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.