Only a steady perusal of Wellington’s Original and Supplementary Dispatches can give the chronicler an idea of the varied nature of his troubles and worries, during the winter that followed the Salamanca campaign. They were not merely those of an ordinary general in command of an army: his political position had now grown so important that not only did all happenings in the Peninsula fall within his sphere, but the Cabinet at home was continually consulting him on questions of general European importance. And in the months after Napoleon’s Russian débâcle the politics of Europe came to a crisis, such as had never been seen since first he assumed the Imperial crown. His domination was breaking up: his prestige had received a mortal wound: alliances were shifting: the wildest enterprises were advocated. There were those at home who proposed that Wellington should take his Peninsula army to Germany—or to La Vendée—and others who wanted to saddle him with a large Russian auxiliary force to be brought by sea from Reval or Odessa. On every scheme, however wild, he had to give his opinion.
But, placing in order of importance the many worries that beset Head-Quarters at Freneda, it would seem that the most constant and prolific source of trouble was a circumstance which ought rather to have lessened than increased Wellington’s military difficulties—if only men had been other than they were. It will be remembered that as early as 1809 the project of making him Generalissimo of all the Spanish armies had been mooted and rejected[270]. He had expressed his opinion that Spanish national pride made it impossible. ‘I am much flattered,’ he had written to the British Minister, ‘by the notion entertained by some of the people in authority at Seville of appointing me to the command of the Spanish Armies. I believe it was considered an object of great importance in England that the Commander-in-Chief of the British troops should have that situation. But it is one more likely to be attained by refraining from pressing it, and leaving it to the Spaniards themselves to discover the expediency of the arrangement, than by any suggestion on our parts.’
Much water had flowed under the bridge since 1809. The appointment had not come after Talavera or Bussaco, nor after the horrible disasters of Ocaña, the Sierra Morena, and the surrender of Valencia. But the summer campaign of 1812 had at last convinced the Cortes that the British general, who had so often been criticized and accused of selfishness and reluctance to risk anything for the common cause of the Allies, was the inevitable man. In the full flush of joy and confidence that followed the battle of Salamanca and the triumphal entry into Madrid, a bill was laid before the Assembly to appoint Wellington generalissimo of all the Spanish forces. It was supported by most of the leading men of the ‘Liberal’ party, introduced by the ex-regent Cisgar, and barely opposed by the ‘Serviles’, though one clerical member—Creux, afterwards Archbishop of Tarragona—raised objections to giving such a command to any foreigner, and expatiated on the selfish character of British commercial policy. Despite of such murmurs, the motion was carried by an immense majority, and the President of the Cortes was authorized to direct the Council of Regency to make the offer to Wellington. The form of words ran that considering the advantages of unity in command, and the urgent necessity for utilizing to the full the recent glorious triumphs of the allied arms, it was decreed that as long as the allied forces were co-operating in the defence of the Peninsula ‘Captain-General the Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo’ should have conferred upon him the supreme command of all of them, to be exercised in accordance with general orders, his authority to extend over all the provinces of the Peninsula. And the ‘illustrious chief’ was directed to correspond with the National Government through the Secretary of the War Office[271].
This decree reached Wellington on October 2, while he lay at Villatoro, conducting the siege of Burgos. He resolved to take up the long-delayed commission, provided that he should receive the permission of the Prince Regent to do so, and sent, through his brother at Cadiz, a letter of conditional acceptance. His consent to serve was not couched in very enthusiastic terms: being anxious to do all that could be done to support the legitimate quarrel of the Spanish nation with France, he had no objection to taking upon himself the additional labour and responsibility of commanding the Spanish armies. The delay which must be required, for getting leave from the Prince Regent to make a formal acceptance of the offer, seemed to him of secondary importance, because he was already in the habit of communicating his general views on operations to the Spanish generals, and of making suggestions to them, which always received the utmost attention. ‘I am convinced they will continue the same practice, even though I am not invested with the supreme command.’ These phrases look like deliberate sarcasm, considering Wellington’s former relations with Cuesta, Del Parque, Blake, and Mendizabal. But they probably mean no more than that the present commanders of the forces which were actually co-operating with him in 1812, Castaños, Morillo, and Carlos de España, had been loyal and obliging. Finally, ‘he hopes that in the new and prominent situation in which he is to be placed, he will have not only the full support but the confidence of the Spanish Government, Cortes, and nation[272].’
The inner meaning of these somewhat double-edged phrases is explained in a memorandum for Lord Bathurst, the British Secretary of State for War, which was sent home under the same cover as the Cadiz document[273]. It was eminently not a letter to be shown to Spaniards, and contained some of the most bitter expressions concerning them which Wellington ever penned. No use could be got out of their armies, he wrote, unless they were under his control. They had lost nearly all their guns and cavalry, and generally could not act in bodies separate from the Allied Army. Their discipline, equipment, and organization was as bad as ever: yet if put in line with his own troops they might behave quite well. He would prevent by good management repetitions of those terrible disasters to individual armies which had so often happened in past years. But his power over them must be made real, and for that purpose he intended to apply the financial screw. All subsidies advanced by the British Government to Spain must for the future be expended wholly on such Spanish troops as were actually employed in co-operation with the Anglo-Portuguese army, or else those troops would become a fresh burden on the military chest. And in his letter to Cadiz he had been careful to show that he did not intend to allow the Spanish Government to dictate a military policy to him, because they had placed their troops at his disposition.
These letters, sent off from the camp before Burgos on October 5, got to London on October 20, and the Prince Regent’s approbation of Wellington’s acceptance of the offer from the Cortes was granted at once[274]. The dispatch conveying it was delivered at Cadiz on the 17th of November, and on the 20th the Cortes confirmed its former decree, and sent off a formal warrant of appointment to the new generalissimo, which reached him at Freneda on December 4th. The confirmation was not made with such general approval as the original appointment—and for good reason. By this time it had become evident that Wellington was not about to drive the French over the Pyrenees: he had raised the siege of Burgos, and when the Cortes repeated their vote, was known to be in full retreat for Salamanca. Hopes from his success were no longer so high as they had been in September, and a nasty jar had been given to the whole arrangement by the mutinous conduct of Ballasteros, who (as has been shown in an earlier chapter) had issued a manifesto against all submission to foreign generals, and had refused to obey Wellington’s directions at a critical moment. It is true that Ballasteros had been arrested and imprisoned, without any consequent trouble[275]; but it was known that there were other Spanish generals who were not without sympathy with his views.
Having received his formal nomination as generalissimo, Wellington wrote to Carvajal, the Minister of War, on December 4th, one of the most stringent letters that any secretary of state has ever received. It reminds the reader of one of Napoleon’s epistles to Clarke or King Joseph. The Spanish Government, he said, had now a right to expect from him an accurate representation of facts, and he was going to perform this duty. The discipline of the Spanish armies was in the very lowest state; their efficiency was much deteriorated. How could any army be expected to keep order when neither officers nor men had received any pay for months—or even for years? But it was not financial arrears that explained all defects: even in corps—like those of the Galician and Estremaduran armies—which had recently been re-clothed and regularly paid by Wellington’s own exertions, insubordination and indiscipline were rife: they were as little to be depended upon in the field as the rest. The officers, with some few exceptions, were absolutely slack and careless: the desertion from the ranks immense. He had hesitated at accepting the command, when he thought of what he had seen of the Spanish troops of late. But having undertaken it, he would not relinquish the task because it was laborious and of doubtful success. There were four demands which he must make as a preliminary condition: the Government must give him power—
(1) To have under his control all promotions and appointments to command;
(2) To dismiss from the service any officer whom he thought deserving of such punishment;
(3) To apply the whole war-budget to such services as he might choose;