28). Letting them go by, Lacy at once renewed the attack on Mataro, bringing up the forces of Sarsfield and Milans, and borrowing four ship-guns from Commodore Codrington to batter the fort, in which the French had taken refuge after evacuating the town [May 3]. Decaen and Lamarque promptly turned back, and on the third day of the siege came hastily to break it up. The Spaniards dispersed in various directions, after burying the guns, which (much to Codrington’s regret) were discovered and exhumed by the enemy. The net result of all this marching and counter-marching was that much shoe-leather had been worn out, and a few hundred men killed or wounded on each side: but certainly no progress had been made in the conquest of Catalonia. Indeed, Manso, at the end of the campaign, established himself at Molins de Rey, quite close to Barcelona, and Sarsfield occupied Montserrat, so that between them they once more cut off the communications from Barcelona southward and westward. Both had to be driven off in June, in order that the roads might again be opened.

Early in July Lacy devised a scheme which made him more hated than ever in Catalonia. He concerted with some Spanish employés in the French commissariat service a plan for blowing up the powder magazine of the great fortress of Lerida, and arranged to be outside its walls on the day fixed for the explosion, and to storm it during the confusion that would follow. Eroles and Sarsfield both protested, pointing out that a whole quarter of the city must be destroyed, with great loss of life. Lacy replied that the results would justify the sacrifice, persisted in his scheme, and moved with every available man towards Lerida to be ready on the appointed day. He miscalculated his hours, however; and, though he left hundreds of stragglers behind from over-marching, his column arrived too late. The explosion took place on the 16th, with dreadful success; not only did a hundred of the garrison perish, but a much larger number of the citizens; many houses and one of the bastions fell. The governor Henriod, a very firm-handed man whose record in Lerida was most tyrannical[733], had been entirely unaware of the approach of the Spaniards, but proved equal to the occasion. He put his garrison under arms, manned the breach, and showed such a firm front, when Lacy appeared, that the captain-general, having tired troops and no cannon, refused to attempt the storm. He went off as quickly as he had come, having caused the death of several hundred of his countrymen with no profit whatever. If he was ready to adopt such terrible means, he should at least have had his plans correctly timed. The Catalans never forgave him the useless atrocity[734].

Operations in Catalonia and Valencia were thus dragging on with no great profit to one side or the other, when Wellington’s great scheme for the Anglo-Sicilian diversion on the east coast began at last to work, and—as he had expected—set a new face to affairs. Unfortunately the expedition was conducted very differently from his desire. We have already shown how, by Lord William Bentinck’s perversity, it started too late, and was far weaker than was originally intended[735]. But on July 15th General Maitland arrived at Port Mahon with a fleet carrying three English[736] and two German battalions, and parts of three foreign regiments, with a handful of cavalry, and two companies of artillery. He sent messengers across Spain to announce to Wellington his arrival, and his purpose of landing in Catalonia, as had been directed. At Majorca he picked up Whittingham’s newly-organized Balearic division, and after some delay he set sail on July 28 for Palamos, a central point on the Catalan coast, off which he arrived on the morning of July 31st with over 10,000 men on board.

Owing to Bentinck’s unhappy hesitation in May and June, after the expedition had been announced and the troops ordered to prepare for embarkation, French spies in Sicily had found the time to send warning to Paris, and Suchet had been advised by the Minister of War that a fleet from Palermo might appear in his neighbourhood at any moment. He received his warning in the end of June, a month before Maitland’s arrival[737], and this turned out in the end profitable to the allied cause; for, though the fleet never appeared, he was always expecting it, and used the argument that he was about to be attacked by an English force as his most effective reply to King Joseph’s constant demands for assistance in New Castile. The arrival at Alicante of transports intended to carry Roche’s division to Catalonia, and of some vessels bearing the battering-train which Wellington had sent round for Bentinck’s use, was duly reported to him: for some time he took this flotilla to be the Anglo-Sicilian squadron. Hence he was expecting all through June and July the attack which (through Bentinck’s perversity) was never delivered. The threat proved as effective as the actual descent might have been, and Wellington would have been much relieved if only he could have seen a few of Suchet’s many letters refusing to move a man to support the King[738].

Suchet’s great trouble was that he could not tell in the least whether the Sicilian expedition would land in Catalonia or in Valencia. It might come ashore anywhere between Alicante and Rosas. He prepared a small movable central reserve, with which he could march northward if the blow should fall between Valencia and Tortosa, or southward—to reinforce Habert and Harispe—if it should be struck in the South. Decaen was warned to have a strong force concentrated in central Catalonia, in case the descent came in his direction, and Suchet promised him such assistance as he could spare. On a rumour that the Sicilian fleet had turned northward—as a matter of fact it was not yet in Spanish waters—the Marshal thought it worth while to make a rapid visit to Catalonia, to concert matters with Decaen. He marched by Tortosa with a flying column, and on July 10th met Decaen at Reus. Here he learned that there were no signs of the enemy to be discovered, and after visiting Tarragona, inspecting its fortifications, and reinforcing its garrison, returned southward in a more leisurely fashion than he had gone forth.

During Suchet’s absence from his Valencian viceroyalty the captain-general of Murcia took measures which brought about one of the most needless and gratuitous disasters that ever befell the ever-unlucky army of which he was in charge. Joseph O’Donnell knew that the Sicilian expedition was due, and he had been warned that Roche’s division would be taken off to join it; he was aware that Maitland’s arrival would modify all Suchet’s arrangements, and would force him to draw troops away from his own front. He had been requested by Wellington to content himself with ‘containing’ the French force in his front, and to risk nothing. But on July 18th he marched out from his positions in front of Alicante with the design of surprising General Harispe. He knew that Suchet had gone north, and was not aware of his return; and he had been informed, quite truly, that Harispe’s cantonments were much scattered. Unfortunately he was as incapable as he was presumptuous, and he entirely lacked the fiery determination of his brother Henry, the hero of La Bispal. According to contemporary critics he was set, at this moment, on making what he thought would be a brilliant descent on an unprepared enemy, without any reference to his orders or to the general state of the war[739]. And he wished to fight before Roche’s troops were taken from him, as they must soon be.

Harispe had only some 5,000 men—his own division, with one stray battalion belonging to Habert[740], and Delort’s cavalry brigade[741]. He had one infantry regiment in reserve at Alcoy[742], another at Ibi[743], the third[744]—with the bulk of Delort’s horsemen—in and about Castalla, the nearest point in the French cantonments to Alicante. O’Donnell’s ambitious plan was to surround the troops in Castalla and Ibi by a concentric movement of several columns marching far apart, and to destroy them before Harispe himself could come up with his reserve from the rear. Bassecourt and his detachment from the northern hills was ordered to fall in at the same time on Alcoy, so as to distract Harispe and keep him engaged—a doubtful expedient since he lay many marches away, and it was obvious that the timing of his diversion would probably miscarry.

O’Donnell marched in three masses: on the right Roche’s division went by Xixona with the order to surprise the French troops in Ibi. The main body, three weak infantry brigades under Montijo, Mijares, and Michelena, with two squadrons of cavalry and a battery, moved straight upon Castalla. The main body of the horse, about 800 strong, under General Santesteban, went out on the left on the side of Villena, with orders to outflank the enemy and try to cut in upon his rear. The whole force made up 10,000 infantry and 1,000 cavalry, not taking into account the possible (but unlikely) advent of Bassecourt, so that Harispe was outnumbered by much more than two to one. As an extra precaution all the transports ready in Alicante were sent out—with only one battalion on board—along the coast, to demonstrate opposite Denia and the mouth of the Xucar, in order to call off the attention of Habert’s division, which lay in that direction.

Having marched all night on the 20th July, the Spanish columns found themselves—in a very fatigued condition—in front of the enemy at four o’clock on the morning of the 21st. They were out of touch with each other, Roche being separated from the centre by the mountain-spur called the Sierra de Cata, and the cavalry having been sent very far out on the flank. General Mesclop was opposed to Roche at Ibi, with four battalions and a squadron of cuirassiers—General Delort, at Castalla, had only one squadron of the cuirassiers, two battalions, and a battery, but was expecting the arrival of the 24th Dragoons from the neighbouring town of Biar, some way to his right, and of the remaining two squadrons of the 13th Cuirassiers from Onil on his left. Meanwhile he evacuated Castalla, but took up a position on a hillside covered by a stream and a ravine crossed by a narrow bridge, with his trifling force. He had already sent orders to Mesclop at Ibi to come in to his aid, leaving only a rearguard to hold off as long as possible the Spanish column in front of him. The latter did as he was bid; he threw into the Castle of Ibi a company of the 44th and two guns, and left the rest of that battalion and a troop of cuirassiers to support them. With the rest of his force, the three battalions of the 1st Léger and the remaining troop of cuirassiers, he set off in haste for Castalla.

O’Donnell assailed Delort in a very leisurely way after occupying the town of Castalla—his troops were tired, and four of his six guns had fallen behind. But Montijo’s brigade and the two pieces which had kept up with it were developing an attack on the bridge, and Michelena and Mijares had passed the ravine higher up, when the French detached troops began to appear from all directions. The first to get up were the 400 men of the 24th Dragoons, who—screened by an olive wood—came in with a tremendous impact, and quite unforeseen, upon Mijares’s flank, and completely broke up his three battalions. They then, after re-forming their ranks, formed in column and charged across the narrow bridge in front of O’Donnell’s centre, though it was commanded by his two guns. An attack delivered across such a defile, passable by only two horses abreast, looked like madness—but was successful! The guns only fired one round each before they were ridden over, and the brigade supporting them broke up. Delort then attacked, with his two battalions and with the cuirassiers who had just come up from Onil. Montijo’s brigade, the only intact Spanish unit left, was thus driven from the field and scattered. The 6,000 infantry of O’Donnell’s centre became a mass of fugitives—only one regiment out of the whole[745] kept its ranks and went off in decent order. Of the rest nearly half were hunted down and captured in droves by the French cuirassiers and dragoons. Mesclop with the three battalions from Ibi arrived too late to take any part in the rout. Delort sent him back at once to relieve the detachment that he had left in front of Roche. The latter had driven it out of the village of Ibi after some skirmishing, when he saw approaching him not only Mesclop’s column, but Harispe coming up from Alcoy with the 116th of the Line. He at once halted, turned to the rear, and retired in good order towards Xixona: the enemy’s cavalry tried to break his rearguard but failed, and the whole division got back to Alicante without loss. The same chance happened to Santesteban’s cavalry, which, marching from Villena at 7 o’clock, had reached Biar, in the enemy’s rear, only when the fighting—which had begun at 4—was all over. O’Donnell tried to throw blame on this officer; but the fact seems to be that his own calculation of time and distance was faulty: he had sent his cavalry on too wide a sweep, separated by hills from his main body, and had kept up no proper communication with it. Nor does it appear that if Santesteban had come up to Biar a little earlier he would have been able to accomplish anything very essential. Bassecourt’s diversion, as might have been expected, did not work: before he got near Alcoy the main body had been cut to pieces: he retired in haste to Almanza on hearing the news.

O’Donnell’s infantry was so shattered that his army was reduced to as bad a condition as it had shown in January, after Blake’s original disaster at Valencia. He had lost over 3,000 men, of whom 2,135 were unwounded prisoners, three flags, and the only two guns that had got to the front. The survivors of the three broken brigades had dispersed all over the countryside, and took weeks to collect. It was fortunate that Roche’s division had reached Alicante intact, or that city itself might have been in danger. The French had lost, according to their own account, no more than 200 men[746]: only the two cavalry regiments, two battalions of the 7th Line, and one of the 44th had been put into action. As Suchet truly remarks in his Mémoires[747] the total numbers engaged—3,000 men[748]—on his side were somewhat less than the casualty list of the enemy.

The rout of Castalla put the Murcian army out of action for months—a lucky thing for Suchet, since the force of the allies at Alicante was just about to be increased by the arrival there of Maitland’s expedition, and if O’Donnell’s army had been still intact, a very formidable body of troops would have been collected opposite him. It remains to explain the appearance of the Anglo-Sicilians in this direction, contrary to the orders of Wellington, who had expressed his wish that they should land in Catalonia, join Lacy, and lay siege to Tarragona—an operation which he thought would force Suchet to evacuate Valencia altogether, in order to bring help to Decaen.

We left Maitland anchored in the Bay of Palamos on July 31. The moment that he appeared Eroles went on board his ship, to urge his immediate disembarkation, and to promise the enthusiastic assistance of the Catalans. The energetic baron gave a most optimistic picture of the state of affairs, he declared that the whole country would rise at the sight of the red-coats, that Tarragona was weakly held, and that the total force of the French, including Suchet’s column near Tortosa, was only 13,000 men. Lacy and Sarsfield appeared later, and gave much less encouraging information: they rated the enemy at a far higher figure than Eroles, and were right in so doing, for Decaen had some 25,000 men, and could by an effort have concentrated 15,000, exclusive of succours from Suchet. The Spanish Army of Catalonia could only furnish 7,000 foot and 300 horse, of whom many were so far off at the moment that Lacy declared that it would take six or eight days to bring them up. By the time that they were all arrived, the French would have concentrated also, and would be equal in numbers to the whole force that the allies could collect. Tarragona was reported to be in a better state of defence than Eroles allowed, and the engineers declared that it might take ten days to reduce it. But the greatest problem of all was that of provisions: Lacy declared that the country could furnish little or nothing: he could not undertake to keep his own small army concentrated for more than a week. The Anglo-Sicilians must be fed from the fleet, and he could provide no transport. Evidently the expedition would be tied down to the shore, and the siege of Tarragona was the only possible operation. Since the Anglo-Sicilian army could not manœuvre at large or retire into the inland, it would have to fight Decaen, to cover the investment of Tarragona, within a few days of its landing. On the other hand if, as Eroles promised, the somatenes rose on every side at the news of the disembarkation, the outlying French troops might not be able to get up to join Decaen, the roads would be blocked, the enemy might never be able to concentrate, and the force about Barcelona, his only immediately available field army, was not more than 8,000 strong, and might be beaten.

There were those who said that Lacy never wished to see the expedition land, because he was jealous of Eroles, and thought that a general rising which ended in success would have meant the end of his own power and tenure of office[749]. It is at least certain that the views which he expressed caused Maitland much trouble, and made him to flinch from his original idea of landing without delay and attacking Tarragona, according to Wellington’s desire. The English general took refuge in a council of war—the usual resource of commanders of a wavering purpose. His lieutenants all advised him to refuse to land, on the ground that his forces were too small and heterogeneous, that Lacy could give no prompt assistance, and that there was no sign as yet of the general rising which Eroles promised. Moreover, some of the naval officers told him that anchorage off the Catalan coast was so dangerous, even in summer, that they could not promise him that the army could be taken safely on board in case of a defeat. To the intense disgust of Eroles and the other Catalan leaders, but not at all to Lacy’s displeasure, Maitland accepted the advice of his council of war, and resolved to make off, and to land farther south. The original idea was to have come ashore somewhere in the midst of the long coast-line south of the Ebro, between Tortosa and Valencia, with the object of breaking Suchet’s line in the middle. But the news of Joseph O’Donnell’s gratuitous disaster at Castalla, which obviously enabled the Marshal to use his whole army against a disembarking force, and the suggestion that Alicante itself might be in danger, induced Maitland in the end to order his whole armament to steer southward. He arrived at Alicante on August 7th, and commenced to send his troops ashore—both his own 6,000 men and Whittingham’s 4,000 auxiliaries of the Balearic division. Since Roche was already there, with his troops in good order, there were 14,000 men collected in Alicante, over and above the wrecks of O’Donnell’s force. If only the Murcians had been intact, the mass assembled would have caused Suchet serious qualms, since it would have outnumbered the French corps in Valencia very considerably, and there was in it a nucleus of good troops in Maitland’s British and German battalions. The news of Salamanca had also come to hand by this time, and had transformed the general aspect of affairs in Suchet’s eyes: King Joseph was again demanding instant help from him, in the hope of retaining Madrid, and had called in (without his knowledge or consent) the division of Palombini from Aragon, and the garrison of Cuenca[750]. If Wellington should advance—as he actually did—against the King, and should drive him from his capital, it was possible that the main theatre of the war might be transferred to the borders of Valencia.

The Marshal therefore resolved to concentrate: he ordered Habert and Harispe to fall back behind the Xucar with their 8,000 men, abandoning their advanced positions in front of Alicante, and placed them at Jativa; here he threw up some field-works and armed a tête-de-pont on the Xucar at Alberique. He ordered Paris’s brigade to come down from northern Aragon to Teruel, and he warned the generals in Catalonia that he might ask for reinforcements from them.

Maitland therefore, after his landing, found that the French had disappeared from his immediate front. He was joined by Roche, and by the 67th regiment from Cartagena, and proposed to drive Harispe from Castalla and Ibi. But he marched against him on August 16th-18th, only to find that he had already retired behind the Xucar. Farther than Monforte he found himself unable to advance, for want of transport and food. For the expedition from Sicily had not been fitted out for an advance into the inland. It had been supposed by Bentinck that the troops would be able to hire or requisition in Spain the mules and carts that they would require for a forward movement. But the country-side about Alicante was already exhausted by the long stay of the Murcian army in that region; and O’Donnell—before Maitland had come to know the difficulties of his position, got from him a pledge that he would not take anything from it either by purchase or by requisition. The British general had hired mules to draw his guns, but found that he could not feed them on a forward march, because the resources of the district were denied him. He himself had to stop at Elda, Roche at Alcoy, because the problem of transport and food could not be solved. All that he could do was to feel the French line of outposts behind the Xucar with a flying column composed of his own handful of cavalry—200 sabres—and a detachment of Spanish horse lent him by Elio, the successor of O’Donnell [August 20th-21st].

But even the thought of farther advance had now to be given up, for the news arrived that King Joseph had evacuated Madrid on the 14th, and was marching on Valencia with the 15,000 men that he had collected. To have tried any further attack on Suchet, when such an army was coming in from the flank to join the Marshal, would have been insane. The French force in this region would be doubled in strength by the King’s arrival. Wherefore Maitland drew back his own division to Alicante, and brought Roche back to Xixona, not far in front of that fortress, expecting that he might ere long be pushed back, and perhaps besieged there. Wellington in the end of the month, having the same idea, sent him elaborate directions for the defence of the place, bidding him to hold it as long as possible, but to keep his transports close at hand, and to re-embark if things came to the worst[751].

On the 25th King Joseph’s army and its vast convoy of French and Spanish refugees, joined Suchet’s outposts at Almanza, and the dangerous combination which Maitland and Wellington had foreseen came to pass. But what was still more threatening for the army at Alicante was the rumour that Soult was about to evacuate Andalusia, and to bring the whole of the Army of the South to Valencia. This would mean that nearly 80,000 French troops would ere long be collected within striking distance of the motley force over which Maitland and Elio now held command, and it seemed probable that Soult in his march might sweep over the whole country-side, disperse the Spanish forces on the Murcian border, and perhaps besiege and take Cartagena and Alicante as a parergon on the way. We have seen in chapter X that nothing of this kind happened: Soult hung on to Andalusia for a month longer than Wellington or any one else deemed probable: he only left Granada on September 17th, and when he did move on Valencia he took the bad inland roads by Huescar, Calasparra, and Hellin, leaving Murcia and Cartagena and the whole sea-coast undisturbed. The reason, as has been already pointed out, was the outbreak of yellow fever at Cartagena, which caused the Duke of Dalmatia so much concern that he preferred to keep away from the infection, even at the cost of taking inferior and circuitous roads.

For the whole of September, therefore, Suchet on the one side and Maitland and the Spaniards on the other, were waiting on Soult: in the expectation of his early arrival both sides kept quiet. Thus tamely ended the first campaign of the Anglo-Sicilian army, on whose efforts Wellington had so much counted. And its later operations, as we shall presently see, were to be wholly in keeping with its unlucky start.

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SECTION XXXIII: CHAPTER XII

WELLINGTON RETURNS TO THE DOURO. FINIS

The garrison of the Retiro had surrendered on August 14th: Wellington remained for seventeen days longer in Madrid, and did not leave it, to take the field again, until August 31st. His stay in the Spanish capital was not due, in the first instance, to the causes which might seem most plausible—a desire to give his war-worn infantry a rest during the hottest weeks of the year, or a determination to reorganize the military resources of Madrid and New Castile for the profit of the allied cause[752]. Both these ideas existed, and the latter in especial absorbed much of his attention—he spent long hours in trying to concert, with Carlos de España, measures for the utilization of the captured munitions of the Retiro, and for the recruiting of the regiments of the Spanish ‘Fifth Army.’ In this he accomplished less than he had hoped, partly because of the dreadful exhaustion of the central provinces of Spain after the famine of the preceding year, partly because of the inefficiency of most of the Spanish officials with whom he had to deal. He was much discontented with the list of persons appointed by the new Regency to take up authority in the reconquered provinces; and Castaños, whom he most trusted, and desired to have with him, was lingering in Galicia[753].

But the main reason for the halt at Madrid was the uncertainty as to the movements of Soult. Was the Duke of Dalmatia about, as would seem reasonable, to evacuate Andalusia? And if so, would he pick up King Joseph and the Army of the Centre in La Mancha, and march on Madrid with the 65,000 men whom they could collect? Or would he retire on Valencia and join Suchet? Or again, would he persist in his intention, expressed in dispatches to Joseph, which had fallen into Wellington’s hands, of holding on to Andalusia and making it a separate base of French power, despite of the fact that he had been cut off from communication with the imperial armies of the East and North?

‘Any other but a modern French army would now leave the province [of Andalusia],’ wrote Wellington to Lord Bathurst on July 18[754], ‘as they have now absolutely no communication of any kind with France or with any other French army; and they are pressed on all sides by troops not to be despised, and can evidently do nothing. Yet I suspect that Soult will not stir till I force him out by a direct movement upon him: and I think of making that movement as soon as I can take the troops to the South without injuring their health.’ All military reasons were against the probability of Soult’s holding on in Andalusia, yet he had certainly expressed his intention of doing so as late as the middle of July, and, what was more important still in judging of his plans, he had not made a sudden movement of retreat when the news of Salamanca reached him. Hill writing on August 4th, six days after the receipt of the tidings of Marmont’s disaster, had to report[755] that ‘the recent glorious event’ seemed to have had very little effect on the enemy, who ‘continued in a strong position in his front.’ And this was true, for Soult, after hearing the news of Salamanca, had made his last frantic appeal to King Joseph to fall back on Andalusia, and make his base at Seville if Madrid were lost. Wellington was right in suspecting that, if the Marshal had got his desire, the South would have been maintained against him, and he would have had to march thither in person, to pick up Hill, and to bring matters to an issue by another pitched battle. It was only on August 12th that Soult reluctantly resolved to evacuate Andalusia: his first precautionary movements for retreat were made on August 15th, but it was not till the 24th that the Cadiz Lines were destroyed, or till the 26th that all the French troops in front of Hill suddenly vanished. Wellington was therefore kept for more than a fortnight in a state of complete uncertainty as to whether he might not have to march southward in the end, to evict Soult from his viceroyalty. It was only on the 24th that he got information from Hill (written on the 17th) which gave the first premonitory warning that the French seemed to be on the move[756]. Next day confirming evidence began to come to hand: ‘it is generally reported, and I have reason to believe, that the Army of the South is about to make a general movement ... it is supposed in the direction of Granada and Valencia[757].’ On August 30, ‘though Sir Rowland Hill on the 17th instant had no intelligence that the march was commenced, there was every appearance of it.’ The fact that seemed to make it incredible that Soult could be proposing to hold Andalusia any longer, was precise information that King Joseph and the Army of the Centre had marched upon Valencia to join Suchet, and had passed Chinchilla on August 24th, going eastward[758]. If the King had gone by the passes of the Sierra Morena southward, to join Soult, doubt might still have been possible: but since he had made Valencia his goal, and was crawling slowly along in that direction with his immense convoy of refugees and baggage, Soult—left entirely to his own resources—could not retain his present position. He must march on Valencia also, and it would be many weeks before he could place himself in touch with Suchet, and produce a threatening combination on the Mediterranean coast.

On August 31st, therefore, with no absolutely certain news yet to hand as to Soult’s retreat, but with every military probability in favour of its having been begun, Wellington resolved to leave Madrid and to return to the valley of the Douro, where the movements of Clausel and the French Army of Portugal demanded his attention. He never thought for a moment of endeavouring to march through La Mancha to intercept or molest Soult’s retreat. The distance was too great, the roads unknown, the problem of feeding the army in the desolate and thinly-peopled country about the Murcian and Andalusian borders too difficult. Wellington made up his mind that he had some time to spare: he would march against Clausel and then ‘return to this part of the country [Madrid] as soon as I shall have settled matters to my satisfaction on the right of the Douro. And I hope I shall be here [Madrid] and shall be joined by the troops under Sir Rowland Hill, before Soult can have made much progress to form his junction with the King[759].’ It is important, therefore, to realize that, in Wellington’s original conception, the operations in Old Castile, which we may call the Burgos campaign, were to be but a side-issue, an intermediate and secondary matter. The real danger in Spain, as he considered, was the approaching, but not immediate, junction of Soult, Suchet, and King Joseph at Valencia. And the Commander-in-Chief evidently proposed to be at Madrid, to face this combination, by October 1st. How and why he failed to carry out this intention must be explained at length in the next volume.

Meanwhile, when he marched off to the Douro with part of his army, he had to make provisions for the conduct of affairs in the South during his absence. Hill, as has been shown in another chapter, had been told to march on Madrid, as soon as Soult’s forces had made their definitive departure for the East. As Drouet only disappeared from Hill’s front on August 26th, the northward march of the army from Estremadura began late: it had not commenced to cross the Guadiana on September 1: its progress to and along the Tagus valley was slow, owing to the difficulty of procuring food, and its main body had not reached Almaraz and Talavera before the 20th September, and was only concentrated about and behind Toledo at the end of the month. But though Hill’s movement was not rapid, it was made in sufficiently good time to face the danger that was brewing on the side of Valencia. And there can be no doubt that if he had received orders to hurry, he could have been in line some days before he actually appeared[760]. He brought up all his force[761] except Buchan’s Portuguese brigade[762], which was left at Truxillo and Merida, to keep up his communication with Elvas. Estremadura, so long the contending ground of armies, had now no solid body of troops left in it save the Spanish garrison of Badajoz. For Penne Villemur and Morillo, with the division which had so long operated in Hill’s vicinity, moved with him into New Castile. They went by the rugged roads through the mountains of the province of Toledo[763], and took post at Herencia, on the high-road from Madrid to the Despeñaperros pass, in front of the British 2nd Division.

In the rear of Hill’s column, and separated from it by many days’ march, was another small British force toiling up to Madrid from a very distant point. This was the force under Colonel Skerrett, which had taken part in the fighting round Seville. It consisted of the battalion of the Guards from Cadiz, the 2/47th and 2/87th, two companies of the 2/95th, a squadron of the 2nd Hussars K.G.L., the 20th Portuguese Line, and a battery. By Wellington’s orders no British troops were now left in Cadiz save the 2/59th, part of de Watteville’s regiment, the ‘battalion of foreign recruits,’ soon to become the 8/60th, and a few artillery. Skerrett’s column, some 4,000 strong, marched by Merida and Truxillo, and reached Toledo in time to join Hill for the autumn campaign in front of Madrid. Hill’s corps, when joined by Skerrett, provided a force of over 20,000 men, about equally divided between British and Portuguese.

It would have been profitable to Wellington, as matters went in the end, if he had handed over the entire task of observing Soult’s operations to Hill. But being under the impression that he would return ere long to Madrid, he left there and in the neighbourhood nearly half the force that he had brought from Salamanca. He only took with him to oppose Clausel the 1st, 5th, and 7th Divisions, with Pack’s and Bradford’s Portuguese, and Bock’s and Ponsonby’s (late Le Marchant’s) brigades of heavy dragoons, a force of some 21,000 men[764]. He left the 3rd and Light Divisions at Madrid, the 4th Division at the Escurial, and Carlos de España’s Spaniards at Segovia. The cavalry of Victor Alten and D’Urban were assigned to this force, and remained, the former at Madrid, the latter at the Palacio de Rio Frio, near Segovia. The British infantry divisions had all suffered heavily at Badajoz, and the 4th at Salamanca also—they were weak in numbers, but were expecting ere long to be joined by numerous convalescents. The total force left behind amounted to about 17,000 men, including the Spaniards[765]. Thus when Hill and Skerrett came up from the South, there was a mass of nearly 40,000 men accumulated round Madrid, while Wellington himself, after picking up Clinton and the 6th Division, and the other troops left on the Douro, had a little under 30,000. This proved in the autumn campaign an ideally bad partition of the army, for on each wing the Anglo-Portuguese force was decidedly less numerous than that which the French could bring against it. If Wellington had taken his full strength to the North, he could have defied Clausel and Caffarelli, and they could never have made head against him, or pressed him away from Burgos. Hill, on the other hand, in front of Madrid, would have been no more helpless with 22,000 men than he actually was with 38,000 men, when Soult and King Joseph brought 60,000 against him in October. In either case he could only retreat without offering battle. But Wellington, if the three additional divisions left in New Castile had been brought to the North, would have had such a superiority over the French in Old Castile that he could have dealt with them as he pleased. The only explanation of the unfortunate proportional division of his army, is that Wellington undervalued the task he had to execute beyond the Douro, thought that he could finish it more quickly than was to be the case, and calculated on being back at Madrid in October before Soult could give trouble.

Yet when he started he was not comfortable in his mind about the general situation. If the French drew together, their total strength in Spain was far too great for him. In a moody moment he wrote to his brother Henry: ‘though I still hope to be able to maintain our position in Castile, and even to improve our advantages, I shudder when I reflect upon the enormity of the task which I have undertaken, with inadequate powers myself to do anything, and without assistance of any kind from the Spaniards.... I am apprehensive that all this may turn out ill for the Spanish cause. If by any cause I should be overwhelmed, or should be obliged to retire, what will the world say? What will the people of England say? What will those in Spain say?[766]’

Wellington’s forebodings were, only too soon, to be justified. But the tale of the campaign against Clausel and Caffarelli, of the advance to and retreat from Burgos, must be told in another volume.

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