Salamanca 1812- Wellington’s Year of Victories

by Peter Edwards

  During this pause on the Monte, the survivors of Thomières’ 62nd and 101st did their best to rally between the right rear of the 1st Ligne (who faced west) and the left rear of the 66th (Maucune’s left flank, second line regiment) and who faced north. Towards them, although yet quite distant, came the point regiment of Taupin’s 6th Division: two battalions from 22nd Ligne of some 1,000 men.

  About this time Leith came over the crest and into the view of the 15th and 82nd Ligne, who fired their defensive volley from their squares and half-formed squares, but of course without great effect; they were immediately out-volleyed, cheered and charged and, seemingly without any prolonged firefight, breaking to flee back to and through their second line of the 66th and 86th Ligne. Thus, in effect the 66th’s two battalions now became Maucune’s left wing, and the 86th’s two battalions his right. So four French regiments – Thomières’ 62nd and 101st and Maucune’s 15th and 82nd – the much reduced rump of ten battalions, were attempting in great confusion to rally in rear of their comrades, and with the regularly formed 22nd Ligne from Taupin coming to their aid.

  This surely was Le Marchant’s moment. Some 4,000 blue coats were now entirely vulnerable, loosely forming or running to the rear. Yet it appears Stapleton Cotton, having moved forward, decided at this point to exercise his rights of command. His widow, Mary Viscountess Combermere, in her Memoire relates a brief quarrel wherein Cotton orders Le Marchant to attack, and being coldly asked (for there was no love lost) in which direction, lost his temper and snapped ‘To the enemy, sir’. An exchange of ‘high words’ is hinted at in other sources. One imagines Le Marchant rode off in a foul humour which, since he rode to his death, is indeed a sad thought.

  We have already noted reports of thick smoke billowing across the plateau, the scorching air, the dry grass in places blazing from scattered cartridge wads (the light breeze took the smoke directly at the French); and Grattan noted the noise of approaching horses to the 88th’s left rear. Through the smoke emerged the Heavy Brigade in line at canter: ‘Open right and left . . . and they passed through the intervals, forming rapidly in our front, prepared for their work.’ A quarter mile to the left we have noted Douglas’s exchange with the Green Horse (the 5th) as they flanked Greville’s light troops, just before Leith volleyed and charged Maucune: ‘Now boys, lather them and we’ll shave them’. So just as the sudden noise of massed horse threw Wallace’s men briefly into a worry over forming square, a similar cringe would sweep Thomières’s 62nd and 101st. Grattan paid them the compliment that at least ‘all things considered they attempted to get into square with much regularity . . . but before the evolution was half completed’ they were hit by the double dragoon line. For Le Marchant had put his squadrons straight into them, the right squadrons seemingly at the 62nd and 101st, the left at the 66th who were now being broken and swept back by Greville’s brigade.

  One eyewitness (‘AZ’ writing in the United Services Journal in 1833) described the 66th’s formation as ‘A sort of column of half battalions’. That would be three companies wide, therefore, with four such lines for the two battalions present. If the companies were formed in three ranks the half battalion column would have stretched some 100 yards wide – about the same width of one of Le Marchant’s squadrons, which now descended upon them.

  ‘AZ’ says the 66th’s fire (they had previously been engaging Leith’s men)

  was so ill-directed, that it is believed scarcely a single dragoon fell from its effects; and no check taking place, the cavalry bore vigorously forward at a gallop penetrating their columns, nearly the whole of which were killed, wounded or taken, leaving the broken infantry to be made prisoners by the 3rd Division as they cleared the ground before then, to assist in which one squadron of the 4th Dragoons was for the moment detached.

  It is probable the 66th was knocked over by the two squadrons of the 5th Dragoon Guards on the left of Le Marchant’s line; on the right it is probable the two squadrons each of the 3rd and 4th Dragoons at the same time ploughed through Thomières’s 62nd and 101st Ligne. The French casualties as we shall see were dreadful.

  The 5th Dragoon Guards continued until they came ‘upon another column, of about 600 men, who brought down some men and horse by their fire, but attempted no stand of any consequence and, falling into confusion, were left as before to be captured by the advancing infantry.’ This second grouping are thought to be the survivors of Maucune’s broken 15th Ligne, his original first line, who had now fled through the 66th and were attempting to rally.

  By now the squadrons had become a little mixed, the original line not helped by having to negotiate increasing numbers of evergreen oaks, and of course all the individual confrontations after which, spurring to catch up, the line was re-joined where convenient. Gaps between squadrons disappeared; by the same token, and in that excitable spirit of the hunting field which all too often bedevilled British cavalry, it may be the two squadrons in the second or support line also joined in. No source suggests this, but such widespread destruction of the entire French left wing now being apparent to the most hesitant observer, the temptation to reinforce success must have called strongly. The surging dragoon line thundered on, blowing by now, sighting a third

  French brigade, which, taking advantage of the trees, had formed a colonne serree, and stood awaiting their charge. These men reserved their fire with much coolness till the Cavalry came within twenty yards, when they poured it in upon the concentrated mass of men and horses with a deadly and tremendous effect. It is thought that nearly one third of the dragoons came to the ground; but as the remainder retained sufficient command of their horses to dash forward, they succeeded in breaking the French ranks, and dispersing them in utter confusion over the field. At this moment Colonel Lord Edward Somerset, discovering five guns upon the left, separated from the brigade with one squadron, charged, and took them all.

  There was now complete chaos, with many hundreds of Frenchmen throwing down their muskets, and standing still with arms raised waiting to be taken; others still attempting to load and fight, still more running to the rear, the dragoons in amongst the 22nd ‘excited by the struggle, vied with each other in the pursuit, and galloped recklessly into the crowd of fugitives, sabreing those who came within their reach. To restrain them at such a moment was very difficult.’ Le Marchant ‘fought like a private soldier, and as many as six men fell by his hand’. Sensing their vulnerability to a counter-attack, he sent his ADC son back to Cotton, hopefully now bringing up Anson’s squadrons, while he joined a half squadron of the 4th, under Lieutenant Gregory, about to charge a square. Taking the lead, he was shot in the stomach and fell to the ground mortally wounded. ‘The ball . . . passed through his sash into the abdomen, and he breathed his last a few moments after the surgeon found him. He was lying a few yards to our left, his sword was firmly grasped in his right hand, the knot round his wrist, and the edge very much hacked.’ (Lieutenant Colonel John Cameron, 9th, to Napier in 1827.) His son, no doubt full of excitement, pride and glory, returned only to see his father’s body on a stretcher being carried by two dragoons. ‘Over powered by this unexpected calamity he threw himself upon his father’s body in an agony of grief.’ It is thought Le Marchant and Gregory had run into some of Taupin’s main body. A sergeant major of the 65th did later claim to have shot a British general.

  Le Marchant’s death occurred at the very end of his brigade’s endeavour. For there were troopers sufficient only to form three squadrons or so, according to ‘AZ’. Prudence for once asserted itself, aided by temporary exhaustion and, presumably, the spreading news that the General was down. The final, and most bloody massacre, had been of Taupin’s 22nd Ligne, two battalions (the 3rd not being present) of about 1,000 bayonets. The memoirs of Lieutenant Colonel Castel, who was one of Clausel’s ADCs, says he was sent by Marmont, shortly before the latter’s wounding, to bring up Taupin in rear of Maucune; and that in Taupin’s absence he was only able to move up the 22nd. It is said that the two battalions m
ustered forty-seven men at the end of the day. Such an annihilation is, however, quite difficult to understand, since they must surely have had adequate warning to form squares. Perhaps they had advanced rather too far forward into the smoke.

  Le Marchant’s charge with the Heavy Brigade lasted forty minutes, and the distance must have been a little under two miles, with a mile first at walk and trot to get onto the plateau. At that average speed, a running man could easily have kept up with them. Clearly far less time was spent in headlong, glorious canter, than in steady walk and disciplined trot, allowing much static time for belabouring blue coats. At the end, however, the dragoons’ vulnerability was obvious, in their lack of formation, horse power and numbers: a counter-attack by Boyer’s eight squadrons of heavy dragoons and even some small part of Curto’s seventeen squadrons of chasseurs must have brought a full revenge. Several accounts refer to the presence among the French infantry of ‘a few chasseurs and dragoons’ or of ‘a chasseur of the 20th being closely pursued’ but there are no references to formed mounted bodies: perhaps ‘their cavalry ran away’ was an accurate statement. In any event, a formed counter-attack would not have altered the day’s outcome. Le Marchant had now completed the devastation of twelve of sixteen infantry battalions begun by Pakenham and Leith – a fifth of the Army of Portugal.

  Such was the terror induced by the points and sword edges wielded by the dragoons with such vigour, that there was the rare sight of Frenchmen actually running for shelter, inside British lines (having necessarily first dropped their muskets). Their trust was not misplaced.

  Such as got away from the sabres of the horsemen sought safety amongst the ranks of our infantry, and scrambling under the horses, ran to us for protection – like men who, having escaped the first shock of a wreck, will cling to any broken spar, no matter how little to be depended upon. Hundreds of beings, frightfully disfigured, in whom the human face and form were almost obliterated – black with dust, worn down with fatigue, and covered with sabre-cuts and blood – threw themselves amongst us for safety. Not a man was bayoneted – not one even molested or plundered.

  We may, however, take Grattan’s last point as mere pious cover for his genteel Victorian readers. It is inconceivable the Connaughts would not rob blind every French knapsack thus presented on a plate – and in return for their lives, Johnny Crapaud no doubt was quick to hand them over.

  The charge of the Heavy Brigade was naturally noted in letters home and later memoirs, and these well illustrate the confusion, and narrowed vision, experienced by individuals. Success or failure overall was the sum of these individual actions. It is hoped the following give a fair flavour of the action. We start with a Frenchman: Captain Parquin, of Marmont’s escort:

  I saw a chasseur of the 20th who was being closely pursued by two English horsemen. ‘Turn and face them!’ I cried, going to his help. But he did not stop and one of the Englishmen, whose horse was obviously out of control, cannoned into me and we both went down. Then the second Englishman galloped up and shouted: ‘You are my prisoner!’ With his sabre he gestured me to walk ahead of him. The memory of my captivity in Russia flashed through my mind. I noticed that my would-be captor had not drawn his pistol; if he had done so, I would have been forced to obey him. Instead, I parried the blows which he aimed at me with his sabre for I had quickly risen from beneath my horse which made off towards the escort. I endeavoured to strike the legs of his horse so as to unhorse him. When my horse returned without me the other members of the escort became alarmed and two of them came to look for me and to bring me my horse. As soon as they saw me they rode towards us at full speed and the Englishman, when he saw them, retired immediately.

  Then William Bragge, 3rd Dragoons, writing home three days later:

  My Dear Father, Knowing the Anxiety you and my Mother will feel upon hearing of a great and sanguinary Battle, in which the Third Dragoons bore no inconsiderable share, I take the earliest possible opportunity of informing you that I escaped perfectly sound, Wind and Limb, together with the Little Bay Mare who carried me through the Day delightfully and I believe to her Speed and Activity I may in a great measure attribute my marvellous escape, as I at one Time had to gallop along the whole Front of a French Brigade retreating in double quick step . . . the Cavalry advanced upon the Backs of the Infantry. Our Brigade literally rode over the Regiments in their front and dashed through the Wood at a Gallop, the Infantry cheering us in all Directions. We quickly came up with the French Columns and charged their Rear. Hundreds threw down their Arms, their cavalry ran away, and most of the Artillery jumped upon the Horses and followed the Cavalry. One or two charges mixed up the whole Brigade, it being impossible to see for Dust and Smoak.

  Another officer of the 3rd Dragoons, Lieutenant John Massey, wrote to his brother a week later that: ‘Our loss in men was trifling all things considered for we charged infantry which is a thing very rarely done. I can’t tell you of any hairbreadth escapes that I had for I don’t know of any, but the balls were thick and near enough to be unpleasant.’ And then there was the infantry officer who yearned for mounted glory:

  When the cavalry of Le Marchant passed through Wallace’s brigade Captain William Mackie of the 88th was missing. In the confusion that prevailed it was thought he had fallen. No one could give any account of him; but in a short lapse of time, after the cavalry had charged, he returned covered with dust and blood, his horse tottering from fatigue, and nothing left of his sabre – but the hilt! He joined the cavalry so soon as the fighting amongst the infantry had ceased. (Grattan)

  John Luard, 4th Dragoons, discovered a French gun team all hooked in and about to escape: ‘I cut down their leader, turned the horses heads towards our side, and then galloped on.’ A brother officer of Luard was the sole 4th Dragoon officer to be wounded that day, and had a gruelling experience as a temporary prisoner. He escaped after very honourable treatment by Taupin’s 65th, and wrote home three weeks later. He had the memorable name of Lieutenant Norcliffe Norcliffe:

  My Beloved Father, Thanks to the Almighty, and the very great care of my surgeon, I am quite out of danger from the severe wound I received, but it was perhaps the most hairbreadth escape that ever was heard of, the skull was just injured, and the tenth part of an inch more must have consigned me to an eternal rest. We were pursuing the French Infantry, which were broken and running in all directions. I was cutting them down as well as I could, when in the hurry and confusion I lost my regiment and got with some soldiers of the 5th Dragoon Guards; on looking behind me, I could only see a few of the 5th, and we were in the centre of the enemy’s infantry, amongst whom were a few Chasseurs and Dragoons. Nothing now remained but to go on, as we were in as much danger as by going any other way.

  I rode up to a French officer, who was, like the rest, taking to his heels, and cut him just behind the neck; I saw the blood flow, and he lost his balance, and fell from his horse. I perceived my sword was giving way in the handle, so I said to the officer who lay on the ground: ‘Donnez-moi votre épée’ — I really believed he was more frightened than hurt; I sheathed my sword and went on with his. I had not gone 10 yards further before my horse was wounded in the ear by a gunshot; he turned sharp round, and at the same instant I was shot in the head. I turned giddy, and fell off. I can recollect a French Dragoon taking away my horse. I was senseless a few seconds, and when I recovered, I saw the French Dragoons stripping me of everything; they began by turning my pockets inside out, to look for money which they stole; my sword and sash, hat, boots, and spurs off my feet, dragging me along the ground in the most barbarous manner, saying: ‘Eh . . . Anglais, vous n’etes pas a cheval.’ Another said: ‘Eh, je sais [sic] bien le garçon, il m‘a poursuivi . . .’, in fact I never saw such usage in my life. ‘Allons done, enlève-toi,’ said another; I shook my head as much as to say ‘I am unable to rise,’ when he held a sabre over me, crying out: ‘je vous mettrai a coup de sabre’. At last I was left by the cavalry, and the French infantry came all round me,
and I expected the same treatment. Judge of my surprise, when I experienced quite the contrary: ‘Courage mon ami’. I asked for water, being very faint from loss of blood, ‘Ma foi! Je n’ai point de l’eau, pauvre garçon,’ and another ‘Etes-vous officier?’ I stammered out: ‘Oui, Lieutenant de Quatrième Regiment de Dragoons.’ Presently an officer came up with five; each took a leg and an arm, and the fifth supported my head, which was bleeding profusely, and I will say I never saw men more careful; if ever I groaned, owing to the pain of being carried, they said to each other: ‘Gardez-vous, gardez-vous, camarade.’ They carried me into the very centre of the French column, close to a very fine battalion of Grenadiers, with great bearskin caps. I rested here a little, for I was very weak, and a great number of French officers came round me and were most particularly civil. One, Colonel of Grenadiers, poured some brandy into a cup and wanted me to drink it; I just wet my lips. He then ordered five Grenadiers to fall out, and carry me further into the wood. I made a sign that I had rather be carried by the men who brought me there, fearful of falling into fresh hands. Our infantry was at the time advancing again to the attack; the five men who carried me were desired by all the French officers to take particular care that no-one ill-used me, and that if I could not get away, I was to be laid under a tree. The 5 men seeing our infantry advance, laid me down very carefully under an olive tree, and each of them shook hands with me before they left me, and said: ‘Je vous souhaite bien, Monsieur,’ and they also desired that I would remember they belonged to the 65th Regiment. Our Infantry I could now see (though it was getting dark) were bayonet to bayonet and I had at last the pleasure of seeing the enemy running in every direction. I had the presence of mind to take off my jacket and cram it into a bush, and as my boots were off I lay as if I was dead, and when they were running away they all passed my tree and took me for a Frenchman. Several of the musket shots from our men struck the back of the tree where I was, but I lay very close to the root. Drums, muskets and everything they could not easily carry, were thrown away by the enemy. One Frenchman was wounded by a musket ball in the side, and fell close to me. I waited till the French had all passed me, and then ran as far as my strength would let me towards our Riflemen. I was so delighted at getting back, I actually threw my arms around the necks of our infantry. They led me up to where the 6th Division was, and I fell down quite exhausted at the feet of the Grenadier Company of the 32nd Regiment . . .