Pending the arrival of the new monarch, Murat was assigned the important post of Lieutenant-General of the kingdom. He was a good cavalry leader beyond question, but as a statesman he did not shine during the period in which he was dictator of Spain. He let it be seen that he regarded the nation as already conquered, and it is not surprising that his tactless rule should have roused bitter resentment. On the 2nd May there was a riot in Madrid, short and furious, but indicating the passionate nature of the citizens. Eight hundred insurgents fell in the streets, perhaps half that number of soldiers were laid low, and two hundred Spaniards were afterwards shot by Murat’s orders for having taken part in the rebellion. Many of the populace had been armed with sticks and stones only, others with muskets which they used to good effect, both in the squares and from the housetops. It was only when additional soldiers, including the Mamelukes, the chasseurs, and dragoons, were brought up that the crowd realised the hopelessness of the task they had undertaken. If “the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church,” the blood of those who fell in Madrid on that May day in 1808 was the seed from which the harvest of disaster for Napoleonic statesmanship was reaped. The despot did not realise the possibility at first, but at St Helena, when frankness was not always a despised virtue, he told Las Cases that the Spanish war “was the first cause of the calamities of France.” The self-confidence of Murat, who said, “My victory over the insurgents in the capital assures us the peaceable possession of Spain,” a sentiment in which the Emperor agreed, was speedily dispelled. “Bah!” exclaimed Napoleon when he was told by an eye-witness of the revolution at Madrid and the sullen courage of the people, “they will calm down and will bless me as soon as they see their country freed from the discredit and disorder into which it has been thrown by the weakest and most corrupt administration that ever existed.”
While the officials in Madrid were bowing to Joseph, the people in the provinces were showing by open rebellion that they neither desired him as king nor wished for Napoleon’s assistance in the ruling of their country. The priests told the people of the Emperor’s ungenerous treatment of the Pope, how a French force had entered Rome in the previous February, and that his Holiness had lost almost every vestige of his civil power. Every little township began to take measures of offence and defence. Innumerable miniature armies roamed among the mountains like bandits, awaiting an opportunity to annihilate a French outpost, to interrupt communications, or to fall on a division as it marched along to join one of the army corps now being poured into Spain. General actions were not encouraged, and usually ended in disaster. Assassinations and massacres became the order of the day on both sides, forcing the French commanders to realise that they had to face a novel kind of warfare—a nation in arms. At the end of May 1808, when the people were actively organising, there were nearly 120,000 French troops in Spain and Portugal. In the first few engagements the Spaniards, who possibly numbered 100,000, including the regulars, were routed. When towns were besieged the French met with less success, and the defence of Saragossa under young Joseph Palafox, whose daring soon raised him to the dignity of a national hero, is a most thrilling episode. A name which must be coupled with his is that of Augustina (or Manuela) Sanchez. A battery had been abandoned by the Spaniards, and this brave girl, one of the many inhabitants who helped to defend their city, found that the hand of a dead gunner still grasped a lighted match, whereupon she seized it and fired the gun, thereby attracting the attention of the fugitives, who returned to the fight. The first siege of Saragossa lasted for nearly eight weeks, but the place eventually surrendered to Lannes.
Duhesme and his French soldiers met with even worse fortune, being forced to take refuge in Barcelona, where the Spaniards kept them secure for nearly four months. At Medina de Rio Seco the insurgents under La Cuesta and Blake, an Irishman, were completely routed by Bessières. This event might have weakened the national cause very considerably had not Dupont’s army been entrapped among the Sierra Morena mountains by Castaños. In the fighting that took place 3,000 French were either killed or wounded, and 18,000 troops were forced to lay down their arms at the subsequent capitulation of Baylen. When Napoleon heard of the victory at Medina de Rio Seco, he wrote: “Bessières has put the crown on Joseph’s head. The Spaniards have now perhaps 15,000 men left, with some old blockhead at their head; the resistance of the Peninsula is ended!” His reception of the news of Dupont’s surrender was very different. “That an army should be beaten is nothing,” he burst forth after reading the fatal despatch, “it is the daily fate of war, and is easily repaired, but that an army should submit to a dishonourable capitulation is a stain on the glory of our arms which can never be effaced. Wounds inflicted on honour are incurable. The moral effect of this catastrophe will be terrible.” The luckless Dupont was promptly imprisoned on his return to France, and remained so until 1814.
This trouble did not come singly. It was followed shortly afterwards by the news that Joseph, feeling that Madrid was no longer secure, had deemed it advisable to retire in haste to Burgos, behind the Ebro, and within comparatively easy distance of the frontier. Some three weeks later Castaños at the head of his troops marched into the capital. The position of Ferdinand’s successor was speedily becoming untenable. “I have not a single Spaniard left who is attached to my cause,” he tells his brother. “As a General, my part would be endurable—nay, easy; for, with a detachment of your veteran troops, I could conquer the Spaniards, but as a King my position is insupportable, for I must kill one portion of my subjects to make the other submit. I decline, therefore, to reign over a people who will not have me.” He adds that he does not wish to retire conquered, but pleads for an experienced army that he may return to Madrid and come to terms with his rebellious subjects ere seeking the quiet of Naples.
In Portugal Junot, by dint of extreme severity, had succeeded in disarming the populace and securing the principal fortresses, his troops being dispersed about the country. His success made him feel so self-satisfied that he entertained the hope that Napoleon would confer the crown of Portugal upon him. As a preliminary step he endeavoured to win over the nobles and clergy. The Emperor had different views, and while recognising Junot’s unquestionable ability he was not blind to his shortcomings.
At the same time as King Joseph was retreating from Madrid, 9000 British soldiers under Sir Arthur Wellesley had reached the mouth of the Mondego River, and, in spite of many difficulties, had effected a landing. The future Duke of Wellington was not to retain supreme command, although he had started out with that expectation. After leaving England he learned that three other officers, namely, Sir Hew Dalrymple, then Governor of Gibraltar; Sir Harry Burrard, a Guardsman of some experience; and Sir John Moore, who had previously taken part in Paoli’s descent on Corsica and seen much honourable service in the West Indies and Ireland, were to join the expedition. Wellesley was not pleased at being superseded, but he was too good a soldier to show resentment. “Whether I am to command the army or not,” he told the home authorities, “or am to quit it, I shall do my best to secure its success, and you may depend upon it that I shall not hurry the operations or commence them one moment sooner than they ought to be commenced, in order that I may reap the credit of success.” Nothing that he ever wrote or said reveals more truly the unswerving honour and loyalty of the Iron Duke.
Junot was not particularly perturbed by the news of Wellesley’s arrival. Small British expeditionary forces had landed again and again in various parts of the continent since 1793, and usually had been only too glad to return to England. The French commander noted with pleasure that the Portuguese showed little sympathy with their allies, so much so that Sir Arthur had the utmost difficulty to persuade them to lend assistance. Lisbon was still too disturbed to warrant Junot leaving it, and he accordingly directed Loison and Laborde to concentrate near Leiria. Wellesley, however, outmarched them, and prevented them from combining their forces immediately. On the 15th August he had a smart skirmish with Laborde, and two days later was victorious at Roleia, where a stiff battle was fought with the same commander. Unfortunately Wellesley’s forces were not sufficiently strong to make the victory decisive or to stop the two forces of the enemy from uniting later.
Junot now found it necessary to assume personal command. Leaving Madrid with a garrison of 7000 soldiers, he gathered his available forces, including those of Loison and Laborde, and came up with the British at Vimiero on the 21st August. Wellesley’s strength was some 18,000 troops in all, and although Sir Harry Burrard was the senior officer, he did not exercise his authority until the battle was almost concluded. In infantry Sir Arthur had the advantage, but Junot, while having but 13,000 men for the task he had undertaken, was considerably better off in cavalry. One incident in particular relieves the sordid story of the fight. In a charge made by the 71st and 92nd British regiments a piper, who was wounded in the thigh, fell to the ground. He continued to blow his pibroch, declaring that “the lads should nae want music to their wark.” The day remained with the British, and had Wellesley been allowed to pursue the French, probably Lisbon would have fallen. It is said that when Wellesley heard Burrard’s order to abstain from following the enemy, he remarked to his staff: “There is nothing left for us, gentlemen, but to hunt red-legged partridges!”
On the suggestion of Junot an armistice was agreed upon. This ended in the ill-considered Convention of Cintra, signed on the 30th August 1808, whereby Portugal was relieved of 25,000 French invaders. The troops were conveyed back to France by British ships. Junot was disgraced in the eyes of the Emperor and received no further command until the Russian campaign of 1812. His wife, when reviewing this campaign, says with justice, “Everything which was not a triumph he (Napoleon) regarded as a defeat.” As no clause was inserted in the Convention to the effect that the troops should not serve again, it is not difficult to understand why a popular outcry was raised in Great Britain against the three generals. It soon became evident that Wellesley did not merit the attacks made upon Dalrymple, Burrard, and himself in the Press and elsewhere. An inquiry into the affair was instituted by command of George III., and its finding was favourable to the decision of the signatories of the Convention, but only Wellesley saw active service again. The command in Portugal was given to Sir John Moore, and meantime Sir Arthur took his seat in the House of Commons and resumed his work as Irish Secretary, little thinking that in a few months he would return to the South as Commander-in-Chief.
A caricature by Woodward, published in February 1809, very ably sums up British opinion of the affair. It can be understood by the following humorous lines, in imitation of “The House that Jack Built”:—