Bonnet held the ridge with the 120th Ligne, three battalions some 1,800 men strong, and a battery of eight guns. That’s an awful lot of men for a feature 300 or so paces long. The infantry could remain hidden until required, as would some at least of the guns, firing from defilade positions from either flank. Those guns firing forward inevitably had safe ground (for the attackers) immediately beneath their lowest trajectories. But set against that the attackers were faced with a rocky scarp or ledge around four feet high, which ran along parts of the front top of the final slope. On the western edge of the ridge there was a larger rocky outcrop. Dennis Pack decided to assault with muskets not loaded, apart from the 400 men of his firing party. This was a mistake, although understandable. He clearly felt the necessary final impetus, so vital in an uphill attack, would be lost if men stopped to fire. But his words again imply some lack of trust: ‘Once such troops as we had began firing, they would never get to the top.’ Which may be so, but it’s not terribly good for morale to send men forward in such naked fashion, nor does it allow either for an opponent who won’t fret at the sight of your bayonet, nor if his cavalry should suddenly appear. Neither it is the time calmly to set about the loading drill, and certainly not if your ‘courage is of a vastly changeable nature’. However, Pack obviously felt the enormity of his task required this rather sad do-or-die measure.
The attack is well described by Charles Synge:
In a moment all the commanding officers were under way. As the General and I were riding to Major Fearon’s storming party, he remarked that both on the right and left of the point of direction which the storming party were taking there appeared better openings to get to the top, and he added, ‘I wish I had divided Fearon’s party into two and sent half towards each of the openings, but it is too late now.’ I said, ‘Not if you choose to let me gallop at once and give him the order, and allow me to take command of one.’ He hesitated for a second, but on my repeating the offer and urging the necessity of my being off or it would be too late, he consented. I was soon up with Major Fearon. He took fifty to the left, and I the same number (not that we stopped to count) to the right. Immediately after this change, my direction led through a patch of standing rye, where several of my little party fell, at first I supposed killed, for the enemy opened their guns as soon as they saw what we were about; but one man near my horse fell in such a manner that it struck me it was sham, and as he lay on his face I gave him rather a sharp prod with my sword – there was no time for any other appeal to his ‘honour’ — on which he turned up perfectly unhurt! What became of him afterwards I know not; I had other matters to think of ... While I was appealing to feelings of all sorts and had just got through the last of the rye, Pack overtook me, and said in a whisper, ‘Synge! I think those fellows won’t carry it for you.’ I said ‘Oh! Yes, they will, we are over the worst of it.’ I meant the ground. The roar of the enemy’s guns was tremendous as we approached the top, and somewhat unusual in its sound, for they tried to depress the muzzles of their guns as much as possible, and though they could not do so much harm, so steep was it, it sounded as if it all but touched the top of our heads. I have never heard the like before. Those following in support fared worse.
The last part of the ascent was so steep that it was almost impossible for a horse to climb it; even the men did so with difficulty – but I had a horse that would do what scarcely any horse would attempt. It was not until I was close upon the summit that I knew what we had to contend with, for I found the ground, which had at a little distance the appearance of a gentle slope, formed a natural wall of I suppose between three and four feet high, at the top of which it spread out into a level table-land, on which the enemy were drawn up in line about ten yards from me. We looked at each other for a moment. I saw immediately that what we had undertaken was impracticable, as the men could not mount the scarped ground without first laying their arms upon the top, and even then in such small numbers that it would be absurd – but I also saw that we were so easily covered by ‘the wall’, and the enemy so exposed from head to foot, that if we fired they could not remain an instant. At this critical moment the head of Sir Noel Hill’s column, which had followed me in support, was close up, and Hill himself called to me to ask what to do and what was before us (he could not see). I said, ‘Be quick, and let your leading company close up to this bank and fire away while the others deploy as fast as they can and fire as they get up – the enemy are exposed and we are protected by this parapet.’ To my horror Hill replied, ‘You forget we are not loaded!’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘we have no other chance. Load away as fast as you can.’ He gave the word of command, and the men were in the act – I was addressing some few words of encouragement as well as the breathless state of anxiety I was in permitted (my poor old Ronald with great difficulty keeping his position on the steep), and two or three of the storming party were trying to scramble up the scarp, when the whole line opposed to us fired, knocked me over and literally cut to pieces the few that had climbed the ‘wall’. My thigh was broken, and in falling, having no hold of the saddle, I could not in any manner save myself. Ronald made a couple of springs down the hill while I was falling, and this, together with the mangled bodies of those who fell back off the scarp on the head of Hill’s column, which in the confusion of loading was unable to see what was happening above, caused a sensation of panic which was complete.
The French line followed up their volley by charging up the edge of the scarp, down which they leapt when they saw our confusion. Sir Neil Campbell’s Grenadiers, the left column and all, went! – the disaster was complete. I had fallen to the ground on the near side of my horse, it being the left thigh that was broken, and was in great agony owing to a sort of instinctive effort to use the broken limb in which the marrow also seemed to be breaking. A gallant little fellow, an ensign, who was adjutant of Hill’s Regiment, ran up to me and put his arms under mine to try to raise me, and if his strength had equalled his courage and goodwill he would have carried me off, but he was of the smallest stature. I told him that my thigh was broken, and that it was of no use. The bayonets of the charging army were all but touching him before I could persuade him to save himself, and I actually pushed him away. A lot of the French ran over where I was, and amongst them an officer, cheering them on. As he passed over me, seeing me twirling about in frightful agony owing to the position in which I had fallen, he called out at the appalling spectacle my state exhibited. ‘Oh! Mon Dieu!’ and then asked, ‘Est-ce-que vous etes Anglais?’ I said, ‘Yes,’ and he pointed to a man by his side as he ran by and told him to save me. The man, who I suppose was a non-commissioned officer, did stop for a second or two, which perhaps saved my life. Some of the enemy then began to plunder those who had fallen, wounded, dying or dead, and several began at me. I was in Hussar uniform, and worse all my riches about me, with some smart things about my neck, which there was a scramble for. Most foreign soldiers, at least such as I have known, conceal their money in the waistband of the dress or inside the leg of the boot. To see if I had any such store some began cutting my clothes off, as you might have seen a sheep in the act of being shorn, and one began to pull off my boots. This was horrid, for my overalls were fastened down by curb-chain piping, and the attempt to get the boot off the broken limb was intolerable. I was soon left to go out of the world nearly as naked as I had first entered it.
Just then my attention was called from my own state to a fine young fellow of the 1st Grenadiers, who was defending himself with his musket against four or five men who surrounded him, and who were all trying to bayonet him. I called to them to spare him as he was now their prisoner. Someone, who I believe was in authority, thought I wanted something for myself, and seemed disposed to ascertain what I stood in need of, but when he learnt I was appealing for the young Portuguese sergeant, he turned away. ‘Oh! As for these canaille!’ was all I heard, and how it ended I do not know, for I myself became an object of the same sort of extinguishers. Suddenly they were called off
to re-form on their original position on the top of the Arapiles, and I and the bodies of my comrades were left to our fate.
Of course, where French infantry would generally spare a Rosbif, if that were not inconvenient to themselves in stripping him naked, few Portuguese would receive the same courtesy (and absolutely no Spaniards). For disrobed you would be, dead or alive, as Captain Thomas Dyneley observed from his guns on the Lesser Arapile ‘The enemy had a party without arms in their rear for the purpose of stripping and plundering our wounded, which I saw them do; for they had the poor fellows naked before they had been down two minutes.’ Which made scrimshanking, of the sort which Synge reports, a high risk gamble and a lottery if your coat was not red; a dagger in your Iberian heart was to be expected, if you chose to sham for too long.
So Pack was repulsed. It should be noted his five battalions failed not against Bonnet’s nine battalions on and in rear of the ridge, but against just the three of his 120th Ligne actually holding it; 2,600 Portuguese were beaten off by 1,800 French. It was not well done. Essentially, it was a prime example of what a later generation of soldier would describe as ‘Hey diddle diddle, straight up the middle’, bordering on the reckless in its light-hearted contempt for the enemy. But whose contempt? Surely not Pack’s, who later was to write ‘It is the duty of soldiers to obey and not to question.’
We must now turn our eyes westwards into the sun, Pack’s failure to be held in our memory, whilst we watch the 4th Division’s progress against Clausel; and recall that beyond Cole, Leith and Pakenham had likely joined hands, with Le Marchant alive and running riot through battalion after battalion of French.
The 4th Division advanced in one line of two ranks. Unlike Leith on his right, Cole was too weak to afford a second line. He stretched perhaps 1,000 yards, seven sets of Colours, a very thin red and brown line indeed. From right to left were placed the 1st/7th Royal Fusiliers, the 1st/23rd Royal Welch Fusiliers and the 1st/48th Northamptons; then came the four battalions of Stubb’s Portuguese, the 11th and 23rd Line. The three British light companies, the Brunswickers and the 7th Caçadores were out front, perhaps 900 strong. Cole’s other British brigade, William Anson’s of the 3rd/27th (Inniskilling) and the 1st/40th (Somerset), remained holding the Lesser Arapile, with the guns of Dyneley, Sympher and Lawson on and around that feature and the Teso.
When the Division set off, Pack’s Portuguese being immediately on their left adjacent to the Lesser Arapile, Cole’s British battalions necessarily had to file from the Teso through the alleys of the village, the companies reforming on their rightmarkers placed ready the other side, before the whole cumbersome line could proceed. This was no quick job, with some 3,300 rank and file to chivvy into position, and partly accounts for the 4th’s advance lagging that of the 5th, who had made a cleaner getaway. Guns on the Greater Arapile and on the high ground in front immediately opened up. The French artillery were presented with a human skittle alley: 1,000 yards long, the width of two lines of men. The prize was huge for any accurate ball, to bound and bounce (and preferably roll) along the length of the skittles: mayhem. None managed it, but the fire was severe.
It is thought Clausel’s Division was not yet settled on its ground. Bonnet’s 122nd Ligne however was drawn up to Cole’s left front, and he detached the 7th Caçadores to mask it. Surprisingly, since they outnumbered the Portuguese three-to-one, the three French battalions withdrew without any great firefight. Cole’s line continued upwards beyond the plateau; over the crest he met Clausel’s front line of the 50th and 59th Ligne, five battalions totalling some 3,000 bayonets – very much Cole’s equivalent, now that the 7th Caçadores were away to the left. Opinions differ on whether the French stood in line or in a line of columns. A fire was commenced from both sides, and which continued without the usual early charge. Cole was himself hit about now and which may have been why the exchange dragged on. His wound was a ball ‘A little below the left shoulder (which) broke the rib and passed out through the breast bone – the lungs were very slightly touched.’ So he was out of it, and at a most unfortunate time. Ellis we think took over, with his Fusilier Brigade in turn going to the 48th’s Lieutenant Colonel James Wilson — he who had captured Fort Picurina at Badajoz.
Clausel’s line withdrew from the crest in some confusion, back down their slope to their supports, but without pressure from the Allies, who were also shaken and ill-formed. Memories of Albuera would be re-awakened for the older soldiers amid the continuing fire of canister from Clausel’s guns, set just in front of them in what had been his intervals. They were not alone for long, however, as his second line, another five battalions or 3,000 men of the 25th Léger and 27th Ligne, as well as the now-reformed first line battalions marched briskly forward in columns, perhaps 200 yards in a well-timed and resolute counter-attack. The drums beat the pas de charge, the men withholding their fire, ten battalions now against five. In fact, it is not clear that the French ever did open fire — or needed to. It sounds from the following accounts as if the officers and NCOs – so many newly promoted since Badajoz – had lost control of forming, loading and firing; the veterans among the men would have known they had been caught on the hop, unable now to produce the devastating volleys their situation demanded.
Lieutenant Colonel John Burgoyne (he got his brevet after Badajoz) wrote three days later:
Our troops had but just gained (the height), and had not had time to form again in order, but even then they did not give it up, although ours was a much smaller regiment, until the enemy’s column was close to them. The French regiment came up the hill with a brisk and regular step, and their drums beating the pas de charge, our men fired wildly and at random among them; the French never returned a shot, but continued their steady advance. The English fired again, but still without return they stood their ground however with great courage. But men in such confusion had no chance against the perfect order of the enemy, and when the French were close upon them, they wavered and gave way. The officers all advanced in a line in front, waving their swords, and cheering their men to come on, but the confusion became a panic, and there was a regular sauve qui peut down the hill.
Extra detail is added by an anonymous Fusilier officer, who wrote five days later:
The Fuzileers on the left (sic) of the 4th Division had gain’d the most commanding point of the position where they immediately found themselves exposed to a heavy fire from the ground mark’d as the 2nd Position & a French Regt. Of 4 Battalions (about 12000 (sic) men) below at a very short distance & regularly formed. The Fuzileers in this situation unsupported at the moment commenced firing without forming after its first attack. The French regiment form’d close column with the Grenadiers in front and closed the Battalions. (I was very close on the right flank of the Fuzileers, & witnessed the whole proceeding.) They then advanced up the hill in the most beautiful order without firing a shot except a few individuals in the rear of the column. When about 30 paces distant our men began to waver, being still firing not properly formed. The Ensigns advanced two paces in front & planted the colours on the edge of the hill & Officers stept out to encourage the men to meet them. They stopt with an apparent determination to stand firm, the enemy continued to advance at a steady pace & when quite close the Fuzileers gave way: – The French followed down the hill on our side.
There are two further accounts, which not only add to the overall impression of confusion along Cole’s line but also introduce the possibility that Clausel’s counter-stroke was a combined operation. That is, that Boyer’s dragoons were already loose on Cole’s flanks. Lieutenant Thomas Browne, 23rd, talks of cavalry operating against the Portuguese on the left.
The 4th Division after driving the enemy from a hill, which he had warmly contested, were in their turn charged by the five Battalions of Infantry drawn up six deep & probably would have withstood even this tremendous fresh formation, had not some Squadrons of French dragoons charged the Portuguese in flank, & broke them, which also for a moment, disordered the Fus
ileers & the five French Battalions succeeded in retaking the hill.
Then Lieutenant Donald Cameron, 7th, who was on the right of the line, talks of cavalry there also:
We were at this moment ordered by Colonel Beatty to retire and form square, a most hazardous movement when the enemy’s Infantry were advancing, and within thirty yards of us. The order was only partially heard and obeyed on the right, while on the left we kept up a hot fire on the enemy, who were advancing uphill, and within a few yards of us. The Companies on our right having retired in succession we found ourselves alone, but the ground the enemy were ascending was so steep that we got off without loss and joined the rest. Luckily while we were forming square to receive the cavalry, the 6th Division came up and received the charge intended for us.
Apart from expressing some ungrudged admiration for the enemy, these accounts are quite open about the poor conduct of Ellis’s Fusilier Brigade. Not, that is, in the irregular sauve qui peut – that merely acknowledged their plight and was the only sensible course with a future; no, the poor conduct which put them into trouble was the apparent lack of the normal disciplines: ‘Our men fired wildly and at random’ ... ‘in such confusion’ ... ‘And not properly formed.’ The eyewitnesses are at pains to compare the French: ‘In the most beautiful order . . . at a steady pace’ ... ‘A brisk and regular step . . . A steady advance’, and stress the French not firing a shot. Men who had stood at Albuera would know only too well what happens next, at around ten yards. This unusual lack of cohesion we can almost certainly put down to a lack of proper leadership from far too many newly promoted. Napier’s ‘the soldiers were breathless and disordered by the previous fighting’ still begs the question ‘Why?’
Salamanca 1812- Wellington’s Year of Victories Page 35
