Swallowing Portugal Will Settle My Spanish Bellyache

by Geoffrey Watson

  The sight of hundreds of green and brown uniformed men rushing forward from the edge of the woods goaded the enemy commanders into countermeasures at a distance they would never normally consider.

  The whole line came to a halt and delivered two volleys, each from a thousand muskets.

  Like an enormous shotgun, two thousand or more lead balls were sprayed towards the still upright skirmishers. The very number of shots guaranteed that some would find targets. Even an almost spent ball could bring a man down, badly wounded or dead.

  From where Welbeloved stood, it appeared as though all the men had been hit. Certainly all of them went to ground at the same time, but a scattering of rifle shots showed that some, at least were still in action.

  The French advance resumed. Amazingly, the brown-clad Portuguese rose and dashed forward to put themselves within range. Welbeloved did a quick estimate and guessed that over a third of them were now out of action.

  The French line halted again and the Portuguese dived for cover. They were belatedly learning caution, but the French had only stopped to reload before surging on again.

  The columns had not stopped at all, but there were still enough Hornets in position to provide a steady erosion of the leading files. He focussed on the escort to the eagle, just in time to see the standard fall, get picked up and raised again, then have the new standard bearer killed within seconds. Dai Evans was not that fast. He must have got his shooting partner to take turn and turn.

  The eagle was raised again, but it was farther back, with many bodies between it and Evans and the column had halted. The extended line was left to advance alone with only the survivors of the 95th and the Portuguese shooting at them. The Hornets joined in to help, while the column waited behind the slowly advancing line.

  Then he saw the reason for the delay with the columns. They had merged to become a single, fatter column and a second column, just as wide had moved up alongside. They were going to try a charge in column, straight through the middle of all the skirmishers facing them.

  He reacted immediately, bellowing for the Hornets to close up to the centre and concentrate on the forty-man front of the two columns, which could easily contain two thousand men.

  Involuntarily, he glanced behind him, looking for the battalions of heavy infantry that Graham had promised. The trees hid any evidence of their approach, if indeed they were approaching at all.

  Then his mental arithmetic gave him an answer and he relaxed. Over half his men had either Ferguson or converted Baker rifles. At peak efficiency they could destroy the front file of the new double column twice, every fifteen seconds. In theory, a quarter of the column would be dead by the time it reached the killing range of the rest of his men.

  The slowly moving double line was far more dangerous in the short term and he bellowed instructions to Davison and Tonks to have their non-riflemen leave the column alone until it was close enough. They were to work on the line of men that was now driving the remaining 95th and Portuguese from cover. They were jumping up and running back fifty yards to continue their harassment.

  The line halted again. Once more they presented their weapons and delivered a storm of shot at where they knew their tormentors were lying. Welbeloved had stepped smartly behind the trunk of a pine tree, watching the storm of shot shred the branches and boughs behind him.

  Then they fixed bayonets all along the line. They were going to finish this affair in traditional style, but would wait for the columns to join them in the final push.

  The drums started and the columns moved in double time down the gentle slope. Davison and Tonks spoke calmly to their riflemen and the timed volleys began.

  The French columns were trotting and were making progress, although the so regular volleys were fraying the front files away, rather like the head of a large wax candle being pushed slowly into a furnace.

  The long line of waiting bayonets had been standing patiently and stolidly under the fire of half the Hornets and the remaining Portuguese and riflemen. When the drums started, orders were shouted and nearly two thousand bayonets were thrust forward aggressively, ready for the final advance.

  That was as far as it got. Frantic counter orders were shouted and the whole line went through the rapid drill of loading and priming muskets.

  The woods behind Welbeloved turned red with the uniforms of Wheatley’s battalions of heavy infantry that had finally filtered through the trees and spread themselves across the whole of the front, facing the French line.

  They were in time but still outnumbered and with impeccable drill, they formed themselves into a double line, by battalions and marched forward from the woods to confront the enemy.

  The French line remained stationary. They knew they had an advantage, having just reloaded and able to pick their moment to fire, when the redcoats had advanced ideally to within fifty yards. Then they would have to halt and aim before they could reply.

  It was a question of whether the individual company or battalion commanders could hold their nerve, as the fire of the line could no longer be controlled by the general; it was down to company and battalion level.

  Then there were the distractions. The Hornets, the remnants of the 95th and Portuguese were still lying between the opposing lines and until the new battalions marched past them, they continued to fire freely into the enormous target that was the French line, picking off men all the way along the front.

  The rifles of the Hornets kept flaying the front of the columns that were rapidly moving level with the front of their own long line.

  It is not easy holding your fire when you are the standing target for skirmishers. Individual companies started to volley before the redcoats had passed the hundred and fifty-yard line. They caused a few casualties, but the French never did have the same talent for rapid, repetitious musket drill that the British excelled at.

  The redcoats continued to march past all the skirmishers, until they were within a hundred yards. They halted, still in two ranks and delivered a series of rapid volleys that shattered the lines in front of them, caused them to recoil and start to flee.

  The heads of the columns were subjected to the same treatment. It was not so devastatingly accurate as the Hornets but the shotgun effect compensated for that.

  The situation still looked critical until some brilliant gunner brought his batteries through the trees on the right and sprayed the flanks of the columns with grapeshot. That really was a shotgun effect.

  The French had had enough. The whole division recoiled and the pursuit started. It didn’t last long before they were recalled. This battle was won but there was still fighting elsewhere. They brought back some hundreds of prisoners and the eagle of the shattered 8th Regiment.

  Whether they had finally run out of escorts for their standard after Dai Evans’s persistent attentions, Welbeloved couldn’t say. It was an unusual, but notable achievement and he would be putting forward no claims whatever on behalf of his men. The eyewitnesses to the battle would spread wild stories about the Hornets and augment their aura of mystery. He would write a brief, factual report for Graham to pass on to Lord Wellington.

  For the moment he was more concerned with MacKay and the rearguard. He and his men cantered off to help, leaving the wagoners and the ‘harem’ to collect the half dozen Hornet casualties from the effects of the sprayed volleys of the lines of infantry.

  CHAPTER 24

  After leaving Graham and Welbeloved, Hamish MacKay rode north again, to join Captains Cholmondeley and Addenbrooke, with A and B Companies. Having been delayed by his visit to La Peña’s headquarters, he was in a hurry to get back while there was still enough daylight left to discover what the French had been doing since he left.

  Both of the French divisions had been some miles to the north and west at sunset on the previous night. Now, because he and his escort platoon were anxious to rejoin the Hornets, they were moving quickly and with less than their normal alertness. But for the helpful lie of the land, they would
have found themselves in the middle of the French army.

  Quite fortuitously, they came over a rise and found what seemed to be the whole enemy army travelling south-east across their path.

  There was no help for it, they could not now get back to their friends during daylight. They turned north-west and moved against the line of march of the French, looking for a way through to their comrades.

  They found it only when the French halted to bivouac for the night. In the dusk, they could make their way unchallenged through the laggards of the baggage train and find A and B Companies camped out of harm’s way, some distance off the line of march.

  The two company commanders had been tracking both French divisions not being used to block the road into Cadiz. They reported that they had been marching steadily, but separately, parallel to the coast in the direction opposite to the Anglo-Spanish army. Their intention appeared to be to attack the allies from the van, the flank and the rear and drive them into the sea.

  MacKay had apparently run into the leading division and squeezed through between the two of them. The situation had to have changed dramatically and adversely from that which he had reported to Welbeloved only this morning. Instead of the expected single thrust through the centre of the allied army, Marshal Victor appeared to be planning to halt it with his regiments on the road outside Cadiz and then attack the centre and rear of the column, both assaults in divisional strength.

  It looked to MacKay to be a masterstroke, with victory assured. La Peña had contrived to have the British division as a shield stretched around his own troops. Now Graham had two divisions; twice his own strength; heading separately toward his centre and toward the weakest part of any army, the rear and baggage train.

  MacKay gathered all the officers and the two Sergeants Major around him and explained how he saw the situation. “General Graham and the Brigadier are expecting an attack frae the front on the Spanish vanguard and also frae the flank by up tae twa divisions. We were tae harry the rear o’ this flank assault in any way we could devise.

  It is now an odds-on wager that one division shall attack where we thought, but the other shall descend on the rear and try tae trap the whole army wi’ its back tae the sea.

  I don’t doubt our lads can beat the Frogs on even terms, but at twa tae one and surprise in the enemy favour, I would nae take any wagers. If our lads get beat, the Spanish shall run. We know they can fight, but not wi’ generals like La Peña. This can end up as a complete rout.

  For the first time ever then, I am not seeking your opinions. I shall tell you what we shall do tomorrow morning and it is your task tae convince the men that it is the only honourable way.

  I intend tae lead you between these twa divisions in the morning and we shall look tae dae what we can tae frustrate the attack on the rear until General Graham can re-deploy his force tae meet it in strength.

  It is a desperate business, but you hae my permission tae tell the men that I shall court martial anyone who allows himself tae be killed before he has accounted for ten Frogs first.”

  ***

  Everyone was on the move as soon as there was enough light to see the way. It didn’t matter to MacKay. He had had further thoughts and he needed to be certain that the leading French division was indeed marching to attack the allied rear.

  Both divisions were camped close enough to each other to be able to work together against the British centre and the leading one would have to march many miles and sweep round toward the sea to catch the rearguard and baggage train. It had seemed the most logical thing in the world last night, when he had seen them marching south-east before they camped for the night.

  Doubts had set in very shortly after he had made his little speech and he could have kicked himself for being quite so sure of himself and indulging in histrionics.

  They set off to find the leading columns. There could be no argument about the way they seemed to be heading when they located them. He just hoped that he didn’t have to circle the entire division before finding out for sure.

  It wasn’t quite that desperate, but a division in column of march spreads over several miles and the vanguard moved off long before the centre stirred itself. His men had to ride several miles before he could be certain that the French were moving away from their sister division and in a south-easterly direction.

  MacKay had a good directional sense. He halted the Hornets and invited Captain Cholmondeley to ride up the nearest hill with him, until they could see across to the gulf of Cadiz, three or four miles away.

  There were still a few clouds left over from the wet and windy weather of the last few days, but the view of the French columns was clear enough and they were certainly moving south-east.

  He pointed at the ridge of high ground some miles away. It was partially blocking their view of the Atlantic. “I should guess that is the ridge on the heights above Barrosa, Algy. If my timing is correct, the Dons shall have their vanguard on the far side and our own vanguard shall be about level wi’ them on this side.”

  He looked down on the French column. “The Frogs are there and look tae be marching easy, probably nae more than twa miles in the hour.”

  Pausing, he glanced towards the ridge. “Over there, Algy, Graham’s men are marching in the opposite direction, let’s say at about the same pace. If they also started at sun-up, my guess is that in an hour they shall be exactly side by side and the French can then turn their vanguard towards them and make ready tae take them in the rear.”

  He paused even longer and looked at Cholmondeley. “If I was the Frog general, Algy, I would nae want tae tackle the British first, nae even their rearguard if there was the rear o’ the Spanish army; at least a mile of it; extending back along the coast road.

  It should be easy tae panic and rout the rear o’ the Spanish. Nobody puts their best troops at the rear if they are nae expecting trouble and La Peña would want his elite tae open an escape route tae Cadiz. Does that nae seem obvious tae you?”

  Cholmondeley looked slightly dazed. “When you put it like that, Sir, I know I should be tempted to try and panic the Spaniards. With five thousand men, though, surely he could surprise the centre of the second Spanish division and send half of them running back to Gibraltar and the other half fleeing towards Cadiz and spreading panic in the rest of the army.

  Shall they not still have enough troops to spare to outnumber our rearguard? I wish I could be sure our men shall stand if they hear their van and centre being attacked at the same time.”

  “Hell’s bells, Algy, o’ course they shall. Troops and tae spare. I was thinking too much o’ the really weak points. Wi’ our column stretched over twa or three miles, it’s certain they shall be outnumbered wherever the French choose tae strike. Come along, we hae tae warn Sir Joshua while we make for the crux o’ the trouble. He can tell Sir Thomas where the attacks are likely tae come and we shall then be left wi’ the simple task of holding back a thousand or more Frogs until Graham can re-deploy his force.”

  By the time they had retraced their steps and found their way through the gap between the two divisions to the centre of the British column, the sound of battle was coming clearly from the van. MacKay listened intently and decided that it was too far away to be either of the divisions that his men had been shadowing. It could only be the French disputing the road to Cadiz.

  He had been riding alongside his old friend, now Lieutenant Atkins of 1 Platoon, A Company, explaining what conclusions he had come to about French intentions. As soon as they reached the British column, Atkins went off to find Welbeloved. MacKay headed towards the heights above Barrosa.

  They were not very impressive, as hills are understood in Spain. It was more of a wide ridge that rose from the coastal road by Barrosa and descended a mile later to the parallel road that the British were using. The top had been worn away into a gentle, sloping plateau; a flattish area of five hundred yards by a thousand.

  The Hornets rode their horses to the top and MacKay asse
ssed it as a defensive position. The animals had no great difficulty with the ascent, but a cavalry attack up the slope against infantry would be suicidal.

  For that reason alone, any commander would want to have a body of troops and maybe a few guns on the top if a battle was being fought. MacKay viewed it with a sceptical eye, thinking about a French army attacking, as he expected, from the south, along the coast, driving the Spanish and the British rearguards in front of them along the two roads that skirted the ridge.

  The heights would act as a magnet for the enemy commanders, as any force on top would serve to slow their entire advance until they could clear it.

  He shrugged resignedly. It was the best, if not the only option available and as the French were now attacking the rearguard only about a mile to the south, he had the horses taken down the northern slope. There they were hobbled in a meadow where they could graze until reclaimed, always assuming that there were any Hornets left to reclaim them.

  He established himself in the centre of the ridge, over the southern slope, where some landslip or mythical dragon had taken a huge bite, aeons ago and left an indentation where the slope was much steeper. A Company took over the ridge on his left and B Company held the right.

  Cholmondeley and Addenbrooke each had a front of about six hundred yards to cover after they had extended their flanks back around the curve of the ridge to cover the front and protect the sides.

  All they had to do now was wait and observe the panic, chaos and confusion in the two columns below them, as their officers struggled to regain control and get them to face infantry and cavalry onslaught. They had a momentary relief when Atkins and his platoon came puffing up to join the fun.

  It happened very quickly, as events in battle often do. The French attack had been a complete surprise. Both roads were showing signs of confused action; cavalry on the coast and a general action on the inland road, where a rearguard was giving way as quickly as they dare, while holding off the attentions of a battalion of voltigeurs.