Can No One Win Battles if I'm Not There

by Geoffrey Watson

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  Lord Wellington had been inclined to raise both his aristocratic eyebrows at the news that MacKay brought him, after a week spent observing French activity around and about Salamanca.

  The Scot had taken Davison and his company to join with Addenbrooke and they watched from all sides as the tattered and dispirited French army was reorganised, fed, clothed to some extent and re-armed from the arsenal and stores of food and equipment that had been gathered in the town.

  The Army of Portugal had been driven back into Spain and had suffered grievous losses from disease and starvation, but it had not been overwhelmingly beaten in battle. There were still over forty thousand men able to fight and the activity that MacKay witnessed convinced him that they would be battle-ready much sooner than the three or four months that Wellington had optimistically settled on.

  MacKay was not surprised that he had seen no evidence of reinforcements arriving to help. His earlier conversation with Welbeloved told him that none of the French marshals closest to Salamanca had any troops that they would willingly spare. Any help that they gave would be purely token and provided more from political motives than any wish to succour a rival.

  When Welbeloved arrived, together with Tonks and Hickson, Wellington still appeared to doubt that Masséna would be dangerous any time soon and accepted their recommendation that MacKay should remain in the North with two British and two Portuguese companies.

  It was almost as if his memory had been jogged by Welbeloved’s recommendations and he set off south with him and the rest of the Hornets, to see what Beresford was up to at Badajoz. Welbeloved took the two squadrons of Germans, Addenbrooke’s B Company and Hickson’s G Company. Seven hundred and fifty Hornets; half the brigade; would be there in support of Beresford’s campaign in the south.

  MacKay took the opportunity of congratulating Gonçalves, Dodds and Richter on their promotions and confirmed that Welbeloved had endorsed Wellington’s recommendation. He took all four companies; two British and two Portuguese, back into the field to keep watch on Ciudad Rodrigo and Salamanca. The now almost ubiquitous wagon trains took instructions back to Santiago. Cholmondeley and Burfoot were to create as much disturbance as they could among the Army of the North and Tio Pepe was to encourage all the guerrilleros in the north of Spain to do likewise. Every endeavour was to be undertaken to convince Bessières that no reinforcements could be spared to prop up the army at Salamanca.

  Each of the companies was allocated a quarter of a circle around the town. Their captains were told to use their own judgement about when to be aggressive and when merely to observe.

  It was much gentler country in the valley of the River Tormes; easier to move about but harder to hide in for four companies of horsemen. The river itself flowed east to west along the southern edge of the town for about four miles, but generally it came from the south and continued northwest to join the Douro on the Portuguese border.

  Gonçalves kept watch on the southwest bank and the road to Ciudad Rodrigo. MacKay and the British companies watched the roads from the east, from where reinforcements from France or from the Army of the North were likely to come.

  Every two days, taking it in turn, a platoon from each company gathered all the information they had and delivered it to the forces blockading Ciudad Rodrigo. A simple blockade of the town was all the allied forces could impose at the moment for lack of any siege artillery.

  At the beginning of the last week in April, MacKay moved his men quietly back towards the frontier and Wellington’s headquarters. The startling change in the French army during the ten days they had been observing was almost unbelievable.

  Only just over three weeks ago, the tattered, starving remnants of the Army of Portugal had left a garrison of three thousand men to hold Ciudad Rodrigo and crawled back to their base at Salamanca.

  The infantry that the Hornets had now watched drilling and exercising were lively, dressed in a mixture of worn and fresh uniforms and apparently ready for anything. No other army in the world could recover that quickly. Wellington had judged them incapable of combat for at least six months. Welbeloved had thought three to four and Masséna was looking for a fight only three weeks later.

  The only reinforcements that had appeared at Salamanca were about fifteen hundred cavalry that came from the direction of the Army of the North. They would have been more welcome if they had brought the same number of remounts with them, but their arrival still gave the French over four thousand sabres and MacKay guessed that Wellington had only half that number in the north.

  He hoped that the trouble that Cholmondeley and Burfoot were brewing farther east was responsible for the miserly contribution offered by Bessières. Being more pragmatic, he guessed that the almost traditional hatreds between the marshals should accept most of the blame.

  Whatever the reason, it looked as though Masséna was going to march to the relief of Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida within a fortnight. Wellington had better be warned that he was likely to be fighting a bigger army than his own once more. He would have the advantage of more artillery, which was unusual, but only because the French had not yet been able to replace their teams of horses.

  Whatever the position of Lord Wellington’s eyebrows, this time, on his return from his quick visit to Beresford at Badajoz, he accepted without question MacKay’s assertion that Masséna was moving against him once more.

  If justification for the speed with which he had rebuilt his army was needed, it was provided by a despatch that the Hornets had intercepted. It informed Masséna that Marshal Marmont, his replacement would be arriving by the end of May.

  Napoleon would not tolerate failure, even from one of his senior and longest serving marshals. Masséna must have been told when he got back to Salamanca and this last desperate confrontation just had to be a belated attempt to rescue his reputation from complete disgrace.

  Whatever the reason, it put Wellington in the position of having to fight another defensive battle against greater numbers of French. He abandoned the blockade of Ciudad Rodrigo and moved his army back to the frontier, taking up a position along a range of hills and the gorge of a river, with the little town of Fuentes de Oñoro in the centre of the line.

  MacKay’s four companies of Hornets and Vespãos were not going to get the easy, restful time he had forecast. He volunteered to conduct an aggressive reconnaissance in the fifteen-mile stretch of country between Ciudad Rodrigo and Fuentes de Oñoro. The offer was accepted gratefully to ease the pressure on the allied cavalry; outnumbered by three to one.

  CHAPTER 8

  Once Vere had been able to convince Marshal Beresford that the French forces on the other side of the River Guadiana had less than half the two divisions he himself commanded, the order was given for a pontoon bridge to be completed and for the army to transfer to the eastern bank, ready to place Badajoz under siege.

  The engineers selected a suitable location at Juromenha, perhaps twenty miles downstream from Badajoz, but only seven or eight miles from the smaller garrison at Olivenza.

  At the beginning of April, in heavy rain, the army began to cross. What they hadn’t counted on was an ominously rising river and a sudden flash flood that rose and swept the pontoons away. It left the vanguard and a small number of cavalry trapped on the eastern bank; less than two thousand men to face a possible eleven thousand French.

  It was some considerable time before Vere got the news. He was lurking close to Badajoz with both squadrons of Hornets, ready to give instant warning and attempt to delay any move made by the French to interfere with the crossing.

  The news actually arrived by way of one of the Hornets’ German wagoners who had managed to get over before the disaster occurred. He rode back to the river, leaving Weiss and Fischer to react to the best of their ability if the French got wind of the catastrophe and decided to attack the stranded vanguard.

  The situation by the broken bridge was chaotic. An infantry brigadier was the senior officer available a
nd he still had very little idea about what he should do. There were less than two thousand men across and five hundred of those were cavalry, including some uniforms that he recognised as belonging to the survivors of the ill-fated 13th Light Dragoons.

  After a brief and somewhat acrimonious interlude spent convincing Brigadier Chambers that he could not assume command of the Hornets, he advised him to find a more defensive perimeter for the lonely beachhead. Then, finding that he was senior to any of the cavalry officers, he used his rank to order them to bivouac in a more or less defensive screen across the three roads leading from the broken crossing. If Chambers wanted to change this arrangement later, it would be his decision, but the Hornets would be able to bring ample warning of any overwhelming attack.

  It was dark when he got back to his men, to find a score of fresh horses wearing shabraques belonging to French chasseurs. Otto Fisher explained that they had ambushed an enemy squadron on an apparently routine patrol. It had been pouring with rain and their musketry had not been as devastating as it normally was. Half the enemy squadron had escaped and unfortunately, half the riderless horses had followed them.

  Otherwise, Fischer and Weiss were both of the opinion that the French could not yet have found out about the broken bridge. They seemed far too busy, working feverishly to repair the damage done to the town defences, caused when they had besieged it. The ambushed patrol was likely to have been the only one sent out in the truly dreadful weather.

  The rain had cleared away by the morning and the Hornets were given evidence that they had not been as vigilant as they might have been. Half a squadron of dragoons that had probably been out all night, returned at a canter, leading a dozen horses wearing shabraques of the ill-starred 13th Light Dragoons.

  The Hornets hadn’t seen them leave and were not in position to catch them when they returned. What is more, it was by no means usual for the French cavalry to go looking for trouble at night; an activity that the Hornets considered one of their own strengths. Vere expressed his displeasure and the watch on the town was reorganised.

  By now, the French commander must have known that part of the British attacking force was trapped and vulnerable. Other than the cavalry raid, he made no serious attempt to take advantage of the situation. Perhaps he was more interested in making Badajoz siege-proof than trying to capitalise on the misfortunes of his enemies.

  After three days, another bridge was in place and the army commenced crossing in strength. It was at this time that General Latour Maubourg showed why he had been so single-minded. He might have been acting under orders, but he had no desire to stay and argue with an army more than twice his own strength. Having strengthened the defences, he left a garrison in Badajoz and Olivenza and marched the rest of his army south towards the Sierra Moreno and Andalucia.

  The Hornets followed them all that day. The enemy was in a hurry to avoid the build-up of British forces crossing the river and their rearguard only camped for the night when about ten miles south of Olivenza.

  During the night, Captain Weiss sent Lieutenant Bauer and his troop in on foot. Vere wanted information and he needed an officer to question. He wasn’t too particular as to what sort of officer, but was quite impressed when Bauer returned in the early hours with a captain and lieutenant of engineers.

  They needed little persuasion to give detailed information about the repairs that had been made at Badajoz. Both men were proud of the work they had completed on the defences and wanted the British to realise what a difficult problem they now faced.

  They were also well informed about who had left and how many were remaining in the garrison. Vere resolved to send Weiss and his company to follow the French, while he went back with Fischer and the prisoners to make sure that Beresford knew exactly what he had to face, now that most of his opponents had departed.

  As always, the general was polite and courteous. He might even have been friendly, but for the fact that a mere colonel; and a young one at that; was providing most valuable information and assistance, yet was not under his command. It was infuriating that he had to request these ‘irregular’ soldiers instead of ordering them to do what he wanted.

  He couldn’t get rid of the feeling that this young puppy was more capable of fighting a battle than he would ever be. It was insupportable that he was beholden to him for rescuing a situation at Campo Maior, caused by sheer bad discipline in General Long’s command.

  He would just have to try and be grateful for whatever good deeds young Vere achieved, but carry on with his own plans as if these Hornets did not exist.

  “Good day to you, Colonel Vere. The uniforms of the two officers you have with you appear to be from the Imperial Engineers. I hope they have useful intelligence about the defences of Badajoz. Without any siege train, we shall need all the information we can get, if we are to have any success at all.”

  Vere gave him a beaming smile. “They are proud professionals, Sir William and they are pleased with the work that their men have done. They have needed no urging to tell us how difficult they have made it for anyone trying to get inside. Perhaps of more immediate interest is the fact that Latour Maubourg has taken about eight thousand of his men and scuttled off back to Andalucia.

  All that is left is a garrison of three thousand in Badajoz and a battalion, possibly no more than four or five hundred in Olivenza. I have sent one of my companies to follow Latour Maubourg and they shall report on any aggressive movements. No doubt you shall wish to have your own men observing the French? In which case I can divert mine to try and raise the guerrilleros or round up any regular Spanish troops and set them marching to join you.”

  The thought of additional troops to swell the ranks of his army roused Beresford’s interest in a way that mere numbers in the garrison could not.

  “D’you really think that there are regular Spanish forces to be found, Colonel?”

  Vere grinned happily as he sensed a thaw in their relationship. “In my experience, Marshal, there are regular Spanish units behind every mountain in Spain. The ones that my lads would be looking for are those that got away from the roasting that Soult gave them, upstream from here on the Gévora.

  They shall not exactly be brim full of confidence, but if Captain Weiss can convince them that they shall be joining a British army that is capable of beating the French, I wager that pride shall bring a goodly number this way. Pride is very important to the Diegos. They can be as brave as lions if they have faith in their leaders. The tragedy is that they have so very few leaders in whom they can put their faith.”

  Beresford looked concerned. “You would, of course, go yourself to try and find these troops? The Spanish have an enormous respect for rank and I cannot see them being willing to listen to a mere captain, and a German one at that.”

  Vere thought quickly. This was one of the reasons why Lord Wellington had stressed their independence. He had to have the sole authority to deploy his men. It was, nevertheless, important not to antagonise the marshal.

  “Captain Weiss, Sir William, is a captain of Avispónes. It is a name given to us in the first place by the Spanish themselves and has even been recognised by their ruling council. They appear to regard us almost as reincarnations of their legendary El Cid.

  He speaks spanish more fluently than I do and if there are any Spanish forces in the Sierra Moreno, he is just as capable as I am of bringing them here.

  I am needed here close to you. Lord Wellington has asked me to hold my squadrons in this area and use them as an independent force to help you in any way I judge best. I have used my judgement to send half my force to keep watch on Latour Maubourg. If you can spare some other unit for that, they shall go looking for Spanish reinforcements for you.

  My other company of what I like to call highly mobile dragoons/ skirmishers/ infantrymen is available here for any deviltry that we think might damage the enemy.”

  Beresford picked up on the ‘we’. “If you are saying that I am part of this ‘we’, how can I arran
ge for any deviltry if I cannot command you?”

  “It is not difficult, Sir William, if you do as Lord Wellington does. He knows our strengths and weaknesses and generally, he asks if we can and are willing to do what he wants. We have not yet disappointed him: rather the opposite.

  Please ask if there is anything you want us to do, but let me decide if it is possible and if so, how we shall do it.”

  He watched the expression on Beresford’s face change and felt that he could almost read his mind. The look of near resignation suddenly brightened into an ‘idea’. He had a task for the Hornets and it would be impossible. He would be able to establish a morally superior position for himself when Vere turned it down.

  “Very well, Colonel. We shall try this method that you propose. Firstly, I shall send Colbourne and his brigade to watch the French and to request your men to go and find as many Spanish troops as possible.

  Secondly, my forces, with only field artillery support, have been trying to take Olivenza for three days now, with no success whatsoever. Should you like to tell me whether your Hornets, as you call them, shall be able to show us how it can be done?”

  He was far too much of a gentleman to let his face show any evidence of satisfaction, nay gloating, as he waited for Vere to refuse. He had to admit though, he felt much more at ease with himself than he had for a long time.

  Vere was amused although he didn’t dare show it. He recalled the conversation he had had with Weiss and Fischer on this very subject on their way up to Badajoz. He called back a mental picture of the hastily repaired, but still ancient and crumbling walls and the suggestions that had been made at the time on ways to get them over. He smiled.

  “I am mightily relieved, Sir William. For one horrid moment I thought you were going to ask me to storm Badajoz. Of course we shall try to get into Olivenza, but it is a little late for us to make preparations for tonight. May we spend tomorrow in discussion with the forces you have already investing the town and arrange for our attempt on the following night?”