The column set off at 9pm. The march was ‘Conducted by experienced guides in the mazy sheep-walks in the brushwood, which were considered impassable,’ says Captain James MacCarthy, 50th. A soldier (anonymous) of the 71st wrote six or seven years later:
A scaling ladder was given to each section of a company of the left wing, with the exception of two companies. We moved down the hill in a dismal manner; it was so dark we could not see three yards before us. The hill was very steep and we were forced to wade through whins and scramble down rocks, still carrying the ladders. When daylight on the morning of the 19th at length showed us to each other, we were scattered all over the foot of the hill like stray sheep, not more in one place than were held together by a ladder. We halted, formed, and collected the ladders, then moved on.
The lead company of the 50th halted before first light (which fell at 5.05am) at the hamlet of Romangorda, two miles from the bridge. There had been a helpful three-quarter moon but this had set at 1.44am, and that’s when the real delays commenced. The column became much elongated in the darkness, as always happens on poor going, and only the 50th and the 71st’s left wing was immediately available, some 900 men. Sergeant Robertson of the 92nd was in charge of a ladder, using two shifts of eight men, and declared the path the roughest he had ever trod. When a ladder man lost his footing, down would go the whole party. But they made it, a descent (with ups and downs) of 1,200 feet to the Tagus from the Cueda Pass.
The 50th moved forward again, to a crest just 300 yards from Fort Napoleon. MacCarthy: ‘By 6 o’clock when the sun was shining so resplendent, as each individual emerged from the labyrinth he was distinguishable, and thus obliged to lay down (in ambush) to avoid discovery from the battlements.’
Major Aubert, commanding in Fort Napoleon, knew the English were now a present threat, but the wooded terrain and the ridges had prevented early observation. He had failed, it seems, to put out standing patrols. He would now be one of the observers noted on the tower, watching puffs of smoke erupt around the castle, as Tilson-Chowne, as arranged, began his false attack with his howitzers. He was also sending skirmishers forward up the slopes towards the castle’s sugar-loaf eminence. This, therefore, was Hill’s time to assault Fort Napoleon, and although he had only one and a half of his four battalions ready to go, he was not inclined to delay – in any event, discovery would quickly follow if Aubert thought to send out a dawn patrol. Acquiescing therefore in the plea made by 50th’s commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Stewart, three columns each of a five company wing were readied. Stewart led one, Major Harrison his other, and Major Cother that of the 71st. Hill left orders for the right wing of the 71st, and the 92nd, now beginning to arrive in numbers, to attack the tête de pont from the west.
Preceded by the ladder parties, the assault ran forward over the concealing crest into view of the French, and down towards separate parts of the ditch. They were at once met by a storm of fire, both the tearing hell of musket balls and grapeshot, and the thunder of round shot from the cannon. Once in the ditch, as so often before, it became apparent the ladders were too short. Some were lashed together there in the ditch, back to the original thirty-two feet length; some were used to gain precarious access to the intermediate berm on the face of the rampart, before being pulled up to the ledge to try the last leg. The 71st’s chronicler:
Their entrenchment proved deeper than we expected, which caused us to splice our ladders under the wall; during which time they annoyed us much by throwing grenades, stones and logs over it; but not a Frenchman dares to be seen on the top; for we stood with our pieces cocked and presented. As soon as the ladders were spliced, we forced them from the works.
Others spurned the ladders, seeing handholds in the scarp. John Patterson, 50th, wrote
the French grenadiers whose great bearskin caps and whiskered faces ornamented the breastwork overhead, hurled down on us with ruthless vengeance an infinite variety of missiles . . . fragments of rock, stones of huge dimensions, round shot, glass bottles and many other articles.
‘Our soldiers were impatient,’ said MacCarthy, ‘And climbing dilapidated parts, pulled up their comrades, laid in the inner ditch until all were gathered, and then dashed forward – Colonel Stewart himself gallantly leading.’ Captain Robert Candler was said to be first onto the rampart, first up his ladder but sadly to be blown to atoms, ‘his shattered remains lying extended on the slope of the rampart’. But his No. 4 Company followed, the top was gained at several places and that was enough for the garrison. The Grenadier Company of the 39th Ligne was said to have led the way. Instead of making for the tower, the inner work that should have been their rallying point, those of the French 6th and 39th who did not immediately throw down their muskets made for the rear gate. Major Aubert, according to MacCarthy, with his back to the round tower
Became frantic, refusing to surrender his sword and flourishing it in defiance, attempted to strike an officer of the 50, who was remonstrating with him, which a Sgt [Sergeant Checher] in the warmth of the moment, unfortunately wounded him with his pike, which was deplored as unnecessary (for) . . . his (Aubert’s) excitement must soon have subsided.
In another instance of the soldier’s respect for honourable and courageous behaviour, the Frenchman was later ‘buried at Merida with military honours, his remains being attended by the whole garrison, and the officers in command there’. (Patterson)
The 100-yard rush to the tête de pont was a mixture of five regiments, pursuers intermingled with the pursued. Neither the muskets of the Prussian garrison in the bridgehead nor their cannon could fire without striking down their own. In despair the garrison also now joined the fleeing crowd. The fifth regiment was the 92nd, who by then had formed and moved forward with the missing half of the 71st. The scene on the bridge of boats could therefore be readily imagined. The bridge was said to be 200 yards long, with some twenty pontoons. The weight in the centre, however, was taken up by a river boat, lighter and therefore able to be easily removed at night, or whenever security was in doubt. There had been some 575 blue coats on the south side of the river, and surely not more than a tenth now lay dead or wounded in Fort Napoleon, or along the 100-yard dash? So some 500 crowded onto the shaking bridge – which then broke, the two centre pontoons sinking beneath the crowd. Some say the bridge was deliberately cut by those fleeing, but too early; some say Aubert had the centre river boat removed at the outset, as a sensible (and temporary) precaution. But if so then neither of the two garrisons on the south bank could have escaped, bar by swimming – in full kit and boots? So if the bridge had been broken deliberately beforehand, Hill’s report of taking 279 prisoners must surely have been nearer 500?
There then occurred an almighty slice of luck for General Hill. For, with the bridge broken, the Tagus could not be crossed nor the bridge repaired, under the guns of Fort Ragusa. Hill’s designs would appear frustrated. But when the artillery detachment under Lieutenant Love turned the French cannon in Napoleon upon Fort Ragusa, and fired a few rounds, the Prussians promptly fled their responsibilities, accompanied by the half company of the 6th Léger in the fleche. This astonishingly rapid application of the old phrase ‘Self preservation is nature’s law’ was later to result in the death penalty for Ragusa’s commandant, who was shot in Talavera. The immediate result was that four grenadiers of the 92nd swam unmolested over to the far bank, returning with several boats. So Hill now had complete ownership, and began to burn, blow up, and generally destroy all he had won: the bridge of twenty large pontoons and its ancillary store of ropes, timbers, carriages, anchors and the associated workshops; round shot and shells were chucked into the river; the stores of food, clothing and musket cartridges were burnt; and with powder abundantly available the Fort towers were levelled, a process completed next morning. His soldiers, fed for three days on double beef but no bread or biscuit, were delighted with the captured French rations including the choicest wines: the soldier of the 71st showed a simple grasp of the basics when he wr
ote ‘We . . . found plenty of provisions ... filled our haversacks, and burned the town.’ Captain Patterson of the 50th put it more poetically, describing what they found as ‘Provisions to gratify the pallet of the most fastidious gourmand’, describing the scene:
Collected together in knots and parties, with the green sward for our tablecloth, forgetful of the past, and careless about the future, we feasted most sumptuously, drinking to our foes in their own generous wine and wishing that, in future campaigns, our adventures might be terminated in an equally agreeable and fortunate manner.
His regiment’s price for their ‘adventures’ was, however, not cheap. Of Hill’s overall loss of 189 all ranks killed and wounded, the 50th comprised sixty-seven per cent: a total of 127 casualties of whom eight were among the officers. The left wing of the 71st suffered fifty-seven, the 92nd just two, with a further two outside the castle. On the French side, of course, the 4th Étranger was effectively destroyed: Oman quotes ‘A parade state reduction between 15 May and 1 July as from 366 to 88, and puts the French total loss at around 400.’ These included the mortally-piked Major Aubert, and the 39th’s commanding officer Lieutenant Colonel Teppe, a prisoner; the trophies included a flag colour of the 4th Étranger taken by the 71st, eighteen guns, the huge powder stores and, of course, the pontoons – the second such train to have been captured or destroyed inside a few weeks.
There now remained for Hill the isolated French garrison in the Castle complex up at Miravete, and the destruction of that place. However, before he could set about the matter he received a letter from a panicking Sir William Erskine, back at Almendralego with the rest of the division, with respect to the (false) approach of Soult; consequently Hill returned to Truxillo on 21 May. In the end, the bridge never was rebuilt, events in coming months overtaking its importance – the French abandoned it on 11 July. Whether Hill could have taken the castle, perched as it is on a precipitous sugar-loaf hill, having only howitzers, is open to doubt. What is not, is that as Wellington put it in his covering letter to Hill’s Despatch:
The communications from the bridges of Arzobisbo and Talavera to the Guadiana are very difficult, and cannot be deemed military communications for a large army. The result then of Lieutenant General Sir R. Hill’s expedition has been to cut off the shortest and best communication between the armies of the south and of Portugal which, under existing circumstances, it will be difficult if not impossible to re-establish.
As Jac Weller points out ‘Even squadrons of cavalry used to convey messages safely through the hostile Spanish countryside (now) took five days longer each way . . . For all practical purposes Marmont’s army was cut off from Soult’s.’
Following immediately upon Hill’s Raid, Lord Wellington put into effect another bridge operation which had been in his strategic contemplation for some months. The old Roman bridge at Alcantara had been out of use since Mayne blew down an arch three years before. It lay across the Tagus on the direct route between Badajoz and Rodrigo. Now that both of these places were in his hands, the more westerly crossing at Villa Velha would become less well-favoured, since via Alcantara there would be a saving of 100 miles, or six marches. At the end of May the broken arch was accordingly replaced by an ingenious rope and cable suspension, and this repair, together with the results of Hill’s operation at Almaraz, gave Wellington a time advantage over the French (in moving troops from north to south or vice versa) of some ten or twelve marches. It is hard to see what more he need now do, prior to advancing into Spain, bar the throwing of smoke and sand into the eyes of his opponents.
CHAPTER 5
Maguilla, San Cristoval and the Salamanca Forts June 1812
Napoleon having extracted for Russia 27,000 men of his Guard and Polish regiments, the French had some 230,000 effectives in Spain with many more thousands in hospital, so that Wellington’s 65,000 were outnumbered four to one (in that general but not very relevant sense). His narrower interest lay for now in Marmont’s Army of Portugal, which was around 52,000 but much dispersed: Hill also being detached, his own strength would be some 47,000. So it would never do for Marmont to get too much larger. His Lordship accordingly endeavoured to arrange various entertainments, mostly to be staged by his Spanish allies, to engage the attentions of the nearest French armies, of Caffarelli (48,000) and Soult (54,000) (the Armies of the North and South respectively) and also of Suchet (60,000) away on the east coast.
Hill’s 18,000, of course, already stood between Soult’s Drouet D’Erlon and Marmont, and to encourage Soult himself to stay in his Seville fiefdom the Spanish General Ballesteros was activated, to great effect. Outnumbering Conroux two to one, he nearly won a famous victory on 1 June at Bornos, between Seville and Gibraltar. As a result, Soult sent south two brigades as reinforcements, whereupon a week later Hill moved threateningly forward to Zafra, then Llerena, achieving what Oman nicely calls ‘The see-saw of alternative distraction’, and which was his Lordship’s precise Machiavellian purpose. For Soult now sent north a full infantry division and one of cavalry, still being convinced that Wellington, like the bogeyman, was coming to get him.
Before listing the other diversions contrived by Lord Wellington, it is proper to note a cavalry clash on 11 June following Hill’s latest rattling of D’Erlon’s bars. The affair near Maguilla was a curious and embarrassing episode. It involved two regiments of horse on either side (by far the best descriptive analysis is in Ian Fletcher’s Galloping at Everything). A bare outline follows here, enough to allow some thoughts on the leadership involved.
Major General Sir John Slade’s Heavy Brigade, which missed the action at Villagarcia, charged Lallemand’s 17th Dragoons with his 1st (Royal) Dragoons, the 3rd Dragoon Guards initially being in second line. Outnumbered two to one, and after Villagarcia duly suspicious and therefore cautious, Lallemand and the 17th back-pedalled eight miles under pressure to the broken ground around Maguilla, where his second line regiment, the 27th Dragoons, stood waiting. Both Slade’s regiments were now – after such a long pursuit – intermingled and, of course, blown, with only one squadron kept back as a support. Predictably, Lallemand’s fresh reserve charged, the 17th’s survivors turning to join the 27th, and, amazingly, Slade’s troopers showed their backs to the French. That is, they legged it all the way for another eight miles. In this nightmare, Slade lost forty-eight killed and wounded, a shaming 118 being taken together with 127 horses – he lost half a regiment’s worth. Lallemand’s loss was just fifty-one (100 of the 17th Dragoons taken prisoner in the first lap, being released during the second).
The question is not why was Slade stupid enough to allow both regiments to charge, thus having no support to fall back upon when needed – Slade just was stupid – but rather why 700 stalwart British troopers turned their backs on 600 Frenchmen, an unheard of and incomprehensible act. It is possible that his Lordship missed the point in his subsequent volcanic letter of condemnation to Hill, to address merely the out-of-control charge and the lack of support:
I have never been more annoyed than by General Slade’s affair, and I entirely concur with you in the necessity of enquiring into it. It is occasioned entirely by the trick our officers of cavalry have acquired of galloping at everything, and their galloping back as fast as they gallop on the enemy. They never consider their situation, never think of manoeuvring before the enemy; so little that one would think they cannot manoeuvre, except on Wimbledon Common; and when they use their arm as it ought to be used, viz, offensively, they never keep nor provide for a reserve.
All cavalry should charge in two lines, of which one should be in reserve; if obliged to charge in one line, part of the line, at least one third, should be ordered beforehand to pull up, and form in the second line, as soon as the charge should be given, and the enemy has been broken and has retired. The Royals and the 3rd Dragoon Guards were the best regiments in the cavalry in the country, and it annoys me particularly that the misfortune has happened to them. I do not wonder at the French boasting of it; it is th
e greatest blow they have struck.
Of course, he wrote on the eve of his long-planned offensive – the first since Talavera – and one going into good cavalry country. His righteous anger, therefore, erupted out of concern at such a time for the self-esteem or general morale of his mounted arm. But he writes as if no problem lay within the regiments concerned, only that of the tactics used in taking them forward. This does not address the question of why the ‘best regiments in the cavalry in the country’ turned their backs and ran from inferior numbers.
The Royals’ historian, C. T. Atkinson, expressed a strong belief – understandably biased – that their morale at this time had been weakened by the misfortune of being under the command of Slade and Erskine. In particular Atkinson implies the growth of a form of nervousness, a sort of panic-struck reaction to the French:
By fidgeting and worrying the men, and by disturbing and depressing them with false claims and unnecessary retreats, they [Slade and Erskine] had robbed them of their confidence and of their sense of superiority over their enemies ... Slade’s responsibility lies less in his tactical errors on June 11th than on his undermining of the regiment’s morale before the action, for which Erskine must share the blame.
Atkinson implies this was certainly the common view of the Royals’ officers, as expressed in entries made in the regimental Journal:
Nervous, excitable and irresolute, Erskine was in constant alarm of an attack on his cavalry screen. He ‘would order picquets in every direction but that from which danger was to be expected’, and then abuse Brigadiers, Staff officers and Colonels for not carrying out his express orders. The merest rumour of a French advance would make him decamp without waiting for it to be confirmed. Slade was equally liable to sudden alarms. ‘No sooner was it announced that the French were in motion, no matter where or at what distance, than an order was given to turn out, Jack (Slade) running about crying out, ‘Bridle up, bridle up. The first dozen men for God’s sake. God damn you, trumpeters: blow, damn you. Haste, haste. Gallop. God damn you. Corporal, tell those fellows to turn out and never mind telling off. Turn out, turn out: the baggage to Azinshal.’ The consequence was that all was confusion: curbs were lost, surcingles were forgot, some of the men threw away their corn, others in the act of cooking threw aside their tins and meat and camp-kettles, while the batmen with the baggage half-tied on, by dint of beating, urged stubborn brutes into a jog.
Salamanca 1812- Wellington’s Year of Victories Page 22
