The Confrontation at Salamanca

by Geoffrey Watson

  This ill-considered flaunting of guerrilla strength had brought out so many ifs for consideration that MacKay’s smile vanished as if it had never been.

  He thought about the ‘if onlys’ briefly. If only they had not advertised their presence, the Hornets might have used their climbing skills before dawn and captured one of the gates to let the guerrilleros in. If only they had a couple of siege guns they could spend a couple of weeks knocking a breach in the walls before trying an assault.

  ‘If onlys’ were entirely wishful thinking and they hadn’t happened. He got on with thinking about the ifs.

  If he left the guerrilleros to seal off the town, he could take C and D Companies to join Algy and deal with Gijón. It ought not to take too long with the help of a battalion of marines from Cockburn’s squadron.

  The idea had merit, but without the presence of the Hornets, the guerrilleros simply could not stand against a thousand French veterans, garrison troops or not. A couple of battalions of seasoned troops escaping to swell the ranks of Dorsenne’s army would be more value to the French than if they had remained penned in Oviedo.

  If he kept the Hornets around the town and sent the partidas east to find out where the French were concentrating, it might panic General Dorsenne into sending a relief force. That would surely fulfil the instruction to keep him too occupied to spare any troops for Marmont and would pave the way for Popham’s later attacks from the sea.

  Perhaps it would, but MacKay doubted that the guerrilleros would be prepared to put themselves into a position that had French troops both in front and in their rear. By this stage of the struggle, they had all developed a fine instinct for self-preservation.

  He shrugged his shoulders and sent a message back to Cholmondeley, asking him to take whatever independent action was appropriate to secure Gijón. If he needed help, his first call was on Cockburn’s marines; if desperate he could spare him C Company.

  After that, he sat down and prayed that the garrison of Oviedo would decide to come out and deal with the despised guerrilleros, without realising that the Hornets were also present.

  * * *

  The last time Algy Chumley had looked down from the sea cliffs into Gijón, he had been in command of three of the four platoons of A Company, a total then of about ninety men. The French garrison at that time had been two or three thousand men.

  MacKay had sent B Company to make trouble farther east and had decided that there was little chance of achieving anything effective at Gijón against such odds.

  He was about to withdraw when a French frigate escorting the monthly supply ship, a lugger, had entered the harbour with a captured British brig-of-war.

  Of course, this could not be tolerated, given that the Admiralty was the paymaster of the Hornets. A daring raid cut out all three vessels and released the crew of the brig. Algy was briefly in command of three powerful naval craft until they reached El Ferrol.

  Before the cutting out, it had been necessary to capture the battery of great guns that dominated the approaches to the harbour. Lieutenant Mitchell had led his platoon up to the emplacement cut into the cliffs and rendered them harmless.

  In the two years since then, the battery had been rebuilt and increased to six guns. Not only that, but the emplacement had become a substantial little fort and the track leading up to it was no longer a simple track, but a series of defensive redoubts that could be carried only by a battalion strength assault, willing to accept many casualties.

  The defences of the port itself appeared little changed. The French were probably still puzzled about how the Hornets entered the town in the first place. Even in the early days Johnnie Thuner had trained them all to find finger and toe holds in the ancient masonry. Algy did not anticipate any difficulty getting over the walls.

  After two days of meticulous observation and note taking, what did concern him was what was to be done once they were inside the town.

  According to the locals, the garrison had been fifteen hundred only ten days ago. This had been swollen by an extra thousand as smaller garrisons were withdrawn from Avilés and other small towns to the west. Nearly two thousand of these soldiers had marched away east at the same time as a similar exodus from Oviedo.

  Algy’s observers counted only six or seven hundred left and they were all infantry with perhaps a gunner or two. Any cavalry had left with the rest of them.

  That was still more than double the number in A and B Companies and the French had extra fighting men available from the large privateer barque that had escorted the monthly supply ship into port only yesterday. The French could pack up to two hundred men into these marauders.

  The only consolation was that they would be most unwilling to join in any military action unless it threatened them personally. They would regard it as nothing to do with them.

  In any case, that argument was specious, as Algy would do his best to make sure that any action that was taken was taken before they sailed again. He didn’t care if they took it personally.

  As with MacKay, he would have had no hesitation taking on all of them out in the open. Behind town walls and in the middle of all the buildings, he decided reluctantly that he needed help. He travelled to the cape and sent a signal for a boat to pick him up.

  * * *

  The two guerrilla ‘generals’ were doing their best to show their displeasure in the way that their caballero colleagues would have done. It was a truly great effort, if a little short of true hauteur and disdain. MacKay was most impressed. He reflected quietly that here were two leaders and fighters who had achieved more for Spain than most of their legitimate colleagues and had earned the right to act haughty and disdainful if they so chose. It just didn’t carry quite the same irritating sense of exquisite disinterest and boredom that could be conveyed by one bred to it.

  Tact and diplomacy, even in english, were arts that, as a forthright Scot, he was still struggling to come to terms with, the higher he rose in rank. He had been very forthright about the way their guerrilleros had pranced; that was the word he had used; about Oviedo without seeking his permission; which would not have been given. As a result, there was no chance of the surprise that would have seen the Hornets swarming over the walls before the French knew they were there.

  They were not pleased with him. His argument was sound and logical. They knew they were in the wrong, but nobody liked being told that they hadn’t used their heads, especially when they held ranks that they could never have dreamed of two years ago and when they had so much still to prove to their sceptical, legitimate peers.

  What made it all the more irritating was that he had known both of them when they were leaders of tattered bands of no more than two hundred men and when they treated any advice from a Hornet as the word of the Almighty, handed down by Saint Peter.

  Being made generals had not, in fact, changed that admiration a great deal. They were still grateful for advice if it was given privately. Otherwise, and it looked as if they were being patronised. Their egos had grown with their rank and could not cope with that. They needed praise, not criticism.

  It was all very childish and MacKay had left childishness behind him before he was ten. It didn’t alter the fact that he was responsible for more than two thousand Spanish, semi-trained soldiers until he could pass them over to a genuine Spanish general a hundred miles farther east.

  Calling upon his naval roots, he tried another tack. “You do not appear to be content, Señores, with the position we find ourselves in. In war, it is useless to regret what has already happened and it appears that I need your advice about what we are to do from now onward.

  Let me state the position as I see it. We are informed that there are a thousand French soldiers within Oviedo; one quarter of them is cavalry.

  They know that they are surrounded by more Spanish fighters than they can match for numbers, but can only guess how many. They have no knowledge of the presence of the Hornets and I should like them to remain in ignorance for as long as po
ssible.

  The question I should like you to ask yourselves is should you be willing to stand against them if they were to come out to attack you? You have to assume, for the purpose of the question, that the Avispónes are elsewhere.”

  It was exasperating. His last proviso was not intended as a threat or an ultimatum, but it was taken as such because it was exactly what they would have done in his position.

  They both started to speak at the same time, but Porlier had the louder voice. “You cannot take the Avispónes away, Señor General. Our men look upon them as legends and shall be less eager to fight without them.”

  “I did not say that I should take them away, Señores. I merely asked whether, alone, your men shall stand against them? You have twice their numbers.”

  Grudgingly – “So you did, Señor General, but why should they wish to come out to fight us when they know that we have no means to get into the town and all they have to do is stay there until we go away or General Dorsenne sends a force to relieve them?”

  MacKay looked at them patiently. The reply encapsulated the Spanish attitude to this war – don’t look for a fight if the enemy isn’t doing anything. He was astounded that, with their experience harassing the invaders over the last three years, they should have to ask such a question.

  He let his breath out carefully. He must not let his exasperation show. “There are several reasons that I can think about.” And many more that you should know without being told, he added sotto voce.

  Firstly, they are French and believe… no, they know that they are the best army in the world. Secondly, they have seen that they are surrounded by guerrilleros and they do not consider your men as soldiers at all. They shall feel insulted to be besieged by partidas, no matter how many there appear to be.

  Believe me, as commanders you have to try and fit yourselves into your enemy’s breeches and view his opponents through his eyes. Besides, if we cannot persuade the French to come out to fight, do you honestly think that we can go in and drag them out?”

  There was silence. They had spent the last three or four years proving that they were pragmatic men and now realised that they had been denying the truth because of their euphoria at having the Hornets to inspire them.

  A clearing of throats heralded a tentative olive branch. ”We had been wondering how you were going to deal with this garrison, Señor General MacKay. Since our men have been marching with the Avispónes, they have been told that every time you meet the French, you beat them. No thought has been given as to how you do it. It has been enough to know that you shall be victorious and that we might claim a share of such victories when we fight alongside you.

  I cannot believe how obvious it now appears that an army with siege guns is needed to break the walls together with casualties of perhaps double the number of the defenders, before Oviedo can be secured.

  I also understand why you asked your questions. I do not need to answer them because I know that you were not asking them for yourself, but for us.

  If you have some scheme to tempt the enemy into the open, tell us what you wish us to do. If you wish to take us into your confidence as well, we shall be grateful, but shall not insist.”

  * * *

  It was high tide shortly after dawn at Gijón. The larger boats of the fishing fleet had been away for twenty-four hours and would expect to be back in harbour well before the sun rose.

  The French were still in the habit of putting a few armed men aboard the deep-sea boats. They did not want to risk losing control of the fishermen who provided a large portion of the rations for the garrisons of both Gijón and Oviedo.

  The early return meant that the fish intended for Oviedo could be on wagons and approaching the town before the heat of the day had a chance to ruin it.

  This morning, they were a little later than they had wanted to be, but their crews were not the least bit upset. On the other hand, the armed guards from each boat were not at all happy. They were all prisoners on board the ships of Cockburn’s squadron and their places had been taken by as many marines as could be crammed into the spaces they had left.

  These marines were to be the vanguard of the six hundred that would be coming into the port in the combined boats of Cockburn’s squadron. Algy was hoping that a mass assault into the heart of the town by the Hornets and the red-coated marines would convince the French that they had no chance and would encourage them to surrender with the least possible loss of life.

  First he had to get the ships’ boats past the defensive battery built into the cliff and the new one that had been set up, since the Hornets’ last visit, on the end of the projecting jetty that divided the anchorage.

  The fishing boats, hopefully, would land the marines directly onto the jetty, before the emplacements were properly awake, but the battery half way up the cliff had to be left to the Hornets and there were now formidable defences on the track leading up to it.

  Once again, Major Cholmondeley had called upon the resources of the Navy. A dozen topmen from Titan were assembled on the top of the cliff, directly over the cliff battery. They carried with them six large coils of ship’s rope that would reach over a hundred feet down to the roof of the battery.

  The Hornets used ropes a great deal, but had nothing that would support three or four men over that sort of fall and the skilled seamen were called upon to supply best cable-laid, four inch rope of just over an inch diameter and knotted every four or five feet.

  The battery was built under an overhang and set into the cliff so that skilled topmen were lowered first with a ball of twine, to enable them to signal when they had been lowered far enough to start a pendulum movement and swing onto the roof of the battery.

  Once there and able to secure the end, Lieutenant Moore would lead half his platoon to capture the battery and silence the guns.

  That was the theory, but it had to be carried out in the dark before dawn and it had to be co-ordinated with the arrival of the fishing boats and the rest of A Company going over the town walls without alerting the guards. Their first objective was the ten-gun barque. Its capture would ensure that its great guns could be used to dominate the quay and help the attackers, rather than create havoc among the crowded landing craft.

  It might have been expected that a town in a country known to be swarming with guerrilleros and one that had recently been reduced to a third of its garrison, would be on a high state of alert.

  Perhaps they were contemptuous of the Spanish guerrilleros and any suggestion that they were a threat to them. Perhaps they were just too complaisant anyway. They did have more sentries on the walls, but the Hornets climbed over in the same place as before and silenced the few men they found, before making for the docks and quays, where the barque and a sturdy snow were tied up. It was just becoming light and French bugles were sounding to get the Garrison up and about.

  On the cliffs, the ropes had snaked down. Moore and his men burst into the battery and found just one man acting as lookout. Apparently the new defences on the way up had convinced the gunners that the only watch that was required was across the harbour in case of attack from the sea.

  The battery and guns were secured; the work of minutes only. The rest of the platoon came down the ropes and Moore led all his men to attack the strongpoints along the track, from the rear.

  Two platoons of A Company followed Algy Chumley from the shelter of the buildings, racing across to the barque. They stormed on board to deal with the mostly still sleeping crew. Only a harbour watch was on duty to welcome them aboard and the men spread out to batten down the hatches and trap the crew below deck. A dozen topmen and a lieutenant from Titan took charge of the business of casting off and loosing enough sails to hold her away from the mooring. Hornets cast off the breechings of the guns and loaded them ready for instant use.

  Daylight had come to the harbour at Gijón. Algy looked toward the cliff battery and smiled. The Hornets would have arranged a signal to show that it was taken, but the sailors had gone
one better. One of the squadron’s blue ensigns was hanging limply for everyone to see. The advancing flotilla of boats would be very relieved.

  Below that, red-coated marines had landed from the fishing boat and a smaller ensign was raised over the French tricolore at the end of the jetty. Three other fishing boats were approaching the quay with the vanguard of marines preparing to leap ashore. All the boats of the squadron filled the entrance to the port, still some way off, but ready to put six hundred men ashore in the next hour.

  Hysterical calls from the bugles gave notice that the French had discovered that they were being attacked. Blue-clad infantry was pouring out onto the quayside and forming up to advance and dispute the landing.

  Algy walked over to the starboard guns; rather ancient nine-pounders that looked to be well maintained. Lieutenant Atkins had managed to get his platoon manning all five of them, double shotted with three dozen half-pound grape shot in each.

  “Wait until Three and Four Platoons open fire first, Thomas. We need to be sure that it is the French that you shall be shooting.”

  “The lads ‘as already bin told, Sir. We reckon that Mitchell and Philips is over ter the right, spread out around the ‘ouses where we was. They shan’t start shootin’ ‘til the Frogs is movin’.”

  Chumley nodded and grabbed one of the leather speaking trumpets. The fishing boats had reached the quay and a couple of platoons of marines were jumping out and milling about. He had never used one of these devices before, but it seemed simple enough. He directed it toward them and bellowed.

  “Form your men into a defensive line, Lieutenant! Do not get between these guns and the enemy! Wait for my orders before advancing!”

  He saw a red sleeve waving a bicorn energetically and an open mouth that was yelling something he could not hear. It must have been an acknowledgement as the marines were forming line.

  Looking back at the French, they were just about to move forward. The dozens of boats were pulling as hard as they could and ought to be landing their passengers within half-an-hour.