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THE MARCH TO TALAVERA: QUARREL OF WELLESLEY AND CUESTA
Having returned to his army on July 12, Wellesley gave orders for the whole force to get ready for a general advance on the morning of the eighteenth, the day which had been chosen for the commencement of operations at the conference of Almaraz. It would have been in every way desirable to have moved out at once, and not to have waited for these six days. If the march against Victor had been fixed for the thirteenth or fourteenth, the French would have been caught unprepared, for as late as the seventeenth King Joseph and his adviser Jourdan were under the impression that the force at Plasencia consisted of nothing more than a Portuguese division of 10,000 men, and it was only on the twenty-second that they received the definite information that the whole British army was upon the Tietar. It is clear that, by advancing five days earlier than he actually did, Wellesley might have caught the enemy in a state of complete dispersion—the 4th Corps being on July 20 still at Madridejos in La Mancha, and the King with his reserves at Madrid. If attacked on the seventeenth or the eighteenth, as he might well have been, Victor would have found it impossible to call up Sebastiani in time, and must have fallen back in haste to the capital. The allies could then have cut him off from the 4th Corps, which must have retreated by a circuitous route, and could not have rejoined the main body of the French army in time for a battle in front of Madrid.
It would appear that Wellesley had fixed the date of his advance so late as the eighteenth mainly because of the difficulty as to the collection of provisions, which was now looming before him in larger proportions than ever. But it is possible that the necessity for allowing some days for the transmission of the plan of campaign to Venegas also counted for something in the drawing up of the time-table. It would have been rash to start before the army of La Mancha was prepared to take its part in the joint plan of operations. So much depended upon the diversion which Venegas was to execute, that it would have been a mistake to move before he could break up from his distant cantonments at Santa Cruz de Mudela. No word, however, concerning this appears in Wellesley’s correspondence. From July 13 to July 18 his dispatches show anxiety about nothing save his food and his transport. Every day that he stayed at Plasencia made him feel more uncomfortable concerning the all-important question of supplies. The corn which the Alcaldes of the Vera had promised to secure for him had begun to come in, though in driblets and small consignments, but there was no means of getting it forward: transport was absolutely unprocurable. Wellesley sent officers to scour the country-side as far as Bejar and Ciudad Rodrigo, but they could procure him neither mules nor carts. He also pressed the Spanish commissary-general, Lozano de Torres, to hunt up every animal that could be procured, but to small effect. The fact was that Estremadura was not at any time rich in beasts or vehicles, and that the peasantry had sent away most of those they owned while the French lay at Almaraz, lest they should be carried off by the enemy. Wellesley, who did not understand the limited resources of this part of Spain, was inclined to believe that the authorities were hostile or even treacherous. The Central Junta had promised him transport in order to make sure of his starting on the campaign along the Tagus, and when transport failed to appear, he attributed it to ill-will rather than to poverty. No doubt he was fully justified in his view that an army operating in a friendly country may rationally expect to draw both food and the means to carry it from the regions through which it is passing. But sometimes the provisions or the transport are not forthcoming merely because the one or the other is not to be found. It is certain that both Estremadura and the valley of the central Tagus were at this moment harried absolutely bare: Victor’s despairing letters from Caceres in May and from La Calzada in June are sufficient proof of the fact. In a district where the Marshal said that ‘he could not collect five days’ provisions by any manner of exertion,’ and that ‘his men were dropping down dead from actual starvation, so that he must retire or see his whole corps crumble away,’ it is clear that the Central Junta could not have created food for the British army. Cuesta’s troops were living from hand to mouth on supplies sent forward from Andalusia, or they could not have continued to exist in the land. The only district which was intact was that between Coria and Plasencia, and this was actually at the moment feeding the British army, and had done so now for ten days or more. But unfortunately the Vera could give corn but no draught animals. If Wellesley had known this, he must either have exerted himself to procure more transport before leaving Abrantes—a difficult task, for he had already drained Portugal of carts and mules—or have refused to march till the Spaniards sent him wagon trains from Andalusia. It would have taken months for the Junta to collect and send forward such trains: they had dispatched all that they could procure to Cuesta. The campaign on the Tagus, in short, would never have been fought if Wellesley had understood the state of affairs that he was to encounter.
The causes, therefore, of the deadlock that was about to occur were partly the light-hearted incompetence of the Central Junta in promising the British army the use of resources which did not exist, partly Wellesley’s natural ignorance of the miserable state of Central Spain. He had never entered the country before, and could not know of its poverty. He had trusted to the usual military theory that the country-side ought to provide for a friendly army on the march: but in Spain all military theories failed to act. Napoleon committed precisely similar errors, when he directed his army corps to move about in Castile as if they were in Germany or Lombardy, and found exactly the same hindrances as did the British general. In later years Wellesley never moved without a heavy train, and a vast provision of sumpter-beasts and camp-followers. In July 1809 he had still to learn the art of conducting a Spanish campaign.
Meanwhile he was beginning to feel most uncomfortable about the question of provisions. His anxiety is shown by his letters to Frere and Beresford; ‘it is impossible,’ he wrote, ‘to express the inconvenience and risk that we incur from the want of means of conveyance, which I cannot believe the country could not furnish, if there existed any inclination to furnish them. The officers complain, and I believe not without reason, that the country gives unwillingly the supplies of provisions that we have required ... and we have not procured a cart or a mule for the service of the army.’ But to O’Donoju, the chief of the staff of the Estremaduran army, he wrote in even more drastic terms, employing phrases that were certain to provoke resentment. He had, he said, scoured the whole region as far as Ciudad Rodrigo for transport, and to no effect. ‘If the people of Spain are unable or unwilling to supply what the army requires, I am afraid that they must do without its services.’ He had been forced to come to a painful decision, and ‘in order to be fair and candid to General Cuesta’ he must proceed to inform him that he would execute the plan for falling upon Victor behind the Alberche, but that when this had been done he would stir no step further, and ‘begin no new operation till he had been supplied with the means of transport which the army requires.’
After dispatching this ultimatum, whose terms and tone leave something to be desired—for surely Cuesta was the last person to be saddled with the responsibility for the pledges made by his enemies of the Central Junta—Wellesley issued orders for the army to march. He had been joined at Plasencia by the last of the regiments from Lisbon, which reached him in time for Talavera, but had been forced to leave 400 sick behind him, for the army was still in a bad condition as regards health. It was therefore with little over 21,000 men that he began his advance to the Alberche. It was executed with punctual observance of the dates that had been settled at the interview at Almaraz. On July 18 the army crossed the Tietar on a flying bridge built at Bazagona, and lay at Miajadas. On the next night the head quarters were at Centinello; on the twentieth the British entered Oropesa. Here Cuesta joined them with his whole army, save the two battalions lent to Wilson, and the two others under the Marquis Del Reino which had been sent to the Puerto de Ba?os. Deducting these 2,600 bayonets and his sick, he brought over 6,000 horse and 27,000 foot to the rendezvous. The junction having taken place on the twenty-first, the advance to Talavera was to begin next morning. Oropesa lies only nineteen miles from that town, and as Victor’s cavalry vedettes were in sight, it was clear that contact with the enemy would be established during the course of the day. Accordingly the allied armies marched with caution, the Spaniards along the high-road, the British following a parallel path on the left, across the slopes of the hills which divide the valley of the Tietar from that of the Tagus.
About midday the Spaniards fell in with the whole of the cavalry division of Latour-Maubourg, which Victor had thrown out as a screen in front of Talavera. He had ascertained on the evening of the preceding day that Cuesta was about to move forward, and was anxious to compel him to display his entire force. Above all he desired to ascertain whether the rumours concerning the presence of British troops in his front were correct. Accordingly he had left two battalions of infantry in the town of Talavera, and thrown out the six regiments of dragoons in front of it, near the village of Gamonal. The Spaniards were advancing with Albuquerque’s cavalry division as an advanced guard. But seeing Latour-Maubourg in his front the Duke refused to attack, and sent back for infantry and guns. Cuesta pushed forward the division of Zayas to support him, but even when it arrived the Spaniards made no headway. They continued skirmishing for four hours till the British light cavalry began to appear on their left. ‘Though much more numerous than the enemy,’ wrote an eye-witness, ‘they made no attempt to drive him in, but contented themselves with deploying into several long lines, making a very formidable appearance. We had expected to see them closely and successfully engaged, having heard that they were peculiarly adapted for petty warfare, but we found them utterly incapable of coping with the enemy’s tirailleurs, who were driving them almost into a circle.’
On the appearance, however, of Anson’s cavalry upon their flank the French went hastily to the rear, skirted the suburbs of Talavera, and rode off along the great Madrid chaussée to the east, followed by the British light dragoons. As they passed the town two small columns of infantry came out of it and followed in their rear. Albuquerque sent one of his regiments against them, but could not get his men to charge home. On three separate occasions they came on, but, after receiving the fire of the French, pulled up and fell into confusion. The impression made by the Spanish cavalry on the numerous British observers was very bad. ‘No men could have more carefully avoided coming to close quarters than did the Spaniards this day,’ wrote one eye-witness. ‘They showed a total lack not only of discipline but of resolution,’ observes another.
After crossing the plain to the north of Talavera the French, both cavalry and infantry, forded the Alberche and halted on the further bank. On arriving at the line of underwood which masks the river the pursuers found the whole of Victor’s corps in position. The thickets on the further side were swarming with tirailleurs, and two batteries opened on Anson’s brigade as it drew near to the water, and sent balls whizzing among Wellesley’s staff when he pushed forward to reconnoitre the position.
It was soon seen that Victor had selected very favourable fighting-ground: indeed he had been staying at Talavera long enough to enable him to get a perfect knowledge of the military features of the neighbourhood. The 1st Corps was drawn up on a range of heights, about 800 yards behind the Alberche, with its left resting on the impassable Tagus, and its right on a wooded hill, behind which the smaller river makes a sharp turn to the east, so as to cover that flank. The position was formidable, but rather too long for the 22,000 men who formed the French army. Having learnt from the people of Talavera that the enemy had received no reinforcements up to that morning, from Madrid or any other quarter, Wellesley was anxious to close with them at once. The afternoon was too far spent for any attempt to force the passage on the twenty-second, but on the next day (July 23) the British general hoped to fight. The Alberche was crossed by a wooden bridge which the enemy had not destroyed, and was fordable in many places: there seemed to be no reason why the lines behind it might not be forced by a resolute attack delivered with numbers which were as two to one to those of the French.
Accordingly Wellesley left the 3rd division and Anson’s light horse in front of the right wing of Victor’s position, and encamped the rest of his army some miles to the rear, in the plain between Talavera and the Alberche. In the same way Albuquerque and Zayas halted for the night opposite the bridge on the French left, while the main body of the Spaniards occupied the town in their rear. In the evening hours Wellesley endeavoured to urge upon Cuesta the necessity for delivering an attack at dawn: he undertook to force the northern fords and to turn the enemy’s right, if his colleague would attack the southern fords and the bridge. The Captain-General ‘received the suggestion with dry civility,’ and asked for time to think it over. After a conference with his subordinates, he at last sent word at midnight that he would accept the proposed plan of operations.
At 3 o’clock therefore on the morning of the twenty-third, Wellesley brought down Sherbrooke’s and Mackenzie’s divisions to the ground opposite the fords, and waited for the arrival of the Spanish columns on his right. They did not appear, and after long waiting the British general rode to seek his colleague. He found him opposite the bridge of the Alberche, ‘seated on the cushions taken out of his carriage, for he had driven to the outposts in a coach drawn by nine mules, the picture of mental and physical inability.’ The old man murmured that the enemy’s position had not been sufficiently reconnoitred, that it would take time to get his army drawn out opposite the points which it was to attack, that he was not sure of the fords, that the bridge over which his right-hand column would have to advance looked too weak to bear artillery, and many other things to the same effect—finally urging that the forcing of the Alberche must be put off to the next day. As he had not got his troops into battle order, it was clear that the morning would be wasted, but Wellesley tried to bargain for an attack in the afternoon. The Captain-General asked for more time, and would listen to no arguments in favour of fighting on that day. After a heated discussion Wellesley had to yield: he could not venture to assail the French with his own army alone, and without any assistance from the Spaniards. Accordingly it was agreed that the advance should not be made till the dawn of the twenty-fourth.
In the afternoon the pickets sent back information that Victor seemed to be on the move, and that his line was growing thin. Cuesta was then persuaded to go forward to the outposts; he was hoisted on to his horse by two grenadiers, while an aide-de-camp stood on the other side to conduct his right leg over the croup and place it in the stirrup. Then, hunched up on his saddle, he rode down to the river, observed that the greater part of the enemy were still in position, and refused to attack till next morning.
At dawn, therefore, on the twenty-fourth the allied army moved forward to the Alberche in three columns, and found, as might have been expected, that the French had disappeared. On seeing the masses of redcoats opposite his right upon the previous day, Victor had realized at last that he had before him the whole British army. He had sent his train to the rear in the afternoon, and drawn off his entire force after dusk. By dawn he was more than ten miles away, on the road to Santa Ollala and Madrid. It was useless to pursue him with any hope of forcing him to a battle. The chance of crushing him before he should receive any further reinforcements had disappeared. It is not at all to his credit as a general that he had held his ground so long; if he had been attacked on the twenty-third, as Wellesley had desired, he must certainly have suffered a disaster. He had but 22,000 men; and it is clear that, while the Spaniards were attacking his left and centre, he could not have set aside men enough to hold back the assault of the solid mass of 20,000 British troops upon his right. He should have vanished on the twenty-second, the moment that Latour-Maubourg reported that Wellesley’s army was in the field. By staying for another day on the Alberche he risked the direst disaster.
The British general would have been more than human if he had not manifested his anger and disgust at the way in which his colleague had flinched from the agreement to attack, and sacrificed the certainty of victory. He showed his resentment by acting up to the terms of his letter written from Plasencia five days before, i.e. by announcing to Cuesta that, having carried out his pledge to drive the French from behind the Alberche, he should now refuse to move forward, unless he were furnished with transport sufficient to make it certain that the army could reach Madrid without any privations. He was able to state with perfect truth that he had already been forced to place his troops on half-rations that very morning: to the 10,000 men of Sherbrooke’s and Mackenzie’s divisions and of Anson’s light cavalry, he had only been able to issue 5,000 rations of bread. Nothing, of course, could be found at Talavera, where the French had been quartered for many days. Victor had only been maintaining his troops by the aid of biscuit sent down from Madrid, and by seizing and threshing for himself the small amount of corn which had been sown in the neighbourhood that spring. Wellesley was wrong in supposing that the 1st Corps had been supporting itself with ease from the country-side. He was equally at fault when he asserted that the ‘Spanish army has plenty to eat.’ Cuesta was at this moment complaining to the Junta that he was short of provisions, and that the food which he had brought forward from the Guadiana was almost exhausted. Meanwhile every exertion was being made to collect flour and transport from the rear: Wellesley wrote to O’Donoju that he had at last hopes of securing some wagons from the Plasencia district within three days, and that ‘in the meantime he might get something to eat.’ He had some days before sent orders back even so far as Abrantes, to order up 200 Portuguese carts which had been collected there, and the Central Junta had informed him that a train for his use had already started from Andalusia. But ‘there was no very early prospect of relieving the present distress.’
Cuesta was, as might have been expected, as angry with Wellesley for refusing to move forward from Talavera, as Wellesley was with Cuesta for missing the great opportunity of July 23. When informed that the British army was not about to advance any further, he announced that he for his part should go on, that Victor was in full flight, and that he would pursue him to Madrid. ‘In that case’ dryly observed Wellesley, ‘Cuesta will get himself into a scrape; but any movement by me to his assistance is quite out of the question. If the enemy discover that we are not with him, he will be beaten, or must return. The enemy will make this discovery to-day, if he should risk any attempt upon their rearguard at Santa Ollala.’ In reply to the Captain-General’s declaration that he should press Victor hard, his colleague only warned him that he would be wiser ‘to secure the course of the Tagus and open communication with Venegas, while the measures should be taken to supply the British army with means of transport.’ The Spaniard would not listen to any such advice, and hurried forward; though he had been for many weeks refusing to fight the 1st Corps when it lay in Estremadura, he was now determined to risk a second Medellin. Apparently he was obsessed by the idea that Victor was in full retreat for Madrid, and would not make a serious stand. Underlying his sudden energy there was also some idea that he would disconcert his masters of the Central Junta by recovering the capital: he had discovered, it would seem, that the Junta had sent secret orders to Venegas, directing him to take charge of the city on its reconquest, and giving him authority to nominate the civil and military officers for its administration. If the Army of Estremadura seized Madrid, while the Army of La Mancha was still lingering on the way thither, all these plans would be frustrated.
Accordingly Cuesta pushed on very boldly on the afternoon of the twenty-fourth, dividing his army into two columns, of which one marched on Santa Ollala by the high-road to the capital, while the other moved by Cevolla and Torrijos on the side-road to Toledo. He was uncertain whether Victor had retired by one or by both of these routes: if all his corps had taken the former path, the natural deduction was that he was thinking only of Madrid: if the Toledo road had also been used, there was reason for concluding that the Marshal must be intending to join Sebastiani and the 4th Corps, who might be looked for in that direction. Late in the day the Spanish general ascertained that the main body of Victor’s army had taken the latter route: he proceeded to follow it, placing his head quarters that night at Torrijos, only fifteen miles from Toledo. Next morning he learnt to his surprise and dismay that he had in front of him not only the 1st Corps, but also Sebastiani and the King’s reserves from Madrid: for just at this moment the whole French force in New Castile had been successfully concentrated, and nearly 50,000 men were gathered in front of the 33,000 troops of the Army of Estremadura. Venegas’s diversion had utterly failed to draw off the 4th Corps to the East; the King had come down in haste from Madrid, and thus the whole plan of campaign which the allied generals had drawn up had been foiled—partly by the sloth of Venegas, partly by Cuesta’s inexplicable and perverse refusal to fight on July 23 upon the line of the Alberche.
CONCENTRATION OF THE FRENCH ARMIES: THE KING TAKES THE OFFENSIVE: COMBATS OF TORRIJOS AND CASA DE SALINAS
It is now necessary to turn to the French camp, in order to realize the course of events which had led to the concentration of such a formidable force in the environs of Toledo. Down to the twenty-second of July Joseph and his adviser Jourdan had remained in complete ignorance of the advance of Wellesley upon Plasencia, and seem to have been perfectly free from any apprehension that Madrid was in danger. Since their return from their fruitless pursuit of the army of La Mancha, they had been spending most of their energy in a controversy with Soult. The Duke of Dalmatia, not content with the command of the three army corps which Napoleon had put at his disposal, had been penning elaborate dispatches to the King to demand that the greater part of the remaining French troops in Spain should be used to co-operate in his projected campaign against the English in Portugal. He wrote on July 13 to urge on Joseph the necessity (1) of drawing large detachments from the armies of Aragon and Catalonia, in order to form a corps of observation in the kingdom of Leon to support his own rear; (2) of placing another strong detachment at Plasencia to cover his flank; (3) of transferring every regiment that could be spared from Madrid and New Castile to Salvatierra on the Tormes, just south of Salamanca, in order to form a reserve close in his rear, which he might call up, if necessary, to strengthen the 60,000 men whom he already had in hand. He also demanded that Joseph should send him at once 200,000 francs to spend on the fortification of Zamora, Toro, and other places on the Douro, as also 500,000 francs more for the present expenses of the 2nd, 5th, and 6th Corps. If this were granted him, together with 2,000,000 rations of flour, and a battering-train of at least forty-eight heavy guns for the sieges of Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida, he thought that he should be in a position to deliver a serious attack on Northern Portugal, and ultimately to drive the British army into the sea.
On the day upon which the Duke of Dalmatia made these comprehensive demands upon King Joseph, the British army had been for ten days in Spain, and was preparing to advance from Plasencia on Madrid. It was therefore an exquisitely inappropriate moment at which to demand that the greater part of the King’s central reserve should be sent off from the capital to the neighbourhood of Salamanca. There were other parts of Soult’s lists of requisitions which were equally impracticable. It is clear that Suchet could not have spared a man from Aragon, and that St. Cyr, with the siege of Gerona on his hands, would have found it absolutely impossible to make large detachments from Catalonia. Even if he and Suchet had been able to send off troops to Leon, they would have taken months to reach the Galician frontier. The demand for 700,000 francs in hard cash was also most unpalatable: King Joseph was at this moment in the direst straits for money: his brother could send him nothing while the Austrian war was in progress, and as he was not in proper military possession of any large district of Spain, he was at this moment in a condition of hopeless bankruptcy. He confessed to Soult that he was living from hand to mouth, by the pitiful expedient of melting down and coining the silver plate in the royal palace at Madrid.
Jourdan therefore replied, in the King’s behalf, to Soult that he must do his best with the 60,000 men already at his disposition, that no troops from Catalonia, Aragon, or Madrid could be spared, and that money could not be found. All that could be given was the battering-train that had been demanded, 600,000 rations of biscuit, and an authorization to raise forced contributions in Old Castile. For the protection of his flanks and his communications the Marshal must utilize Kellermann’s dragoons and the other unattached troops in the valley of the Douro, a force which if raised to 12,000 men by detachments from the 5th or 6th Corps could keep La Romana and the Galicians in check.
It is curious to note how entirely ignorant both Soult and the King were as to the real dangers of the moment. Soult had drawn up, and Joseph acceded to, a plan for the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo, and an invasion of Northern Portugal—operations which would take long weeks of preparation—at the time when Madrid was in imminent danger from the combined armies of Wellesley, Cuesta, and Venegas. The Marshal’s plan was perfectly correct from the point of view of the higher strategy—the main objective of the French was certainly the British army, and it would have been highly advisable to invade Northern Portugal with 60,000 men in the front line, and 40,000 in support, if the circumstances of the moment had permitted it. But these circumstances were hidden alike from Soult and the King, owing to the impossibility of obtaining accurate information of the movements of the allies. The fundamental difficulty of all French operations in the Peninsula was that the commanders could never discover the whereabouts of the enemy till he actually came in contact with their outposts. Hence it chanced that Soult was planning, and Joseph approving, a campaign on the borders of Northern Portugal, at the precise moment when the British were on the march for Talavera.
It was actually not until July 22 that the King’s eyes were at last unsealed. Victor having come into collision with the cavalry of Wellesley’s advanced guard, sent news to Madrid that the British army had joined Cuesta, and had reached the Alberche. On the same day, by a fortunate chance, there also arrived in the capital another emissary of Soult, with a message much less impracticable than that which had last been sent. This was General Foy, whom the Duke of Dalmatia had dispatched on July 19, after receiving very definite rumours that the British were moving in the valley of the Tagus, and not approaching Old Castile. The Marshal sent word that in this case he must of course concert a common plan of operations with the King, and abandon any immediate action against Portugal. He suggested that his best plan would be to concentrate his three corps at Salamanca, and to march against the flank and rear of the English by way of Bejar and the Puerto de Ba?os. If the King could cover Madrid for a time with the 1st and 4th Corps, he would undertake to present himself in force upon Wellesley’s line of communications, a move which must infallibly stop the advance of the allies towards the capital. If they hesitated a moment after his arrival at Plasencia, they would be caught between two fires, and might be not merely checked but surrounded and destroyed. Soult added, however, that he could not move till the 2nd Corps had received the long-promised provision of artillery which was on its way from Madrid, and till he had rallied Ney’s troops, who were still at Astorga, close to the foot of the Galician mountains.
Napoleon, at a later date, criticized this plan severely, declaring that Soult ought to have marched on Madrid to join the King, and not on Plasencia. He grounded his objections to the scheme on the strategical principle that combined operations on external lines should be avoided. ‘The march of Marshal Soult,’ he wrote, ‘was both dangerous and useless—dangerous, because the other army might be beaten (as happened at Talavera) before he could succour it, so that the safety of all my armies in Spain was compromised: useless, because the English had nothing to fear; they could get behind the Tagus in three hours; and whether they crossed at Talavera or at Almaraz, or anywhere else, they could secure a safe line of retreat on Badajoz.’ Against this criticism the defence made by both Soult and King Joseph was that it would have required a much longer time to bring the three corps from the Douro to Madrid than to Plasencia; that it would have taken them at least ten days to reach Madrid, and that during those days the King and his army might have been beaten and driven out of the capital by the united forces of Wellesley, Cuesta, and Venegas. It was, of course, impossible to foresee on July 22 that Wellesley would refuse to pursue Victor beyond Talavera, or that Venegas would let Sebastiani slip away from him. Accordingly King Joseph and Jourdan fell in with Soult’s suggestion, because they thought that he would come sooner into the field if he marched on Plasencia, and would remove the pressure of the British army from them at a comparatively early date. As a matter of fact, he took a much longer time to reach Plasencia than they had expected: they had hoped that he might be there on July 27, while his vanguard only reached the place on August 1, and his main body on the second and third. But it seems clear that the expectation that he would intervene on the earlier date was far too sanguine. Soult dared not move till his three corps were well closed up, and since Ney had to come all the way from Astorga, it would have been impossible in any case to mass the army at Plasencia much earlier than was actually done. Napoleon’s remark that Soult could not hope to catch or surround the British army seems more convincing than his criticism of the march on Plasencia. If the passes of the Sierra de Gata had been properly held, and prompt news had been transmitted to Talavera that the French were on the move from the valley of the Douro, Wellesley would have had ample time to cover himself, by crossing the Tagus and transferring his army to the line of operations, Truxillo-Badajoz. The British general always defended himself by this plea: and complained that those who spoke of him as being ‘cut off from Portugal,’ by the arrival of Soult at Plasencia, forgot that he had as good a base at Elvas and Badajoz as at Abrantes.
But we must not look too far forward into the later stages of the campaign. It is enough to say that Jourdan and Joseph sent back Foy to rejoin Soult, on the same day that he had reached Madrid, bearing the orders that the Marshal was to collect his three corps with the greatest possible haste, and to march by Salamanca on Plasencia, where they trusted that he might present himself on the twenty-seventh or twenty-eighth of the current month. Meanwhile it was necessary to hold back Cuesta and Wellesley till the Duke of Dalmatia’s operations in their rear began to produce their effect. The only possible way of doing this was to concentrate in all haste every available man in New Castile, and to cover Madrid as long as possible. This massing of the French forces turned out to be perfectly feasible, since Venegas had neglected to press in upon Sebastiani, so that it was possible to withdraw the whole 4th Corps from in front of him, and to send it to reinforce Victor, without any immediate danger. Accordingly, the 1st Corps was directed to fall back from its perilous advanced position on the Alberche, and to draw near to Toledo: Sebastiani was told to abandon Madridejos and La Mancha, and to hasten by forced marches toward the same point: while the King himself resolved to leave Madrid with the slenderest of garrisons, and to carry the rest of the central reserve to the general rendezvous. Accordingly, he left only one brigade of Dessolles’ division, with a few of his untrustworthy Spanish levies, to hold the capital: the total did not amount to much over 4,000 men, and General Belliard, the governor of the city, was warned that he must be prepared to retreat into the Retiro forts, with his troops and the whole body of the Afrancesados and their families, if anything untoward should occur. For it was possible that an insurrection might break out, or that Venegas might succeed in slipping into Madrid by the roads from the east, or again, that Wilson (whose column had been heard of at Escalona and was believed to be much larger than was actually the case), might attempt a coup de main from the west. Leaving Belliard in this dangerous and responsible position, the King marched out upon the twenty-third with the remaining brigade of Dessolles’s division, the infantry and cavalry of his French Guard, two squadrons of chasseurs and fourteen guns, a force of some 5,800 men. He had reached Navalcarnero, with the intention of joining Victor on the Alberche, when he received the news that the Marshal had retired towards Toledo, and was lying at Bargas behind the Guadarrama river. Here Joseph joined him on the morning of July 25.
On their concentration a force of 46,000 men was collected, Victor having brought up 23,000, the King 5,800, and Sebastiani 17,500. The latter had placed four of the six Polish battalions of Valence’s division in Toledo, and was therefore short by 3,000 bayonets of the total force of his corps. With such a mass of good troops at their disposition, Joseph, Jourdan, and Victor were all agreed that it was right to fall upon the Spaniards without delay. They were astonished to find that the British army was not in their front, but only Cuesta’s troops. They had expected to see the whole allied host before them, and were overjoyed to discover that the Estremadurans alone had pushed forward to Torrijos and Santa Ollala. Instead, therefore, of being obliged to fight a defensive battle behind the river Guadarrama, it was in their power to take the offensive.
This was done without delay: on the morning of July 26 the French army advanced on Torrijos, with the 1st Corps at the head of the column. But Cuesta, when once he had discovered the strength of the force in his front, had resolved to retreat. Victor found opposed to him only the division of Zayas and two cavalry regiments, which had been told off to cover the withdrawal of the Estremaduran army. The Marshal sent out against this rearguard the chasseurs of Merlin and the dragoons of Latour-Maubourg, who drove in the Spanish horse, almost exterminating the unfortunate regiment of Villaviciosa, which, in retiring, chanced to blunder against the high stone walls of some enclosures from which exit was difficult. Zayas then went to the rear, and retired towards the cavalry division of Albuquerque, which Cuesta hastily sent to his assistance. The French cavalry took some time to re-form for a second attack, and their infantry was still far off. The Spanish rearguard therefore, covered by Albuquerque’s horse, had time enough to fall back on the main body, which was already in full retreat. Their cavalry then followed, and being not very strenuously pursued by Merlin and Latour-Maubourg, got off in safety. The whole army, marching at the best of its speed, and in considerable disorder, finally reached the Alberche without being caught up by the enemy. Cuesta found the British divisions of Sherbrooke and Mackenzie guarding the river: Wellesley had sent them forward when he heard of the approach of the French, and had placed the former on the hills above the further side of the bridge, to cover the passage, and the latter in reserve. He rode out himself to meet the Spanish general, and begged him to carry his army beyond the Alberche, as it would be extremely dangerous to be caught with such an obstacle behind him, and no means of retreat save a long bridge and three fords. But Cuesta tempted providence by declaring that he should encamp on the further bank, as his troops were too exhausted to risk the long defile across the bridge after dark. His sullen anger against Wellesley for refusing to follow him on the twenty-fourth was still smouldering in his breast, and the English were convinced that he remained on the wrong side of the river out of pure perversity, merely because his colleague pressed him to put himself in safety. He consented, however, to retreat next morning to the position which Wellesley had selected in front of Talavera.
The French made no appearance that night, though they might well have done so, and the Spanish army, bivouacing confusedly in the narrow slip of flat ground between the heights and the Alberche, enjoyed undisturbed rest during the hours of darkness. It is impossible not to marvel at the slackness with which Victor conducted the pursuit: he had twelve regiments of splendid cavalry to the front, and could undoubtedly have pressed the Estremadurans hard if he had chosen to do so. Cuesta’s retreating columns were in such a state of confusion and disorder that a vigorous assault on their rear might have caused a general débandade. But after driving in Zayas in the early morning, Victor moved very slowly, and did not even attempt to roll up Albuquerque’s cavalry rearguard, though he could have assailed it with very superior numbers. When taxed with sloth by Marshal Jourdan, he merely defended himself by saying that the horses were tired, and that the infantry was still too far to the rear to make it right for him to begin a combat which might develop into a general engagement. But it is hard to see that he would have risked anything by pressing in upon Albuquerque, for if Cuesta had halted his whole army in order to support his rearguard, there was nothing to prevent the French cavalry from drawing off, and refusing to close till the main body of the 1st Corps should come up.
Thanks to Victor’s slackness the Spaniards secured an unmolested retreat across the Alberche on the following morning. It is said that Cuesta, in sheer perversity and reluctance to listen to any advice proffered him by Wellesley, delayed for some hours before he would retreat, and that when at last he yielded to the pressing solicitations of his colleague he remarked to his staff ‘that he had made the Englishman go down on his knees’ before consenting.
All through the morning hours of the twenty-seventh the Army of Estremadura was pouring across the bridge and the fords, not in the best order. They had almost all passed, when about noon the French cavalry began to appear in their front. When the enemy at last began to press forward in strength, Wellesley directed Sherbrooke’s and Mackenzie’s divisions to prepare to evacuate their positions on the eastern bank, which they did as soon as the last of the Spaniards had got into safety. The first division passed at the bridge, the third at the fords near the village of Cazalegas: then Sherbrooke marched by the high-road towards Talavera, while Mackenzie, who had been told off as the rearguard, remained with Anson’s light horse near the ruined Casa de Salinas, a mile to the west of the Alberche.
It may seem strange that Wellesley made no attempt to dispute the passage of the river, but the ground was hopelessly indefensible. The left bank (Victor’s old position of July 22) completely commands the right, the one being high, the other both low and entirely destitute of artillery positions. Moreover, a great part of the terrain was thickly strewn with woods and olive plantations, which made it impossible to obtain any general view of the country-side. They would have given splendid cover for an army advancing to storm the heights on the French bank, but were anything but an advantage to an army on the defensive. For, unable to hold the actual river bank because of the commanding hills on the further side, such an army would have been forced to form its line some way from the water, and the tangled cover down by the brink of the stream would have given the enemy every facility for pushing troops across, and for pressing them into the midst of the defender’s position without exposing them to his fire. Wellington had examined the line of the Alberche upon the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth, and had pronounced it absolutely untenable; ‘no position could be worse,’ he wrote to O’Donoju, but he had discovered one of a very different kind a little to the rear, and had already settled the way in which it was to be occupied. It presented so many advantages that even Cuesta had consented to accept it as a good fighting-ground, and the Estremaduran army was at this very moment occupied in arraying itself along that part of the line which had been allotted to it. Sherbrooke’s division was retiring across the plain to fall into the section which Wellesley had chosen for it, and Hill’s and Campbell’s troops were moving to their designated ground. Only Mackenzie and the light cavalry had yet to be established in their post.
In the act of withdrawing, this division became involved in an unfortunate combat, which bid fair for a moment to develop into a disaster. Its two brigades had been halted close to the ruined house called the Casa de Salinas, in ground covered partly with underwood and partly with olive groves. The cavalry had been withdrawn to the rear, as it was impossible to use it for vedettes in such a locality. The infantry was supposed to have a chain of pickets thrown out in its front, but it would appear that they must have been badly placed: as one eye-witness confesses, ‘we were by no means such good soldiers in those days as succeeding campaigns made us, and sufficient precautions had not been taken to ascertain what was passing in the wood,’ and between it and the ford below Cazalegas. French cavalry alone had hitherto been seen, and from cavalry Mackenzie’s troops were certainly safe in the tangled ground where they were now lying.
But already Victor’s infantry had reached the front, and its leading division, that of Lapisse, had forded the Alberche far to the north, and had entered the woods without being observed by the outlying pickets of Mackenzie’s left brigade. It had even escaped the notice of Wellesley himself, who had just mounted the roof of the ruined Casa de Salinas, the only point in the neighbourhood from which anything like a general view of the country-side could be secured. While he was intent on watching the heights above the Alberche in his front, and the cavalry vedettes descending from them, the enemy’s infantry was stealing in upon his left.
Lapisse had promptly discovered the line of British outposts, and had succeeded in drawing out his division in battle order before it was observed. He had deployed one regiment, the 16th Léger, as a front line, while the rest of his twelve battalions were coming on in support.
While, therefore, Wellesley was still unconscious that the enemy was close upon him, a brisk fire of musketry broke out upon his left front. It was the French advance driving in the pickets of Donkin’s brigade. The division had barely time to stand to its arms—some men are said to have been killed before they had risen from the ground—and the Commander-in-chief had hardly descended from the roof and mounted his charger, when the enemy was upon them. The assault fell upon the whole front of Donkin’s brigade, and on the left regiment (the 2/31st) of that of Mackenzie himself. So furious and unexpected was it, that the 87th, 88th, and 31st were all broken, and driven some way to the rear, losing about eighty prisoners. It was fortunate that the French advance did not strike the whole line, but only its left and centre. The 1/45th, which was just outside the limit of Lapisse’s attack, stood firm, and on it Wellesley re-formed the 31st, while, a little further to the north, the half-battalion of the 5/60th also held its ground and served as a rallying-point for the 87th and 88th. The steadiness of the 1/45th and 5/60th saved the situation; covered by them the division retired from the woods and formed up in the plain, where Anson’s light horsemen came to their aid and guarded their flanks. The French still pressed furiously forward, sending out two batteries of horse artillery to gall the retreating columns, but they had done their worst, and during the hours of the late afternoon Mackenzie’s infantry fell back slowly and in order to the points of the position which had been assigned to them. Donkin’s brigade took post in the second line behind the German Legion, while Mackenzie’s own three regiments passed through the Guards and formed up in their rear. Their total loss in the combat of Casa de Salinas had been 440 men—the French casualties must have been comparatively insignificant—probably not 100 in all.
From the moment when the fray had begun in the woods till dusk, the noise of battle never stopped, for on arriving in front of the allied position, the French artillery drew up and commenced a hot, but not very effective, fire against those of the troops who held the most advanced stations. As the cannonade continued, the different regiments were seen hurrying to their battle-posts, for, although the arrangements had all been made, some brigades, not expecting a fight till the morrow, had still to take up their allotted ground.
‘The men, as they formed and faced the enemy, looked pale, but the officers riding along their line, only two deep, on which all our hopes depended, observed that they appeared not less tranquil than determined. In the meanwhile the departing sun showed by his rays the immense masses moving towards us, and the last glimmering of the light proved their direction to be across our front, toward the left. The darkness, only broken in upon by the bursting shells and the flashes of the French guns, closed quickly upon us, and it was the opinion of many that the enemy would rest till the morning.’
Such, however, was not to be the case: there was to be hard fighting in front of Talavera before the hour of midnight had arrived.
THE BATTLE OF TALAVERA: THE PRELIMINARY COMBATS
(JULY 27-28)
The position which Wellesley had selected as offering far better ground for a defensive battle than any which could be found on the banks of the Alberche, extends for nearly three miles to the north of the town of Talavera. It was not a very obvious line to take up, since only at its northern end does it present any well marked features. Two-thirds of the position lie in the plain, and are only marked out by the stony bed of the Porti?a, a brook almost dried up in the summer, which runs from north to south and falls into the Tagus at Talavera. In the northern part of its course this stream flows at the bottom of a well-marked ravine, but as it descends towards the town its bed grows broad and shallow, and ceases to be of any tactical or topographical importance. Indeed, in this part of the field the fighting-line of the allies lay across it, and their extreme right wing was posted upon its further bank.
The town of Talavera, a place of 10,000 souls, which had been a flourishing industrial centre in the sixteenth century, but had long sunk into decay, lies in a compact situation on the north bank of the Tagus. It possesses a dilapidated bridge of forty-five arches, the only passage across the river between Arzobispo and Toledo. Its site is perfectly flat, save for a low knoll crowned by the chapel of Nuestra Se?ora del Prado, just outside the eastern, or Madrid, gate, and overlooking the Alameda (public promenade) and the neighbouring gardens. The place had no suburbs, but was surrounded by a broad belt of olive groves and enclosures, which extend for a full mile to the north and east, and hide the houses and walls from the traveller approaching from either of those directions. When the allies entered Talavera they found it deserted by most of its inhabitants, who had fled up into the villages of the Sierra de Toledo during the French occupation. Many, however, descended to reoccupy their homes when the enemy departed. Victor’s men had plundered most of the houses, and turned many of the churches into barracks or stables: hence the town presented a picture of abject desolation.
For a mile and a half beyond the northern wall of Talavera the ground covered by gardens and olive groves is perfectly flat; it then commences to rise, and swells up into a long hill, the Cerro de Medellin. This height runs from east to west, so that its front, and not the full length of its side, overhangs the Porti?a ravine. Its loftiest point and its steepest face are presented to that declivity, while to the west and south it has gentle and easily accessible slopes, sinking gradually down into the plain. This hill, the most commanding ground in the neighbourhood of Talavera, had been chosen by Wellesley as the position of his left wing. It formed, including its lower slopes, about one-third of the line which he had determined to occupy, the rest of the front lying in the low ground among the olives and gardens. North of the Cerro de Medellin is a narrow lateral valley, only half a mile broad, separating this hill from the main chain of the Sierra de Segurilla, the mountains which form the watershed between the basin of the Tagus and that of the Tietar. The British general had intended at first that his position should extend no further north than the hill, but in the course of the action he was compelled to lengthen his front, and to post troops both in the valley and on the mountain spurs beyond it.
By the agreement made with Cuesta, at the conference near the bridge of the Alberche on the evening of the twenty-sixth, it was settled that the Spanish army should hold the town of Talavera and the wooded and enclosed ground for a mile beyond it. The British had their right among the olive groves, but their centre and left on the open slopes of the Cerro de Medellin. This order of battle was the only one which it was possible to adopt. Wellesley had already discovered that the army of Estremadura could not man?uvre, and would be much safer behind walls and enclosures than in the open, and Cuesta had gladly accepted the proposal that he should occupy this part of the position. Having only a little more than a mile of front to defend, he was able to provide a double and triple line with his 32,000 men. His Vanguard and 1st division, under Zayas, occupied the eastern outskirts of the town, with a battery placed upon the knoll crowned by the chapel of Nuestra Se?ora del Prado. A brigade of cavalry (four regiments) was deployed in the open ground of the Prado, close to the bank of the Tagus. The 2nd division, that of Iglesias, held Talavera, whose ancient walls, though imperfect in many places, were still quite defensible. The 3rd and 4th divisions (Manglano and Portago) were ranged in a double line among the gardens and enclosures to the north of the town, as far as a low hillock called the Pajar de Vergara, where they touched Wellesley’s left. Behind them were the rest of Cuesta’s cavalry (ten regiments) and the 5th division (Bassecourt) forming the reserves.
The Spanish position was immensely strong. The front was completely screened by groves and enclosures occupied by skirmishers: the first line was drawn up along the slightly sunken road leading from Talavera to the north, which provided the men with an excellent parapet and good cover. The second line was equally well placed behind the Porti?a rivulet, which was bordered by trees along its whole front. The only good artillery position was that outside the Madrid gate, in front of Zayas’ division, but three other batteries were planted in the least defective emplacements that could be found in the front line. The rest of the Spanish guns were in reserve, in line with Bassecourt and the cavalry.
The northern half of the position had its strong points, but also its defects. For the first half mile beyond the Spanish left it was still covered by groves and gardens, and had on its right front the little eminence of the Pajar de Vergara. On this knoll a redoubt had been commenced, but no more had been done than to level a space, eighty yards long and twenty feet broad, on its summit, and to throw up the excavated earth in front, thus forming a bank three or four feet high. In this work, indifferently well protected, lay Lawson’s battery of 3-pounders, the lightest guns of Wellesley’s artillery. Beside and behind them were the five battalions of the 4th division, Campbell’s brigade in the front line, Kemmis’s in the second, to the rear of the Porti?a.
On the left of the 4th division the enclosed ground ended, and cover ceased. Here, forming the British centre, were drawn up the eight battalions of Sherbrooke’s division, in a single line. The Guards’ brigade, under Henry Campbell, was in perfectly flat level ground, without shade or cover. Next to them, where there is a gentle ascent towards the foot of the Cerro de Medellin, were Cameron’s two battalions; while the two weak brigades of the King’s German Legion, under Langwerth and Low, continued the front on to the actual hill, with the Porti?a, now flowing in a well-marked ravine, at their feet. The whole of this part of the British line was bare rolling ground covered with long dry grass and scattered shrubs of thyme. There was no cover, and before the Guards’ and Cameron’s brigades the front was not defined by any strong natural feature. On the other hand, the terrain on the opposite side of the Porti?a was equally bare, and gave no advantage to an enemy about to attack.
It was otherwise in the portion of the front where the four German battalions of Langwerth and Low were placed. They had a steep ravine in front of them, but on the opposite side, as a compensating disadvantage, the rolling upland swells into a hill called the Cerro de Cascajal, which, though much less lofty than the Cerro de Medellin, yet afforded good artillery positions from which the English slopes could be battered.
Behind Sherbrooke’s troops, as the second line of his centre, Wellesley had drawn up his 3rd division and all his cavalry. Cotton’s light dragoons were in the rear of Kemmis’s brigade of the 4th division. Mackenzie’s three battalions supported the Guards: then came Anson’s light and Fane’s heavy cavalry, massed on the rising slope in the rear of Cameron. Lastly Donkin’s brigade, which had suffered so severely in the combat of Casa de Salinas, lay high up the hill, directly in the rear of Low’s brigade of the King’s German Legion.
It only remains to speak of the British left, on the highest part of the Cerro de Medellin. This section of the front was entrusted to Hill’s division, which was already encamped upon its reverse slope. Here lay the strongest point of the position, for the hill is steep, and well covered in its front by the Porti?a, which now flows in a deep stony ravine. But it was also the part of the British fighting-ground which was most likely to be assailed, since a quick-eyed enemy could not help noting that it was the key of the whole—that if the upper levels of the Cerro de Medellin were lost, the rest of the allied line could not possibly be maintained. It was therefore the part of the position which would require the most careful watching, and Wellesley had told off to it his most capable and experienced divisional general. But by some miscalculation, on the evening of the twenty-seventh Hill’s two brigades were not lying on their destined battle-line, but had halted half a mile behind it—Richard Stewart’s battalions on the left, Tilson’s on the right flank of the reverse slope. It is difficult to see with whom the responsibility lay, for Wellesley was far to the right, engaged in planting Mackenzie’s troops in their new position behind the centre, while Hill had ridden over towards Talavera to search for his Commander-in-chief and question him about details, and returned rather late to give his brigadiers the exact instruction as to the line they were to take up at nightfall. There were piquets on the crest, and the greater part of the front slopes were covered by Low’s two battalions of the King’s German Legion, but the actual summit of the Cerro was not occupied by any solid force, though the brigades that were intended to hold it lay only 800 yards to the rear. It was supposed that they would have ample time to take up their ground in the morning, and no one dreamt of the possibility of a night attack.
Of the very small force of artillery which accompanied the British army, we have already seen that Lawson’s light 3-pounder battery had been placed in the Pajar de Vergara entrenchment. Elliott’s and Heyse’s were in the centre of the line; the former placed in front of the Guards, the latter before Langwerth’s brigade of the German Legion. Rettberg’s heavy 6-pounders were on the Cerro de Medellin, with Hill’s division: at dusk they had been brought back to its rear slope and were parked near Richard Stewart’s brigade. Finally Sillery’s battery was in reserve, between the two lines, somewhere behind Cameron’s brigade of Sherbrooke’s division. This single unit was the only artillery reserve of which Wellesley could dispose.
The precise number of British troops in line was 20,194, after deducting the losses at Casa de Salinas; that of the Spaniards was within a few hundreds of 32,000. The French, as we have already seen, had brought a little more than 46,000 men to the field, so that the allies had a superiority of some 6,000 in mere numbers. If Wellesley could have exchanged the Army of Estremadura for half their strength of British bayonets, he might have felt quite comfortable in his strong position. But his confidence in the value of his allies, even when firmly planted among walls and groves, was just about to receive a rude shock.
It was about seven o’clock when the heads of Victor’s columns, following in the wake of the horse artillery which had been galling Mackenzie’s retreat, emerged from the woods on to the rolling plateau facing the allied position. Ruffin appeared on the right, and occupied the Cascajal hill, opposite the Cerro de Medellin. Villatte followed, and halted in its rear. More to the left Lapisse, adopting the same line that had been taken by Mackenzie, halted in front of the British centre: the corps-cavalry, under Beaumont, was drawn up in support of him. Latour-Maubourg’s six regiments of dragoons, further to the south, took ground in front of the Spaniards. The King and Sebastiani were still far to the rear: their infantry was only just passing the Alberche, though their advanced cavalry under Merlin was already pushing forward in the direction of Talavera down the high-road from Madrid.
If Napoleon, or any other general who knew how to make himself obeyed, had been present with the French army, there would have been no fighting on the evening of July 27. But King Joseph counted for little in the eyes of his nominal subordinates, and hence it came to pass that the impetuous Victor took upon himself the responsibility of attacking the allies when only half the King’s army had come upon the field. With no more object, as it would seem, than that of harassing the enemy, he sent to the front the batteries belonging to Ruffin, Lapisse, and Latour-Maubourg, to join in the cannonade which his horse artillery had already begun. At the same time Merlin’s light horse pressed forward in the direction of Talavera, to feel for the front of the Spaniards, whose exact position was hidden by the olive groves. The British artillery replied, but no great harm was done to either side. Yet in the Spanish part of the line a dreadful disaster was on the point of occurring. When the artillery fire began, and the French light horse were seen advancing, the Estremaduran troops between Talavera and the Pajar de Vergara delivered a tremendous salvo of infantry fire along the whole line, though the enemy was too far off to take any damage. But, immediately after, four battalions of Portago’s division, which formed part of the left of Cuesta’s line and touched Campbell’s right, suddenly shouted ‘treason!’ broke, and went off to the rear in complete disorder. Wellesley, who, as it chanced, was behind Campbell’s troops, and witnessed the whole rout, declared that he could conceive no reason for their behaviour except that they must have been frightened by the crash of their own tremendous volley. Two of these four battalions were troops who had never been in action before: the other two had been badly cut up at Medellin, and brought up to strength by the incorporation of a great mass of recruits. This might have excused a momentary misconduct, but not a prolonged rush to the rear when the enemy was still half a mile off, still less the casting away of their arms and the plundering of the British camp, through which the multitude fled. Cuesta sent cavalry to hunt them up, and succeeded in hounding back the majority to their ranks, but many hundreds were still missing on the following morning. They fled in small bands all down the valley of the Tagus, dispersing dismal information on all sides. It is sad to have to acknowledge that in their rush through the British camp they carried away with them some commissaries and a few of the baggage guard, who did not halt till they got to Oropesa, twenty miles from the field. Strange to say, this panic had no appreciable ill effects: the French were not in a position to take advantage of it, having no troops, save a few light horse, in front of the spot where it occurred. The Spaniards to the right and rear of the absconding regiments did not flinch, and as the second line held firm, there was no actual gap produced in the allied position. But Wellesley noted the scene, and never forgot it: of all that he had witnessed during the campaign, this was the sight that struck him most, and most influenced his future conduct. Cuesta also took account of it in his own fashion, and at the end of the battle of the next day proposed to decimate in the old Roman fashion, the battalions that had fled! He actually chose by lot some 200 men from the fugitives, and after trying them by court-martial prepared to shoot them. His British colleague begged off the majority, but the old Captain-General insisted on executing some twenty-five or thirty who were duly put to death on the morning of the twenty-ninth.
After the panic had died down, Victor gradually withdrew his batteries, but it was with no intention of bringing the combat to a real termination. He had resolved to deliver a night attack on the key of the British position, when the whole of his corps should have reached the front. Having reconnoitred the allied lines, and noted the distribution of their defenders, he had determined to storm the Cerro de Medellin in the dark. During his long stay at Talavera he had acquired a very thorough knowledge of its environs, and understood the dominating importance of that height. If he could seize and hold it during the night, he saw that the battle of the next day would be already half won. Accordingly, still without obtaining King Joseph’s leave, he determined to assail the Cerro. He told off for the storm his choicest division, that of Ruffin, whose nine battalions were already ranged on the front of the Cascajal heights. At the same time Lapisse’s division was to distract the attention of the British centre by a noisy demonstration against its front.
Night attacks are proverbially hazardous and hard to conduct, and it cannot be disputed that Victor showed an excessive temerity in endeavouring to deliver such a blow at the steady British troops, at an hour when it was impossible to guarantee proper co-operation among the attacking columns. But for an initial stroke of luck he ought not to have secured even the small measure of success that fell to his lot.
At about nine o’clock, however, Ruffin moved down to the attack. Each of his three regiments was formed in battalion columns, the 9th Léger in the centre, the 96th on its left, the 24th on its right. The first-named regiment was to deliver a frontal attack, the other two to turn the flanks of the hill and attack over its side-slopes. At the appointed moment the three regiments descended simultaneously into the ravine of the Porti?a, and endeavoured to carry out their respective sections of the programme. The 9th, chancing on the place where the ravine was most easily negotiable, crossed it without much difficulty, and began to climb the opposite slope. On mounting half way to the crest, it suddenly came on Low’s brigade of the German Legion, lying down in line, with its pickets only a very small distance in advance of the main body. It is said that the brigadier was labouring under the delusion that some of Hill’s outposts were in his front, and that he was screened by them. It is at any rate clear that he was taken wholly unprepared by the midnight attack of the French. His sentries were trampled down in a moment, and the 9th Léger ran in upon the Germans, firing into them point blank and seizing many of them as prisoners almost ere they were awake. The 7th K. G. L. was completely broken, and lost 150 men—half of them prisoners—in five minutes. The 5th, the right-hand battalion of Low’s brigade, came off better, as it was not in the direct path of the French; but it was flung sideways along the southern slope of the hill, and could not be re-formed for some time. Meanwhile the three French columns, somewhat separated from each other in this first clash of arms, went straight on up the Cerro, and in a few minutes were nearing its crest. The two leading battalions actually reached and crowned it, without meeting with any opposition save from the outlying picket of Richard Stewart’s brigade. The third was not far behind, and it seemed almost certain that the position might be won. At this moment General Hill, who was occupied in drawing out his division on the rear slope, but had not yet conducted it to its fighting-ground, interfered in the fight. He had seen and heard the sudden outbreak of musketry on the frontal slopes, as the French broke through Low’s brigade. But when it died down, he was far from imagining that the cause was the complete success of the enemy. Nevertheless, he directed his nearest brigade, that of Richard Stewart, to prepare to support the Germans if necessary. He was issuing his orders to the colonel of the 48th, when he observed some men on the hill top fire a few shots in his direction. ‘Not having an idea,’ he writes, ‘that the enemy were so near, I said to myself that I was sure it was the old Buffs, as usual, making some blunder.’ Accordingly he galloped up the hill, with his brigade-major Fordyce, shouting to the men to cease firing. He rode right in among the French before he realized his mistake, and a voltigeur seized him by the arm and bade him surrender. Hill spurred his horse, which sprang forward and got clear of the Frenchman, who lost his hold but immediately raised his musket and fired at three paces’ distance, missing the General but hitting his charger. Hill escaped in the midst of a scattering volley, which killed his companion Fordyce, and got back as fast as he could to Richard Stewart’s brigade. Without delaying for a moment, even to change his wounded horse, he led on the nearest regiments to recover the hill top. So great was the confusion, owing to the sudden attack in the dark, that Stewart’s men moved forward, not in their proper order, but with the 1st Battalion of Detachments on the right, the 29th in the centre, and the 1/48 on the left. This arrangement brought the first-named unit first into touch with the enemy. The Detachments came into immediate collision with the leading battalions of the French, who were now somewhat in disorder, and trying to re-form on the ground they had won. The two forces opened a furious fire upon each other, and both came to a standstill. But Hill, coming up a moment later at the head of his centre regiment, cleared the hill top by a desperate charge: passing through the Detachments, the 29th delivered a volley at point-blank range and closed. The enemy broke and fled down the slope that they had ascended. The 29th wheeled into line and followed them, pouring in regular volleys at short intervals. But before they had gone far, they became dimly conscious of another column to their left, pushing up the hill in the darkness. This was the rear battalion of the 9th Léger, which had fallen somewhat behind its fellows. It was moving up diagonally across the front of the British regiment, with drums beating and loud shouts of vive l’Empereur. Taken in flank by the fire of the right companies of the 29th, it could make no effective resistance, and ere long broke and rolled back in disorder into the bed of the Porti?a, where it met with the wrecks of the rest of the regiment, and retired in company with them up the slopes of the Cerro de Cascajal.
The remainder of Ruffin’s division took little or no part in the fighting. The three battalions of the 24th, which ought to have mounted the hill on the right, lost their way in the darkness and wandered up the valley between the Cerro de Medellin and the northern mountains: they never came into action. The 96th, on the left of the attack, chanced upon a part of the Porti?a ravine which was very precipitous: they found it difficult to descend, were very late in reaching the other side, and then fell into a futile bickering fight with the 5th and 2nd battalions of the King’s German Legion, which terminated—with small damage to either party—when the main attack in the centre was seen to have failed.
The loss of the French in this night battle was about 300 men, almost all in the 9th Léger. It included sixty-five prisoners, among whom was the colonel of the regiment, who was left on the ground desperately wounded. The British casualties were somewhat heavier, entirely owing to the disaster to the 5th and 7th battalions of the K. G. L., which suffered when surprised, a loss of 188 men, eighty-seven of whom were made captives. Richard Stewart’s brigade, which bore the brunt of the fighting and decided the affair, had only 125 killed and wounded.
Thus ended, in well-deserved failure, Victor’s night attack, of which it may suffice to say that even its initial success was only due to the gross carelessness of Low’s brigade in failing to cover their front with a proper screen of outlying pickets. To attack in the dark across rugged and difficult ground was to court disaster. The wonder is not that two-thirds of the division went astray, but that the other third almost succeeded in the hazardous enterprise to which it was committed. Great credit is due to the 9th Léger for all that it did, and no blame whatever rests upon the regiment for its ultimate failure. The Marshal must take all the responsibility.
The wrecks of the French attacking columns having rolled back beyond the ravine, and the flanking regiments having abandoned their futile demonstrations, the Cerro de Medellin was once more safe. The troops occupying it were rearranged, as far as was possible, in the dark. The front line on its left and highest part was now formed by Richard Stewart’s brigade, ranged, not in its proper order of seniority, but with the 29th on the left, the 1st Battalion of Detachments in the centre, and the 1/48 on the right. Tilson’s brigade, the other half of Hill’s division, was to the south of Stewart, continuing his line along the crest. Low’s battalions of the King’s German Legion were drawn off somewhat to the right, closing in towards Langwerth’s brigade, so as to leave the central slopes of the Cerro de Medellin entirely to Hill’s men. Donkin’s brigade of Mackenzie’s division lay close behind them. After the warning that had been given by Victor’s first assault, the greatest care was taken to make a second surprise impossible. Stewart’s and Low’s brigades threw forward their pickets to the brink of the Porti?a ravine, so close to the enemy that all night they could hear the Qui vive of the sentries challenging the visiting rounds, only two or three hundred yards above them. On several occasions the outposts opened fire on each other, and the word ‘stand to your arms,’ ran along the whole line. In front of Sherbrooke’s division, about midnight, there was a false alarm, which led to a whole brigade delivering a volley at an imaginary column of assault, while their own pickets were still out in front, with the result that two officers and several men were killed or wounded. A similar outbreak of fire, lasting for several minutes, ran along the front of the Spanish lines an hour later. It seems to have been caused by French foragers, in search of fuel, blundering against the Estremaduran pickets on the edge of the olive groves.
Altogether the night was not a peaceful one, and the troops were much harassed by the perpetual and unnecessary calls to stand to their arms. Many of them got little sleep, and several British diarists have left interesting impressions on record of their long vigil. There was much to keep them awake: not only the repeated blaze of fire running along parts of the allied line, but the constant signs of movement on the French side of the Porti?a. Some time after midnight long lines of torches were seen advancing across and to the right of the Cerro de Cascajal; these were markers with flambeaux, sent out to fix the points on which Victor’s artillery were to take up their positions, as was soon shown by the rattling of gun-carriages, the noise of wheels, and the cracking of whips, which were plainly heard in the intervals of stillness, when the hostile pickets ceased their bickering musketry fire. The French were pushing up their guns into the very front of their line, and when the dawn began to break they were visible only 600 or 800 yards away from the British lines. A few deserters came over during the night, mainly from Leval’s German division; all agreed that the enemy was about to deliver a second attack in the early morning.
The dawn was an anxious moment: with the growing light it was possible to make out broad black patches dotting the whole of the rolling ground in front of the British army. Every instant rendered them more visible, and soon they took shape as French regiments in battalion columns, ranged on a front of nearly two miles, from the right end of the Cerro de Cascajal to the edge of the woods facing the Pajar de Vergara. The object which drew most attention was an immense solid column at the extreme right of the hostile line, on the lower slopes above the Porti?a, with a thick screen of tirailleurs already thrown out in its front, and evidently ready to advance at the word of command. The other divisions lay further back: in front of them artillery was everywhere visible: there were four batteries on the midslope of the Cascajal hill, and six more on the rolling ground to the south. In the far distance, behind the infantry, were long lines of cavalry dressed in all the colours of the rainbow—fifteen or sixteen regiments could be counted—and far to the rear of them more black masses were slowly rolling into view. It was easily to be seen that little or nothing lay in front of the Spaniards, and that at least five-sixths of the French army was disposed for an attack on the British front. There were 40,000 men visible, ready for the advance against the 20,000 sabres and bayonets of Wellesley’s long red line.
An attack was imminent, yet there were many things which might have induced the French generals to hold back. Was it worth while to assail the allies in the admirable position which they now held, when it was possible to drive them out of it without risking a battle? Orders had been sent to Soult, six days before, to bid him fall on Wellesley’s communications by way of Plasencia. It was believed that he must have started ere now, and that the news of his approach would reach the enemy within the next forty-eight hours. This intelligence would compel them to go behind the Tagus, and to abandon the Talavera position. Both Jourdan and King Joseph were doubtful of the policy of risking a general action. But the initiative was taken out of their hands by Victor. He had already placed his corps so close to the British lines that it would have been hard to withdraw it without an engagement. He had also, during the night, sent a dispatch to the King, stating that he should storm the Cerro de Medellin at dawn unless he received counter-orders. He appeared so confident of success that Joseph and his adviser Jourdan did not venture to bid him desist. They were, as the latter confessed, largely influenced by the knowledge that if they refused, Victor would delate them to the Emperor for culpable timidity in letting the British army escape.
The Duke of Belluno was still persisting in his idea that it might be possible to seize the key of Wellesley’s position by a partial attack, without engaging the rest of his corps till it had already been won. Accordingly he gave orders to his subordinates Lapisse and Villatte that they were not to move till Ruffin, with the first division, should have gained the Cerro de Medellin. In a similar way the King made the advance of the 4th Corps conditional on the preliminary success of Victor’s right. This seems to have been bad policy, as it left Wellesley free to devote the whole of his attention to the point where the first attack was to be delivered. It was clear that the threatening column on the lower slopes of the Cerro de Cascajal would start the game. Victor had drawn up his troops in the following order. Ruffin on the extreme left, and considerably in advance, was to attack the Cerro on its north-eastern and eastern fronts. Behind him on the summit of the Cascajal hill, were Villatte’s twelve battalions, and in rear of all the two regiments of Beaumont, the Marshal’s corps-cavalry. To Villatte’s left, but on lower ground opposite Sherbrooke’s line, lay Lapisse’s division, with Latour-Maubourg’s six regiments of dragoons in support. This completed the array of the 1st Corps: on their left stood Sebastiani and his 4th Corps, facing the Guards, Campbell, and the northernmost battalions of the Spanish army, opposite the Pajar de Vergara. Sebastiani’s French division was on his right, his German division on his left, while the stray Polish brigade (the only part of Valence’s division that was on the field) supported the Germans. In second line was Merlin’s light horse, while Milhaud’s six regiments of dragoons lay out on the extreme left, observing the town of Talavera. King Joseph and his reserve—the Guards and the brigade of Dessolles—were far to the rear, just outside the woods round the Casa de Salinas.
At about five in the morning the watchers on the Cerro de Medellin saw the smoke of a gun curl up into the air from the central battery in front of Villatte’s division. The ensuing report was the signal for the whole of Victor’s artillery to open, and twenty-four guns spoke at once from the Cascajal heights, and thirty more from the lower ground to their right. The cannonade was tremendous, and the reply wholly inadequate, as Wellesley could only put four batteries in line, Rettberg’s on the summit of the Cerro, Sillery’s from the lower slope near Donkin’s position, and those of Heyse and Elliott from the front of Sherbrooke’s division. The French fire was both accurate and effective, ‘they served their guns in an infinitely better style than at Vimiero: their shells were thrown with precision, and did considerable execution.’ Wellesley, who stood in rear of Hill’s line on the commanding height, at once ordered Richard Stewart’s and Tilson’s brigades to go back from the sky-line, and to lie down. But no such device was practicable in Sherbrooke’s division, where the formation of the ground presented no possibility of cover, and here much damage was done. After a few minutes the English position was obscured, for the damp of the morning air prevented the smoke from rising, and a strong east wind blew it across the Porti?a, and drove it along the slopes of the Cerro. So thick was the atmosphere that the defenders heard rather than saw the start of Ruffin’s division on its advance, and only realized its near approach when they saw their own skirmishers retiring up the slope towards the main line. The light companies of Hill’s division came in so slowly and unwillingly, turning back often to fire, and keeping their order with the regularity of a field-day. The general, wishing to get his front clear, bade the bugles sound to bring them in more quickly, and as they filed to the rear in a leisurely way was heard to shout (it was one of the only two occasions on which he was known to swear), ‘D—n their filing, let them come in anyhow.’
When the light companies had fallen back, the French were at last visible through the smoke. They had mounted the lower slopes of the Cerro without any loss, covered by their artillery, which only ceased firing at this moment. They showed nine battalions, in three solid columns: Victor had arranged the divisions with the 24th in the centre, the 96th on the left, and the 9th Léger, which had suffered so severely in the night-battle, upon the right. This arrangement brought the last-named regiment opposite their old enemies of the 29th, and the Battalion of Detachments, while the 1/48th and 2/48th had to deal with the French centre, and the Buffs and 66th with their left. When Ruffin’s columns had got within a hundred yards of the sky-line, Hill bade his six battalions stand to their feet and advance. As they lined the crest they delivered a splendid volley, whose report was as sharp and precise as that of a field-day. The effect was of course murderous, as was always the case when line met column. The French had a marked superiority in numbers; they were nearly 5,000 strong, Hill’s two brigades had less than 4,000. But there was the usual advantage that every British soldier could use his weapon, while the French, in column of divisions, had the normal mass of useless muskets in the rear ranks. The first volley brought them to a standstill—their whole front had gone down at the discharge—they lost the impetus of advance, halted, and kept up a furious fire for some minutes. But when it came to a standing fight of musketry, there was never a doubt in any Peninsular battle how the game would end. The French fire began ere long to slacken, the front of the columns shook and wavered. Just at this moment Sherbrooke, who had noted that the divisions in his own front showed no signs of closing, took the 5th battalion of the King’s German Legion out of his left brigade, and sent it against the flank and rear of Ruffin’s nearest regiment—the 96th of the line. When the noise of battle broke out in this new quarter, the French lost heart and began to give ground. Richard Stewart, at the northern end of the British line, gave the signal to his brigade to charge, and—as a participator in this fray writes, ‘on we went, a wall of stout hearts and bristling steel. The enemy did not fancy such close quarters, and the moment our rush began they went to the right-about. The principal portion broke and fled, though some brave fellows occasionally faced about and gave us an irregular fire.’ Nothing, however, could stop Hill’s division, and the whole six battalions rushed like a torrent down the slope, bayonetting and sweeping back the enemy to the line of black and muddy pools that marked the course of the Porti?a. Many of the pursuers even crossed the ravine and chased the flying French divisions right into the arms of Villatte’s troops, on the Cascajal hill. When these reserves opened fire, Hill’s men re-formed on the lower slope of the Cerro, and retired to their old position without being seriously molested, for Victor made no counter-attack.
Ruffin’s three regiments had been terribly punished: they had lost, in forty minutes’ fighting, 1,300 killed and wounded, much more than a fourth of their strength. Hill’s brigades had about 750 casualties, including their gallant leader, who received a wound in the head, and had to go to the rear, leaving the command of his division to Tilson. The loss of the German battalion which had struck in upon the French rear was insignificant, as the enemy never stood to meet it.
Thus was Victor’s second attempt to storm the Cerro de Medellin rebuked. It was a rash and unscientific operation, and received a merited chastisement. The Marshal should have sent in all his corps, and attacked the whole British line, if he wished to give his men a fair chance. He obviously underrated the troops with which he had to deal—he had never seen them before the combat of Casa de Salinas on the previous day—and had no conception of the power of the line against the column. Even now baffled rage seems to have been his main feeling, and his only desire was to make the attempt again with larger forces.
The whole engagement had taken about an hour and a half, and the morning was still young when the Marshal re-formed his line, and reported his ill-success to the King. After the cannonade died down he bade his men take their morning meal, and the British on the Cerro could see the whole 1st Corps turn to cooking, behind their strong line of pickets. A sort of informal armistice was established in a short time; both parties wished to use the stagnant water of the Porti?a, and after a little signalling hundreds of men came down with their canteens from either side, and filled them with the muddy fluid. In spite of the heavy fighting which had just ended, all parties agree that a very friendly spirit was shown. The men conversed as best they could, and were even seen to shake hands across the pools. Many of the officers came down a little later, and after a short colloquy agreed that either party might take off its wounded without molestation. As there were hundreds of French lying on the west bank of the Porti?a, and a good many English on its further side, there was a complete confusion of uniforms as the bearers passed and repassed each other at the bottom of the ravine. But no difficulties of any sort arose, and for more than two hours the two parties were completely mixed. This was the first example of that amicable spirit which reigned between the hostile armies all through the war, and which in its later years developed into that curious code of signals (often described by contemporaries), by which French and English gave each other notice whenever serious work was intended, refraining on all other occasions from unnecessary outpost bickering or sentry-shooting.
THE BATTLE OF TALAVERA: THE MAIN ENGAGEMENT
(JULY 28)
The informal armistice which had followed the combat of the early morning had drawn to an end, when at about 10 o’clock the British observers on the Cerro de Medellin saw a large and brilliant staff riding along the French line from right to left. It finally halted, and took post on the most commanding point of the Cascajal heights. This was the entourage of King Joseph and Marshal Jourdan, who had determined to make a careful examination of the allied lines before committing themselves to any further action. When they halted on the summit of the hill, from which the best general view was obtainable, Victor came to meet them, and a council of war was held.
It soon developed into a lengthy and animated dispute; lasting for more than an hour. Jourdan was of opinion that, considering the strength of the hostile position, and the decisive way in which the 1st Corps had been repulsed, it would be unwise to proceed with another attack. He pointed out that Wellesley would now be perfectly aware that his left was the point which must be assailed, and that movements visible behind the British line showed that it was already being reinforced. The only good move now available was to endeavour to turn the Cerro by the little valley to its north-east, which separates it from the Sierra de Segurilla: but it was clear that the enemy realized this as well as themselves. A considerable body of cavalry was already appearing at its southern end. If the Duke of Belluno, instead of delivering two frontal assaults, had been prudent enough to push men down this valley under cover of the darkness, so as to have a lateral attack ready at dawn, something might have been done. But now the imperial troops would have to win the valley by hard fighting, before they could use it as a starting-point for the assault on the hill. If a general attack were delivered, and the army were once more repulsed, it risked its line of communication and its retreat on Madrid. For the whole Spanish host might come out of the woods and fall upon its flank, while it was engaged with the British, and in that case the Madrid road would be cut, and the King would have to retreat on Avila, sacrificing his capital and his arsenals. On the whole Jourdan held that it would be wise and prudent to assume a defensive posture, and either to hold the present position or to retire to the more favourable ground behind the Alberche, four miles to the rear. In a few days the enemy would hear of Soult’s operations upon their line of communication, and would be forced to break up and retire.
Very different, as might have been expected, were Victor’s views. He declared that the British position was far from impregnable, and that the prestige of the French army would be destroyed if it retired, after two partial checks, from in front of an enemy who had not been seriously attacked. The only fault in the preceding operations had been that the whole army had not joined in, at the moment when the Cerro had been stormed. If the King would undertake to use the 4th Corps against the allied centre, he pledged himself to break their right with his own three divisions of infantry. He would not only assail the Cerro from in front, but would turn it from both flanks. If such an attack did not succeed il faudrait renoncer à faire la guerre. This phrase he dinned into Joseph’s and Jourdan’s ears so repeatedly that they both saved it up for future use, and taunted him with it in the acrimonious correspondence which followed the battle.
King Joseph would have preferred to follow Jourdan’s cautious plan, and to hold back. Sebastiani, whose opinion he asked, agreed with him. But both seem to have been terrorized by the Marshal’s stormy tirades, and still more by the thought of what the Emperor would say, if he heard that battle had been refused, contrary to Victor’s advice. The ultimate decision was still in the balance, when two pieces of news were received: the first was a dispatch from General Valence, the Governor of Toledo, to effect that the army of Venegas, whose position had hitherto been unknown—for nothing had been heard of him since Sebastiani had escaped from his front—had at last come on the scene. His advanced guard had presented itself before the bridges of Toledo, and was already skirmishing there. The second item of intelligence was a dispatch from Soult, acknowledging the receipt of the orders which had been sent to him upon the twenty-second, and stating his intention of carrying them out at the earliest possible moment. But he complained that the promised train of artillery had not yet reached the 2nd Corps, and declared that he could not move till it had come to hand, and till he had brought down the 6th Corps from Astorga. He was therefore of opinion that he could not possibly reach Plasencia till August 3, perhaps not till two days later.
This news was decisive: it was now clear that the Duke of Dalmatia would not be able to bring pressure to bear upon the rear of the allies for some six or seven days. Meanwhile Venegas was within two marches of Madrid, and had nothing in front of him save the four Polish battalions at Toledo. If the King refused to fight, and took up a defensive position on the Alberche, he would have to detach 15,000 men to hold back the army of La Mancha from the capital. This would leave him with only 30,000 men to resist Wellesley and Cuesta, and it was clear that such a force would be overmatched by the allies. If he kept a larger number in their front, Venegas would be able to capture Madrid, the thing of all others which Joseph was resolved to prevent. Accordingly the King and Jourdan reluctantly fell in with Victor’s plans, and consented to fight in the afternoon. If they defeated the British and the Estremadurans on the twenty-eighth, the army of La Mancha could easily be disposed of upon the twenty-ninth or thirtieth.
This decision once made, it only remained to settle the details of the attack. The King determined to assail the British centre and right with the infantry of Sebastiani’s corps—twenty-three battalions in all, or some 14,000 men. Victor with the three infantry divisions of the 1st Corps—thirty-three battalions, still over 16,000 strong in spite of their losses—undertook to fall upon the English left, to storm the Cerro de Medellin and also to turn it on its northern side, so as to envelop Wellesley’s flank. The Spaniards were to be left alone behind their walls and orchards—only Milhaud’s dragoons were told off to watch the exits from Talavera. Of the rest of the cavalry a few could be utilized in Victor’s turning movement in the valley below the Sierra de Segurilla: but the main body—all Beaumont’s and Latour-Maubourg’s eight regiments—were ranged in a second line, to act as a reserve for the frontal attack of the infantry, and to aid it if it were checked. The King’s Guards and the brigade of Dessolles were to be kept back, and only utilized to clinch the victory or to retrieve a repulse.
The 30,000 men who were to deliver the grand assault on the allied position were drawn up as follows. Leval’s Germans advanced on the left, taking as their objective the battery on the Pajar de Vergara. They faced Campbell’s British division, and slightly overlapped it, so as to cover the three or four battalions on the extreme northern wing of Cuesta’s line. In their rear as supports followed the two Polish battalions from Valence’s division. On Leval’s right, Sebastiani’s four French regiments continued the line: this was the strongest division on the field and counted over 8,000 bayonets. It faced the Guards and the right battalion of Cameron’s brigade. Here ended the troops of the 4th Corps: beyond them Victor’s 2nd division, that of Lapisse, was about to assail the German Legion and Cameron’s left-hand regiment, the 83rd. Still further north Villatte’s division lay opposite the steepest slopes of the Cerro de Medellin. This position looked more formidable in the eyes of the Duke of Belluno since he had seen his first two assaults upon it fail. It was now heavily manned: Tilson’s, Richard Stewart’s, and Donkin’s brigades were all visible upon its crest. After some hesitation the Marshal resolved to leave it alone for the present, and not to attack it till some impression should have been made upon other parts of Wellesley’s line. Accordingly he left in front of it only Villatte’s second brigade—the six battalions of the 94th and 95th regiments. The other brigade—the 27th and 63rd—was directed to join in the flanking movement to the north of the Cerro, which was to encompass Wellesley’s extreme left. But the main force told off for this advance consisted of the much-tried remnants of Ruffin’s division, now not more than 3,700 strong. The employment of these troops for such a critical operation seems to have been a mistake—they had already received two bloody checks, and had lost more than a third of their officers and 1,500 men in the late fighting. Though good regiments, they could now be considered as little more than ‘a spent force.’ This fact sufficiently explains the feebleness of the French advance upon this part of the field during the afternoon hours.
Behind the French infantry of the 4th and 1st Corps were deployed no less than twelve regiments of horse: Latour-Maubourg’s three brigades of dragoons were drawn up in the rear of Lapisse and Sebastiani: Beaumont supported Villatte, and lastly the four regiments of Merlin’s (late Lasalle’s) division followed Ruffin in his turning movement. Far to the rear Dessolles and Joseph’s Guards took up a position facing the British centre, from which they could support the right or the left of their own front line as might be necessary.
The drawing up of this line of battle took time, and while the French were shifting their positions and establishing their new front, Wellesley had ample leisure to provide against the oncoming storm. He had established himself upon the crest of the Cerro, and from thence could overlook every movement of the enemy. Of the new dispositions the only one which struck him as likely to cause trouble was the extension of Ruffin and Villatte to the northward. It was clear that they were intending to advance up the valley that separates the Sierra de Segurilla from the Cerro de Medellin, in order to take the hill in the flank, and assail the 2nd Division from the side. It was therefore necessary to make arrangements for checking this man?uvre. Wellesley’s first order was that Fane’s and Anson’s cavalry should move round the back of the Cerro, and take up new ground at the head of the valley. From this position they would be able to charge in the flank any force that might push up the trough of the depression, in order to get behind Hill’s line. He also withdrew half Rettberg’s battery from the front of the height, and placed it on a projecting lateral spur from which it could enfilade the valley. Nor were these his only precautions; he sent a hasty message to Cuesta, pointing out that the greater part of the Spanish line was not threatened, and asking if he could spare reinforcements for the left wing. The Spanish general behaved in a more liberal fashion than might have been expected from his previous conduct. He consented to lend Wellesley his reserve division, that of Bassecourt, about 5,000 strong, and also put at his disposition a battery of twelve-pounders, heavier guns than any which the British army possessed. The French were so slow in moving that there was ample time, before the battle grew hot, to send Bassecourt’s division round the rear of the British line, and to place it on the lower slopes of the Sierra de Segurilla, so as to continue to the northward the front formed by the British cavalry. Of the Spanish guns placed at Wellesley’s disposition, four were put into the Pajar de Vergara redoubt, by the side of Lawson’s battery: the other two accompanied Bassecourt’s infantry, and were placed on the northern spur of the Cerro de Medellin, near Rettberg’s six-pounders. Somewhat later the Duke of Albuquerque brought round the whole of his cavalry division—six regiments and a horse-artillery battery—to the same quarter, and drew them up in two lines to the rear of Anson’s and Fane’s brigades. But before he arrived the battle had already begun.
When the whole of the French infantry was ready, at about two o’clock in the afternoon, the King gave orders for the artillery to open, and eighty guns of the 1st and 4th Corps began to play upon the British line. In some places the troops were only some 600 yards from the enemy’s batteries, and the loss in many regiments was very appreciable before a single musket had been fired. Only thirty British and six Spanish pieces could reply: they were overwhelmed from the first by the superior number of the French guns. It was therefore with joy that Wellesley’s infantry saw that the artillery engagement was not to last for long. All along the hostile line the battalion-columns of Ruffin, Lapisse, Sebastiani, and Leval were moving up to the attack, and when they reached the front, and threw out their screen of tirailleurs, the guns grew silent. Only from the Cerro de Cascajal, where Villatte was hanging back in obedience to Victor’s orders, did the cannonade against Hill’s brigades continue.
The first troops to come into collision with the allies were Leval’s Germans, upon the extreme left of the French line. This, it is said, was contrary to the King’s orders; he had intended to hold this division somewhat back, as it was in danger of being outflanked by the Spaniards if it made a premature advance. But Leval had a tangled terrain of vines and olive groves in his front: when once he had entered it he lost sight of the troops on his right, and fearing to be late on account of the obstacles in his front, committed the opposite fault. He came rushing in upon Campbell’s outpost line half an hour before the other divisions had closed with the British centre, the time being then 2.30 in the afternoon.
The nine battalions of the German division were arrayed in a single line of battalion columns, with a thick screen of tirailleurs in their front. But their order had been so much broken up by the walls and thickets that the 4,500 bayonets appeared to the British like one confused mass of skirmishers. They came on fast and furiously, chasing the pickets of the 7th and 53rd before them, till they emerged into the comparatively open ground in front of the Pajar de Vergara. Here the defence was standing ready for them: Campbell had brought up one battalion of his rear brigade into his front line, so that the 40th, as well as the 53rd and 7th, were facing the attack. On his right lay the redoubt with its ten guns: further to the south the two left-hand units of the French division were opposed to troops of Cuesta’s army. Hence it came that while the Nassau and Dutch regiments faced the British infantry, the Baden regiment was in front of the guns, while the Hessians and the Frankfort battalion had to do with the Spaniards.
When the Germans surged out from among the olive groves into the comparatively open ground in front of the Pajar de Vergara, the musketry opened along both lines at a distance of about 200 yards, the assailants delivering a rolling fire, while the defenders of the position answered with regular battalion volleys. Several times Leval’s men advanced a few score paces, and the distance between the two divisions was growing gradually less. But the attacking force was evidently suffering more than the allies: in the centre especially, where the ten guns of the redoubt were firing canister into the disordered mass, the casualties of the Baden battalions were terrible: they could not bear up against the blasts of mitraille, and after their colonel, von Porbeck, had fallen, they broke and began to recoil. Seeing part of the enemy’s line falling into disorder, General Campbell ordered his front line to charge. Then Colonel Myers of the 7th, seizing the King’s colour of his regiment, ran out in front of the line and calling ‘Come on, Fusiliers,’ led the advance. His own battalion, the 40th and the 53rd, at once closed with the Nassau and Dutch regiments, who shrank back into the thickets and melted away from the front. The victors pursued them for some distance, capturing in their onward career a whole battery of six guns, which was being brought forward to reply to the artillery of the redoubt, but had failed to reach the clearing before the line in front of them gave way. The three battalions on Leval’s extreme left, which had the Spaniards in front of them, had been exchanging volleys with their opponents without notable advantage on either side, when the rest of the division broke. When their companions retired they also were forced to draw back, in order to prevent themselves from being turned on both flanks. Campbell was cautious enough to stop his men before they had gone far forward among the thickets, and brought them back to their old position: he spiked the guns that he had taken, and left them in the clearing in front of the redoubt. His losses had been very small, owing to his admirable self-restraint in calling back his charging regiments before they got out of hand.
Leval therefore was able to rally his division at leisure, upon the two Polish battalions which formed its supports. He had lost in the three-quarters of an hour during which he was engaged some six or seven hundred men. The battle was raging by now all down the line, and when the Germans were re-formed, they received orders to advance for a second time, to cover the flank of Sebastiani’s division, now hotly engaged with Sherbrooke’s right brigades. Neglecting chronological considerations, in order to finish the narrative of the action in this quarter, it may suffice to say that Leval’s second attack was made at about 4 o’clock in the afternoon: it was not delivered with so much energy as had been shown in his first. It encountered the same obstacles, and could not surmount them. Once more the advance rolled up through the olive groves, and reached the clearing in front of the battery. Again the head of the attacking masses withered away under the musketry fire and the salvos from the English and Spanish guns, and the whole finally went to the rear in disorder. Campbell, in repelling this attack, used his second brigade as well as his first, and pushed the enemy further back than he had done during the earlier fighting: the Spaniards also came out of their line and continued to flank the retreating enemy with two or three battalions and a half-battery. As the Hessians and Frankforters in their front began to give way, they were assailed by one of Henestrosa’s cavalry regiments, the Regimiento del Rey, which charged with great spirit, and cut up many men before they could form square. The bulk of the two battalions, however, clubbed together in a mass and retired into the woods, defending themselves as best they could. The victorious Spanish horsemen while following them, came upon a second French battery which (like that captured by the British brigade on their left) was being brought forward by a narrow lane between two olive groves. They cut down the gunners and took four pieces, which were dragged back into the redoubt. This was by far the best piece of work done by Spanish cavalry during the whole of the first years of the war, and did much to atone for the panic of the previous night in the eyes of the British observers upon the right wing.
The repulse of Leval’s division was complete, and its wrecks, once more rallied upon the two Polish battalions in their rear, drew back into the plain, and were completely put out of action. In this attack they lost not only the four guns taken by the Spaniards, but seven more pieces of artillery. Convinced that he could not carry the Pajar de Vergara position unless he could bring guns to bear upon the redoubt, and check the ravages of its salvos of canister, Leval had tried to push his remaining two batteries into the firing line. Again, as in the first attack, they were left helpless when the infantry broke, and became the prey of the pursuers. It would seem that he lost on this day seventeen guns in all. The total of the casualties in his division were 1,007, nearly a quarter of its force: the colonels of the Baden and Frankfort regiments and the major commanding the Dutch battery had been left on the field. Campbell had suffered on a very different scale—he had only lost 236 men, and it is improbable that the Spaniards on his right had more than 150 or 180 casualties, since they only fought with one wing of the attacking force. Wellesley, not without reason, gave the highest praise in his dispatch to Campbell, for the admirable and cautious defence which he had made. The management of the 4th Division, indeed, contrasted strongly with that of the troops to its left, where Sherbrooke’s brigades—as we shall see—risked the loss of the battle by their rash pursuit of the enemy, far beyond the limits of the position which had been given them to defend.
We must now turn to their doings—the most desperate fighting that occurred during the day. Sherbrooke’s eight battalions had to endure the preliminary cannonade for more than half an hour after Campbell’s men were closely engaged with the enemy. It was not till three o’clock that the two French divisions opposed to them began to descend towards the Porti?a, in an orderly and imposing array. Each of the French generals had drawn up his twelve battalions in two lines—the front line deployed in column of divisions, the supporting line in solid column of battalions. But there was this difference in their arrangements, that Lapisse had placed his brigades one behind the other, while Sebastiani had preferred to work his brigades side by side, each with one regiment in first and one in second line. The former therefore had Laplannes’ brigade (16th Léger and 45th Line) opposed to Low’s and Langwerth’s regiments of the German Legion and Cameron’s 2/83rd. The latter had the 28th of Rey’s and the 58th of Liger-Bellair’s brigades ranged over against the 1/61st and the British Foot-Guards. When the cannonade of the French batteries ceased, the twelve battalions of their first line, preceded by the usual swarm of tirailleurs, moved down toward the Porti?a. They crossed the brook and pressed on towards the red line that stood awaiting their approach, driving before them with ease the comparatively insignificant screen of light troops that lay in front of the British centre. Sherbrooke, who was responsible for the whole line of the defence, since his division exactly covered the ground on which the French attack was delivered, had issued orders that the troops were not to fire till the enemy came within fifty yards of them, and that they were then to deliver a single volley and charge. This programme was executed with precise obedience: though suffering severely from the enemy’s musketry, the division held in its fire till the hostile columns were close upon them, and then opened with one tremendous discharge which crashed out simultaneously along the whole eight battalions. The leading ranks of Lapisse’s and Sebastiani’s front line went down in swathes,—one French witness says that the infantry of the regiments of the 4th Corps lost a third of their numbers in less than ten minutes. When the charge which Sherbrooke had ordered followed close upon the blasting musketry fire, the enemy retired in disorder and fell back beyond the Porti?a.
The divisional general had apparently forgotten to caution his colonels against the danger of carrying their advance too far. Instead of contenting themselves with chasing the broken enemy as far as the brook, and then returning to their positions, the four brigades of the 1st division all crossed the water and pursued the French into their own ground; the German Legion on the left actually began to push them up the lower slopes of the Cerro de Cascajal, while the Guards on the right went forward far into the rolling plain in front of them. Cameron halted his two battalions not far beyond the Porti?a; but on each side of him the pursuit was pressed with reckless energy, and without any remembrance of the fact that the enemy had strong reserves.
Thus it came to pass that a disaster followed the first success of Sherbrooke’s division. Both the Germans on the left and the Guards on the right found themselves in face of intact troops, behind whom the broken front line of the enemy took refuge. They were in no condition to begin a new combat, for they were in complete disorder, and there was a broad gap on the inner flank of each brigade, owing to the fact that Cameron had halted and refused to push forward into danger. Hence came a perilous crisis: the French reserves moved forward, the guns on the Cascajal height enfiladed the German Legion, while two regiments of Latour-Maubourg’s dragoons moved in upon the right flank of the Guards. The whole of the six battalions that had joined in the reckless advance were forced to recoil, fighting desperately but losing ground every moment, and pressed into clumps and masses that presented no trace of their former line of battle. When they fell back to the point where Cameron had stopped, the 61st and 83rd became involved in their retreat, and were forced to repass the Porti?a in their company. The French followed with shouts of victory, pushing their advantage to the utmost and slaughtering the disordered battalions by hundreds. The disaster was worst on the left, where half the strength of the 2nd Line Battalion of the German Legion—387 men—was destroyed in twenty minutes, and the 5th battalion of that same corps lost over 100 prisoners. The Guards suffered almost as heavily: out of their 2,000 men 611 went down killed or wounded: but they left no prisoners behind.
It seemed that the day might well be lost, for Wellesley’s reserves were small. Such as they were, however, they were at once put into action. Mackenzie brought forward his brigade to the ground which the Guards had originally covered, and drew them up to withstand the rush of Sebastiani’s division—the 2/24th on the right, the 2/31st on the left, with the 1/45th between them. The disordered household troops passed through their intervals, and rallied behind them with splendid promptness: ‘their good humour and determination after such dreadful losses’ says an eye-witness, ‘was shown by their giving a loud hurrah as they took up their new ground.’ At the same time Cotton brought up the single brigade of light cavalry which was in reserve, and drew them up on Mackenzie’s right, so as to cover his flank. Sebastiani came up with great boldness against the fresh front thus presented to him, and for twenty minutes there was a furious musketry battle in the British right centre. Mackenzie himself fell, and his three battalions lost 632 men out of about 2,000: but they held their own, and finally the enemy recoiled. They were helped somewhat in their inclination to retreat by a charge of the Light Dragoons upon the flank of their left-hand regiment, the 75th, which had about 150 men sabred. Thus on this point the battle was saved: the main credit must go to Mackenzie’s brigade, which has never received the praise that was its due, for its general was killed, and thus no report from the 3rd division was sent in to Wellesley, who omitted all mention of its doings in his Talavera dispatch. It is never too late to do homage to forgotten valour, and to call attention to a neglected feat of arms. The services of the 24th, 31st, and 45th saved the day for Britain.
Sebastiani therefore drew back terribly mauled: his division had lost all its four colonels, seven of its twelve battalion-chiefs, seventy other officers and 2,100 rank and file—including some sixty prisoners. There was no more fight left in them. They recoiled into the plain, and drew up at last not far from the wrecks of Leval’s division, a full mile beyond the Porti?a.
Meanwhile, however great may have been the danger in the British right-centre, that in the left-centre was even greater. Cameron’s, Low’s, and Langwerth’s brigades were all in the most desperate position: the former, not having pushed so far to the front as the four German battalions, had suffered least of the three—though it had lost 500 men out of 1,400. But the Legionary troops were in far worse case—Langwerth had been killed, and his brigade was reduced from 1,300 to 650 bayonets—just fifty per cent. of the men had been lost. Low had gone into action with only 950 rank and file, owing to the heavy casualty-list of the preceding night. Of these he now lost 350, including 150 made prisoners in the disorderly retreat down the slope of the Cerro de Cascajal. That these troops ever rallied and made head at all, when they had recrossed the Porti?a, is much to their credit.
The situation was saved by Wellesley’s own prescience. The moment that he saw the rash attack on the French line to which Sherbrooke had committed himself, he looked round for supports which might be utilized to stay the inevitable reaction that must follow. Mackenzie’s brigade was available on the right-centre, and was used as we have seen. But there were no infantry reserves behind the left-centre: it was necessary to send down troops from the Cerro de Medellin. Villatte was then threatening its front, Ruffin was marching to turn its northern flank, and Wellesley did not dare to detach a whole brigade from the key of the position. He took, however, Richard Stewart’s strongest battalion, the 1/48th under Colonel Donnellan (which had still over 700 bayonets in line even after its losses in the morning) and sent it at full speed down the southern slope of the Cerro. It arrived in time to take position on the old ground of the British line, at the moment that the retreating masses came rolling back across the Porti?a. If the 48th had been carried away in the general backward movement, the day would have been lost: but the regiment stood firm, and allowed Cameron’s and Langwerth’s troops to pass by its flanks and form up in its rear. While it was holding back Lapisse’s central advance, the defeated brigades rallied and re-formed with admirable celerity, and the battle was restored. Here, as further to the right, the fighting now resolved itself into a furious musketry-combat between enemies both of whom were now spent and weakened by their previous exertions. In such a duel the line had always the advantage over the column in the end. The French, when once brought to a standstill by the 1/48th, lost their élan, and stood heaped together in disorderly masses, keeping up a rolling fire but gaining no ground. Howorth turned upon them the batteries on the Cerro de Medellin, which enfiladed their flank and added to their confusion. General Lapisse himself was killed at this moment, as he was trying to urge on his men to a final advance. It was probably, however, not his death—on which all the French accounts lay great stress—but rather the defeat of Sebastiani’s division on their immediate right which finally shook the morale of the French regiments, and induced them to move back, first at a slow pace, then in undisguised retreat. The shattered remnants of the German Legion and of the 1/48th, 1/61st, and 2/83rd were in no condition to follow. Seldom have two combatants so thoroughly mauled each other as had the twelve French and the seven allied battalions which fought in this part of the field. Of the 6,800 men of Lapisse’s division, the general, sixty-nine other officers, and 1,700 men were hors de combat. Of 4,300 British and German troops opposed to them almost exactly the same number had been lost—a general (Langwerth), seventy-seven officers, and 1,616 men. That the smaller force should ever have held its ground after losing more than a third of its number is almost miraculous. There was no such a victory as this during the whole war, save Albuera.
While the main stress of the battle had been rolling across the lower slopes, above the middle course of the Porti?a, matters had been comparatively quiet on the Cerro de Medellin. Victor, it will be remembered, had ordered that Villatte was to make no serious attack on the height until the divisions to his left had made some impression upon the British centre. But Lapisse and Sebastiani, in spite of their temporary successes, had never broken into Wellesley’s position. The assault on the Cerro therefore was never made, though a furious artillery fire was kept up against its garrison throughout the afternoon. The handful of British guns upon the crest could make no adequate reply: hence the three brigades of Tilson, Richard Stewart, and Donkin were suffering very serious losses from the long cannonade. Wellesley had made them shelter themselves, as far as was possible, behind the sky-line. Nevertheless the storm of shot and shell that beat upon the position was not without effect. In Donkin’s brigade no one, save the light companies skirmishing along the lower slopes, discharged a musket that afternoon, yet the casualties in its ranks were no less than 195. Hill’s two brigades, though better covered, had still many killed and wounded. That the return-fire of the British artillery and skirmishers was not altogether ineffective is shown by the fact that the two regiments of Villatte’s second brigade, which held the opposite slope, lost 185 men, and even the squadrons of Beaumont in its rear had a few troopers disabled. Nevertheless the fighting in this part of the field was not only indecisive but comparatively innocuous to both sides, when compared with the awful slaughter that was going on to their right.
It only remains to tell of the combat to the north of the Cerro, in the narrow valley that separated the British position from the Sierra de Segurilla. Here the engagement began at a much later hour than in the centre. All the observers on the hill speak of the first contest of Campbell and Leval as being concluded, and of that of Sherbrooke and Sebastiani as being at its height, before the French right wing began to move.
The French troops in this direction, it will be remembered, were the three regiments of Ruffin, now mere wrecks of their former selves, and the first brigade of Villatte’s division, that of Cassagne. The six battalions of the latter force were near the Cerro de Medellin, while Ruffin’s men stood further to the north, under the Sierra de Segurilla. In support of them both lay Merlin’s division of light cavalry.
At the moment when Victor had received permission to turn the flank of the Cerro, it had appeared that he would meet little opposition. But long ere the French were ready to advance, they had seen allied troops arriving in haste and taking up their position at the southern end of the valley. First Fane’s and Anson’s cavalry had drawn up on the level ground, then Bassecourt’s Spanish infantry had appeared on the rocky slopes of the Sierra, and had thrown out a long skirmishing line opposite Ruffin’s right. Lastly Albuquerque’s whole cavalry division had ridden round from the rear of the centre, and taken post behind Anson and Fane. There were now over 5,000 bayonets and 5,000 sabres in face of the French brigades.
It was clear that any attempt to storm the northern face of the Cerro would expose the troops that attempted it to a flank attack from the allied troops in the valley. It was this that made Ruffin and Villatte (who was present in person with Cassagne’s brigade) very chary of molesting Hill’s position. On the other hand if the French advanced up the valley to attack the cavalry at its southern end, they would expose themselves to a flanking fire from the guns on the Cerro and from Hill’s right-hand infantry brigade.
Nevertheless, when the roar of the invisible battle on the other side of the Cascajal height was at its loudest, the two French generals began a cautious advance towards the front. They at once came under a tiresome flanking artillery fire from the Cerro: half Rettberg’s battery of the German Legion had been placed on a spur from which it enfiladed Villatte’s nearest regiment. Two heavy Spanish twelve-pounders opened from another part of the slope, and Albuquerque had also placed his horse-artillery guns in a position from which they bore up the valley. The pieces that accompanied the French advance, being in the trough of the depression, could do little harm in return.
After advancing as far as the path which leads from Talavera to Segurilla, Ruffin deployed his right regiment, the much depleted 9th Léger, and sent it up the Sierra to form a screen opposite Bassecourt’s infantry. The other six battalions, the 24th and 96th, advanced in column along the valley, with the 27th from Cassagne’s brigade on their left; presently the whole came level with the northern slope of the Cerro, just reaching the farm of Valdefuentes at its foot.
At this moment Lapisse’s attack had already been beaten off, and Wellesley was able to turn his attention from the centre to the flank of his line. Crossing the crest of the Cerro, he studied for a moment the situation of the French regiments, and then sent down orders for Anson’s brigade of light dragoons to charge them, with Fane’s heavy cavalry in support. The moment that the British horsemen were seen to be advancing the enemy hastily formed squares—the 24th and 96th slightly to the west of the Segurilla road, the 27th in a more advanced position just under the walls of the farm of Valdefuentes. A battalion of grenadiers réunis, and the 63rd of the Line, which formed Villatte’s supports, also fell into square far to the rear. The concentration of the French regiments in vast masses of three battalions each gave a great opportunity to the allied artillery, which found easy targets in the square blocks of men at their feet.
As Anson’s brigade advanced, the right regiment, the 23rd Light Dragoons, found itself opposite the large square of the 27th Léger, while the 1st Light Dragoons of the German Legion faced the smaller masses of the 24th and 96th. The ground seemed favourable for a charge, and though an attack on unbroken infantry is always hazardous, the squadrons came on with great confidence and were soon closing in at headlong speed upon the hostile line.
An unforeseen chance of war, however, wrecked the whole plan. The long dry waving grass of the valley seemed to show a level surface, but the appearance was deceitful. About a hundred and fifty yards in front of the French squares was a narrow but deep ravine, the bed of a small winter-torrent which discharges its waters into the Porti?a during the rainy season. It was about fifteen feet broad and ten feet deep in the northern part of the field, a little narrower in its southern course. There were many places at which it could be crossed with ease by a horseman moving alone and at a moderate pace. But for squadrons riding knee to knee at headlong speed it was a dangerous obstacle, and indeed a trap of the most deadly sort. It was wholly invisible to the horsemen till they came upon it. Colonel Elley, the second in command of the 23rd, who rode two lengths ahead of the front line of his regiment, mounted on a grey horse, and conspicuous to every observer on the Cerro de Medellin, was the first man to discover the peril. His charger cleared it at a bound; but knowing that the inferior mounts of the rank and file would certainly come to grief, he wheeled round on the further bank, threw up his hand and tried to wave back his followers. It was too late: the two squadrons of the front line were on the brink of the ravine before they could understand his action. Some of the troopers cleared the obstacle in their stride; some swerved in time and refused to take the leap; others scrambled into and over the less difficult points of the ditch: but many fell horse and man into the trap, and were then crushed by the rear rank falling in on top of them. There were several broken necks, and scores of broken arms and legs in the leading squadrons. The second line got warning of the obstacle by seeing the inexplicable disorder into which their fellows had fallen. They slackened their pace, but were borne into the confused mass at the ravine before they could entirely bring themselves to a stand. Meanwhile the front face of the square formed by the 27th Léger opened fire on the unhappy regiment.
The German light dragoons, on the northern side of the valley, came upon the fatal cutting at a point where it was somewhat shallower and broader than in front of the 23rd—one of their officers estimates it in his narrative at eighteen feet in width and six or eight in depth. Their disaster therefore was not so complete as that of their British comrades. But many troopers of the first line were unhorsed, and others, though keeping their saddles, could not manage to scramble up the further side of the ravine. The rear squadrons came up in time to add to the confusion, and reined up among the survivors of the front.
The two regiments were now in utter confusion, and had already suffered severe loss both by the fall into the ravine and by the French musketry which had opened upon them. Their colonels would have been wise to give up the attempt to advance and to fall back in their old position. How could squadrons in such a disordered state hope to break into French squares? But both Seymour of the 23rd and Arentschildt were officers of high mettle, and throwing prudence to the winds they collected such of their men as had leaped or scrambled over the ravine, and led them against the hostile infantry. Probably little more than half of either corps took part in the final charge.
Be this as it may, both the 23rd and the Legionary dragoons made an attempt to gallop in upon the squares in their front. The Germans rode at that of the 24th regiment, received its fire, and were repulsed, though a few men fell close in upon the bayonets. They then galloped off and fell back up the valley. Far more disastrous was the fate of the English regiment. The survivors of the two left squadrons charged the square of the 27th Léger, were repulsed with heavy loss, recrossed the ravine, and struggled back to the British lines. But Colonel Elley and the right squadrons, having no enemy immediately in their front, rode furiously between the French square and the farm of Valdefuentes, and charged a line of cavalry which was visible a few hundred yards to the rear. This was the leading brigade of Merlin’s division, which was acting in support of Villatte and Ruffin. The squadrons in front of the 23rd swerved to the side when charged, but on passing them the British dragoons found another regiment of Merlin’s second line opposed to them. They dashed at it, whereupon the regiment that had evaded them swung round and fell upon their rear. Encircled by fivefold numbers the remnant of Drake’s and Allen’s squadrons of the 23rd were annihilated. Only a few well-mounted officers, including their leader Elley, and two or three troopers cut their way through the enemy, rode off to the northward, and ultimately escaped to Bassecourt’s Spanish line on the Sierra de Segurilla. The total loss of the regiment was 207 killed, wounded and missing out of 450 sabres who took the field in the morning. Of these, three officers and 105 men were prisoners—most of them wounded.
It was late in the afternoon when the survivors of the 23rd found their way back to the western end of the valley, and the battle in the centre had long died down to a cannonade. Ruffin and Villatte now had it in their power to advance again, but did not do so. If they had gone further forward they would have lent their flank still more to Hill’s troops upon the Cerro, and would have had to deploy, a movement which would have exposed them, when no longer protected by formation in square, to charges from the mass of allied cavalry still visible in their front—Fane’s brigade and Albuquerque’s strong division. Bassecourt’s Spaniards were holding their ground against the flank-guard which had been sent up on to the Sierra de Segurilla, and to drive them back Ruffin would have had to detach more battalions from his main column. News had been received that the central attack had completely failed. It was natural, therefore, that after some hesitation the French right wing retired, and fell back up the valley of the Porti?a. Villatte’s two regiments had lost about 200 men while standing in square under the fire of the guns on the Cerro. They could no longer be regarded as fresh troops fit for a prolonged advance, while the wrecks of Ruffin’s battalions, having now been under fire three separate times in eighteen hours, were utterly exhausted. It is clear that Victor could not have dared to risk a serious attack upon the British left with these forces.
Map of the battle of Talavera
Enlarge BATTLE of TALAVERA
THE MAIN ENGAGEMENT
3 to 5 p.m. JULY 28TH 1809
The battle had now come to a standstill: of the five French infantry divisions in the front line those of Leval, Sebastiani, and Lapisse were reforming their diminished ranks in the plain, far to the east of the Porti?a, while Villatte and Ruffin had fallen back on to the slopes of the Cerro de Cascajal. The only intact infantry still remaining at the disposition of the King were his own 1,800 Guards, and the 3,300 bayonets of Dessolles. With these and with Villatte’s two brigades, which had only lost 400 men, it would have been possible to prepare one more assault upon the British position. Victor, raging with anger at his third repulse, was anxious to continue the action, though he had lost nearly one man in four of his infantry, and had not won an inch of ground. The King was less hopeful: the frightful slaughter had subdued his spirits, and he asked himself whether the 5,000 men of his reserve would suffice to break the thin red line against which the whole of the 1st and 4th Corps had hurled themselves in vain. For a moment he seemed inclined to risk his last stake, and the Guards and Dessolles were ordered to move forward. But they had not gone far when a counter-order was sent to check them: Milhaud, whose dragoons had spent the whole day in observing the Spanish lines, had sent in a message to the effect that Cuesta was at last showing signs of life, and that he could see numerous troops pushing to the front among the olive groves in front of the town. The news was not true, for nothing more than vedettes and small exploring parties had been sent out by the Spanish general. But the very suspicion that the Army of Estremadura might at last be preparing to take the initiative was enough to damp the very moderate ardour of King Joseph. If he committed himself to one final dash at the English, and engaged both his reserve and the rallied divisions of his front line, in an attack upon their allied centre and left, what could he do in the event of the sudden appearance of the whole Spanish army in the act of turning his southern flank? Twenty-five thousand men, or more, might suddenly sally out from the screen of groves, and fling themselves upon the left flank of Sebastiani’s corps. To hold them back nothing would be available but the 5,000 sabres of Milhaud and Latour-Maubourg; of infantry not one man would be left to parry such a stroke. The King could not flatter himself that anything but a disaster could ensue. Even if it were not true that the Spaniards were already in motion, there was every reason to believe that they might deliver an attack when they saw the last French reserves put into action against the British. Few generals would have resisted such a tempting opportunity. It was to be remembered also that some of the Spaniards had actually come out of their lines, and fallen upon Leval’s flank, when the last assault had been pressed against the Pajar de Vergara. A third advance in this quarter might yet rouse the whole Estremaduran army out of its apathy, and induce it to charge home upon Sebastiani’s left wing.
Jourdan and most of the members of Joseph’s staff were convinced that it would be mad to deliver a last attack on the British line, in face of the possible consequences of an advance by the Spaniards. The Marshal declared that it was impossible to proceed with any further scheme of advance, and that the only safe course was to draw back the whole army towards the Alberche. His master was relieved to find a good reason for ending a battle which had been begun without his permission, and continued under his very reluctant sanction. Orders were sent along the whole line, directing both the 1st and the 4th Corps to abandon their fighting-ground and fall back to their old position of the twenty-seventh. The cavalry divisions of Merlin, Latour-Maubourg, and Milhaud were to cover the retreat.
Victor was furious at receiving these directions. He averred to the officer who bore the King’s dispatch that from his point of vantage on the Cascajal he could command a view of the whole Spanish army, and that he was positive that not a Spaniard had moved. He even pretended to observe signs of a retreat in Wellesley’s lines, and persisted that the mere demonstration of a fourth attack would induce the allies to abandon their position. How he came to form any such conclusion it is hard to see, for the whole British army was still preserving its old ground, and no one from the Commander-in-chief down to the youngest private was dreaming of a movement to the rear. It would indeed have been insane to desert a strong position, in order to retreat across the open in face of an army possessing 7,000 excellent cavalry! But Victor, still loth to withdraw and to own himself beaten, sent word to the King that he took it upon himself to remain on the slopes of the Cascajal till he should receive further orders, and that he yet hoped that the reserve might be sent forward and the battle renewed.
When Victor’s message reached the King, it had already been discovered that all the rumours concerning the advance of the Spaniards were false. But the hour was now late, and (as Jourdan observed) if the army were to gain a final success—a most problematical occurrence—there would be no daylight left in which to push it to its legitimate end. He thought it better to take the prudent course, to refuse to risk the reserve, whose defeat would have the most fatal consequences, and to prepare for a retreat. The orders were accordingly issued that the army should fall back to its old camping-ground of the morning, deferring the passage of the Alberche till the next day.
While the French commanders were in controversy concerning their movements, the battle had died down into a cannonade, kept up with great vehemence by the batteries on the Cerro de Cascajal. The British and German guns never ceased their reply, but—as had been the case during the whole day—they were far too few to subdue the enemy’s fire: considering how they were overmatched, it is wonderful that there was but one piece disabled, and that only sixty-six gunners were put hors de combat. The opposing batteries were hit almost as hard, for the artillery of the 1st Corps had sixty-four casualties.
A distressing accident took place during this final strife between the hostile batteries: a large area of dry grass on the lower slopes of the Cerro de Medellin took fire, from smouldering wadding fanned by the wind. Many of the severely wounded of both sides were scorched, and some burnt to death, by the short but devouring conflagration that ran along the hillside.
By dusk the whole of the 4th Corps was rolling to the rear, and the last rays of daylight showed Wellesley the welcome view of a general retreat opposite his right and centre. Victor clung obstinately to the Cerro de Cascajal till far into the hours of darkness. But at last the cold fit supervened, his spirits sank, and he withdrew at 3 A.M. full of resentment, and well stocked with grievances for the acrimonious correspondence with Joseph and Jourdan in which he indulged for the next six weeks.
There can be little doubt that Jourdan was right in refusing to fall in with the younger marshal’s plans for a fourth assault on the British. Wellesley was well settled into his fighting-ground: at the southern end of his line Campbell was perfectly safe at the Pajar de Vergara redoubt. He had lost no more than 236 men, so that his whole division was practically intact. Hill’s brigades on the Cerro were also in perfectly good order—they had not been attacked since the morning, and would have been quite competent to defend themselves at five o’clock in the afternoon. The cannonade which they had been enduring had done some harm, but there were still 3,000 men in line, to hold a most formidable position. The only point of the British front on which the French could have hoped to make any impression was the centre. Here the Guards and Cameron’s brigade had suffered heavily, and the four battalions of the German Legion even worse—they had lost a full fifty per cent. of their numbers. But Mackenzie’s division was now in line with Sherbrooke’s, its first brigade supporting the Guards, its second (Donkin’s) linked to the Germans. Considering the way in which the British centre had dealt with the 15,000 bayonets of Sebastiani and Lapisse during the main engagement, the French critics who hold that they would have given way before the 5,000 men of Dessolles and the Royal Guard, even when backed by the rallied divisions, show a very optimistic spirit. Moreover when the battle had waxed hot in this quarter, the French would have had no certainty that Campbell and the Spaniards might not have fallen upon their flank. For Leval’s much depleted division was no longer in front of the British right—it had been withdrawn behind Sebastiani, and there was nothing to prevent the reserve-brigade of the 4th division from going to the aid of Sherbrooke’s men. The chances of war are incalculable, but there seems no reason to believe that Victor’s judgement as to the probability of success was any better at five o’clock in the afternoon than it had been at five o’clock in the morning. Jourdan was the wiser man.
Thus ended the battle of Talavera, in which 16,000 British supported and repulsed the attack of 26,000 French infantry—omitting from the total of the assailants the division of Villatte, which was only slightly engaged. The Cerro de Medellin was strong ground, but not so strong as to counterbalance a superiority of 10,000 men. The real fighting power of Wellesley’s foot-soldiery was shown in the lower parts of the field, where Sherbrooke’s and Mackenzie’s 8,000 bayonets achieved their marvellous success over the 15,000 men of Lapisse and Sebastiani. Doomed to apparent ruin by their own rash valour in pursuing the enemy across the Porti?a, they yet recovered their line, re-established the battle, and finally won an almost incredible victory. The ‘First Division’ of the Peninsular army,—the Guards and the German Legion who fought side by side throughout the whole war,—had many proud days between 1809 and 1814, but surely Talavera was the most honourable of them all. Yet probably Mackenzie’s brigade and Donnellan’s 48th must claim an even higher merit—it was their prompt and steady help which gave their comrades time to re-form, and warded off the possibility of disaster at the critical moment.
The Spaniards had little to do upon July 28, but what little they had to do was well done. The charge of the cavalry regiment Rey was well timed and gallantly delivered. The few battalions engaged near the Pajar de Vergara and in Bassecourt’s division behaved steadily. The artillery sent to aid the British was manfully worked and did good service. But if only the Spanish army had been able to man?uvre, what a difference there must have been in the battle! When Leval, Sebastiani, and Lapisse fell back in disorder at 4 P.M., what would have been the fate of the French if Cuesta could have led out 25,000 men upon their flank and rear? He did not attempt to do so, and probably he was right. Yet it was hard for a British army to have to fight in line with allies who were perfectly useless for any large offensive movement.
The losses of Talavera, as we have already shown, were tremendous on both sides. Adding together the casualties of the twenty-seventh and the twenty-eighth, the British lost 5,365 men, 801 killed, 3915 wounded, and 649 missing. Of the last-named 108 belonged to the unfortunate 23rd Dragoons, and nearly 300 to the German Legion. Two generals, Mackenzie and Langwerth, had been killed, and three colonels, Ross of the Coldstream Guards, Donnellan of the 48th, and Gordon of the 83rd.
The French losses were decidedly heavier, though the percentage in the regiments was in most cases far lower than that in the victorious British force. The total was 7,268, of whom 761 were killed, 6,301 wounded, and 206 missing. General Lapisse and von Porbeck of the Baden regiment, one of Leval’s brigadiers, were the only officers of distinction slain. But the number of field-officers wounded was enormous—in Sebastiani’s division all the colonels, and seven out of twelve of the battalion commanders were disabled.
Cuesta never issued any proper return of his casualties. He stated in one of his dispatches that they amounted to 1,201 men. This figure cannot possibly represent killed and wounded alone. Only one cavalry regiment, five or six battalions, and three batteries were engaged, none of them heavily. The British troops which fought in their neighbourhood had very modest losses, which made it incredible that the comrades in line with them should have suffered to the extent of more than 400 or 500 men. The balance must represent the missing from the stampede of Portago’s division upon the night of the twenty-seventh. Major-General Manglano, who commanded one of the divisions near the Pajar de Vergara, and de Lastra, the gallant colonel of the regimiento del Rey, were wounded.
The only trophies taken on either side were the seventeen guns of Leval’s division captured by Campbell and the Spanish cavalry.
N.B.—I have used of British sources mainly Lord Londonderry, Lord Munster, Leslie and Leith-Hay of the 29th, Stothert of the Guards, Cooper of the 2/7th, Hawker of the 14th Light Dragoons, and letters of Elley and Ponsonby of the 23rd Light Dragoons. Of French sources I have found Jourdan’s Mémoires, Victor’s dispatches and controversial letters with King Joseph, Sémélé’s journal of the 1st Corps, and Desprez’s narrative the most useful. From Colonel Whinyates I have received an unpublished map, drawn on the spot by Unger of the K.G.L., which fixes all the artillery position with admirable accuracy.
NOTES ON THE TOPOGRAPHY OF TALAVERA
I looked over the proofs of the last three chapters, seated on the small square stone that marks the highest point of the Cerro de Medellin, after having carefully walked over the whole field from end to end, on April 9, 1903. The ground is little changed in aspect, but the lower slopes of the Cerro, and the whole of its opposite neighbour the Cascajal hill, are now under cultivation. The former was covered with barley nine inches high, and the rough vegetation of thyme and dry grass, which the narratives of 1809 describe, was only to be seen upon the higher and steeper parts of the hill, and on the sides of the ravine below. The latter is steep but neither very broad nor particularly difficult to negotiate. Even in April the Porti?a had shrunk to a chain of pools of uninviting black water. The ditch fatal to the 23rd Light Dragoons, in the northern valley, is still visible. In its upper part, where the German regiment met it, the obstacle is practically unchanged. But nearer to the farm of Valdefuentes it has almost disappeared, owing to the extension of cultivation. There is only a four-foot drop from a field into a piece of rough ground full of reeds and bent-grass, where the soil is a little marshy in April. I presume that when the field was made, the hollow was partly filled up, and the watercourse, instead of flowing in a well-defined narrow ditch, has diffused itself over the whole trough of the ground.
In the central parts of the field the Porti?a forms a boundary, but not an obstacle. Where Cameron and the Guards fought Sebastiani’s 8,000 men, the ground is almost an exact level on both sides of the little stream. There is no ‘position’ whatever on the English bank, which is, if anything, a little lower than the French. The Pajar de Vergara is a low knoll twenty feet high, now crowned by a large farmhouse, which occupies the site of the old battery. The ground in front of it is still covered with olive groves, and troops placed here could see nothing of an advancing enemy till he emerges from the trees a hundred yards or so to the front. On the other hand an observer on the summit of the Cerro de Medellin gets a perfect bird’s-eye view of this part of the ground, and could make out the enemy all through his progress among the olives. Wellesley must have been able to mark exactly every movement of Leval’s division, though Campbell could certainly not have done so. In the Spanish part of the line the groves have evidently been thinned, as there are now many houses, forming a straggling suburb, pushed up to and along the railway, which now crosses this section of the line. In 1809 Talavera was still self-contained within its walls, which it has now overstepped. The Cascajal is practically of the same height as the main eastern level of the Cerro de Medellin: but the triple summit of the latter is much loftier ground; and standing on it one commands the whole of the Cascajal—every one of Villatte’s battalions must have been counted by Wellesley, who could also mark every man along the whole French front, even into and among the olive groves occupied by Leval’s Germans. Victor on the Cascajal could get no such a general view of the British position, but could see very well into Sherbrooke’s line. Hill’s troops, behind the first crest of the Cerro de Medellin, and Campbell’s in the groves must have been much less visible to him. There is a ruined house, apparently a mill, in the ravine between the two Cerros. As it is not mentioned in any report of the battle, I conclude that it was not in existence in 1809. The Pajar de Vergara farm is also modern, and the only building on the actual fighting-ground which existed on the battle-day was evidently the farm of Valdefuentes, which is alluded to by several narrators, French and English.
THE RETREAT FROM TALAVERA
When the dawn of July 29 had arrived, the plain and the rolling hills in front of the allied position were seen to be absolutely deserted. No trace of the French army was visible save the heaps of dead upon the further side of the Porti?a: the wounded had been carried off, with the exception of those who had fallen within the British lines, and so become prisoners of war. It was soon discovered that the enemy had left a screen of cavalry along the western bank of the Alberche: but whether his main body lay close behind the stream, or had retired towards Madrid, could not be ascertained without making a reconnaissance in force. Such an operation was beyond Wellesley’s power on the morning after the battle. He was neither able nor willing to send out a large detachment to beat up the enemy’s camps, with the object of ascertaining his situation and intentions. The British army was utterly exhausted: on the preceding day the men had fought upon half-rations: when the contest was over they had found that only a third of a ration had been issued: this scanty pittance was sent up to the regiments in the evening, as they still lay in battle-order on the ground that they had held during the day. Water was almost equally deficient: it was difficult to procure: nothing but the wells of the few houses in the rear of the position being available. Only on the morning of the twenty-ninth, when the departure of the enemy had become certain, were the troops allowed to return to their old bivouacs in the rear, and there to seek repose. Even then it was only a minority of the men who could be spared from duty. The gathering in of the vast numbers wounded—French as well as English—and their removal into Talavera demanded such enormous fatigue-parties that the larger number of the survivors had to be told off to this work and were denied the rest that they had so well earned.
It is certain that the British army could have done nothing upon the twenty-ninth even if their commander had desired to push forward against the enemy. The men were not only tired out by two days of battle, but half-starved in addition. But Wellesley was far from feeling any wish to pursue the French. His infantry had suffered so dreadfully that he could not dream of exposing them to the ordeal of another engagement till they had been granted a respite for the refreshment of body and spirit. Of his divisions only that of A. Campbell—the smallest of the four—was practically intact. The others had suffered paralysing losses—in Hill’s ranks one man out of every four had been stricken down, in Mackenzie’s one man in every three, while Sherbrooke’s frightful casualty-list showed that nearly two men out of five were missing from the ranks. Never, save at Albuera, was such slaughter on the side of the victors seen again during the whole course of the Peninsular War. ‘The extreme fatigue of the troops,’ wrote Wellesley, ‘the want of provisions, and the number of wounded to be taken care of, have prevented me from moving from my position.’
On the morning of the twenty-ninth the depleted strength of the army was partly compensated by the arrival of the first of those reinforcements from Lisbon which Wellesley had been anxiously expecting. At about six o’clock Robert Craufurd came upon the scene with the three regiments of his Light Brigade—all old battalions who had shared in Moore’s Corunna campaign. He was accompanied by a battery of horse artillery (A troop), the first unit of that arm which came under Wellesley’s command. But the Light Brigade were almost as weary as their comrades who had fought in the battle: they had only reached Talavera by a forced march of unexampled severity. Hearing at Navalmoral that the two armies were in presence, Robert Craufurd had hurried forward with almost incredible swiftness. Dropping his baggage and a few weakly men at Oropesa he had marched forty-three miles in twenty-two hours, though the day was hot and every soldier carried some fifty pounds’ weight upon his back. All day long the cannon was heard growling in the distance, and at short intervals the brigade kept meeting parties of Spanish fugitives, interspersed with British sutlers and commissaries, who gave the most dismal accounts of the progress of the fight. In spite of his desperate efforts to get up in time Craufurd reached the field thirteen hours too late, and heard to his intense chagrin that the battle had been won without his aid. Weary though his men were, they were at once hurried to the front, to relieve A. Campbell’s division on the line of advanced posts. There they found plenty of employment in burying the dead, and in gathering up the French wounded, whom it was necessary to protect from the fury of the Spanish peasantry.
The arrival of Craufurd’s brigade did something towards filling up the terrible gap in the ranks of the British infantry, but was far from enabling Wellesley to assume the offensive. Indeed the advent of fresh troops only accentuated the difficulty of feeding the army. Corn was still almost unobtainable; the supplies from the Vera de Plasencia showed no signs of appearing, and even oxen for the meat-ration, which had hitherto been obtainable in fair quantities, were beginning to run short. Nothing was to be had from Talavera itself, where Victor had exhausted all the available food many weeks before, nor could any assistance be got from the Spanish army, who were themselves commencing to feel the pinch of starvation.
All Wellesley’s hopes at this juncture were founded on the idea that the diversion of Venegas upon the Upper Tagus would force the French host in his front to break up, in order to save Madrid from an attack in the rear. The army of La Mancha had failed to keep Sebastiani in check, and to prevent him from appearing on the field of Talavera. But since the enemy had concentrated every available man for the battle, it was certain that Venegas had now no hostile force in his front, and that the way to the capital was open to him. If he had pushed on either by Aranjuez or by Toledo, he must now be close to the capital, and King Joseph would be obliged to detach a large force against him. That detachment once made, the army behind the Alberche would be so much weakened that it would be unable to face the British and Cuesta. If it offered fight, it must be beaten: if it retired, the allies would follow it up and drive it away in a direction which would prevent it from rejoining the troops that had been sent against Venegas. On the twenty-ninth Wellesley was under the impression that the army of La Mancha had already brought pressure to bear upon the French, for a false report had reached him that on the previous day it had captured Toledo. His dispatches written after the arrival of this rumour indicate an intention of moving forward on the thirtieth or thirty-first. The King, he says, must now detach troops against Venegas. This being so, it will be necessary to induce Cuesta to advance, supporting him with the British army ‘as soon as it shall be a little rested and refreshed after two days of the hardest fighting that I have ever been a party to. We shall certainly move towards Madrid, if not interrupted by some accident on our flank.’
The last words of this sentence are of great importance, since they show that already upon the day after Talavera Wellesley was beginning to be uneasy about his left flank. Some time before the battle he had received news from the north, to the effect that both Ney and Kellermann had returned to the valley of the Douro, after evacuating Galicia and the Asturias. He had therefore to take into consideration the chance that the enemy might move southward, and fall upon his line of communication with Portugal, not only with the corps of Soult, but with a large additional force. Unfortunately the information that had reached him from the plains of Leon had been to the effect that Ney’s and Kellermann’s troops were much reduced in numbers and efficiency, so that even when they had joined Soult the total of the French field army upon the Douro would not much exceed 20,000 men. This misconception affected all his plans: for if the hostile force about Salamanca, Zamora, and Benavente was no greater than was reported, it followed that any expedition sent against his own communications could not be more than 12,000 or 15,000 strong, since Soult would be forced to leave a containing force in front of Beresford and Del Parque, who now lay in the direction of Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo. Any French advance against Bejar and Plasencia, therefore, would, as Wellesley supposed, be a mere raid, executed by a comparatively small force. He doubted whether Soult dared undertake such an operation: ‘the enemy,’ he wrote, ‘would not like to venture through the passes into Estremadura, having me on one side of him, and you and Romana upon the other.’ He was therefore not much disturbed in mind about the movements of the French in the valley of the Douro. If he had but known that not 20,000 men but 50,000 men were now concentrating at Salamanca, his feelings would have been far different. But it was not till some days later that it began to dawn upon him that Soult was far stronger than he had supposed, and that there might be serious danger to be feared from this quarter. Meanwhile he hoped to prevent any advance of the French in the direction of Plasencia, by causing a strong demonstration to be made in the valley of the Douro. He wrote to Beresford that he must contrive to arrange for joint action with La Romana and the Army of Galicia. If they appeared in strength in the direction of Ciudad Rodrigo, the Duke of Dalmatia might be deterred from making any movement to the south. If, however, the Spaniards proved helpless or impracticable, the Portuguese army would have to confine itself to the defence of its own frontier.
On the morning of July 30 Wellesley received the first definite information which led him to conclude that the French forces from the north were actually contemplating the raid upon his communications which on the preceding day he had regarded as doubtful. The Marquis Del Reino, whom, as it will be remembered, Cuesta had sent to the Puerto de Ba?os with two weak battalions, reported that troops from the Douro valley were threatening his front. At the same time messages were received from the Alcaldes of Fuente Roble and Los Santos, places on the road between Salamanca and Bejar, to the effect that they had received orders from Soult to prepare 12,000 and 24,000 rations respectively, for troops due to arrive on July 28. The numbers given counted for little in Wellesley’s estimation, since it is the commonest thing in the world for generals to requisition food for a far larger force than they actually bring with them. But at least it seemed clear that some considerable detachment from Salamanca was on its way towards the Puerto de Ba?os. In consequence of this fact Wellesley wrote to the Spanish government, and also informed Cuesta, that in the event of a serious attempt of the enemy to cut his communications, he should ‘move so as to take care of himself,’ and do his best to preserve Portugal—in other words, that he should abandon the projected march on Madrid which had been his main purpose on the preceding day. He was still, however, under the impression that Soult had no very large force with him, as is sufficiently shown by the fact that on the thirty-first he suggested to Cuesta that it would be well to detach one of his divisions—say 5,000 men—to strengthen the insignificant force which was already in position at the Puerto de Ba?os. ‘I still think,’ he wrote, ‘that the movements of General Beresford with the Portuguese army on the frontier, and that of the Duque del Parque from Ciudad Rodrigo, combined with the natural difficulties of the country, and the defence by the Marquis Del Reino, may delay the enemy’s advance till the arrival of your division.’ It is clear that when he wrote in these terms Wellesley was still labouring under the delusion that Soult’s advance was a mere raid executed by one or two divisions, and not a serious operation carried out by a large army.
While Wellesley was spending the three days which followed the battle of the twenty-eighth in resting his men and pondering over his next move, the enemies whom he had defeated at Talavera were in a state of even greater uncertainty and indecision. By daylight on July 29, as we have already seen, the whole French army had retired behind the Alberche, leaving only a screen of cavalry upon its western bank. The King was under the impression that Wellesley and Cuesta would probably follow him up ere the day had passed, and drew up his whole force along that same line of heights which Victor had occupied upon the twenty-second and twenty-third of the month. But when nothing appeared in his front during the morning hours save a few vedettes, he realized that he might count upon a short respite, and took new measures. After sending off to his brother the Emperor a most flagrantly mendacious account of the battle of Talavera, he proceeded to divide up his army. As Wellington had foreseen, he detached a large force to hold back Venegas and the army of La Mancha, who were at last coming into the field upon his flank. He was bound to do so, under pain of imperilling the safety of Madrid.
It is time to cast a glance at the operations of the incompetent general whose sloth and disobedience had wrecked the plan that Wellesley and Cuesta had drawn out at their conference near Almaraz. On July 16 Venegas had begun to move forward from El Moral, Valdepe?as, and Santa Cruz de Mudela, in accordance with the directions that had been sent him. He occupied Manzanares and Daimiel, and then came into collision with Sebastiani’s cavalry at Villaharta and Herencia, for the 4th Corps had not yet begun to withdraw towards Madrid. Owing to the profound ignorance in which the enemy still lay as to the advance of Wellesley and Cuesta, Sebastiani had not, on the nineteenth, received any order to fall back or to join Victor and the King. Thus, when pressed by the advanced troops of Venegas, he did not retire, but held his ground, and showed every intention of accepting battle. Learning from the peasantry that he had the whole of the 4th Corps in front of him, and might have to deal with nearly 20,000 men, the Spanish general halted, and refused to advance further. In so doing he was fulfilling the spirit of the instructions that had been sent him, for Cuesta and Wellesley had wished him to detain Sebastiani and keep in touch with him—not to attack him or to fight a pitched battle. They had taken it for granted that the Frenchman would receive early news of their own advance, and would already be in retreat before Venegas came up with him. But it was not till July 22, as we have already seen, that Victor and King Joseph obtained certain intelligence of the march of the allies upon Talavera. Until the orders for a retreat arrived from Madrid, the 4th Corps was kept in its old position at Madridejos, and courted rather than avoided an engagement with the army of La Mancha.
Venegas, after summoning his divisional generals to a council of war, refused to attack Sebastiani, and wisely, for his 23,000 men would certainly have been beaten by the 20,000 Frenchmen who still lay in front of him. From the nineteenth to the twenty-second the two armies faced each other across the upper Guadiana, each waiting for the other to move. Late on the twenty-third, however, Sebastiani received his orders to evacuate La Mancha, and to hasten to Toledo in order to join Victor and the King, in a combined assault upon Wellesley and Cuesta.
It was on the next day that Venegas committed the ruinous error which was to wreck the fate of the whole campaign. On the morning of the twenty-fourth the 4th Corps had disappeared from his front: instead of following closely in the rear of Sebastiani with all speed, and molesting his retreat, as his orders prescribed, he made no attempt to prevent the 4th Corps from moving off, nor did he execute that rapid flanking march on Aranjuez or Fuentedue?as which his instructions prescribed. He moved forward at a snail’s pace, having first sent off to Cuesta an argumentative letter, in which he begged for leave to direct his advance on Toledo instead of on the points which had been named in his orders. On the twenty-sixth he received an answer, in which his Commander-in-chief authorized him to make his own choice between the route by Aranjuez and that by Toledo.
Venegas had already committed the fatal error of letting Sebastiani slip away unmolested: he now hesitated between the idea of carrying out his own plan, and that of obeying Cuesta’s original orders, and after much hesitation sent his first division under General Lacy towards Toledo, while he himself, with the other four, marched by Tembleque upon Aranjuez. So slow and cautious was their advance that Lacy only arrived in front of Toledo on July 28—the day that the battle of Talavera was fought, while Venegas himself occupied Aranjuez twenty-four hours later, on the morning of the twenty-ninth. He had taken six days to cross the sixty miles of open rolling plain which lie between the Guadiana and the Tagus, though he had been absolutely unopposed by the enemy whom he had allowed to slip away from his front. Sebastiani had marched at the rate of twenty miles a day when he retired from Madridejos to Toledo, Venegas and Lacy followed at the rate of ten and twelve miles a day respectively. Yet the special duty imposed on the army of La Mancha had been to keep in touch with the 4th Corps. Further comment is hardly necessary.
On the morning of the day when Wellesley was assailed by the forces of Victor and King Joseph, General Lacy appeared in front of Toledo. The town was held by 3,000 men of Valence’s Polish division: it is practically impregnable against any attack from the south, presenting to that side a front of sheer cliff, overhanging the river, and accessible only by two fortified bridges. To make any impression on the place Lacy would have had to cross the Tagus at some other point, and then might have beset the comparatively weak northern front with considerable chances of success. But he contented himself with demonstrating against the bridges, and discharging some fruitless cannon-shot across the river. General Valence, the Governor of Toledo, reported to Jourdan that he was attacked, and his message, reaching the battle-field of Talavera after Victor’s second repulse, had a certain amount of influence on the action of King Joseph. The place was never for a moment in danger, as Lacy made no attempt to pass the Tagus in order to press his attack home.
On the following morning (July 29) Venegas reached the other great passage of the Tagus, at Aranjuez, with two of his divisions, and occupied the place after driving out a few French vedettes. He pressed his cavalry forward to the line of the Tajuna, and ere nightfall some of them had penetrated almost as far as Valdemoro, the village half way between Aranjuez and Madrid. No signs of any serious hostile force could be discovered, and secret friends in the capital sent notice that they were being held down by a very weak garrison, consisting of no more than a single French brigade and a handful of the King’s Spanish levies. There was everything to tempt Venegas to execute that rapid march upon the capital which had been prescribed in his original orders, but instead of doing so this wretched officer halted for eight whole days at Aranjuez .
On the day after Talavera Jourdan and Joseph had not yet discovered the whereabouts of the main body of the army of La Mancha: but Lacy had made such a noisy demonstration in front of Toledo that they were inclined to believe that his chief must be close behind him. Accordingly the garrison of Toledo was reinforced by the missing brigade of Valence’s Polish division, and raised to the strength of 4,700 men. The King, with the rest of Sebastiani’s corps and his own Guards and reserves, marched to Santa Ollala, and on the next day placed himself at Bargas, a few miles in rear of Toledo. In this position he would have been wholly unable to protect Madrid, if Venegas had pressed forward on that same morning from Aranjuez, for that place is actually nearer to the capital than the village at which Joseph had fixed his head quarters. The sloth displayed by the Spanish general was the only thing which preserved Madrid from capture. On August 1, apprised of the fact that the main body of the army of La Mancha was at Aranjuez and not before Toledo, Joseph transferred his army to Illescas, a point from which he would be able to attack Venegas in flank, if the latter should move forward. Only Milhaud’s division of dragoons was thrown forward to Valdemoro, on the direct road from Aranjuez to Madrid: it drove out of the village a regiment of Spanish horse, which reported to Venegas that there was now a heavy force in his front. For the next four days the King’s troops and the army of Venegas retained their respective positions, each waiting for the other to move. The Spaniard had realized that his chance of capturing Madrid had gone by, and remained in a state of indecision at Aranjuez. Joseph was waiting for definite news of the movements of Wellesley and Cuesta, before risking an attack on the army of La Mancha. He saw that it had abandoned the offensive, and did not wish to move off from his central position at Illescas till he was sure that Victor was not in need of any help. Yet he was so disturbed as to the general state of affairs that he sent orders to General Belliard at Madrid to evacuate all non-combatants and civilians on to Valladolid, and to prepare to shut himself up in the Retiro.
The doings of Victor, during the five days after he had separated from the King, require a more lengthy consideration. Left behind upon the Alberche with the 1st Corps, which the casualties of the battle had reduced to no more than 18,000 men, he felt himself in a perilous position: if the allies should advance, he could do no more than endeavour to retard their march on Madrid. Whether he could count on any further aid from the King and Sebastiani would depend on the wholly problematical movements of Venegas. Somewhat to his surprise Wellesley and Cuesta remained quiescent not only on the twenty-ninth but on the thirtieth of July. But an alarm now came from another quarter: it will be remembered that the enterprising Sir Robert Wilson with 4,000 men, partly Spaniards, partly Portuguese of the Lusitanian Legion, had moved parallel with Wellesley’s northern flank during the advance to Talavera. On the day of the battle he had ‘marched to the cannon’ as a good officer should, and had actually approached Cazalegas, at the back of the French army, in the course of the afternoon. Learning of the results of the fight, he had turned back to his old path upon the twenty-ninth, and had entered Escalona on the upper Alberche. At this place he was behind Victor’s flank, and lay only thirty-eight miles from Madrid. There was no French force between him and the capital, and if only his division had been a little stronger he would have been justified in making a raid upon the city, relying for aid upon the insurrection that would indubitably have broken out the moment that he presented himself before its gates.
It was reported to Victor on the thirtieth not only that Wilson was at Escalona, but also that he was at the head of a strong Portuguese division, estimated at 8,000 or 10,000 men. The Marshal determined that he could not venture to leave such a force upon his rear while the armies of Wellesley and Cuesta were in his front, and fell back ten miles to Maqueda on the high road to Madrid. On the following day, still uneasy as to his position, he retired still further, to Santa Cruz, and wrote to King Joseph that he might be forced to continue his retreat as far as Mostoles, almost in the suburbs of Madrid . He was so badly informed as to the movements of the allies, that he not only warned the King that Wilson was threatening Madrid, but assured him that the British army from Talavera had broken up from its cantonments and was advancing along the Alberche towards the capital. Joseph, better instructed as to the actual situation of affairs, replied by assuring him that Wellesley and Cuesta were far more likely to be retreating on Almaraz than marching on Madrid, as they must have heard ere now of Soult’s advance on Plasencia. He ordered the Marshal to fall back no further, and to send a division to feel for Wilson at Escalona. On detaching Villatte to execute this reconnaissance Victor was surprised to find that Sir Robert’s little force had already evacuated its advanced position, and had retreated into the mountains. For the last four days indeed Victor had been fighting with shadows—for the British and Estremaduran armies had never passed the Alberche, while Wilson had absconded from Escalona on receiving from Wellesley the news that Soult had been heard of at the Puerto de Ba?os. In consequence of the needless march of the 1st Corps to Maqueda and Santa Cruz, the allied generals were able to withdraw unmolested, and even unobserved, from Talavera, and were far upon their way down the Tagus before their absence was suspected. The erratic movements of Victor may be excused in part by the uniform difficulty in obtaining accurate information which the French always experienced in Spain. But even when this allowance is made, it must be confessed that his operations do not tend to give us any very high idea of his strategical ability. He was clearly one of those generals, of the class denounced by Napoleon, qui se font des tableaux, who argue on insufficient data, and take a long time to be convinced of the error of their original hypothesis.
Neither Victor nor King Joseph, therefore, exercised any influence over the doings of Wellesley and Cuesta at Talavera between the 29th of July and the 3rd of August. The allies worked out their plans undisturbed by any interference on the part of the old enemies whom they had beaten on the battle day. Down to August 1 the British general had been unconvinced by the rumours of Soult’s approach, at the head of a large army, which were persistently arriving from the secret agents in the direction of Salamanca. It was only on the evening of that day that he received news so precise, and so threatening, that he found himself forced to abandon for the moment any intention of pushing on towards Madrid, in consequence of the impending attack on the line of his communications with Portugal. It was announced to him that the vanguard of the French army from the north had actually entered Bejar on the twenty-ninth and was driving in the trifling force under the Marquis Del Reino, which Cuesta had sent to the Puerto de Ba?os.
Whatever might be the force at Soult’s disposal—and Wellesley was still under the delusion that it amounted at most to a single corps of 12,000 or 15,000 men—it was impossible to allow the French to establish themselves between the British army and Portugal. If they were at Bejar on the twenty-ninth they might easily reach Plasencia on the thirty-first. On receiving the news Cuesta, who had hitherto shown the greatest reluctance to divide his army, detached his 5th division under Bassecourt, with orders to set out at the greatest possible speed, and join the Marquis Del Reino. This move was tardy and useless, for it is four long marches from Talavera to Plasencia, so that Bassecourt must arrive too late to hold the defiles. If he found the French already established on the river Alagon, his 5,000 men would be utterly inadequate to ‘contain’ double or triple that number of Soult’s troops. As a matter of fact the enemy had entered Plasencia on the afternoon of August 1, before the Spanish division had even commenced its movement to the west.
On the morning of August 2 Wellesley and Cuesta held a long and stormy conference. The Captain-General proposed that Wellesley should detach half his force to assist Bassecourt, and stay with the remainder at Talavera, in order to support the Army of Estremadura against any renewed attack by Victor and King Joseph. The English commander refused to divide his force—he had only 18,000 effectives even after Craufurd had joined him, and such a small body would not bear division. But he offered either to march against Soult with his entire host, or to remain at Talavera if his colleague preferred to set out for Plasencia with his main body. Cuesta chose the former alternative, and on the morning of the third Wellesley moved out with every available man, intending to attack the enemy at the earliest opportunity. He was still under the impression that he would have to deal with no more than a single French corps, and was confident of the result. His only fear was that Victor might descend upon Talavera in his absence, and that Cuesta might evacuate the place on being attacked. If this should happen, the English hospitals, in which there lay nearly 5,000 wounded, might fall into the hands of the enemy. On halting at Oropesa he sent back a note to O’Donoju, the chief of the staff of the Estremaduran army, begging him to send off westward all the British wounded who were in a condition to travel. He asked that country carts might be requisitioned for their assistance, if no transport could be spared by the Spanish troops.
Wellesley was setting out with 18,000 men to attack not the mere 15,000 men that he believed to be in his front, but three whole corps d’armée, with a strength of 50,000 sabres and bayonets. In his long career there were many dangerous crises, but this was perhaps the most perilous of all. If he had remained for a little longer in ignorance of the real situation, he might have found himself involved in a contest in which defeat was certain and destruction highly probable.
The real situation in his front was as follows. On receiving the dispatch from Madrid which permitted him to execute his projected march upon Plasencia, Soult had begun to concentrate his army . Mortier and the 5th Corps were already in march for Salamanca in pursuance of earlier orders: they arrived in its neighbourhood the same day on which Foy brought the King’s orders to his chief. The 2nd Corps was already massed upon the Tormes, and ready to move the moment that it should receive the supply of artillery which had been so long upon its way from Madrid. Ney and the 6th Corps from Benavente and Astorga had far to come: they only reached Salamanca on July 31; if we remember that the distance from Astorga to the concentration point was no less than ninety miles we cease to wonder at their tardy arrival.
Soult had strict orders from the Emperor to march with his troops well closed up, and not to risk the danger of being caught with his corps strung out at distances which would permit of their being met and defeated in detail. He was therefore entirely justified in refusing to move until the 6th Corps should be in supporting distance of the rest of his army, and the 2nd Corps should have received the cannon which were needed to replace the pieces that they had lost in Portugal. For this reason we must regard as unfounded all the vehement reproaches heaped upon him by Joseph and Jourdan during the acrimonious correspondence that followed upon the end of the campaign. It would have been wrong to start the 5th Corps upon its way to Plasencia till the 2nd Corps was ready to follow, and the much needed guns only came into Salamanca on the twenty-ninth, though their approach had been reported on the preceding day.
We cannot therefore blame Soult for sloth or slackness when we find that he started Mortier upon his way on July 27, and followed him with his own corps upon July 30, the day after the guns arrived, and the day before Ney and his troops were due to reach Salamanca from the north.
The order of march was as follows: the vanguard was composed of the whole corps of Mortier, nearly 17,000 strong, reinforced by three brigades of dragoons under Lahoussaye and Lorges with a strength of 2,000 sabres. The 2nd Corps followed; though it started three days later than the 5th it was gradually gaining ground on the vanguard all through the march, as it had no fighting to do or reconnaissances to execute. Hence it was only twenty-four hours behind Mortier in arriving at Plasencia. Its strength was 18,000 men, even after it had detached the brigades of dragoons to strengthen the vanguard, and placed five battalions at the disposal of General Kellermann. During its stay at Zamora and Toro it had picked up a mass of convalescents and details, who had not taken part in its Galician campaign. The rear was formed by Ney’s troops, which started from Salamanca only one day behind the 2nd Corps. The infantry was not complete, as a brigade of 3,000 men was left behind on the Douro, to assist Kellermann in holding down the kingdom of Leon. Hence, even including a brigade of Lorges’ dragoons, the 6th Corps had only some 12,500 men on the march. The whole army, therefore, as it will be seen, was about 50,000 strong.
Just before he marched from Salamanca Soult had heard that Beresford’s Portuguese were commencing to show themselves in force in the direction of Almeida, while Del Parque’s small division at Ciudad Rodrigo was beginning to be reinforced by troops descending from the mountains of Galicia. Trusting that the danger from this quarter might not prove imminent, the Marshal left in observation of the allies only the remains of the force that Kellermann had brought back from the Asturias—the 5th division of dragoons and a few battalions of infantry, strengthened by the five battalions from the 2nd Corps and the one brigade detached from Ney. The whole did not amount to more than 9,000 or 10,000 men, scattered along the whole front from Astorga to Salamanca. It was clear that much was risked in this direction, for Beresford and Del Parque could concentrate over 20,000 troops for an attack on any point that they might select. But Soult was prepared to accept the chances of war in the Douro valley, rightly thinking that if he could crush Wellesley’s army on the Tagus any losses in the north could easily be repaired. It would matter little if the Spaniards and Portuguese occupied Salamanca, or even Valladolid, after the British had been destroyed.
Mortier, starting on July 27, on the road by Fuente Roble and Los Santos, made two marches without coming in touch with any enemy. It was only on the third day that he met at La Calzada the vedettes of the trifling force under the Marquis Del Reino which Cuesta had sent to hold the Puerto de Ba?os. After chasing them through Bejar, the Marshal came upon their supports drawn up in the pass . Del Reino thought himself obliged to fight, though he had but four battalions with a total of 2,500 or 3,000 bayonets. He was of course dislodged with ease by the overwhelming numbers which Mortier turned against him—the first division of the 5th Corps alone sufficed to drive him through the pass. Thereupon he retired down the Alagon, and after sending news of his defeat to Cuesta fell back to Almaraz, where he took up the bridge of boats and removed it to the southern bank of the Tagus.
Having cleared the passes upon the thirtieth, the 5th Corps advanced to Candelaria and Ba?os de Bejar upon the thirty-first, and entered Plasencia on the first of August. Here Mortier captured 334 of Wellesley’s sick, who had been left behind as being incapable of removal. On the preceding day the town had been full of British detachments: the place was the half-way house between Portugal and Talavera, and many commissaries, isolated officers going to or from the front, and details marching to join their corps, had been collected there. Captain Pattison, the senior officer present, withdrew to Zarza, with every man that could march, when he heard of Mortier’s approach, taking with him a convoy which had recently arrived from Abrantes. But he was obliged to leave behind him a considerable amount of corn, just collected from the Vera, which had been destined for Wellesley’s army. The whole civil population of Plasencia fled to the hills, in obedience to an order of the local Junta, and the British soldiers in the hospital were the only living beings whom the French vanguard found in the city. The men of the 5th Corps plundered the deserted houses, as was but natural, but behaved with much humanity to the captured invalids.
After seizing Plasencia Mortier halted for a day, in obedience to Soult’s orders, that he might allow the 2nd Corps to close up before he pressed in any further towards Wellesley. The Duke of Dalmatia was determined to run no risks, when dealing with an adversary so enterprising as his old enemy of Oporto. On August 2 he himself and the leading divisions of his corps reached Plasencia: the rest were close behind. On the same afternoon, therefore, the advance could be resumed, and Mortier set out on the high road towards Almaraz and Talavera, having eight regiments of horse—3,000 men—in his front. He slept that night at Malpartida, seven miles in advance of Plasencia, and moved on next morning to the line of the Tietar and the village of Toril. One of his reconnoitring parties approached the bridge of Almaraz and found it broken: another reached Navalmoral. He was now drawing very close to Wellesley, who had encamped that day at Oropesa, and was only thirty miles away: indeed the British and the French cavalry came in contact that evening in front of Navalmoral.
On August 3, by a curious coincidence, each Commander-in-chief was at last informed of his adversary’s strength and intentions by a captured dispatch. A Spanish messenger was arrested by Soult’s cavalry, while bearing a letter from Wellesley to General Erskine dated August 1. In this document there was an account of the battle of Talavera, which had hitherto been unknown to Soult. But the most important clause of it was a request to Erskine to find out whether the rumours reporting the advance of 12,000 French towards the Puerto de Ba?os were correct. The Duke of Dalmatia thus discovered that his adversary, only two days before, was grossly underrating the numbers of the army that was marching against his rear. He was led on to hope that Wellesley would presently advance against him with inferior numbers, and court destruction by attacking the united 2nd and 5th Corps.
This indeed might have come to pass had not the allies on the same day become possessed of a French dispatch which revealed to them the real situation of affairs. Some guerrillas in the neighbourhood of Avila intercepted a friar, who was an agent of King Joseph, and was bearing a letter from him to Soult. They brought the paper to Cuesta on August 3: it contained not only an account of the King’s plans and projects, but orders for the Marshal, which mentioned Ney and the 6th Corps, and showed that the force marching on Plasencia was at least double the strength that Wellesley had expected. This letter Cuesta sent on to his colleague with laudable promptness; it reached the British commander in time to save him from taking the irreparable step of marching from Oropesa to Navalmoral, where the vanguard of Mortier’s cavalry had just been met by the vedettes of Cotton’s light horse. Wellesley had actually written to Bassecourt to bid him halt at Centinello till he himself should arrive, and then to join him in an attack on the French, when he was handed the intercepted letter which showed that Soult had at least 30,000 men in hand.
This unpalatable news changed the whole prospect of affairs: it would be mad to assail such an enemy with a force consisting of no more than 18,000 British troops and Bassecourt’s 5,000 Spaniards. Wellesley had therefore to reconsider the whole situation, and to dictate a new plan of campaign at very short notice, since his cavalry were actually in touch with the enemy at the distance of a single day’s march from Oropesa. On the morrow he must either fight or fly. The situation was made more complicated by the fact that Cuesta, when forwarding the French dispatch, had sent information to the effect that he considered his own situation at Talavera so much compromised that he was about to retreat at once, with the design of crossing the Tagus at Almaraz, and of taking up once more his old line of communications, which ran by Truxillo to Badajoz. It may be asked why the Captain-General did not adopt the simpler course of crossing the Tagus at Talavera, and moving under cover of the river, instead of executing the long flank march by Oropesa to Almaraz on the exposed bank, where the French were known to be in movement. The answer, however, is simple and conclusive: the paths which lead southward from Talavera are impracticable for artillery and wheeled vehicles. Infantry alone could have retreated by the route which climbs up to the Puerto de San Vincente, the main pass of this section of the Sierra de Guadalupe: nor was the track along the edge of the river from Talavera to Arzobispo any better fitted for the transport of a large army. It is this want of any adequate communication with the south which makes Talavera such a dangerous position: no retreat from it is possible save that by the road to Oropesa, unless the retiring army is prepared to sacrifice all its impedimenta.
Cuesta has been criticized in the most savage style by many English writers, from Lord Londonderry and Napier downwards, for his hasty departure from Talavera. It is fair to state in his defence the fact that if he had tarried any longer in his present position he might have been cut off not merely from Almaraz—that passage was already impracticable—but also from the bridge of Arzobispo, the only other crossing of the Tagus by which artillery and heavy wagons can pass southward. If he had started on the fourth instead of the third he might have found Mortier and Soult interposed between him and this last line of retreat. He would then have been forced to abandon all his matériel, and to hurry back to Talavera, in order to take the break-neck track to the Puerto de San Vincente. But there was every reason to believe that Victor might arrive in front of Talavera on the evening of the fourth or the morning of the fifth, so that this last road to safety might have been already blocked. Thus the Spanish army, if it had started on the fourth for Oropesa, might have found itself caught between the two French corps, and vowed to inevitable destruction. As a matter of fact Victor moved slowly and cautiously, and only reached Talavera on the sixth—but this could not possibly have been foreseen. We cannot therefore blame Cuesta’s precipitate departure upon the night of August 3.
His main body marched under cover of the darkness to Oropesa, where they arrived, much wearied and in some disorder, on the following morning. He left Zayas’s division and Albuquerque’s horse as a rearguard, to hold Talavera till midday on the fourth, with orders to make a semblance of resistance and to detain Victor for a few hours if he should appear. But no hostile force showed itself: by his unwise retreat to Santa Cruz the Marshal had drawn back so far from the enemy that he could not take advantage of their retrograde movement when it became known to him. Villatte’s division and Beaumont’s cavalry only reached Talavera on the morning of the sixth.
The departure of the Estremaduran army had one deplorable result. It exposed the English hospitals at Talavera, with their 4,000 wounded, to capture by the enemy. Wellesley, before he had marched off, had given orders that all the men capable of being moved should be sent off towards Plasencia and Portugal as soon as possible. But he had no transport that could cope with the task of transferring such a mass of invalids towards his base. He wrote from Oropesa begging Cuesta to requisition carts from the country-side for this purpose. But it was notorious that carts were not to be had—all Wellesley’s letters for the last three weeks were full of complaints to the effect that he could not procure them by money or by force. When the Spaniards were themselves departing, bag and baggage, it was an inopportune moment at which to ask them to provide transport: yet since the British wounded had been left to their care they were bound in honour to do all that could be done to save them. It is said that Cuesta made over no more than seven ox-carts and a few mules to Colonel Mackinnon, the officer charged with the task of evacuating the hospitals. These and about forty vehicles of various kinds belonging to the British themselves were all that could be procured for the use of the wounded. They could only accommodate a tithe of the serious cases: the men with hurts of less consequence were forced to set out upon their feet. ‘The road to Oropesa,’ writes one of their fellow sufferers, ‘was covered with our poor limping bloodless soldiers. On crutches or sticks, with blankets thrown over them, they hobbled woefully along. For the moment panic terror lent them a force inconsistent with their debility and their fresh wounds. Some died by the road, others, unable to get further than Oropesa, afterwards fell into the hands of the enemy.’ The rest trailed onward to the bridge of Arzobispo, where Wellesley provided transport for many of them by unloading baggage-wagons, and ultimately reached Truxillo, at which place the new hospitals were established. Of the whole 4,000 about 1,500 had been left at Talavera as hopeless or dangerous cases, and these became the captives of the French: 2,000 drifted in, at various times, to Truxillo: the remaining 500 expired by the wayside or were taken by the French in the villages where they had dropped down.
Long before Cuesta and his host had arrived at Oropesa, Wellesley had made up his mind that the only course open to him was to abandon the march towards Navalmoral and Almaraz, and to turn aside to the bridge of Arzobispo. As the French were known to be at Navalmoral, it would have been impossible to force a passage to Almaraz without a battle. If the enemy were to be estimated at two corps, or 30,000 men, according to the indications of the intercepted letter, they would probably be able to detain the Anglo-Spanish army till Victor should arrive from the rear. For, without accepting a pitched battle, they would be strong enough to harass and check the allies, and to prevent them from reaching Almaraz till the 1st Corps should come upon the scene. ‘I was not certain,’ wrote Wellesley to Beresford two days later, ‘that Ney was not with Soult: and I was certain that, if not with him, he was at no great distance. We should therefore have had a battle to fight in order to gain the road to Almaraz—Plasencia was then out of the question—and if Victor had followed Cuesta, as he ought to have done, another battle, probably, before the bridge could be re-established. Then it was to be considered that, Cuesta having left Talavera, the bridge of Arzobispo would have been open to the enemy’s enterprise: if they had destroyed it, while we had failed in forcing Soult at Navalmoral, we were gone.’
It is impossible not to bow before Wellesley’s reasoning. The French critics object that only Mortier was at Navalmoral on August 4, Soult being twenty miles behind him at Bazagona on the Tietar, so that it would have been possible for the British army to have driven back the 19,000 men of the Duke of Treviso, and to have forced its way to Almaraz. But even if Wellesley had fought a successful action with Mortier on August 4, Soult would certainly have joined his colleague on the fifth, before the bridge could have been repaired, or at any rate before the whole Anglo-Spanish army and all its impedimenta could have crossed the Tagus. If attacked during their passage by the 37,000 men of the 2nd and 5th Corps they would have fared badly. Wellesley was perfectly correct in his decision; indeed the only point in which he was deceived was that he believed the enemy in his front to be Soult’s and Ney’s Corps, whereas they were in reality those of Soult and Mortier. Ney only reached Plasencia on August 4, and did not join the main body of the army till two days later.
When Wellesley and Cuesta met at Oropesa, early on the morning of August 4, they found themselves as usual engaged in a heated controversy. The British general had directed his divisions to hold themselves ready to march on the bridge of Arzobispo without further delay. Cuesta on the other hand had been attacked by a recrudescence of his old disease, the mania for fighting pitched battles. He proposed that the allied armies should remain on the north bank of the Tagus, adopt a good defensive position, and defy Soult to attack them. Wellesley would not listen for a moment to this project, and finally declared that in spite of all arguments to the contrary, he should cross the Tagus that day at the head of his army. The two generals parted in wrath, and at six o’clock the British commenced their march to Arzobispo, only nine miles distant; the whole force crossed its bridge before evening, and established itself in bivouac on the south side of the river.
Cuesta remained at Oropesa for the whole day of August 4, and was there joined both by Bassecourt, who had fallen back from Centinello, and by Zayas and Albuquerque, who had evacuated Talavera at noon and made a forced march to join their chief. He appeared disposed to fight even though his ally had abandoned him. In the afternoon Mortier’s cavalry pressed in against him. He turned fiercely upon them, deployed a whole division of infantry and 1,200 horse in their front, and drove them back towards their supports. This vigorous action had a result that could not have been foreseen: Mortier jumped to the conclusion that he was himself about to be attacked by the whole Spanish army—perhaps by Wellesley also. He halted the 5th Corps in advance of Navalmoral, and wrote to implore Soult to come up to his aid without delay. The Duke of Dalmatia hurried up with all speed, and on August 5 brought the 2nd Corps to Casatejada, only six miles in the rear of his colleague. Ney, following with a like promptness, advanced that day to Malpartida, a march behind the position of Soult.
On the sixth, therefore, the whole army from the Douro was practically concentrated, and Soult and Mortier advanced against Cuesta with Ney close in their rear. They found that they were too late: after remaining in battle order in front of the bridge of Arzobispo during the whole of the fifth, courting the attack which Mortier had been too cautious to deliver, the Captain-General had crossed the Tagus that night, and had occupied its further bank. He had left in front of the bridge only a small rearguard, which retired after a skirmish with the advanced cavalry of the 5th Corps. For once Cuesta had found luck upon his side; if Mortier had ventured to assail him on the fifth, and had forced him to an engagement, in a position from which retreat was difficult, and with the Tagus at his back, his situation would have been most perilous. For even if he had kept the 5th Corps at bay, he could not easily have withdrawn in face of it, and Soult would have been upon him on the next morning. In escaping across the narrow bridge of Arzobispo his losses must have been terrible: indeed the greater part of his army might have been destroyed.
Finding, on the evening of August 6, that both the British and the Estremaduran armies were now covered by the Tagus, whose line they appeared determined to defend, Soult was forced to think out a new plan of campaign. His original design of taking the allies in the rear and cutting off their retreat had miscarried: he must now either halt and recognize that his march had failed in its main purpose, or else deliver a frontal attack upon the line of the Tagus. The bridge of Almaraz was broken, and troops (the detachment of the Marquis Del Reino) were visible behind it. The bridge of Arzobispo was not destroyed, but the Spaniards were obviously ready to defend it. It was barricaded, the mediaeval towers in its midst were manned by a detachment of infantry, and a battery for twelve guns had been placed in an earthwork erected on a knoll thirty yards in its rear, so as to sweep all the approaches. Considerable forces both of cavalry and of infantry were visible on the hillsides and in the villages of the southern bank. Cuesta, in fact, while proposing to fall back with his main body to Meza de Ibor and Deleytosa, in order to recover his communication with his base at Badajoz, had left behind a strong rearguard, consisting of Bassecourt’s infantry division and Albuquerque’s six regiments of cavalry, a force of 5,000 bayonets and nearly 3,000 sabres. They were ordered to defend the bridge and the neighbouring ford of Azutan till further orders should reach them. The ground was very strong; indeed the ford was the one perilous point, and as that passage was narrow and hard to find, Cuesta trusted that it might be maintained even against very superior numbers. So formidable did the defence appear that Soult halted during the whole day of August 7, while he took stock of the Spanish positions, and sought up-stream and down-stream for means of passage other than the bridge. He was not at first aware of the existence of the ford: it was only revealed to him by the imprudence of the Spanish cavalry, who rode their horses far into the stream when watering them, thus showing that there were long shallows projecting from the southern bank. By a careful search at night the French intelligence-officers discovered that the river was only deep for a few yards under their own bank: for the rest of its breadth there were only two or three feet of water. Having found the point, not far from the bridge, where the more dangerous part of the channel was fordable, they advised the Marshal that the passage of the river would present no insurmountable difficulties. Soult resolved to deliver an assault both on the bridge and on the ford upon the morning of August 8. Nor was it only at Arzobispo that he determined to force the line of the Tagus. He directed Ney, who was bringing up his rear at the head of the 6th Corps, to turn aside to the broken bridge of Almaraz, and to endeavour to cross the river by aid of a ford which was said to exist in that neighbourhood. Sketch-maps were sent to the Marshal in order to enable him to locate the exact point of passage—it would seem that they must have been very faulty.
Meanwhile Wellesley had passed the Tagus four days and Cuesta three days before the Marshal’s attack was ready, and both had been granted time to proceed far upon their way. It was fortunate that they were not hurried, for the road from Arzobispo to Meza de Ibor and thence to Deleytosa and Jaraicejo, though passable for guns and wheeled vehicles, was steep and in a deplorable condition of disrepair. It took Wellesley two days to march from the bridge to Meza de Ibor, a distance of only seventeen miles, because of the endless trouble caused by his artillery. There were places where he had practically to remake the roadway, and others where whole companies of infantry had to be turned on to haul the cannon up slopes where the half-starved horses could make no headway. These exertions were all the more exhausting because the men were falling into a state of great bodily weakness from insufficient supplies. Even at Talavera they had on many days received no more than half rations: but after passing Oropesa regular distributions of food ceased altogether for some time: there were still a few slaughter-oxen with the army, but bread or biscuit was unobtainable, and the troops had to maintain themselves on what they could scrape up from the thinly peopled and rugged country-side. A diet of overripe garbanzos, parched to the hardness of bullets, was all that many could obtain. Better foragers eked them out with honeycomb stolen from the peasants’ hives, and pork got by shooting the half-wild pigs which roam in troops among the woods on the mountain side. Many, in the ravenous eagerness of hunger, ate the meat warm and raw, and contracted choleraic complaints from their unwholesome feeding.
Divining that Soult would probably make a dash at Almaraz as well as at Arzobispo, Wellesley sent on ahead of his main body the brigade of Robert Craufurd, to which he attached Donkin’s much depleted regiments, in order to make up a small division. As they were unhampered by guns or baggage this detachment reached Almaraz on the sixth, after a fifteen hours’ forced march on the preceding day. They took over charge of the broken bridge and the ford from the Spanish troops of the Marquis Del Reino, and proceeded to entrench themselves in the excellent positions overlooking the point where the river was passable. Thus Ney, when he reached Almaraz on the following day, found the enemy already established opposite him, and ready to dispute the crossing. About 4,000 British troops and 1,500 Spanish troops were holding the river bank: immediately at their backs was the narrow and eminently defensible defile of Mirabete, which completely commands the road to Truxillo: it was an even stronger position than that which covered the ford and the ruined bridge.
On August 7 therefore Wellesley considered himself in a comparatively satisfactory situation. The passage at Almaraz was held by a vanguard consisting of the best troops in the army. Two divisions, the cavalry, and all the guns had traversed the worst part of the road, and had reached Deleytosa, only nine miles behind Craufurd’s position. If the French should attack on the following day, the main body could reinforce the light brigade in a few hours. One division, in the rear, was holding the position of Meza de Ibor, which Wellesley did not wish to evacuate until the Spanish army was ready to occupy it. He had discovered that there were points between Arzobispo and Almaraz where the passage of the Tagus was not wholly impracticable for small bodies of infantry, and dreaded that the enemy might throw a detachment across the stream to make a dash for the Meza. If this position had been lost the communication between the two armies would have been broken.
Cuesta, meanwhile, was engaged in the steep and stony mountain road over which Wellesley had toiled on the 5th and the 6th of August. His vanguard was now close to Meza de Ibor: the rest of the army was strung out between that point and Val de la Casa: the Captain-General himself had his head quarters on the night of the seventh at Peraleda de Garbin, ten miles west of Arzobispo. Bassecourt and Albuquerque were still covering the rear, with Mortier’s corps now plainly visible in their front. On their steadiness depended the safety of the whole army, for Cuesta had more baggage and more guns than Wellesley, and therefore the road over the hills was even more trying to him than to his colleague. There was a congestion of wheeled transport at certain spots on the road which created hopeless confusion, and barred the march of the cavalry and even of the infantry divisions. It was only removed by setting whole battalions to work to drag the wagons out of the way. Cuesta’s ultimate destination was the Meza de Ibor, a position of unparalleled strength, which could be held even after the enemy had crossed the Tagus. That they would ultimately win their way over the river was certain, for already news had arrived that Victor, after reaching Talavera on Aug. 6, had pushed infantry over its bridge on the road to Herencia and Aldea Nueva. Troops coming from this direction would outflank the Arzobispo position, and compel Albuquerque to abandon it. Even without cavalry or guns this detachment of the 1st Corps would be strong enough to dislodge the guard of the bridge, by falling upon its rear, while Mortier was attacking it in front. As the cavalry of Victor and Soult had met, half way between Oropesa and Talavera, upon the afternoon of the seventh, the two marshals were now in full communication, and able to concert any plans that they might please for joint operations.
The Duke of Dalmatia, however, preferred to win all the credit for himself, and attacked without allowing his colleague’s troops time to approach the Spanish position. It was fortunate for Albuquerque that the rivalry of the two hostile commanders saved him from the joint assault, which would have been far more ruinous to him than the actual combat of Aug. 8 was destined to prove.
Having full knowledge of the existence and the locality of the ford of Azutan, Soult had resolved to launch his main attack upon this point, while directing only a subsidiary attack upon the fortified bridge. This last was only to be pushed home in case the troops sent against the ford should succeed in making good their footing upon the further bank. A careful observation of the Spanish lines showed that both Albuquerque and Bassecourt were holding back the main body of their divisions at some distance from the water’s edge, in the groves around the three villages of Pedrosa, Burgillo, and Azutan. There was only a single regiment of cavalry watching the river bank, and two or three battalions of infantry manning the towers of the bridge of Arzobispo and the redoubt in its rear. The Spaniards showed every sign of a blind confidence in the strength of their position behind the broad but shallow Tagus.
Knowing their habits, Soult selected for the moment of his attack the hour of the siesta. It was between one and two o’clock in the afternoon when he bade his columns, which had been drawn up under cover, and at some distance from the water’s edge, to advance to force the passage. For the assault upon the ford he had collected the whole of his cavalry, no less than twelve regiments. Lahoussaye’s dragoons formed the van, then came Lorges’ brigade, then the division of light horse belonging to the 2nd Corps, in the rear the corps-cavalry of Mortier. This mass of 4,000 horsemen was to be followed by the first brigade of Girard’s infantry division of the 5th Corps, while its second brigade was to assault the bridge, when Lahoussaye and Lorges should have won the passage of the ford and have established themselves on the flank of the Spanish defences. Gazan’s division, the second of the 5th Corps, was to support Girard, while the masses of the infantry of the 2nd Corps remained in reserve. All the light artillery of the army was to gallop down to the water’s edge at various selected points, when the attacking columns were first put in movement, and to distract the attention of the enemy’s guns so far as lay in their power.
At about 1.30 P.M. Caulaincourt’s brigade of Lahoussaye’s dragoons, a force of about 600 sabres, sallied out from its cover behind the village of Arzobispo, and moved down to the ford at a sharp trot. It plunged into the water, had passed the deeper part of the channel almost before the Spaniards had guessed its intention, and soon reached the shallows on the opposite bank. The only hostile force ready to meet it was a single regiment (the 1st Estremaduran Hussars) which was watching the ford, and a battalion of infantry which Bassecourt sent down in haste from the redoubt behind the bridge. A fierce charge of Caulaincourt’s dragoons dispersed and routed the Spanish horse; after they had been driven off the victors turned upon the battalion, which tried to form square on their approach, but was late in finishing its man?uvre. It was assailed before the rear side had been formed, broken up, and cut to pieces.
Soult had thus gained a precious half-hour, during which the remainder of his cavalry, squadron after squadron, came pouring over the ford, and began to form up on the southern bank. When several regiments had passed he also let loose the infantry brigade which was to attack the bridge. So narrow was the approach that only a single battalion (the 1st of the 40th of the line) could deliver the assault. But the tirailleur companies of several other battalions, and two batteries of horse artillery, opened a lateral fire from various points of the northern bank, to distract the Spaniards from the frontal attack. The fraction of Bassecourt’s division which was in position at the bridge and the redoubt had already been completely cowed by seeing Lahoussaye’s cavalry forming up in their flank and rear. If they waited to resist the infantry attack, it was clear that they would be cut off from their sole line of retreat by the dragoons. They abandoned their positions after firing a couple of scattering volleys, and fled eastward along the river bank towards the village of Azutan. The heavy guns in the redoubt were left behind, and fell into the hands of Caulaincourt. Girard’s infantry was therefore able to cross the river almost without loss, two regiments at the bridge, two at the ford which the cavalry had already utilized. A few men were drowned in the second column, having strayed into deep water by swerving to the right or left of the proper route.
Meanwhile Albuquerque’s horse and Bassecourt’s second brigade, roused from their ill-timed siesta, were pouring out of the villages which had sheltered them from the noontide heat. The infantry—four battalions apparently—drew up beside a wood, on the slope a mile above the bridge, and waited to be attacked. The cavalry, however, came on in one great mass, and charged down upon Lahoussaye’s division, which was covering the deployment of the rest of the French horse. Albuquerque’s only thought was to engage the enemy before he had succeeded in passing the whole of his squadrons over the ford. Vainly hoping to atone for his previous slackness by haste that came too late, he had hurried his five regiments forward as soon as the men could saddle and bridle their horses. Fractions of the different corps were mixed together, and no proper first or second line had been formed. The whole mass—some 2,500 sabres—in great disorder, galloped down upon the two brigades of Lahoussaye, and engaged them for a short time. But Lorges’ dragoons and part of Soult’s light horse were now at hand to aid the leading division; the Spaniards were beset in flank as well as in front, and broke after the first shock. Albuquerque, who showed plenty of useless personal courage, tried in vain to rally them on the 2nd Estremaduran Hussars, the only regiment which remained intact. It was borne away by the backrush of the rest, and scattering over the hillsides the whole body fled westward and northward, some towards Peraleda de Garbin, others towards Pedrosa. Bassecourt’s infantry went off to the rear as soon as they saw their comrades routed, and took to the hills. By keeping to rocky ground they suffered comparatively little loss.
The French urged the pursuit of Albuquerque’s fugitive horsemen for many miles, chasing them as far as the defile of La Estrella in the Sierra de Guadalupe in one direction, and beyond Val de la Casa in the other. On the latter road the chase only ceased when the dragoons came upon the divisions of Henestrosa and Zayas, from Cuesta’s main army, drawn up across their path. The losses of the Spaniards were very considerable—600 men and 400 horses were captured, and over 800 killed and wounded. One flag was taken, that of the regiment cut to pieces by Lahoussaye’s dragoons at the commencement of the fighting. The pieces in the redoubt, and the divisional battery of Albuquerque, 16 guns in all, were lost. By an additional mischance the French also recovered fourteen of their own seventeen guns that had been taken at Talavera. Cuesta had not been able to utilize these pieces for want of gunners: they were trailing along in the rear of his army, very indifferently horsed, when the French dragoons swept along the road to Peraleda. On the approach of the pursuers they were abandoned by the wayside. This capture enabled Soult to assert that he had taken in all 30 cannon, and emboldened Sebastiani, a few weeks later, to declare that he had never lost his guns at Talavera. Having recovered them he could exhibit them—all save two or three—in evidence of his mendacious statement.
Soult declared in his official report that his cavalry had lost only 28 killed and 83 wounded, his artillery 4 wounded, his infantry hardly a man, save some few drowned at the ford.
The rout of the Spanish rearguard and the capture of the bridge of Arzobispo gave Soult a foothold on the southern bank of the Tagus, but little more. The road by which he could now advance against the allies was detestable—we have already seen how its cliffs and ravines had tried the British and the Estremaduran armies. To reach Cuesta’s new position on the Meza de Ibor the Duke of Dalmatia would have had to make a two days’ march through these defiles, dragging his guns with him. His cavalry he would have been forced to leave behind him, as there would have been no means of employing it in the mountains. Meanwhile Wellesley had established himself in the ground which he had selected behind the broken bridge of Almaraz, and Cuesta had got the whole of his infantry and half his artillery over the Ibor stream and arrayed them on the Meza, where the rocky slopes are impregnable against a frontal attack, if the defending army shows ordinary determination. All through the ninth and the morning of the tenth the Spaniards were dragging the rest of their guns and their baggage up the steep zigzag path between the river and the summit of the plateau, and it was not till the end of the latter day that everything was in position. It is probable therefore that if Soult had pressed his pursuit with all possible speed, he might have captured some of the Spanish impedimenta on the morning of the tenth. But there were defiles between Peraleda and the Ibor river where Cuesta’s rearguard might possibly have detained him till the guns and baggage were in safety.
The Duke of Dalmatia, however, paused at the bridge of Arzobispo before committing himself to a second advance against the allies. He was averse to making an isolated attack upon the admirable position now occupied by the Estremaduran army, and wished to combine it with a simultaneous assault upon the British. It will be remembered that he had detached Ney’s corps from the rear of his line of march, and ordered it to attempt the passage of the Tagus at Almaraz, by the ford which he knew to exist close to the ruined bridge. He also wrote to Victor to desire him to push forward the two infantry divisions which had crossed the river at Talavera, and to direct them on Mohedas and Alia, so as to turn Cuesta’s flank by a long circuitous march among the rugged summits of the Sierra de Guadalupe.
Neither of these subsidiary movements was carried out. One division of Ney’s corps, and Fournier’s brigade of dragoons reached Almaraz on Aug. 8: the other division and the light cavalry had followed the 2nd Corps so closely that it had passed Navalmoral on its way eastward, and had to make a long counter-march. It was not till the ninth or tenth therefore that the Duke of Elchingen would have been in a position to attempt the passage of the Tagus. Craufurd’s detachment had been established at Mirabete, behind the broken bridge, since Aug. 6, and two days later the main body of the British army had reached Deleytosa, where it was within a few hours’ march of the vanguard, and perfectly ready to support it. If Ney had endeavoured to pass the Tagus on the ninth or tenth with his 12,500 men, it is clear that the head of his column must have been destroyed, for the ford was narrow and difficult, and indeed barely passable for infantry even in the middle of August. But the Marshal did not even attempt the passage, for the simple reason that his intelligence officers failed to discover the ford, and reported to him that none existed. He sent word to Soult that the scheme was impracticable, and drawing back from the water’s edge concentrated his whole corps at Navalmoral .
Victor, at the other end of the French line, showed no desire to adventure his infantry among the defiles of the Sierra de Guadalupe, without guns or cavalry, and refused to move up into the mountains in order to turn Cuesta’s right flank. Thus the whole plan concerted by the Duke of Dalmatia for a general attack on the allies came to an ignominious conclusion.
It would appear, indeed, that his chance of inflicting a serious blow on the enemy had passed away long ere he brought the 2nd and 5th Corps down to the bridge of Arzobispo. It was on the fifth, when Mortier refused to close with Cuesta and allowed him to withdraw across the Tagus, that Soult had lost his best opportunity. On that day the Spaniards were still on the wrong side of the river, and the British vanguard had not yet reached the broken bridge of Almaraz. If Mortier had engaged the army of Cuesta, and Ney had found and attacked the ford at Almaraz before Craufurd’s arrival, the position of the allies would have been forlorn indeed. But on the fifth Soult had not yet discovered the real position of affairs; and the head of Ney’s corps was only just debouching from Plasencia, two long marches from Almaraz. In short ‘the fog of war,’ as a modern writer has happily called it, was still lying thick about the combatants, and Soult’s best chance was gone before he was even aware of it.
On August 9, matters looked far less promising, even though the bridge of Arzobispo had been won. Since Ney sent word that he could not cross at Almaraz, while Victor declined to commit himself to any schemes for an advance into the eastern mountains, Soult saw that he must construct another scheme of operations. His own preference was for a march into Portugal by way of Coria and Castello Branco. Such an attack upon Wellesley’s base, made by the 50,000 men of the 2nd, 5th, and 6th Corps, would compel the British to abandon Almaraz, to give up their connexion with Cuesta, and to march in haste by Truxillo, Caceres, and Portalegre on Abrantes, in order to cover Lisbon. It was even possible that, if the invading army made great haste, it might reach Abrantes before the British: in that case Wellesley would be forced to keep to the southern bank of the Tagus and cross it at Santarem, comparatively close to the capital. Thus all Central Portugal might be won without a battle, and Lisbon itself might fall ere the campaign ended, since the 20,000 men of the British general, even when aided by the local levies, could not (as Soult supposed) hold back three French corps d’armée. There was another alternative possible—to march not on Lisbon but on Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida, and to invade Portugal by the northern road. But this plan would take a longer time to execute, and promised less decisive results.
But even before the combat of Arzobispo had taken place, Joseph and Jourdan had determined that they would not permit Soult to carry out any schemes of advance against Portugal. They could show very good grounds for their decision. If the Duke of Dalmatia marched off to attack Lisbon, he would leave the 1st and 4th Corps and the King’s reserve,—less than 50,000 men in all, after the losses of Talavera,—opposed to Cuesta, Wellesley, and Venegas, who between them would have at least 75,000. If the British army should refuse to be drawn away towards Portugal, and should recross the Tagus at Almaraz with Cuesta in its wake, the situation would be deplorable. Victor would be exposed, just as he had been on July 22 and 23, to a joint attack from the two armies. And on this occasion Sebastiani and the King would not be able to bring him help, for they were now closely engaged with Venegas near Aranjuez. If they moved away from the front of the army of La Mancha, Madrid would be lost in two days. If they did not so move, Wellesley and Cuesta might crush Victor, or drive him away on some eccentric line of retreat which would uncover the capital. Jourdan therefore, writing in the name of Joseph, had informed Soult in a dispatch dated Aug. 8, that it was impossible to permit him to march on Portugal, as his departure would uncover Madrid and probably bring about a fatal disaster. He also urged that the exhaustion of the troops rendered a halt necessary, and that it would be impossible to feed them, if they advanced into the stony wilderness on the borders of Portugal before they had collected magazines. For the present the King would be contented to keep the allies in check, without seeking to attack or disperse them, until the weather began to grow cooler and the troops had rested from their fatigues.
Map of the campaign of Talavera
Enlarge THE CAMPAIGN OF TALAVERA
JULY-AUGUST 1809
As if intending to put it out of Soult’s power to undertake his projected expedition into Portugal, Jourdan and Joseph now proceeded to deprive him of the control of one of his three army corps. They authorized Ney to recross the mountains and to return to Salamanca, in order to protect the plains of Leon from the incursions of the Spaniards of Galicia. Deprived of such a large section of his army, Soult would be unable to march against Abrantes, as he so much desired to do. There were good military reasons, too, for sending off Ney in this direction: Kellermann kept reporting that La Romana was on the move, and that unless promptly succoured he should find himself obliged to abandon Benavente and Zamora and to fall back on Valladolid. The Spaniards from Ciudad Rodrigo had already taken the offensive, and Del Parque’s advanced guard had even seized Salamanca.
Ney accepted with alacrity the chance of withdrawing himself from the immediate control of his old enemy Soult; he received his permission to return to Leon on Aug. 9: on the tenth his whole corps was on the move, and on the eleventh he had retired to Plasencia. On the following day he plunged into the passes and made for Salamanca with all possible speed.
While the 6th Corps was dispatched to the north, the King directed Soult to take up, with the rest of his troops, a defensive position opposite the allied armies on the central Tagus. The 2nd Corps was to occupy Plasencia, the 5th to watch the passages at Almaraz and Arzobispo, while keeping a detachment at Talavera. Thus all Soult’s plans for an active campaign were shattered, and he was told off to act as a ‘containing force.’ Meanwhile Joseph drew Victor and the 1st Corps away from Talavera, towards Toledo and La Mancha, with the intention of bringing them into play against Venegas. For just as Soult had always ‘an eye on Portugal,’ so Joseph had always ‘an eye on Madrid.’ He could not feel secure so long as a Spanish army lay near Toledo or Aranjuez, only two marches from the gates of his capital, and was determined to dislodge it from this threatening position before taking any other operation in hand. He had accepted as true rumours to the effect that part of Cuesta’s troops had retired in the direction of Oca?a to join the army of La Mancha, and even that 6,000 British had been detached in this same direction. Thus he had persuaded himself that Venegas had 40,000 men, and was desirous of drawing in Victor to his head quarters before delivering his attack, thinking that Sebastiani and the central reserve would be too weak for the task.
THE END OF THE TALAVERA CAMPAIGN: ALMONACID
While King Joseph’s orders were being carried out, Wellesley and Cuesta found themselves, to their great surprise, unmolested by any hostile force. The army which had been in their front at Almaraz and Arzobispo disappeared on August 10, leaving only small detachments to watch the northern bank of the Tagus. It was soon reported to Wellesley that Victor had passed away towards Toledo, and that another corps—or perhaps two—had retired to Plasencia. The object of this move however had to be determined, before the British general could take corresponding measures. Was Soult about to invade Portugal by way of Coria and Castello Branco, or was he merely taking up cantonments, from which he could observe the British and Estremaduran armies, while the King and Victor moved off against Venegas? On the whole Wellesley was inclined to believe that the latter hypothesis was the correct one, and that the enemy was about to ‘refuse’ his right wing, and to use his left for offensive action against the army of La Mancha. As was generally the case, his prescience was not at fault, and he had exactly divined the King’s intentions. He had nevertheless to guard against the possibility that the other alternative might prove to be correct, and that Central Portugal was in danger—as indeed it would have been if Joseph had allowed Soult to carry out his original plan.
Wellesley resolved therefore to maintain his present position at Jaraicejo and Mirabete till he should be certain as to the intentions of the French. If they were really about to invade Portugal, he would march at once for Abrantes. If not, he would keep his ground, for by holding the passage at Almaraz he was threatening the French centre, and detaining in his front troops who would otherwise be free to attack the Spaniards either in La Mancha or in Leon.
Meanwhile measures had to be taken to provide a detaining force in front of Soult, lest an attack on Portugal should turn out to be in progress. This force was provided by bringing down Beresford and the Portuguese field army to Zarza and Alcantara, and sending up to their aid the British reinforcements which had landed at Lisbon during the month of July. Beresford, it will be remembered, had received orders at the commencement of the campaign directing him to concentrate his army behind Almeida, to link his operations with those of Del Parque and the Spanish force at Ciudad Rodrigo, but at the same time to be ready to transfer himself either northward or southward if his presence should be required on the Douro or the Tagus. In accordance with these instructions Beresford had collected thirty-two battalions of regular infantry, with one more from the Lusitanian Legion, and the University Volunteers of Coimbra, as also five squadrons from various cavalry regiments, and four batteries of artillery—a force of 18,000 men in all. On July 31 he had crossed the Spanish frontier, and lay at San Felices and Villa de Cervo, near Ciudad Rodrigo. There he heard of Soult’s march from Salamanca towards Plasencia, and very properly made up his mind to bring his army down to Estremadura by a line parallel to that which the French had taken. He crossed the Sierra de Gata by the rough pass of Perales, and on August 12 fixed his head quarters at Moraleja, near Coria, on the southern slope of the mountains. His cavalry held Coria, while his right wing was in touch with the English brigades from Lisbon, which had just reached Zarza la Mayor. These were the seven battalions of Lightburne and Catlin Craufurd, which Wellesley had vainly hoped to receive in time for Talavera. They numbered 4,500 bayonets, and had with them one battery of British artillery.
Thus even before Soult reached Plasencia, there was an army of 18,000 Portuguese and 4,500 British on the lower Tietar, ready to act as a detaining force and to retard the Marshal’s advance, if he should make a serious attempt to invade Portugal. On Aug. 15, by Wellesley’s orders, Beresford left Moraleja and transferred his whole army to Zarza, in order to be able to fall back with perfect security on Castello Branco should circumstances so require. If he had remained at Moraleja he might have been cut off from the high-road to Abrantes by a sudden movement of the enemy on Coria.
Wellesley now felt comparatively safe, so far as matters strategical were concerned. If the enemy, contrary to his expectation, should march into Portugal, he could join Beresford at Abrantes, and stand at bay with some 24,000 British and 18,000 Portuguese regulars, a force sufficient to check the 30,000 men who was the utmost force that Soult could bring against him after Ney’s departure. Meanwhile, till the Marshal should move, he retained his old position at Mirabete and Jaraicejo. Though the French showed no signs of activity in his front, the weary fortnight during which the British army lay in position behind the Tagus were perhaps the most trying time that Wellesley spent during his first campaign in Spain. It was a period of absolute starvation for man and beast, and the army was going to pieces under his eyes. Ever since the British had arrived in front of Talavera on July 22, rations as we have already seen had been scanty and irregular. But the fourteen days spent at Deleytosa and Jaraicejo were even worse than those which had preceded them. The stores collected at Plasencia had been captured by the French: those gathered at Abrantes were so far distant that they could not be drawn upon, now that the high-road north of the Tagus had been cut by the enemy. The army had to live miserably on what it could wring out of the country-side, which Victor two months before had stripped to the very bones. Wellesley had hoped to be fed by the Spanish Government, when he threw up his line of communication with Abrantes, and took up that with Badajoz. But the Spanish Government was a broken reed on which to lean: if it fed its own armies most imperfectly, it was hardly to be expected that it would deal more liberally with its allies. The trifling stores brought from Talavera had long been exhausted: the country-side had been eaten bare: from the South very little could be procured. The Spanish Commissary-General Lozano de Torres occasionally sent up a small consignment of flour from Caceres and Truxillo, but it did not suffice to give the army even half-rations. It was to no purpose that at Abrantes provisions abounded at this moment, for there was no means of getting them forward from Portugal. The enemy lay between the army and its base dép?t, and there was no transport available to bring up the food by the circuitous route of Villa Velha and Portalegre. Even so early as August 8 Wellesley began to write that ‘a starving army is actually worse than none. The soldiers lose their discipline and their spirit. They plunder in the very presence of their officers. The officers are discontented, and almost as bad as the men. With the army that a fortnight ago beat double their numbers, I should now hesitate to meet a French corps of half that strength.’ On the eleventh he wrote to warn Cuesta that unless he was provided with food of some sort he should remain no longer in his advanced position, but fall back towards Badajoz, whatever might be the consequences. ‘It is impossible,’ he stated, ‘for me to remain any longer in a country in which no arrangement has been made for the supply of provisions to the troops, and in which all the provisions that are either found in the country or are sent from Seville (as I have been informed for the use of the British army) are applied solely and exclusively to the use of the Spanish troops.’
The Junta sent Wellesley a letter of high-flown praise for his doings at Talavera, a present of horses, and a commission as Captain-General in their army. But food they did not send in any sufficient quantities. All the convoys that came up from Andalusia were made over to Cuesta’s army, and the Estremaduran districts which were supposed to be allotted for the sustenance of the British had little or nothing to give. When we remember that in June Victor had described this same region as absolutely exhausted and incapable of furnishing the 1st Corps with even five days’ supplies, we shall not wonder that Wellesley’s troops starved there in August. It was impossible however to convince the British general that the suffering of his men were the result of Spanish penury rather than of Spanish negligence and bad faith. There was much just foundation for his complaints, for the Junta, after so many promises, had sent him no train from Andalusia. Moreover detachments and marauding bands from Cuesta’s army frequently intercepted the small supplies of food which British foraging parties were able to procure. When taxed with their misdoings, Cuesta replied that Wellesley’s men had not unfrequently seized and plundered his own convoys, which was undoubtedly true, and that the British soldiers were enjoying such abundance that he had been told that some of them were actually selling their bread-ration to the Spaniards because they had no need of it—which was most certainly false.
That Wellesley was using no exaggerated terms, when he declared that his army was literally perishing for want of food, is proved by the narratives of a score of British officers who were present in the Talavera campaign. That his ultimate retreat was caused by nothing but the necessity of saving his men is perfectly clear. The strategical advantage of maintaining the position behind the Almaraz passage was so evident, and the political disadvantages of withdrawing were so obvious, that a man of Wellesley’s keen insight into the facts of war must have desired to hold on as long as was possible. Unless Soult were actually attacking Portugal, Mirabete and Jaraicejo afforded the best ground that could be selected for ‘containing’ and imposing upon the enemy. So long as the British army lay there it was practically unassailable from the front, while it was admirably placed for the purpose of making an irruption into the midst of the enemy’s lines, if he should disperse his corps in search of food, or detach large forces towards La Mancha or Leon. ‘If I could only have fed,’ wrote Wellesley, ‘I could, after some time, have struck a brilliant blow either upon Soult at Plasencia, or upon Mortier in the centre. It is clear that by a dash across the Almaraz passage he could have fallen upon either of these forces, and assailed it with good hope of success before it could be succoured by the other. But such a venture was impossible to an army which had lost one-third of its cavalry horses from starvation within three weeks, and whose battalions were brought so low by physical exhaustion that few of them could be relied upon to march ten miles in a day.
Wellesley declared that, having once linked his fortunes to those of the Spanish army of Estremadura, he had considered himself bound to co-operate with it as long as was humanly speaking possible, and implicit credit may be given to his assertion. The limit of physical endurance, however, was reached on August 20, the day on which he was finally compelled to commence his retreat in the direction of Truxillo and Badajoz.
Before that day arrived one event occurred which seemed to make useful co-operation between the two allied armies more feasible than it had been at any date since the campaign began. On the night of August 12-13 Cuesta, whose health had been steadily growing worse since the injuries that he had received at Medellin, was disabled by a paralytic stroke which deprived him of the use of one of his legs. He resigned on the following day, and was succeeded by his second-in-command Eguia, an officer whose conciliatory manners and mild disposition promised to make communication between the head quarters of the two allied armies comparatively friendly. Cuesta, after receiving from the Central Junta a letter of recall couched in the most flattering terms, retired to the baths of Alhama. When he had somewhat recovered his strength, he turned his energies to writing a long vindication of his whole conduct in 1809, and then engaged in a furious controversy with Venegas, concerning the latter’s disobedience of orders in July. Engaged in these harmless pursuits he ceased to be a source of danger to his country. Unfortunately his removal from the theatre of war was not of such benefit to the common cause as might have been hoped. The Junta found ere long a general just as rash and incapable, if not quite so old, to whom to entrust the command of its largest army. Juan Carlos Areizaga, the vanquished of Oca?a, was entirely worthy to be the spiritual heir of Cuesta’s policy.
But for the present General Eguia was for some weeks in charge of the Army of Estremadura. His first idea was to persuade Wellesley to postpone his departure, and to retain his advanced position. He urged this request upon his colleague with more zeal than tact, and to no good effect. By using in one of his dispatches the phrase that other considerations besides the want of food must be determining the movements of the British army, he roused Wellesley’s wrath. The famine was so real that any insinuation that it was a mere pretext for retreat was certainly calculated to wound the general whose troops were perishing before his eyes. Expressing deep indignation Wellesley refused to listen to a proposal that he should divide with the Estremadurans the stores of food at Truxillo—which indeed were hopelessly inadequate for the sustenance of two armies. Nor would he even accept an offer made him on August 20 by Lorenzo Calvo de Rozas, who came in haste from the Central Junta, to the effect that he might appropriate the whole of the magazine at Truxillo, leaving the Spanish army to provide for itself from other resources. The proposal was probably honest and genuine, but Wellesley knew the dilatory habits of the Junta so well that he was convinced that the dép?t made over to him would never be properly replenished, and would soon run dry.
Marching therefore by short stages, for the exhaustion of his troops made rapid progress impossible, he started from Jaraicejo on August 20, and moved by Truxillo and Miajadas to the valley of the Guadiana, where he cantoned the army about Merida, Montijo, and Badajoz. The British head quarters were fixed at the last-named place from September 3 till December 27, 1809, and, excepting for some small changes in detail, the army retained the position which it had now taken up for nearly four months. In the fertile region along the Guadiana the troops were fed without much trouble: but they did not recover the health that they had lost in the time of starvation among the barren hills behind Arzobispo and Mirabete. In spite of the junction of reinforcements and the return of convalescents to the ranks, the army could never show more than from 23,000 to 25,000 men under arms during the autumn months. When the rainy season began, the intermittent ague which was known to the British as ‘Guadiana fever’ was never absent: it did not often kill, but it disabled men by the thousand, and it was not till Wellesley moved back into Portugal at midwinter that the regiments recovered their normal health.
If he had been free to follow his personal inclination, it is probable that Wellesley would have moved back into Portugal in September. But strategical and political reasons made this impossible. While based on Badajoz he still threatened the French hold on the valley of the Tagus, and compelled the King to keep two army corps at least in his front. Since it was always possible that he might return to Almaraz and threaten Madrid, a containing force had to be told off against him. He was also in a position from which he could easily sally out to check raids upon Portugal: from Badajoz he could either join Beresford in a few marches, or fall by Alcantara upon the flank of any detachment that Soult might lead forward in the direction of Castello Branco and Abrantes. He was convinced that no such raids would be made, but their possibility had to be taken into consideration, and while lying in his present cantonments he was well placed for frustrating them. But political considerations were even more powerful than military considerations in chaining him to Badajoz. The Junta at Seville were most anxious to keep the British army in their front: they were convinced that, if it retired on Portugal, Joseph and Soult would at once organize an invasion of Andalusia, and they were well aware that Eguia and Venegas would not suffice to hold back the 70,000 men who might then be directed against them. In the dispatches which the Marquis Wellesley (who had superseded Frere at Seville on August 11) kept sending to his brother, the main fact conveyed was the absolute despair with which the Spanish Government viewed the prospect of the removal of their allies towards Portugal. ‘Don Martin de Garay declared to me with expressions of the deepest sorrow and terror’—wrote the Marquis on August 22—‘that if your army should quit Spain, at this critical moment, inevitable and immediate ruin must ensue to his government, to whatever provinces remain under its authority, to the cause of Spain itself, and to every interest connected with the alliance so happily established between Great Britain and the Spanish nation.... No argument produced the effect of diminishing the urgency of his entreaties, and I have ascertained that his sensations are in no degree more powerful than those of the Government and of every description of people within this city and its vicinity.... Viewing the painful consequences that would follow your retreat into Portugal, I feel it my duty to submit to your consideration the possibility of adopting some intermediate plan, which may have some of the advantages of retreat into Portugal, without occasioning alarm in Spain, and so endangering the foundations of the alliance between that country and Great Britain.’
A stay at Badajoz was obviously the only ‘intermediate plan’ that was worth taking into consideration; and considering the urgency of his brother’s representations Wellesley could not refuse to halt within the Spanish border. The military advantages of the position that he had now taken up were not inconsiderable, and no profit that could have been got by returning into Portugal could have counterbalanced the loss of the Spanish alliance. In the valley of the Central Guadiana, therefore, the British army remained cantoned. But no arguments that the Junta could produce availed to persuade Wellesley to engage in another campaign with a Spanish colleague at his side. Not even when the tempting offer was made that Albuquerque should be given command of half of the Estremaduran army, and placed under his orders, would he consent to pledge himself to offensive operations.
Meanwhile, dispatches had arrived from England, containing the official news that the Austrian War was at an end: rumours to that effect had already reached the British camps from French sources before Wellesley left Oropesa. The whole character of the continental struggle was changed by the fact that the Emperor had once more the power to send reinforcements to Spain, or even to go there himself. The situation required further consideration, and the British Government resolved to place upon Wellesley’s shoulders the all-important task of deciding whether the struggle in the Peninsula could still be maintained, and how (in the event of his giving an affirmative answer) it could best be carried on. He replied that in the existing state of affairs, and considering the bad state of the Spanish armies, neither 30,000 nor even 40,000 British troops would suffice to maintain Andalusia against the unlimited numbers of French whom the Emperor could now send across the Pyrenees. But he held that Portugal might be defended with success, if the Portuguese army and militia could be completed to their full strength, and the country well organized for resistance. It was probable that the borders of Portugal could not be maintained; ‘the whole country is frontier, and it would be difficult to prevent the enemy from penetrating by some point or other.’ He would have therefore ‘to confine himself to preserving what is most important,—the capital.’ But this he was prepared to undertake, and strongly advised the ministry to make no attempt to defend both Andalusia and Portugal, but to leave the Junta to their own vain devices, and to make sure of Lisbon.
Thus, in September 1809 Wellesley enunciated with great clearness the policy that he was about to employ in the next year. The lines of Torres Vedras are already hovering before his imagination, and after a flying visit to Lisbon in October they took definite shape in his ‘Memorandum for Colonel Fletcher’ of the twentieth of that month. In that document the whole project for defending the Portuguese capital by a series of concentric fortifications is set forth, and the modifications which it afterwards suffered were only in matters of detail. In short the Lines which were to check Masséna had been thought out in the British general’s provident mind exactly twelve months before the French army appeared in front of them.
In following the fortunes of Wellesley we have now got far beyond the point to which we have conducted the general history of the Talavera campaign. It is time to turn back to the movements of Soult and King Joseph, and to explain the reasons which made it possible for the British army to remain unmolested at Jaraicejo and Mirabete till August 20, and then to retire to Merida and Badajoz without imperilling the safety of their Estremaduran allies.
The King, as we have already seen, had made up his mind that the all-important point, at this stage of the campaign, was to make an end of the army of Venegas, and to relieve Madrid from danger. He had therefore called Victor towards Toledo, and directed Mortier to relieve the divisions of the 1st Corps which lay at Talavera with troops from the 5th Corps. The result of this movement was to leave Soult too weak to undertake any important operations against Portugal. For Mortier’s men, being strung out on the long line from Talavera to Navalmoral, with both Wellesley’s and Cuesta’s armies in their front, could not be relied upon to lend aid for an advance on Castello Branco or Abrantes. The Duke of Dalmatia therefore, when he had reached Plasencia, could dispose of nothing but his own 2nd Corps and Lahoussaye’s four regiments of dragoons. He dared not march on Portugal with no more than 20,000 men, when the allies had it in their power to fall upon Mortier the moment that his back was turned. Accordingly he waited at Plasencia, sending out cavalry to Coria and Torejoncillo, but did nothing more. Meanwhile Beresford and the two British brigades from Lisbon were drawing near him, and on August 16 the Portuguese cavalry, advancing from the pass of Perales and Moraleja, drove out the two French squadrons which were occupying Coria, and thus warned Soult that a new army was coming into play against him. Two days later Beresford had transferred himself to the Castello Branco road, and a force of 23,000 men had been thrown between the 2nd Corps and the Portuguese frontier.
Meanwhile the King had met with unexpected good fortune in his attack on Venegas. On August 5 he had set out from Valdemoro with the intention of attacking the army of La Mancha in its position at Aranjuez. It seemed unlikely that he would find it there, for Venegas had displayed such excessive caution in his advance from the Sierra Morena to the Tagus, and had so tamely refused to take his opportunity of pouncing upon Madrid, that it seemed probable that he would retreat at the first sign of the King’s approach. But rushing to the opposite extreme of conduct, the Spanish general was now ready to court destruction. He had received on the preceding night, that of August 4, Cuesta’s dispatch of the third, informing him that Soult had crossed the mountains and that both the British and the Estremaduran armies were quitting Talavera. The Captain-General warned him that he might expect an attack from the King’s army, and ordered him to avoid an action, and to fall back towards the Despe?a Perros if he were pressed. Serenely putting aside the orders of Cuesta, Venegas refused to retreat, and announced that he should not copy the conduct of a superior who had fled even before the enemy was in sight. He announced his intention of fighting, and directed his army to concentrate in the neighbourhood of Aranjuez. Of his five divisions, three were holding that town when the French came in sight; the other two were écheloned between Aranjuez and Tembleque, apparently in order to watch the roads from Toledo and A?over. The enemy might, as Venegas saw, turn his flank either by crossing the bridges of the former place, or by passing the easy ford at the latter. A detachment of 800 men had been left to watch the debouches from Toledo, and a couple of battalions observed the ford of A?over.
King Joseph meanwhile, marching with a force composed of Sebastiani’s corps, the Central Reserve, and Milhaud’s division of dragoons, arrived in front of Aranjuez on August 5. Sebastiani, whose troops led the advance, drove in the Spanish outposts, who retired across the Tagus and broke the town bridge behind them. But beyond the river the greater part of the army of La Mancha was visible in battle order, prepared to receive the attack: Venegas himself, however, chanced to be absent at the moment, as he had ridden over that morning to visit his left wing, and General Giron was in temporary charge of the defence. Sebastiani risked an attack on the Spanish position, which was accessible by means of two fords. But finding that the enemy was in great force and stood firm, he drew off his men after a sharp skirmish.
King Joseph now determined not to press the attack on Aranjuez and its fords, but to cross the Tagus at points where he could secure a less difficult passage. He countermarched Sebastiani’s corps to the bridge of Toledo, and gave Milhaud orders to force the ford of A?over. This man?uvre cost him three days; it was only on the evening of August 8 that he succeeded in concentrating his main body at Toledo. On the following morning Sebastiani passed the bridges and drove off the Spanish detachment that was observing them: it fell back on a larger force, and the 4th Corps pressing its advance, came into contact with a whole hostile division.
Venegas had not failed to guess the plan which the King would adopt, and had moved off from Aranjuez towards Toledo, by roads parallel to those which the French had employed. His 5th division, 4,000 bayonets, under Major-General Zerain, was in front, and thus was the first to meet Sebastiani’s attack. It was driven in after a sharp skirmish, and retired a few miles to the small town of Almonacid, on the high-road to Mora and Madridejos. On the same evening Milhaud’s dragoons assailed the ford of A?over, drove off the small force that was guarding it, and fell into line on Sebastiani’s left flank. On the next morning Venegas came up with his remaining four divisions, those of Lacy, Vigodet, Giron, and Castejon, and joined Zerain at Almonacid. Thus both sides were concentrated for battle, save that Joseph and his reserves, owing to the delay caused by a defile over the narrow bridge of Toledo, were some ten miles to the rear of Sebastiani. The Spanish army, after the deduction of men in hospital or detached, amounted to about 23,000 men, of whom nearly 3,000 were horse: it had forty guns. The King and Sebastiani had some 21,000 sabres and bayonets, but of these nearly 4,000 were cavalry, so that the French army enjoyed its usual preponderance in that arm, in numbers no less than in efficiency. Two of its infantry divisions, those of Leval and Sebastiani, had suffered heavily at Talavera: the rest of the infantry—Valence’s Poles and the King’s guards and reserves—had not been engaged in that battle; all the cavalry was equally intact.
Both armies were prepared to fight: King Joseph had resolved that Madrid would never be safe till the army of La Mancha had been beaten. Venegas was eager to meet him: he had persuaded himself that the French troops which had passed the bridge of Toledo did not amount to more than 14,000 men, and hoped for an easy victory. He held a council of war on the night of the tenth, and found his subordinates as ready to fight as himself. They determined to attack Sebastiani on the dawn of August 12, and the Commander-in-chief exclaimed with exultation that, whatever other Spanish officers might do, he at least would never earn the nickname of El General Retiradas.
The French, however, anticipated Venegas, for on the morning of August 11, at half-past five o’clock, Sebastiani presented himself in front of the Spanish position and opened a furious attack, without waiting for the arrival of King Joseph and the reserve. The army of La Mancha had therefore to fight a defensive engagement, and never got the chance of carrying out the ambitious designs of its chief.
The battle-field of Almonacid bears a strong resemblance to that of Ucles, where Venegas six months before had made such a deplorable début in the character of a ‘fighting general.’ As at Ucles, the Spanish army was arrayed on a series of eminences on each side of a small town, with a long array of infantry and guns in its centre, and the cavalry on the wings. As if to emphasize the resemblance, Venegas committed his old fault of keeping no adequate reserve in hand, and distributed his whole force in one thin line, with no more than four battalions and two cavalry regiments drawn up in support to the rear of the centre! The only points in which there was a marked difference between Ucles and Almonacid was that on the latter field the eminence on the Spanish left—a hill called Los Cerrojones—was so much higher than the rest of the ground that it formed the key of the position, just as the Cerro de Medellin had done at Talavera. Moreover, there was a long hill behind Almonacid—the Cerro del Castillo—which gave an admirable rallying-point for the army if it should be forced out of its first fighting-ground.
The main line of the Spanish order of battle was formed, counting from right to left, by the divisions of Vigodet (no. 2), Castejon (no. 4), Zerain (no. 5), and Lacy (no. 1), with a brigade of the division of Giron (no. 3) continuing the array on to the Cerrojones. The second brigade of Giron formed the sole reserve; it was drawn up on the Cerro del Castillo, where the ruins of the mediaeval fort that gave the hill its name were turned to account as a place of strength. It had two cavalry regiments in its rear: the rest of the troops of that arm were distributed between the two flanks.
When Sebastiani came upon the field he fell upon the Spanish line without a moment’s hesitation. Apparently he thought that delay would only give the enemy time to rearrange his troops and strengthen his weak points. At any rate he did not wait for the arrival of the King and the reserve, but attacked at once. It was the same fault that Victor had committed at Talavera, but Sebastiani was not destined to receive the condign punishment that befell the Duke of Belluno. Noting that the steep hill on the Spanish left was the key of the position, he resolved to storm it before attacking the rest of the hostile line. Accordingly he threw out Milhaud’s dragoons and his own French division to ‘contain’ the Spanish centre and right, while Leval’s Germans and Valence’s Poles were directed to assail the Cerrojones. The former division turned the flank of the hill, while the latter attacked it in front.
The Spanish brigade on the hill made a stubborn resistance, and even held back the Poles till its flank was turned by the Germans. Venegas sent to its aid his miserably inadequate reserve under Giron, and some battalions drawn from the first division. But these troops came too late, the Cerrojones were lost, and the reinforcements only succeeded in checking the French advance behind the hill, on the slopes between it and Almonacid. The key of the position was thus in Sebastiani’s hands, and, seeing the Spanish centre outflanked, he let loose upon it his French division, which drove in Lacy and Zerain, and captured the town of Almonacid and three guns. Venegas was thus forced to draw back his whole line, and re-formed it on the Cerro del Castillo, which lay behind his original position. The troops were much disordered by this retrograde movement, yet made a very creditable effort to maintain their new ground. But King Joseph and the reserve had now come on the field, and Dessolles’ troops were thrown into the front line to aid the infantry of the 4th Corps. After a stubborn fight the Spanish left and centre again broke, and Venegas was only able to save them from complete destruction by bringing up Vigodet’s division, which was almost intact, and throwing it in the way of the advancing enemy. It held out long enough to allow the main body to escape, and then followed its comrades in retreat down the high-road to Mora and Madridejos. The French cavalry was let loose in pursuit, but does not seem to have been so successful in its work as had been the case at Ucles and Medellin. At any rate the bulk of the Spaniards escaped in more or less order, and only the stragglers were cut up.
The losses of Venegas’s army would appear to have been about 800 killed and 2,500 wounded, besides a considerable number of prisoners—perhaps 2,000 in all, for Sebastiani’s dispatch giving the figure of 4,000 cannot be trusted. The army of La Mancha had also lost twenty-one of its forty guns, all its baggage and several standards. Still the defeat was far less crushing than Medellin had been, and the whole army was rallied at the passes with no great difficulty. It had fought very creditably, as is sufficiently vouched for by the fact that Sebastiani acknowledged a loss of 319 killed and 2,075 wounded. The Polish division in especial had suffered very severely while storming the Cerrojones at the opening of the combat.
Thus ended the part taken by the Army of La Mancha in the Talavera campaign. No words are too strong to use in condemnation of Venegas’s conduct. After wrecking the plan of campaign drawn up by Wellesley and Cuesta by his criminal slackness and timidity in July, he then proceeded to the extreme of culpable rashness. He had ample time to retire to the South, when his position was compromised by the departure of the British and Estremaduran armies from Talavera. Instead of doing so he remained behind, and courted an unnecessary battle, in which his unskilful dispositions secured the defeat of an army which tried to do its duty and defended itself far better than could have been expected. He should have been court-martialled and shot for his repeated and impudent disobedience of Cuesta’s orders. But the Junta, conscious that they were themselves to blame for giving him secret directions which clashed with those of the Commander-in-chief, spared him, and only removed him from command some weeks later, in order to replace him by Areizaga, an officer of exactly the same level of merit and intelligence.
After his—or rather Sebastiani’s—victory at Almonacid King Joseph established the 4th Corps in cantonments around Toledo and Aranjuez, and sent Victor and the 1st Corps into La Mancha to observe the passes and to contain the wrecks of Venegas’s army. He returned himself with his guards and the reserve to Madrid on August 15, celebrated a Te Deum, and published an extravagant account of his own achievements, in which he claimed to have discomfited the attempt of 120,000 enemies (there were but 80,000 at the most liberal estimate) with the aid of 40,000 invincible French troops. The co-operation of Soult’s 50,000 men was consigned to oblivion in this extraordinary document.
The moment that he heard of the defeat of Venegas, Soult wrote to the King, renewing the demand which he had made ten days before for permission to invade Portugal. Now that the army of La Mancha had been disposed of, he considered that Victor might come back to Talavera and Almaraz, so as to set free Mortier and the 5th Corps for the attack on Portugal. He also suggested that Ney, having put things right at Salamanca, might now be recalled to the valley of the Tagus, and rejoin the 2nd and 5th Corps. He supported his demands by an unfounded assertion that Wellesley was on his march to unite with Beresford by way of Alcantara, and asked for leave to attack the latter before the main British army should have joined him. In a few days more, he said, it would be too late to move, for Beresford and Wellesley would have concentrated their forces, so that he would have 45,000 Anglo-Portuguese in his front.
Joseph refused to listen to these arguments, and had fair reasons to show for his negative reply to the Marshal’s requests. Wellesley, as he truly remarked, was not marching for Alcantara to join Beresford: he was still at Jaraicejo in close touch with the Estremaduran army. If Mortier were removed to the Portuguese border, Wellesley and Eguia might descend upon Victor and crush him. It was impossible to leave less than two corps to defend the Middle Tagus. As for Ney, he could not quit Leon, for Del Parque and the Galicians were concentrating in great force upon his front. Indeed, he had just written to request that the 2nd Corps might be moved up to Salamanca to support him. It was not now the time to engage in further offensive operations either against Portugal or against Andalusia. The troops were exhausted; the hospital of Madrid contained at the moment 12,000 sick and wounded, the cavalry was so distressed by incessant work that few regiments could put 250 men in line. The transport was worn out, and new horses and mules were impossible to procure, for the King had no money with which to purchase them. Finally, and this was the most conclusive point of all, orders had been received from the Emperor countermanding all active operations till the hot season should be over. It was impossible to say what his intentions might be, now that he was freed from the Austrian War. He might come himself to Spain, or he might send large reinforcements to the King. In any case it would be impossible to move till his will was known and his mind made up.
These arguments were conclusive, and Soult was forced to remain quiescent: all that he could do was to push small parties to Zarza and Coria when Beresford had evacuated those places.
Thus the Talavera campaign came to an end. There was now a long pause in the movements both of the allies and of the French. The subsequent fighting in October belongs to a totally independent series of operations. The combatants who had been engaged in July and August rested in September: Soult was left at Plasencia, Mortier at Talavera and Navalmoral, Ney at Salamanca; Victor’s head quarters were at Daymiel in La Mancha, Sebastiani lay along the Tagus from Aranjuez to Toledo. Of the allied troops Wellesley’s army was cantoned about Badajoz and Merida. The Estremadurans under Eguia covered the passages of the Tagus from Deleytosa, Jaraicejo, and Truxillo: Venegas was reorganizing his depleted corps at his old quarters in the passes by La Carolina. Beresford was observing Soult from Castello Branco, and lastly, the Galicians were moving down by divisions to join Del Parque’s forces at Ciudad Rodrigo, where a formidable army was now beginning to be collected.
The Talavera campaign, in short, had settled nothing. The attempt of the allies to capture Madrid had failed, but the attempt of the French to surround Wellesley and Cuesta by Soult’s flank march had failed also. Looking to the net results of all the fighting since May, it could be said that the balance of loss stood against the French. They had abandoned Galicia and the Asturias, as well as their precarious hold on Northern Portugal. They had gained nothing, save that their forces were concentrated in a good central position, instead of being scattered from Corunna and Oporto as far as Merida and Manzanares. The next move was in the hands of the Emperor: it remained to be seen how he would deal with the situation in the Peninsula, now that he, at last, had time to study it in detail.
Before passing on to the new series of operations which took place in the late autumn, one minor side-issue of the Talavera campaign remains to be narrated—the fate of the small roving column of 4,000 Spaniards and Portuguese under Sir Robert Wilson, which had been threatening Madrid in the King’s absence, and which had caused so many misgivings in the mind of Marshal Victor. Wilson’s doings were to give one more proof of his extraordinary resourcefulness and vigour, if any further evidence were needed after his masterly handling of Lapisse in the spring. It will be remembered that on August 4 he had slipped away from Escalona, on hearing from Wellesley that Soult had descended upon Plasencia. He intended to join the main army at Talavera, but on nearing that place discovered that it had already been evacuated, and that both the British and the Estremaduran armies had disappeared in the direction of Oropesa. Accordingly he directed his steps to the westward, hoping to overtake Wellesley on his march. On his way, however, he was caught up by Villatte’s division of Victor’s corps, which had been vainly hunting for him at Nombella and Escalona since the fifth. Thrown out of his path by this force, Wilson turned up into the mountains, intending to escape by the northern bank of the Tietar. He soon learnt, however, from the peasantry that Soult had sent a brigade under Foy to look for him in the Vera of Plasencia, and that Hugo, the governor of Avila, had come down to hold against him the passes of Arenas and Monbeltran. Thus ringed around with foes, he did not lose his nerve, but turning up into the Sierra de Gredos, by a mule-path that leads from Aldea Nueva to the upper valley of the Alagon, escaped in the direction of Bejar. From thence he intended to strike across towards Portugal. But a new enemy now came upon him: he had evaded Villatte and Foy only to run into the arms of Ney, who on this day was preparing to cross the Puerto de Ba?os on his way to Salamanca. There was still time to escape from the Marshal’s front and to retire to Ciudad Rodrigo unmolested. But Wilson saw the rocky defile of the Puerto in front of him, and could not resist the temptation of holding it against the enemy, though he was well aware that with a force of less than 4,000 men, destitute of artillery, he could not seriously hope to repulse a whole army corps. Nevertheless he offered battle in the pass, and fought a running fight for nine hours against Ney’s vanguard, defending three successive positions, from each of which he had to be expelled. In his last stand he held on too long, and allowed the enemy to close. His four battalions were all broken, and fled over the hills to Miranda de Casta?ar, where they rallied on the next day. The Marshal acknowledged in his dispatch to King Joseph a loss of five officers and thirty men killed, and ten officers and 140 men wounded, which shows that he had been forced to fight hard to clear the pass. He claimed to have ‘destroyed’ Wilson’s detachment, and declared that 1,200 Spaniards and Portuguese had fallen. But Wilson’s returns show that his total loss, killed, wounded, and missing, was under 400, among whom there was not a single field officer or captain. Having assuaged his thirst for a fight by this gallant, if unnecessary, engagement, Wilson escaped to the Pass of Perales, and finally reached Castello Branco on August 24, where he fell in with Beresford, and was at last in safety, after his many wanderings among the summits of the Sierra de Gredos and the Sierra de Gata. This hazardous march was his last achievement in the Peninsula; after a bitter quarrel with Beresford concerning the status of his Lusitanian Legion in the Portuguese army, he sailed for England in October, and never returned to Portugal.
The End
Vol. III Sep. 1809 - Dec. 1810. PREFACE
This, the third volume of the History of the Peninsular War, covers a longer period than either of its predecessors, extending over the sixteen months from Wellington’s arrival at Badajoz on his retreat from Talavera (Sept. 3, 1809) to the deadlock in front of Santarem (Dec. 1810), which marked the end of Masséna’s offensive campaign in Portugal. It thus embraces the central crisis of the whole war, the arrival of the French in front of the Lines of Torres Vedras and their first short retreat, after they had realized the impossibility of forcing that impregnable barrier to their advance. The retreat that began at Sobral on the night of Nov. 14, 1810, was to end at Toulouse on April 11, 1814. The armies of the Emperor were never able to repeat the experiment of 1810, and to assume a general and vigorous offensive against Wellington and Portugal. In 1811 they were on the defensive, despite of certain local and partial attempts to recover their lost initiative. In 1812 they had to abandon half Spain—Andalusia, Estremadura, Asturias, La Mancha, and much more,—despite of Wellington’s temporary check before Burgos. In 1813 they were swept across the Pyrenees and the Bidassoa; in 1814 they were fighting a losing game in their own land. Rightly then may Masséna’s retreat to Santarem be called the beginning of the end—though it was not for a full year more that Wellington’s final offensive commenced, with the investment of Ciudad Rodrigo on Jan. 8, 1812.
The campaign of Bussaco and Torres Vedras, therefore, marked the turning-point of the whole war, and I have endeavoured to set forth its meaning in full detail, devoting special care to the explanation of Wellington’s triple device for arresting the French advance—his combination of the system of devastation, of the raising of the levée en masse in Portugal, and of the construction of great defensive lines in front of Lisbon. Each of these three measures would have been incomplete without the other two. For the Lines of Torres Vedras might not have saved Portugal and Europe from the domination of Napoleon, if the invading army had not been surrounded on all sides by the light screen of irregular troops, which cut its communications, and prevented it from foraging far afield. Nor would Masséna have been turned back, if the land through which he had advanced had been left unravaged, and if every large village had contained enough food to subsist a brigade for a day or a battalion for a week.
The preparations, the advance, and the retreat of Masséna cover about half of this volume. The rest of it is occupied with the operations of the French in Northern, Eastern, and Southern Spain—operations which seemed decisive at the moment, but which turned out to be mere side-issues in the great contest. For Soult’s conquest of Andalusia, and Suchet’s victories in Aragon, Catalonia, and Valencia only distracted the imperial generals from their central task—the expulsion of Wellington and his army from the Peninsula. Most readers will, I think, find a good deal of new information in the accounts of the siege of Gerona and the battle of Oca?a. The credit due to Alvarez for the defence of the Catalonian city has never been properly set forth before in any English history, nor have the details of Areizaga’s miserable campaign in La Mancha been fully studied. In particular, the composition and strength of his army have never before been elucidated, and Appendices V, VI of this volume consist of absolutely unpublished documents.
I have to offer my grateful thanks to those who have been good enough to assist me in the writing of this book, by furnishing me with stores of private papers, or hitherto unknown official reports. Two of the kind helpers who put me on the track of new information for the compiling of Volume II have passed away while Volume III was in progress. I bitterly regret the loss of my friends General Arteche and Colonel F. A. Whinyates. The former, with his unrivalled knowledge of the contents of the historical department of the Madrid War Office, had enabled me to discover many a lost document of importance. The latter had placed at my disposal his copious store of papers, letters, and diaries relating to his old corps, the Royal Artillery. In this present section of the history of the war I am still using much of the material which he lent me.
But new helpers have come to my aid while this volume was being written. To three of them I must express my special gratitude. The first is Mr. W. S. M. D’Urban, of Newport House, near Exeter, who has furnished me with copies of a collection of papers of unique interest, the diary and correspondence of his grandfather, Sir Benjamin D’Urban, who served as the Quarter-Master-General of the Portuguese army, under Marshal Beresford, during the two years covered by this section of my history. Thanks to the mass of documents furnished by Mr. D’Urban’s kindness, I am now in a position to follow the details of the organization, movements, and exploits of the Portuguese army in a way that had hitherto been impossible to me. Moreover, Sir Benjamin’s day by day criticisms on the strategy and tactics both of Masséna and of Wellington have the highest interest, as reflecting the opinions of the more intelligent section of the head-quarters staff. It is noteworthy to find that, while many of Wellington’s chief subordinates despaired of the situation in 1810, there were some who already felt an enthusiastic confidence in the plans of their leader, so much so that their criticisms were reserved for the occasions when, in their opinion, he showed himself over-cautious, and refused to take full advantage of the uncomfortable positions into which he had lured his enemy.
The second mass of interesting private papers placed in my hands of late is the personal correspondence of Nicholas Trant and John Wilson, the two enterprising leaders of Portuguese militia forces, to whom Wellington had entrusted the cutting off of Masséna’s communication with Spain, and the restriction of his raids for sustenance to feed his army. These letters have been lent me by Commander Bertram Chambers of H.M.S. Resolution, a collateral relative of Wilson. They fill up a gap in the military history of 1810, for no one hitherto had the opportunity of following out in detail the doings of these two adventurous soldiers and trusty friends, while they were engaged in the difficult task that was set them. For a sample of Trant’s breezy style of correspondence, I may refer the reader to pages 399-400 of this volume. Unfortunately, when the two militia generals were in actual contact, their correspondence naturally ceased, so that the series of letters has many lacunae. But they are nevertheless of the highest value.
Thirdly, I have to thank Sir Henry Le Marchant for a sight of the private papers of his grandfather, the well-known cavalry brigadier, General John Gaspar Le Marchant, who fell at Salamanca. He did not land in the Peninsula till 1811, but during the preceding year he was receiving many letters of interest, some from his own contemporaries, officers of high rank in Wellington’s army, others from younger men, who had been his pupils while he was in command of the Military College at High Wycombe. Some of the seniors, and one especially, were among those down-hearted men—of the opposite type to Benjamin D’Urban—who were consistently expecting disaster, and looked for a hasty embarkation at Lisbon as the natural end of the campaign of 1810. The younger men took a very different view of affairs, and invariably sent cheerful accounts of the doings of the army.
I must mention, once more, kind assistance from the officials of the Historical sections of the War Ministries at Paris and at Madrid. My friend Commandant Balagny, who gave me so much help during the compilation of my second volume, has unfortunately been absent on a military mission to Brazil during the last three years. But the kind offices of M. Martinien have continually aided me in getting access to the particular sections of the Paris archives with which I was from time to time concerned. I must here take the opportunity of expressing once more my admiration for his colossal work, the Liste des officiers tués et blessés pendant les Guerres de l’Empire, which, on the numberless occasions when no casualty-return appears in the Paris archives, enables one to determine what regiments were present at any action, and in what proportion they suffered. At Madrid Captain Emilio Figueras has continued his kind services, offered during the compilation of my second volume, and was indefatigable in going through the papers of 1810 with me, during my two visits to the Spanish capital.
Among my English helpers I must cite with special gratitude four names. The first is that of Mr. C. T. Atkinson, Fellow of Exeter College, Oxford, who has read the proofs of the greater part of this volume, and given me many valuable corrections and pieces of information, from his wide knowledge of British regimental history. The second is that of Major John H. Leslie, R.A., who has compiled the Artillery Appendix to this section, corresponding to that which Colonel Whinyates compiled for the last. I am also most grateful to him for an early view of the useful ‘Dickson Papers,’ which he is publishing for the Royal Artillery Institution. The third is that of the Rev. Alexander Craufurd, who has continued to give me notes on the history of the Light Division, while it was commanded by his grandfather, the famous Robert Craufurd. The fourth is that of Mr. C. E. Doble of the Clarendon Press, who has again read for errors every page of a long volume.
Lastly, the indefatigable compiler of the Index must receive once more my heartfelt thanks for a labour of love.
The reader will find several topographical notes appended at the end of chapters, the results of my first and second tours along the borderland of Spain and Portugal. Two long visits to the battlefield of Bussaco, and some days spent between the Coa and the Agueda, and behind the Lines of Torres Vedras, gave me many new topographical facts of importance. Drives and walks in the Badajoz-Elvas country, and about Coimbra, also turned out most profitable. But my notes on the battlefields of Fuentes d’O?oro and Albuera can only be utilized in my next volume, which I trust may not be long in following its predecessor into print.
The spelling of many of the Spanish, and more especially the Portuguese, names may appear unfamiliar to some readers. But I believe that correctness should be studied above all things, even though the results in cases like Bussaco with the double s, Goleg?o, or Santa Comba Dao, may produce a momentary shock to the eye. Portuguese spelling, both in personal names and in topography, was in a state of flux in 1810. For example, the General commanding the Artillery always appears as da Rosa in the official army lists, yet signed his name da Roza; countless other instances could be produced. Where it was possible I have followed the individual’s own version of his name: he ought to have known best. There are still, no doubt, errors of spelling surviving: no man is infallible, but I have done my best to reduce them to a minimum.
C. OMAN.
Oxford:
March 1, 1908.
INTRODUCTORY. THE CENTRAL JUNTA. WELLESLEY AND WELLINGTON
Between the 20th of August, 1809, when Robert Craufurd’s Light Brigade withdrew from the Bridge of Almaraz, to follow the rest of the British army across the mountains to the neighbourhood of Badajoz, and February 27, 1810, when part of that same brigade was engaged in the first skirmish of Barba del Puerco, not a shot was fired by any of Wellington’s troops. This gap of over six months in his active operations may appear extraordinary, and it was bitterly criticized at the time. Between August and March there was hard fighting both in the south of Spain and along the north-eastern frontier of Portugal; but the British army, despite many invitations, took no part in it. Wellington adhered to his resolve never to commit himself again to a campaign in company with the Spaniards, unless he should be placed in a position in which he could be independent of the freaks of their government and the perversity of their generals. Two months’ experience of the impracticability of Cuesta, of the deliberate disobedience of Venegas, of the fruitless promises of the commissary-general Lozano de Torres, of the insane demands and advice sent in by the Central Junta, had convinced him that he dare not risk his army in a second venture such as that which had led him to Talavera. If he were made commander-in-chief by the Spanish Government, and granted a free hand in the direction of the Spanish armies, matters would look different. But there was at present no chance whatever that he would receive such a mark of confidence. Only a small minority of the leading men at Seville could endure with patience the idea of a British commander-in-chief. Wellington himself had long dismissed the project—which Frère had broached in the spring—as impracticable.
Meanwhile the French advance had no sooner ceased—after the rather objectless combat of Arzobispo—than the Junta began to press upon the British general schemes for a resumption of the offensive and a second march toward Madrid. The political situation, and not any military considerations, was the originating cause of their untimely activity. They felt that their authority was waning, that their popularity had vanished, that their critics were daily growing more venomous, and they saw that success in the war would be the only possible way out of their difficulties. Hence at the very moment when Wellington was withdrawing his half-starved army from the Tagus, and impeaching in letters of stinging irony the conduct of the Junta’s mendacious commissaries, he was being pressed to resume the offensive. Countless appeals were made to him. Both formal and argumentative invitations from the ministers at Seville, and private remonstrances by individuals, Spanish and English, were showered upon him. The Junta even went so far as to offer him command of the Spanish troops in Estremadura, though this offer was qualified by their statement that they intended to reduce those troops to 12,000 men, the larger half of the army being under orders to march eastward into La Mancha and join the force of Venegas. This proposal did not in the least meet Wellington’s main objection to resuming active operations; viz. that he could not trust the Spanish Government to feed his army, nor the Spanish generals to carry out with punctual accuracy any scheme for a joint campaign which might be laid before him. He put the matter very plainly—‘till the evils of which I think that I have reason to complain are remedied: till I see magazines established for the supply of the troops, and a regular system adopted for keeping them filled: till I see an army upon whose exertions I can depend, commanded by officers capable and willing to carry into execution the operations which have been planned by mutual agreement, I cannot enter upon any system of co-operation with the Spanish armies.’ This statement was for publication: in private correspondence with his brother, the ambassador at Seville, he added still more cogent reasons for declining to take the field with Venegas or Eguia. He had witnessed with his own eyes the panic of Portago’s division on the night before Talavera, ‘when whole corps threw away their arms and ran off in my presence, while neither attacked nor threatened with attack, but frightened (I believe) by their own fire’: he had seen Albuquerque’s cavalry, the day after the combat of Arzobispo, lurking in every village for twenty miles round, and ‘had heard Spanish officers telling of nineteen or twenty actions of the same description as that of Arzobispo, an account of which (I believe) has never been published.’ The army of Estremadura consisted, he concluded, ‘of troops by no means to be depended upon’—on every ground, therefore, he ought to avoid ‘risking the King’s army again in such company.’
There was no getting over this fundamental objection of Wellington’s, and his brother, therefore, was placed in a very uncomfortable position. During all his negotiations with the Central Junta, Lord Wellesley’s task indeed was a most invidious one. He had been directed by his government to profess an earnest desire to aid the Spaniards in bringing the war to a successful conclusion, and to pledge the aid of Great Britain, yet he was forced to refuse every definite proposal made to him by the Junta. On the other hand, there were clauses in his instructions which provoked the most openly-displayed suspicion and resentment, when he touched upon them in his conversations with Martin de Garay and the other Spanish ministers. Such were the proposal to place the whole Spanish army under a British commander (i.e. Wellington), the attempt to open up the subject of a certain measure of free trade with Spanish America, and—most of all—the offer to send British troops to garrison Cadiz. For despite the fiasco of the preceding winter, the Portland ministry were still harping on this old string, and allusions to it occur in nearly every dispatch sent from London to the ambassador at Seville.
Wellesley’s position was made even more difficult by the fact that all the Spanish factions opposed to the Central Junta tried to draw him into their schemes, by making lavish professions of what they were ready to do if only the present government were evicted from office. Of these factions there were many: the old ‘Council of Castile,’ which the Junta had superseded, still clung together, making protests as to the legality of their successor’s position. The local assemblies were equally jealous of the central authority—the Juntas of Estremadura and Valencia, in especial, were always intriguing behind its back, and the former at least made many tempting proposals both to Wellesley and to Wellington. But the most dangerous enemies of the existing government were the malcontents close at its gates—the Andalusian conspirators, led by the members of the old Junta of Seville, and by the intriguers like the Conde de Montijo, the dukes of Infantado and Ossuna, and Francisco Palafox. The dissatisfaction caused by the incapacity, indecision, and—as it was openly said—the nepotism and venality of the Junta was so general, that a plan was formed in Seville to seize them, deport them all to the Canaries, and proclaim a Regency. The troops in the place were tampered with, some demagogues were ready to raise the mob, and Infantado, who was in the thick of the plot, came to Wellesley one night to divulge the arrangements for the ‘Pronunciamento’ and to bespeak his aid. Much as he disliked the Junta and its methods, the Ambassador scornfully refused to make himself a member of a conspiracy, and after warning Infantado of his intention, went straight to the Secretary Garay and gave him all the information as to the project, though without divulging any names. Some of the plotters fled, others were arrested. ‘For the last two days,’ writes Wellesley to his brother, ‘I have been employed in endeavouring to save the necks of these caitiffs from the just fury and indignation of the people and soldiery, and I have succeeded. A regular plot was formed to seize (and I believe to hang) them all. But I could not suffer such outrages under my nose, so I interfered and saved the curs from the rope. They were all gratitude for an hour , but now that they think themselves secure they have begun to cheat me again.’
Much as every patriot should deprecate the employment of coups d’état while a foreign war is on hand, there was much to excuse the conduct of the enemies of the Junta. That body was now more than a year old; it had been from the first regarded as a stop-gap, as a provisional government which was destined to give place to something more regular and constitutional when occasion should serve. A ‘Committee of Public Safety’ which fails to preserve the state stands self-condemned, and the history of the Central Junta had been one record of consistent disaster. A body of over thirty persons is too large for a ministry, too small for a representative assembly. Every intelligent Spaniard, whatever his politics, was desirous of seeing it give place to a regular government. The Conservatives and bureaucrats would have been contented if it had appointed a Regency of four or five persons, and then abdicated. The Liberals demanded that it should summon the national Cortes, and leave to that body the creation of an executive. Pamphlets were showered by dozens from the press—now more or less free, for the first time in Spanish history—to advocate one or other of these courses. The Junta, however, had no intention of surrendering its power, whatever pretence of disinterestedness it might assume and proclaim. Its first attempts to put off the evil day when it must yield to public opinion were ingeniously absurd. It issued, as early as May 22, a proclamation acknowledging the advisability of summoning a Cortes, and then invited all well-thinking Spaniards to send in schemes and suggestions during the next two months concerning the best way in which the national assembly could be organized, and the reforms and constitutional improvements which it should take in hand. These documents were to be read and pondered over by a Commission, mainly composed of members of the Junta, which was to issue a report in due time, embodying the best of the suggestions and the results of its own discussion. This was an admirable device for wasting time and putting off the assembly of the Cortes. The Commission finally decided, on September 19, after many weeks of session, that a supreme Executive Council of five persons should be appointed, carefully avoiding the name of Regency. But only existing members of the Central Junta were to be eligible as Councillors, and the Council was to be changed at short intervals, till every member of the Junta had taken a turn in it. The only laudable clause of this scheme was one providing that Spanish America should be represented in the Junta, and therefore ultimately in the Executive Council. The arrangement satisfied nobody—it merely substituted a rapidly changing committee of the Junta for the whole of that body as the supreme ruling power: and it was clear that the orders of the Council would be those of the Junta, though they might be voiced by fewer mouths. The assembly of the Cortes would be put off ad infinitum.
Any effect which the report of the Commission might have had, was spoilt by the fact that it was followed by a minority report, or manifesto, drawn up by the Marquis of La Romana, who had been one of the Commissioners. The Junta had called him back from Galicia, and compelled him to surrender the army that he had re-formed, under the pretext that he had been co-opted as a member of their own body. A death-vacancy had been created in the representation of the kingdom of Valencia: he had been named to fill it, summoned to Seville, and placed on the constitutional Commission. Dissenting from every word of the report of the majority, he published on October 14 a counter-scheme, in which he declared that the venality, nepotism, and dilatory incapacity of the Junta made it necessary for Spain to seek a new executive which should be wholly independent of that body. Accordingly he suggested that a Regency of five members should be constituted, as the supreme governing body of the realm. No member of the Junta was to sit therein. It was to be assisted, for consultative purposes, by a body of six persons—one of whom was to be a South American. This second committee, to be called ‘the Permanent Deputation of the Realm,’ was to be considered to represent the Cortes till that assembly should meet. It was not to meddle with executive matters, but was to devote itself to drawing up the details of the constitution of the future Cortes, and to suggesting practical reforms.
So far as the declaration in favour of a Regency went, most sensible Spaniards liked La Romana’s scheme, and it obtained Wellesley’s approval also. But the idea of the ‘Permanent Deputation’ frightened the Liberals, who feared that its existence would be made the excuse for putting off the summoning of the Cortes for an indefinite time. Moreover it was rumoured that La Romana intended to resign his seat in the Junta, and to become a candidate for the position of Senior Regent, so that his proposals must be intended to benefit himself. The suspicion that his personal ambitions inspired his patriotic denunciation of the Junta’s misdoings was made the more likely by events that occurred at the same moment in Valencia. There the leading personage of the moment was the governor, General José Caro, the younger brother of La Romana, who had complete control of the local Junta, and exercised what his enemies called a tyranny in the province. He and his following were already on the worst terms with the Seville Government, and now took the opportunity of bursting out into open rebellion. They issued a sounding manifesto against the Supreme Junta, declared their intention of refusing to obey it any longer, and republished and sent in all directions to the other local Juntas La Romana’s report in favour of a Regency, of which Caro had struck off 6,000 copies. They threatened to turn back by force General Castro whom the Supreme Junta had sent to supersede Caro, and declared their second representative in that body, the Conde de Contamina, deposed for ‘disobedience to the will of the people.’ It looked as if La Romana might be intending to overthrow the central government by means of his brother’s Valencian army. Apparently he must be acquitted of this charge, his fiery and ambitious kinsman having gone far beyond his intentions.
In the midst of all these intrigues, plots, and manifestos the Central Junta had only one hope—to rehabilitate themselves by means of a great military success. With ruinous consequences they tried to direct the course of the war with political rather than strategical ends in view. Of the unhappy autumn campaign which their rashness precipitated we shall speak in its proper place; but before narrating the disasters of Oca?a and Alba de Tormes, we must turn back for some months to consider the situation of Eastern Spain, where the continuous chronicle of events has been conducted no further than Blake’s rout at Belchite in June, and St. Cyr’s victory of Valls in February 1809. Much had happened in Catalonia and Aragon even before the day of Talavera. Much more was to take place before the ill-judged November campaign of the Junta’s armies in New Castile and Leon had begun.
N.B.—This is a military history: for the war of pamphlets and manifestos, plots and intrigues, between the Seville Government and its adversaries, the reader who is anxious to master the disheartening details may consult Toreno’s Tenth Book; Schepeler, iii. 460-86; Baumgarten, vol. i. chapter viii; Arteche, vol. vii. chapter vi, and above all the volume of the Marquis of Wellesley’s Spanish Dispatches (London, 1838). There is a good and lively description of the chief members of the Junta and the ministry, and of the intrigues against them, in William Jacob’s Travels in the South of Spain (London, 1811).
EVENTS IN EASTERN SPAIN DURING THE SUMMER AND AUTUMN OF 1809. THE SIEGE OF GERONA BEGUN
In the spring of 1809 the theatres of operations of the two French army-corps entrusted with the reduction of Aragon and of Catalonia were still divided by a broad belt of territory which was in the hands of the Spaniards, around the fortresses of Lerida, Mequinenza, and Tortosa. Only once had communication been opened between Suchet and St. Cyr, and then the force which had crossed from Aragon into Catalonia found itself unable to return. The only way of getting a dispatch from Saragossa to Barcelona was to send it by the circuitous road through France. Co-operation between the 3rd and the 7th Corps would have been difficult in any case; but since each of the two corps-commanders was interested in his own problems alone, and found them all-absorbing, the war in Catalonia and the war in Aragon went on during 1809 and the first half of 1810 as separate affairs from the French point of view. It was otherwise with the Spaniards: Blake had been placed in command of the whole of the Coronilla, the three provinces of Valencia, Aragon, and Catalonia which had formed the ancient kingdom of Aragon. He had Suchet on his left and St. Cyr on his right, was equally interested in the operations of each, and might, so far as the rules of strategy go, have turned his main force against whichever of the two he might please, leaving a comparatively small force to ‘contain’ the other. Unfortunately he proved unable to make head against either of his adversaries. We have already seen how, in the early summer, he threw himself upon Suchet, and was beaten off at Maria and routed at Belchite. In the later months of the year it was mainly with St. Cyr that he had to deal, and his efforts were equally unsuccessful. It would seem that he found it very difficult to concentrate any preponderant portion of his troops for a blow to either side: very few battalions from Catalonia accompanied his Valencians and Aragonese to Maria: very few Valencians were brought up to aid the Catalans in the operations about Gerona. The problems of food and transport had something to do with this, but the main difficulty was that the armies of both provinces, more especially the Catalans, were essentially local levies, and disliked being drawn far from their homes. There was always some threatening danger in their own district which made them loath to leave it unguarded, while they were taken off on some distant expedition. The complaints and arguments of the Juntas, the manifest unwillingness of the officers and men, fettered the hands of the commander-in-chief, whenever he strove to accomplish a general concentration. Hence it came to pass that for the most part St. Cyr was opposed by Catalan troops only, Suchet by Valencians and Aragonese only, during the campaigns of 1809.
The tasks of the commander of the 3rd Corps in the months that followed his victories over Blake were both less interesting and less important than those imposed upon his colleague in Catalonia. They were however laborious enough; after having driven the Spanish regular armies out of Aragon, Suchet had now to tame the country-side. For even after Belchite he held little more than the towns of Saragossa and Jaca, and the ground on which his camps were pitched from day to day. When he had concentrated his corps to fight Blake, the rest of the province had slipped out of his hands. Its reconquest was a tedious matter, even though he had only to contend with scattered bands of peasants, stiffened by stragglers from the army that had dispersed after Belchite. The plain of the Ebro, which forms the central strip of Aragon, was easily subdued, but the mountains to the north and south were well fitted to be the refuge of insurgents. The Aragonese, along with the Galicians, were the first of the Spaniards to take to systematic guerrilla warfare. Undismayed by the fate of Blake’s army, they had resolved to defend themselves to the last. There was more than one focus of resistance: a colonel Renovales, who had been one of the defenders of Saragossa, and had escaped after the capitulation, was at the head of the bands of the north-western mountains, in the vale of Roncal and on the borders of Navarre. In the north-eastern region, about the upper waters of the Cinca and the hills beyond Jaca, two local chiefs named Perena and Sarasa kept the war on foot, getting their stores and ammunition from the Catalans on the side of Lerida. In an entirely distinct part of the province, south of the Ebro, lay Gayan and Villacampa, whose centres of activity were Daroca and Molina, mountain towns from which they were often driven up into that central ganglion of all the ranges of Spain, the Sierra de Albaracin, from which descend in diverging directions the sources of the Tagus, the Guadalaviar, and the Xucar. Both Gayan and Villacampa were officers of the regular army, holding commissions under Blake: the band of the former had as its nucleus the regiment of La Princesa, whose extraordinary escape across northern Spain after the combat of Santander has been told in another place.
Suchet’s work, during the later summer and the autumn of 1809, was to break up and as far as possible to destroy these bands. His success was considerable but not complete: in July he stormed Gayan’s stronghold, the mountain sanctuary of Nuestra Se?ora del Aguila, captured his magazines, and drove him up into the mountains of Molina. Continuing his campaign south of the Ebro, he sent the Pole Chlopiski against Villacampa, who abandoned Calatayud, Daroca, and the other hill towns, and retired into the Sierra de Albaracin, where he took refuge at the remote convent of El Tremendal, one of the most out-of-the-way spots in the whole Peninsula. Here, nevertheless, the partisan was followed up on Nov. 23-4 by a column under Colonel Henriot, who man?uvred him out of his position, surprised him by a night attack, and drove him over the Valencian border. The convent was blown up, the dependent village of Orihuela sacked, and the French withdrew.
These operations had been carried out by Musnier’s division; but meanwhile movements of a very similar sort were being undertaken by another division, that of Laval, on the other side of Aragon, along the slopes and gorges of the Pyrenees. In the end of August a column of 3,000 men stormed the convent of San Juan de la Pe?a, close to Jaca, which Sarasa and Renovales were wont to make their head quarters. It was an ancient building containing the tombs of the early kings of Aragon, who reigned in the mountains before Saragossa had been recovered from the Moor; it had never seen an enemy for eight hundred years, and was reputed holy and impregnable. Hence its capture dealt a severe blow to the confidence of the insurgents. Renovales, however, held out in the western upland, continuing to defend himself in the valley of Roncal, till he was beset on all sides, for Suchet had obtained leave from Paris to call up the National Guards of the Ariége, Basses Pyrénées and Haute Garonne, and their bataillons d’élite attacked the insurgents in the rear from across the high mountains, while the 3rd Corps advanced against them from the front. After much scattered fighting Renovales capitulated, on condition that he should be allowed a free departure. He retired to Catalonia with some of his men: the rest dispersed for the moment, but only to reassemble a few weeks later, under another and a more wary and obstinate chief, the younger Mina, who commenced in this same autumn to make the borders of Aragon and Navarre the theatre of his hazardous exploits. But the region was comparatively quiet in September and October, and Suchet transferred the activity of his movable column further to the eastward, where he drove some partidas out of the valleys of the Cinca and Essera, and tried to open up a new line of communication with France by way of the valley of Venasque. This was accomplished, for a moment, by the aid of national guards from beyond the Pyrenees, who entered the valley from the north while the troops of Suchet were operating from the south. But the road remained unsafe, and could only be used for the passage of very large bodies of troops, so that it was practically of little importance.
In December Suchet completed the formal conquest of Aragon, by moving up the whole of Laval’s division into the high-lying district of Teruel, in the extreme south-east of the province, the only part of it that had never yet seen the French eagles. The Junta of Aragon fled from thence over the border of the kingdom of Valencia, but Villacampa and his bands remained in the mountains unsubdued, and while they continued to exist the conquest of the upland was incomplete. The moment that its towns ceased to be held by large garrisons, it was clear that the insurgents would descend to reoccupy them. Nevertheless Suchet had done much in this year: besides the crushing of Blake he had accomplished the complete subjection of the plains of Central Aragon, and had obtained a grip upon its two mountain regions. He had fortified Monzon, Fraga, Alca?iz, and Caspe as outposts against the Catalans, and, having received large drafts from France in the autumn, was on the last day of the year at the head of a fine corps of 26,000 men, from which he might hope to produce in the next spring a field army sufficient for offensive operations against Catalonia or Valencia, after providing garrisons for his various posts of strength. The weak point of his position was that the guerrilleros had learned caution, refused for the future to fight save under the most favourable conditions, and devoted themselves to the safe and vexatious policy of intercepting communications and cutting up small parties and stragglers. They were much harder to deal with, when once they had learnt that not even in fastnesses like El Tremendal or San Juan de la Pe?a was it wise to offer the French battle. Unless Suchet left a garrison in every town, nay, in every considerable village, of the sierras, the insurgents dominated the whole region. If he did take such measures for holding down the upland, he was forced to immobilize a very large proportion of his army. We shall note that in 1810 he was only able to draw out 12,000 of his 26,000 men for the invasion of Western Catalonia.
While the commander of the 3rd Corps was making steady progress with the conquest of Aragon, the fortunes of his colleague of the 7th Corps had been far more chequered. Indeed for the greater part of 1809 St. Cyr was brought to a complete standstill by the unexpected obstinacy of the gallant garrison of Gerona, who for no less than eight months kept the main body of the army of Catalonia detained in front of their walls.
When last we dealt with the operations in this region we left St. Cyr victorious at the well-contested battle of Valls, after which he advanced into the plain of Tarragona, made some demonstrations against that fortress, but returned after a few weeks to Barcelona (March 18) without having made any serious attempt to turn his victory to practical account. This retreat after a brilliant success may be compared to Victor’s similar evacuation of Southern Estremadura after Medellin, and was brought about, in the main, by the same cause, want of supplies. For when he had consumed the resources of the newly-subdued district between Valls and Tarragona, St. Cyr had no means of providing his army with further subsistence. Barcelona, his base, could not feed him, for the city was itself on the edge of famine: it was still beset to north and west by the local miqueletes, who had returned to their old haunts when the main French army had gone off southward on the campaign of Valls. It was stringently blockaded on the sea side by the British Mediterranean fleet, and it could not draw food from France by land, because the high-road to Perpignan passed through the fortress of Gerona, which was still in Spanish hands. St. Cyr himself, it will be remembered, had only reached Barcelona by turning off on to side tracks through the mountain, and winning his way down to the shore by the hard-fought battle of Cardadeu. Till Gerona should fall, and the garrison of Barcelona be placed in direct communication with France, there was little use in making ambitious offensive movements against Tarragona or any other point in Southern or Central Catalonia. It was absolutely necessary to reduce Gerona, and so to bring the division left behind under Reille, in the Ampurdam and on the frontier of Roussillon, into free communication with the remainder of the 7th Corps. From the moment when St. Cyr passed the mountains during the winter Reille had been fighting out a petty campaign against the northern Catalans, which had no connexion whatever with his superior’s operations at Molins de Rey and Valls, and had little definite result of any kind.
No one saw more clearly than Napoleon the need for the reduction of Gerona: as early as January he had issued orders both to St. Cyr and to Reille to prepare for the enterprise. But St. Cyr was now out of touch, and Reille was far too weak in the early spring to dream of any such an adventure: he had been left no more than seven depleted battalions to maintain his hold on Northern Catalonia, when St. Cyr took the rest of the army across the hills to Barcelona. The Emperor was not slow to realize that the 7th Corps must be reinforced on a large scale. He did so by sending thither in the spring of 1809 a brigade of Berg troops (four battalions), the regiment of Würzburg (two battalions), and a division (seven battalions) of Westphalians: it will be noted that now, as always, he was most chary of drafting native French troops to Catalonia, and always fed the war in that direction with auxiliaries in whose fate he was little interested: the campaign in eastern Spain was, after all, but a side issue in the main struggle. When these reinforcements had arrived Reille began to collect material at Bascara on the Fluvia, to which siege-guns laboriously dragged across the Pyrenees were added: several companies of heavy artillery and sappers were brought up from France.
St. Cyr meanwhile, four weeks after his retreat from the plain of Tarragona, moved on to Vich upon April 18, with the divisions of Souham, Pino, Lecchi, and Chabot, leaving Duhesme with his original French division, which had held Barcelona since the outbreak of the war, in charge of his base of operations. His departure was partly designed to spare the stores of Barcelona, where the pinch of famine was beginning to be felt; for he intended to subsist his army on the upland plain of Vich, a rich corn-bearing district hitherto untouched by the war. But a few days after he had marched forth Barcelona was freed from privation, by the lucky arrival of a squadron of victuallers from Toulon, convoyed by Admiral Cosmao, which had put to sea in a storm and eluded the British blockading squadron (April 27). The position of Vich, however, had been chosen by St. Cyr not only for reasons of supply, but because the place was happily situated for covering the projected siege of Gerona against any interruption by Blake. If the Spanish commander-in-chief brought up the wrecks of the old Catalan army from Tarragona, with his Valencian levies added, he would almost certainly take the inland road by Manresa and Vich, since the coast-road was practically barred to him by the French occupation of Barcelona. As a matter of fact the commencement of the leaguer of Gerona was not vexed by any such interruption, for Blake had his eyes fixed on Saragossa in May and June, and was so far from dreaming of an assault on St. Cyr, that he drew off part of the Catalan army for his unhappy invasion of Aragon, which finished with the disaster of Belchite. During the early months of this long siege the only external helpers of the garrison of Gerona were the small force of regulars under the Swiss Wimpfen, and the miqueletes of Claros and Rovira from the Ampurdam, Reille’s opponents during the spring. At Tarragona the Marquis of Coupigny, the senior officer now in Catalonia, had no more than 6,000 men left of Reding’s old army, and was helpless to interfere with St. Cyr who had some 20,000 men concentrated at Vich.
The preparations for the siege therefore went on in the end of April and the beginning of May without any hindrance, save from the normal bickerings of the French outlying detachments with the local somatenes, which never ceased. Around Vich matters were particularly lively, for the whole population of the town and the surrounding plains had gone up into the hills, where they wandered miserably for three months, much hunted by French foraging parties, which they occasionally succeeded in destroying. St. Cyr opened up his communications with Reille by sending to him Lecchi’s Italian division, which cut its way amid constant skirmishes along the banks of the Ter to Gerona, and met the troops from the Ampurdam under its walls. Reille had moved forth from Bascara on May 4, and on the eighth expelled the Spanish outposts from all the villages round the fortress, not without some lively skirmishing. He had brought up some 10,000 infantry—including his own old division and all the newly arrived Germans—with some 1,300 artillerymen and engineers. Almost at the same moment arrived dispatches from Paris, announcing that the Emperor, just before departing for the Austrian war, had superseded both St. Cyr and Reille, being discontented with their handling of affairs in Catalonia. It is unfortunate that no statement in detail of his reasons appears in the Correspondance, but it would seem that he thought that the victories of Molins de Rey and Valls should have had greater results, disapproved of St. Cyr’s retreat from in front of Tarragona, and thought that Reille had shown great weakness in dealing with the insurgents of the Ampurdam. He ignored the special difficulties of the war in Catalonia, thinking that the 30,000 men of the 7th Corps ought to have sufficed for its complete conquest. Indeed he showed his conception of the general state of affairs by recommending St. Cyr in March to undertake simultaneously the sieges of Gerona, Tarragona, and Tortosa. The leaguer of one, and that the smallest, of these places was destined to occupy the whole army of Catalonia, when largely reinforced, for eight months. If it had been cut up according to the imperial mandate, it is probable that at least one of its sections would have been destroyed. St. Cyr wrote in his memoirs that his master was jealous of him, and wished to see him fail, even at the cost of wrecking the 7th Corps. This is of course absurd; but there can be no doubt that the Emperor disliked his lieutenant, all the more because of the long string of complaints, and of demands for more men, money, and stores, which he was now receiving week by week from Catalonia. He loved generals who achieved the impossible, and hated grumblers and frondeurs, a class to which St. Cyr, despite all his talents, undoubtedly belonged. It is possible that Napoleon’s determination to replace him may have been fostered by intrigues on the part of the officer to whom the 7th Corps was now turned over. Marshal Augereau had served with great credit in the old republican campaign in Catalonia during 1793 and 1794, imagined himself to have a profound knowledge of the country, and was anxious to try his hand in it. It was many years since he had been trusted with an independent command; both in the wars of 1806-7 and in that of 1809 he had been lost in the ranks of the Grand Army. His nomination to supersede St. Cyr was made early in May, but on his way to the seat of war he was seized with a fit of the gout, and was detained in bed at Perpignan for many weeks. Thus his predecessor, though apprised of his disgrace, was obliged to continue in command, and to commence the operations of which the Marshal, as he well knew, would take all the credit. At the same moment Reille was displaced by Verdier, the general who had conducted the first unlucky siege of Saragossa—an experience which seems to have made him very cautious when dealing with Spaniards behind walls.
Lecchi’s division forced its way back to St. Cyr on May 18, bringing him the intelligence of his supersession, but at the same time apprising him that Augereau would not arrive as yet, and that the duty of commencing the siege of Gerona would still fall to his lot. At the same time Verdier sent letters urging that his 10,000 infantry formed too small a force to surround such a large fortress, and that he must ask for reinforcements from the covering army. If they were denied him, he should refuse to begin the siege, throwing the responsibility for this disobedience of the Emperor’s commands on his superior: he had reported the situation to Paris. St. Cyr was incensed at the tone of this dispatch, above all at the fact that Verdier was appealing straight to the Emperor, instead of corresponding through his hierarchical superior, according to the rules of military etiquette. But he saw that Verdier had a good case, and he had just learnt that Blake had turned off against Aragon, so that no trouble from that quarter need be feared. Accordingly he, very grudgingly, sent back Lecchi’s division to Gerona. It was the worst that he possessed, being composed of no more than four Neapolitan and three Italian battalions, with a strength of little over 3,000 bayonets. He added to it a regiment of Italian light horse, several of his own batteries, and nearly all the engineers and sappers of his corps, so that the total reinforcement sent to Verdier consisted of more than 4,000 men.
Having received these succours, which brought up his total force to 14,000 infantry and cavalry, and 2,200 artillerymen, sappers and engineers, Verdier commenced on May 24 his operations against Gerona: on that day Lecchi’s division took its post in the plain of Salt, on the west of the town, while the French and Westphalian divisions were already close to the place on its eastern and northern sides. The head quarters and the French brigades of Joba and Guillot lay by Sarria and the bridge of Pont-Mayor, where the magazines were established, while the Germans had been sent up on to the heights east of the fortress and held the plateaux of Campdura, San Medir, and Domeny. The rocky southern side of Gerona, in the direction of the gorge of the O?a, was not yet properly invested.
Something has already been said, in an earlier volume of this work, concerning the situation of Gerona, when its two earlier sieges by Duhesme were narrated. It must suffice to repeat here that the town is built on the steep down-slope of two lofty heights, with the river O?a at its foot: the stream is crossed by two bridges, but is fordable everywhere save in times of spate. Beyond it lies the suburb of the Mercadal, surrounded by fortifications which form an integral part of the defences of the city. The river Ter, coming from the west, joins the O?a at the north side of the Mercadal and washes the extreme north-western corner of the walls of the city proper. The two heights upon whose lower slopes Gerona is built are separated from each other by a deep ravine, called the Galligan, down which run an intermittent watercourse and a road, the only one by which approach to the city from the east is possible. The northern height is crowned by the strong fort of Monjuich, the most formidable part of the city defences, with its three outlying redoubts called San Narciso, San Luis and San Daniel. The crest of the southern height is covered in a similar fashion by the three forts of the Capuchins, Queen Anne, and the Constable, with the Calvary redoubt lower down the slope above the Galligan, facing San Daniel on the other side of the ravine. Two other small fortifications, the redoubts of the ‘Chapter’ and the ‘City,’ cover the path which leads down from the forts to Gerona. Neither the Monjuich nor the Capuchin heights are isolated hills; each is the end of a spur running down from the higher mountains. But while the southern summit rises high above the hilly reach which joins it to the mountain of Nuestra Se?ora de los Angeles, the northern summit (where lies Monjuich) is at the end of a plateau extending far to the north. The Capuchin heights, therefore, can only be attacked uphill, while Monjuich can be assailed from ground of a level little inferior to itself. But except on this point both heights are very strong, their slopes being in many places absolutely precipitous, especially towards the Galligan, and everywhere steep. Nevertheless there are winding paths leading up both, from Sarria and Pont-Mayor in the case of Monjuich, from Casa de Selva and other villages towards the east and the sea in the case of the Capuchin heights. All the ground is bare rock, with no superincumbent soil.
All the fortifications were somewhat antiquated in type, nothing having been done to modernize the defences since the war of the Spanish Succession. Ferdinand VI and Charles III had neglected Gerona in favour of the new fortress of Figueras, nearer to the frontier, on which large sums had been expended—for the benefit of the French who seized it by treachery in 1808, and were now using it as their base of operations. The actual wall of enceinte of the city was mediaeval—a plain rampart twenty-five feet high, too narrow for artillery and set thickly with small towers; only at its two ends, on the O?a and the Ter, two bastions (called those of La Merced and Santa Maria) had been inserted, and properly armed. This weakness of the walls went for little so long as Monjuich, the Capuchins, and the other forts held firm, since the enemy could only approach the town-enceinte at its two ends, where the bastions lay. Far more dangerous was the feebleness of the Mercadal, whose ramparts formed the southern section of the exterior defences of the place. Its circuit had five plain bastions, but no demi-lunes or other outer defences, no covered way nor counterscarp: its profile, only some eighteen or twenty feet high, was visible, across the flat ground which surrounds it, from the foot to the summit of the wall, for want of ditch or glacis. The ground leading up to it was favourable for siege approaches, since the soil was soft and easy to dig, and was seamed with hollow roads and stone walls, giving much cover to an assailant. Aware of the defects of the fortifications of the Mercadal, the Spaniards had prepared a line of defence behind it, along the further bank of the O?a. They had made the river-front of the city proper defensible to a certain extent, by building up the doors and windows of all the houses which abut upon the water, mining the two bridges, and fixing a stockade and entanglements in the bed of the O?a, along the considerable space, where it is fordable in dry weather. They had indeed repaired the whole circuit of the defences since Duhesme’s sieges of 1808, having cleared out the ditches of Monjuich and of the bastions of La Merced and Santa Maria, walled up many posterns, and repaired with new and solid masonry all the parts of the walls that had been dilapidated at the moment of the first siege. They had also pulled down many isolated houses outside the walls, and demolished the nearer half of the suburban village of Pedret, which lies (most inconveniently for the defence) along the bank of the Ter between the water and the slopes of Monjuich.
All these precautions must be put to the credit of the governor, Mariano Alvarez de Castro, a man to be mentioned with all honour and respect, and probably the best soldier that Spain produced during the whole Peninsular War. He was a veteran of the Revolutionary and Portuguese wars, and had a good reputation, but no special credit for military science, down to the moment when he was put to the test. He had been the officer in charge of the castle of Barcelona on the occasion when it was seized by Duhesme in March 1808: his spirit had been deeply wounded by that vile piece of treachery, and he had at once adhered to the national cause. Since then he had been serving in the Ampurdam against Reille, till the moment when he was appointed governor of Gerona. Alvarez is described by those who served under him as a severe, taciturn man of a puritan cast of mind. ‘I should call him,’ wrote one of his brigadiers, ‘an officer without the true military talents, but with an extreme confidence in Providence—almost, one might say, a believer in miracles. His soul was great, capable of every sacrifice, full of admirable constancy; but I must confess that his heroism always seemed to me that of a Christian martyr rather than of a professional soldier.’ General Fournas, who wrote this somewhat depreciatory sketch of his chief, was one of those who signed the capitulation while Alvarez was moaning no quiero rendirme on his sick-bed, so that his judgement is hardly to be taken as unprejudiced; but his words point the impression which the governor left on his subordinates. The details of his defence sufficiently show that he was a skilful and resourceful as well as an obstinate general. His minute care to utilize every possible means of defence prove that he was no mere waiter on miracles. That he was a very devout practising Catholic is evident from some of his doings; at the opening of the siege a great religious ceremony was held, at which the local patron saint, Narcissus, was declared captain of the city and presented with a gold-hilted sword. The levy en masse of the citizens was called ‘the Crusade,’ and their badge was the red cross. The ideas of religion and patriotism were so closely intertwined that to the lay companies of this force were afterwards added two clerical companies, one composed of monks and friars, the other of secular priests: about 200 of these ecclesiastics were under arms. Even the women were organized in squads for the transport of wounded, the care of the hospitals, and the carrying of provisions to the soldiery on the walls: about 300 served, under the command of Donna Lucia Fitzgerald and Donna Maria Angela Bibern, wives of two officers of the regiment of Ultonia. Five of this ‘company of St. Barbara’ were killed and eleven wounded during the siege.
The garrison at the moment of Verdier’s first attack consisted of about 5,700 men, not including the irregulars of the Crusade. There were seven battalions of the old army, belonging to the regiments of Ultonia, Borbon, and Voluntarios de Barcelona, with three battalions of miqueletes, two local corps, 1st and 2nd of Gerona, and the 1st of Vich. Of cavalry there was a single squadron, newly levied, the ‘escuadron de San Narciso.’ Of artillery there were but 278 men, a wholly insufficient number: the officers of that arm were given 370 more to train, partly miqueletes of the 2nd Gerona battalion, partly sailors having some small experience of gunnery. It was difficult to make proper use of the great store of cannon in the fortress, when more than half the troops allotted to them had never before seen, much less served, a heavy gun of position. To the above 5,700 men of all arms must be added about 1,100 irregulars of the ‘Crusade’—seven lay and two clerical companies of fusiliers and two more of artificers. But these were set to guard almost unapproachable parts of the wall, or held in reserve: most of the stress fell upon the organized troops. The defence was altogether conducted on scientific principles, and had nothing in common with that of Saragossa. Here the irregulars formed only a small fraction of the garrison, and were never hurled in senseless fury against the French batteries, but used carefully and cautiously as an auxiliary force, capable of setting free some part of the trained men for service on the more important points of the enceinte.
For the first two months of the siege Alvarez received no help whatever from without: in May the central government of Catalonia had been left in a perfectly paralysed condition, when Blake went off himself and took with him the best of the regular troops, in order to engage in the campaign of Alca?iz and Maria. Coupigny, the interim commander at Tarragona, had only 6,000 organized men, and he and the Catalan provincial junta were during that month much engrossed with an enterprise which distracted them from the needs of Gerona. A wide-spread conspiracy had been formed within the walls of Barcelona, with the object of rising against the garrison in St. Cyr’s absence. A secret committee of priests, merchants, and retired officers had collected all the arms in the city, smuggled in many muskets from without, and enlisted several thousand persons in a grand design for an outbreak and a sort of ‘Sicilian Vespers’ fixed—after two postponements—for the 11th of May. They opened communication with Coupigny and with the captains of the British frigates blockading the port. The one was to bring his troops to the gates, the others to deliver an attack on the port, upon the appointed night. No Spaniard betrayed the plot, though 6,000 citizens are said to have been in the secret, but it was frustrated by two foreigners. Conscious that the town could not be freed if the citadel of Monjuich was retained by the French, the conspirators sounded two Italian officers named Captain Dottori, fort adjutant of Monjuich, and Captain Provana, who was known to be discontented and thought to be corruptible. They offered them an immense bribe—1,000,000 dollars, it is said—to betray the postern of Monjuich to the troops of Coupigny, who were to be ready in the ditch at midnight. But they had mistaken their men: the officers conferred with Duhesme, and consented to act as agents provocateurs: they pretended to join the conspiracy, were introduced to and had interviews with the chiefs, and informed the governor. On the morning before the appointed date many of the leaders were arrested. Duhesme placed guards in every street, and proclaimed that he knew all. The citizens remained quiet in their despair, the chiefs who had not been seized fled, and the troops on the Llobregat retired to Tarragona. Duhesme hanged his captives, two priests named Gallifa and Pou, a young merchant named Massana, Navarro an old soldier, and four others. ‘They went to the gallows,’ says Vacani, an eye-witness, ‘with pride, convinced every one of them that they had done the duty of good citizens in behalf of king, country, and religion.’
Engrossed in this plot, the official chiefs of Catalonia half forgot Gerona, and did nothing to help Alvarez till long after the siege had begun. The only assistance that he received from without was that the miqueletes and somatenes of the Ampurdam and the mountain region above Hostalrich were always skirmishing with Verdier’s outposts, and once or twice cut off his convoys of munitions on their way from Figueras to the front.
The French engineers were somewhat at variance as to the right way to deal with Gerona. There were two obvious alternatives. An attack on the weak front of the Mercadal was certain to succeed: the ground before the walls was suitable for trenches, and the fortifications were trifling. But when a lodgement had been made in this quarter of the town it would be necessary to work forward, among the narrow lanes and barricades, to the O?a, and then to cross that river in order to continue similar operations through the streets of Gerona. Even when the city had been subdued, the garrison might still hold out in the formidable works on the Monjuich and Capuchin heights. The reduction of the Mercadal and the city, moreover, would have to be carried out under a continuous plunging fire from the forts above, which overlooked the whole place. This danger was especially insisted upon by some of the engineer officers, who declared that it would be impossible for the troops to work their way forward over ground so exposed. As a matter of fact it was proved, after the siege was over and the forts had been examined by the captors, that this fear had been exaggerated; the angle of fire was such that large sections of the town were in no way commanded from the heights, and the streets could not have been searched in the fashion that was imagined. But this, obvious in December, could not have been known in May. The second alternative was to commence the attack on Gerona not from the easiest but from the most difficult side, by battering the lofty fort of Monjuich from the high plateau beside it. The defences here were very formidable: the ground was bare exposed rock: but if Monjuich were once captured it was calculated that the town must surrender, as it was completely overlooked by the fort, and had no further protection save its antiquated mediaeval wall. The deduction that it would be cheaper in the end to begin with the difficult task of taking Monjuich, rather than the easier operations against the Mercadal, seemed plausible: its fault was that it presupposed that Alvarez and his garrison would behave according to the accepted rules of siegecraft, and yield when their situation became hopeless. But in dealing with Spanish garrisons the rules of military logic did not always act. Alvarez essayed the impossible, and held out behind his defective defences for four months after Monjuich fell. The loss of men and time that he thereby inflicted on the French was certainly no less than that which would have been suffered if the besiegers had begun with the Mercadal, and worked upwards by incessant street fighting towards the forts on the height. But it is hard to say that Verdier erred: he did not know his adversary, and he did know, from his experiences at Saragossa, what street fighting meant.
It may be added that Verdier’s views were accepted by the engineer-general, Sanson, who had been specially sent from France by the Emperor, to give his opinion on the best mode of procedure. The document which Verdier, Sanson, and Taviel (the commanding artillery officer of the 7th Corps) sent to Paris, to justify their choice of the upper point of attack, lays stress mainly on the impossibility of advancing from the Mercadal under the fire of the upper forts. But there were other reasons for selecting Monjuich as the point of attack. It lay far nearer to the road to France and the central siege-dép?ts beside Sarria and the Pont Mayor. The approaches would be over highly defensible ground where, if a disaster occurred, the defeated assailant could easily recover himself and oppose a strong front to the enemy. The shortness of the front was suitable for an army of the moderate strength of 14,000 men, which had to deal with a fortress whose perimeter, allowing for outlying forts and inaccessible precipices, was some six miles. Moreover, the ground in front of the Mercadal had the serious inconvenience of being liable to inundation; summer spates on the Ter and O?a are rare, but occur from time to time; and there was the bare chance that when the trenches had been opened all might be swept away by the rivers.
Verdier’s opinion was arrived at after mature reflection: the French had appeared in front of Gerona on May 8: the outlying villages on the east had been occupied between the twelfth and eighteenth: Lecchi’s Italians had closed the western exits by occupying the plain of Salt on the twenty-fourth: the inner posts of observation of the Spaniards had been cleared off when, on May 30, the Italians seized the suburban village of Santa Eugenia, and on June 1 the Germans took possession of the mountain of Nuestra Se?ora de los Angeles. But it was only on June 6 that the besiegers broke ground, and commenced their trenches and batteries on the plateau of Monjuich. It was necessary to make a beginning by subduing the outer defences of the fort, the towers or redoubts of San Luis, San Narciso, and San Daniel: two batteries of 24-pounders were constructed against them, while a third battery of mortars on the ‘Green Mound’ by the Casa den Roca on the west bank of the Ter, was to play upon the north end of the town: Verdier hoped that the bombardment would break the spirit of the citizens—little knowing the obstinate people with whom he had to deal. Five thousand bombs thrown into the place in June and July produced no effect whatever. More batteries on the heights were thrown up upon the 13th and 15th of June, while on the former day, to distract the attention of the Spaniards, Lecchi’s division, in the plain below, was ordered to open a false attack upon the Mercadal. This had good effect as a diversion, since Alvarez had expected an assault in this quarter, and the long line of trenches thrown up by the Italians in front of Santa Eugenia attracted much of his attention. Three days of battering greatly damaged San Luis and San Narciso, which were no more than round towers of masonry with ditches cut in the rock, and only two or three guns apiece. The French also took possession on the night of the fourteenth and fifteenth of the remains of the half-destroyed suburb of Pedret, between Monjuich and the Ter, as if about to establish themselves in a position from which they could attack the low-lying north gate of the town and the bastion of Santa Maria.
Hitherto the defence had seemed a little passive, but at dawn on the morning of the seventeenth Alvarez delivered the first of the many furious sallies which he made against the siege lines. A battalion of Ultonia rushed suddenly down-hill out of Monjuich and drove the French, who were taken completely by surprise, out of the ruins of Pedret. Aided by a smaller detachment, including the artificers of the Crusade, who came out of the Santa Maria gate, they destroyed all the works and lodgements of the besiegers in the suburb, and held it till they were driven out by two French and one Westphalian battalion sent up from Verdier’s reserves. The Spaniards were forced back into the town, but retired in good order, contented to have undone three days of the besiegers’ labour. They had lost 155 men, the French 128, in this sharp skirmish.
Two days later the towers of San Luis and San Narciso, which had been reduced to shapeless heaps of stone, were carried by assault, with a loss to the French of only 78 men; but an attempt to carry San Daniel by the same rush was beaten off, this redoubt being still in a tenable state. Its gorge, however, was completely commanded from the ruins of San Luis, and access to or exit from it was rendered so dangerous that Alvarez withdrew its garrison on the next night. The possession of these three outworks brought the French close up to Monjuich, which they could now attack from ground which was favourable in every respect, save that it was bare rock lacking soil. It was impossible to excavate in it, and all advances had to be made by building trenches (if the word is not a misnomer in this case) of sandbags and loose stones on the surface of the ground. The men working at the end of the sap were therefore completely exposed, and the work could only proceed at a great expense of life. Nevertheless the preparations advanced rapidly, and on the night of July 2 an enormous battery of sandbags (called the Batterie Impériale) was thrown up at a distance of only four hundred yards from Monjuich. Next morning it opened on the fort with twenty 16- and 24-pounders, and soon established a superiority over the fire of the defence. Several Spanish pieces were dismounted, others had to be removed because it was too deadly to serve them. But a steady fire was returned against the besiegers from the Constable and Calvary forts, on the other side of the Galligan ravine. Nevertheless Monjuich began to crumble, and it looked as if the end of the siege were already approaching. On July 3 there was a breach thirty-five feet broad in the fort’s north-eastern bastion, and the Spanish flag which floated over it was thrown down into the ditch by a chance shot. A young officer named Montorro climbed down, brought it up, and nailed it to a new flagstaff under the fire of twenty guns. Meanwhile long stretches of the parapet of Monjuich were ruined, the ditch was half-filled with débris, and the garrison could only protect themselves by hasty erections of gabions and sandbags, placed where the crest of the masonry had stood.
By this time St. Cyr and the covering army had abandoned the position in the plain of Vich which they had so long occupied. The general had, as it seems, convinced himself at last that Blake, who was still engaged in his unlucky Aragonese campaign, was not likely to appear. He therefore moved nearer to Gerona, in order to repress the efforts of the local somatenes, who were giving much trouble to Verdier’s communications. On June 20 he established his head quarters at Caldas de Malavella, some nine miles to the south-east of Gerona. That same evening one of his Italian brigades intercepted and captured a convoy of 1,200 oxen which the Governor of Hostalrich was trying to introduce into the beleaguered city along one of the mountain-paths which lead to the Capuchin heights from the coast. St. Cyr strung out his 14,000 men in a line from San Feliu de Guixols on the sea to the upper Ter, in a semicircle which covered all the approaches to Gerona saving those from the Ampurdam. He visited Verdier’s camp, inspected the siege operations, and expressed his opinion that an attack on the Mercadal front would have been preferable to that which had been actually chosen. But he washed his hands of all responsibility, told Verdier that, since he had chosen to correspond directly with Paris, he must take all the praise or blame resulting from his choice, and refused to countermand or to alter any of his subordinate’s dispositions. On July 2 however he sent, with some lack of logic, a summons of his own to Alvarez, inviting him to surrender on account of the desperate state of his defences: this he did without informing Verdier of his move. The Governor returned an indignant negative, and Verdier wrote in great wrath to complain that if the siege was his affair, as he had just been told, it was monstrous that his commander should correspond with the garrison without his knowledge. The two generals were left on even worse terms than before. St. Cyr, however, gave real assistance to the siege operations at this time by storming, on July 5, the little fortified harbour-town of Palamos, which lies on the point of the sea-coast nearest to Gerona, and had been hitherto used by the miqueletes as a base from which they communicated by night with the fortress, and at the same time kept in touch with Tarragona and the English ships of the blockading squadron.
On the night of the 4th and 5th of July the defences of Monjuich appeared in such a ruinous condition that Commandant Fleury, the engineer officer in charge of the advanced parallel, took the extraordinary and unjustifiable step of assaulting them at 10 p.m. with the troops—two companies only—which lay under his orders, trusting that the whole of the guards of the trenches would follow if he made a lodgement. This presumptuous attack, made contrary to all the rules of military subordination, was beaten off with a loss of forty men. Its failure made Verdier determine to give the fort three days more of continuous bombardment, before attempting to storm it: the old batteries continued their fire, a new one was added to enfilade the north-western bastion, and cover was contrived at several points to shelter the troops which were to deliver the assault, till the actual moment of the storm arrived. But three hundred yards of exposed ground still separated the front trenches from the breach—a distance far too great according to the rules of siegecraft. The Spaniards meanwhile, finding it impossible under such a fire to block the breach, which was now broad enough for fifty men abreast, threw up two walls of gabions on each side of it, sank a ditch filled with chevaux-de-frise in front of it, and loopholed some interior buildings of the fort, which bore upon its reverse side.
Monjuich, however, looked in a miserable state when, just before sunrise on July 7, Verdier launched his columns of assault upon it. He had collected for the purpose the grenadier and voltigeur companies of each of the twenty French, German, and Italian battalions of the besieging army, about 2,500 men in all. They were divided into two columns, the larger of which went straight at the breach, while the smaller, which was furnished with ladders, was directed to escalade the left face of the demi-lune which covers the northern front of Monjuich. The troops passed with no great loss over the open space which divided them from the work, as its guns had all been silenced, and the fire from the more distant forts was ineffective in the dusk. But when they got within close musketry range they began to fall fast; the head of the main column, which was composed of some sapper companies and the Italian Velites of the Guard, got up on to the face of the breach, but could never break in. Every officer or man who reached the cutting and its chevaux-de-frise was shot down; the concentric fire of the defenders so swept the opening that nothing could live there. Meanwhile the rear of the column was brought to a stand, partly in, partly outside, the ditch. The Spaniards kept playing upon it with musketry and two or three small 2- and 4-pounders, which had been kept under cover and reserved for that purpose, firing canister into it at a distance of twenty or thirty yards. Flesh and blood could not bear this for long, and the whole mass broke and went to the rear. Verdier, who had come out to the Batterie Impériale to view the assault, had the men rallied and sent forward a second time: the head of the column again reached the breach, and again withered away: the supporting mass gave way at once, and fell back much more rapidly than on the first assault. Yet the General, most unwisely, insisted on a third attack, which, made feebly and without conviction, by men who knew that they were beaten, only served to increase the casualty list. Meanwhile the escalade of the demi-lune by the smaller column had been repelled with ease: the assailants barely succeeded in crossing the ditch and planting a few ladders against the scarp: no one survived who tried to mount them, and the troops drew off.
This bloody repulse cost the French 1,079 casualties, including seventy-seven officers killed or wounded—much more than a third of the troops engaged. It is clear, therefore, that it was not courage which had been lacking: nor could it be said that the enemy’s artillery fire had not been subdued, nor that the breach was insufficient, nor that the 300 yards of open ground crossed by the column had been a fatal obstacle; indeed, they had been passed with little loss. The mistake of Verdier had been that he attacked before the garrison was demoralized—the same error made by the English at Badajoz in 1811 and at San Sebastian in 1813. A broad breach by itself does not necessarily make a place untenable, if the spirit of the defenders is high, and if they are prepared with all the resources of the military art for resisting the stormers, as were the Geronese on July 7-8. The garrison lost, it may be remarked, only 123 men, out of a strength of 787 present in the fort that morning. The casualty list, however, was somewhat increased by the accidental explosion, apparently by a careless gunner, of the magazine of the tower of San Juan, alongside of the Galligan, which was destroyed with its little garrison of twenty-five men.
The repulse of the assault of Monjuich thoroughly demoralized the besieging army: the resistance of the Spaniards had been so fierce, the loss they had inflicted so heavy, that Verdier’s motley collection of French, German, Lombard, and Neapolitan regiments lost heart and confidence. Their low spirits were made manifest by the simultaneous outbreak of desertion and disease, the two inevitable marks of a decaying morale. All through the second half of July and August the hospitals grew gradually fuller, not only from sunstroke cases (which were frequent on the bare, hot, rocky ground of the heights), but from dysentery and malaria. The banks of the Ter always possessed a reputation for epidemics—twice in earlier centuries a French army had perished before the walls of Gerona by plagues, which the citizens piously attributed to their patron, San Narciso. It was mainly because he realized the depression of his troops that Verdier refrained from any more assaults, and went on from July 9 to August 4 battering Monjuich incessantly, while he cautiously pushed forward his trenches, till they actually reached the ditch of the demi-lune which covers the northern front of the fort. The garrison was absolutely overwhelmed by the incessant bombardment, which destroyed every piece of upstanding masonry, and prevented them from rebuilding anything that was demolished. They were forced to lurk in the casemates, and to burrow for shelter in the débris which filled the interior of the work. Three large breaches had been made at various points, yet Verdier would never risk another assault, till on August 4 his approaches actually crowned the lip of the ditch of the demi-lune, and his sappers had blown in its counterscarp. The ruined little outwork was then stormed with a loss of only forty men. This put the French in the possession of good cover only a few yards from the main body of the fort. Proceeding with the same caution as before, they made their advances against Monjuich by mining: on the night of the 8th-9th August no less than twenty-three mines under the glacis of the fort were exploded simultaneously. This left a gaping void in front of the original breach of July 7, and filled up the ditch with débris for many yards on either side: part of the interior of the fort was clearly visible from the besiegers’ trenches.
Only one resource for saving Monjuich remained to Alvarez—a sortie for the expulsion of the enemy from their advanced works. It was executed with great courage at midday on August 9, while at the same time separate demonstrations to distract the enemy were made at two other points. The column from Monjuich had considerable success; it stormed two advanced batteries, spiked their guns, and set fire to their gabions; the French were cleared out of many of their trenches, but made head behind one of the rear batteries, where they were joined by their reserves, who finally thrust back the sallying force into the fort. The damage done, though considerable, could be repaired in a day. Verdier gave orders for the storm of the dilapidated fort on the night of August 11, and borrowed a regiment from St. Cyr’s covering army to lead the assault, being still very doubtful of the temper of his own troops. But at six on the preceding afternoon an explosion was heard in Monjuich, and great part of its battered walls flew up into the air. The Spaniards had quietly evacuated it a few minutes before, after preparing mines for its demolition. The French, when they entered, found nothing but a shapeless mass of stones and eighteen disabled cannon. The garrison had lost, in the sixty-five days of its defence, 962 men killed and wounded; the besiegers had, first and last, suffered something like three times this loss.
While the bombardment of Monjuich was going on, the Spanish generals outside the fortress had at last begun to make serious efforts for its assistance. Not only had the somatenes redoubled their activity against Verdier’s convoys, and several times succeeded in destroying them or turning them back, but Coupigny had at last begun to move, for he saw that since Blake’s rout at Belchite on June 18 he, and he alone, possessed an organized body of troops on this side of Spain, small though it was. Unable to face St. Cyr in the field, he tried at least to throw succours into Gerona by the mountain paths from the south, if he could do no more. The first attempt was disastrous: three battalions started from Hostalrich under an English adventurer, Ralph Marshall, whom Alvarez had suggested for the command of this expedition. They evaded the first line of the covering army, but at Castellar, on July 10, ran into the very centre of Pino’s division, which had concentrated from all sides for their destruction. Marshall escaped into Gerona with no more than twelve men: 40 officers and 878 rank and file laid down their arms; the rest of the column, some 600 or 700 men, evaded surrender by dispersion.
Equally disastrous, though on a smaller scale, was another attempt made on August 4 by a party of 300 miqueletes to enter Gerona: they eluded St. Cyr, but on arriving at the entry of the Galligan, close under the forts, made the unfortunate mistake of entering the convent of San Daniel, which the garrison had been compelled to evacuate a few days before. It was now in the French lines, and the Catalans were all taken prisoners. It was not till August 17, six days after the fall of Monjuich, that Alvarez obtained his first feeble reinforcement: the miquelete battalion of Cervera, with a draft for that of Vich already in the garrison, altogether 800 bayonets, got into the city on the west side, by eluding Lecchi’s Italians in the plain and fording the Ter. They were much needed, for Alvarez was complaining to the Catalan Junta that he had now only 1,500 able-bodied men left of his original 5,000.
Verdier had written to his master, after the capture of Monjuich, to announce that Gerona must infallibly surrender within eight or ten days, now that it had nothing but an antiquated mediaeval wall to oppose to his cannon. So far, however, was he from being a true prophet that, as a matter of fact, the second and longer episode of the siege, which was to be protracted far into the winter, had only just begun.