The War of the Spanish Succession (1701-1714)
Page 19
We marched on the 25thy [April] into the plain of Almanza. The enemy waited for us near the town where we gave them battle and were defeated; both our wings being broke and routed. Our foot was hounded by the enemy’s horse, so that none could get off … All the generals that are here assembled yesterday to consult what was now to be done. All agreed that we were not in a position to think of defending this kingdom [Valencia] and resolved to retire on Tortosa with what horse is left to us.12
A lack of harmony amongst the allied commanders, in addition to the poor quality of training and equipment of some of the troops, had contributed to this reverse. As the Earl predicted, Valencia could not be held after such losses, and Archduke Charles and his adherents would soon fall back into Catalonia with a dejected army in total less than 10,000 strong, together with a hold on scattered outposts at Tortosa, Lerida, Denia and Alicante, and not much more. The court in Lisbon was alarmed at the scale of the defeat, feeling with some justification that they might be now more exposed to attack by French and Spanish armies, and with very little to defend them.
In fact, Berwick had now been joined by the Duc d’Orleans and had other plans; his own casualties in the fighting at Almanza had not been insignificant and he did not pursue Galway and Das Minas all that vigorously, but turned his attention instead to Requena and Valencia, while a detachment operated against the allied garrison in the port of Denia. The Austrian governor in Requena surrendered almost as soon as the place was invested, and on 8 May Valencia also submitted. Berwick promptly had the defences demolished, and fined the inhabitants 40,000 pistoles for having supported the Austrian claimant to the throne. The pursuit of the beaten allied army was undoubtedly cautious, and the town of Xativa was only secured by the Chevalier d’Asfeld after heavy house-to-house fighting on 19 May, and the citadel still held out. An attempt by Berwick to cross the river Ebro on 25 May was repulsed, so that the French had to march sixty miles upstream to Caspe in Aragon, in order to get over the obstacle. Saragossa submitted to a force commanded by the Duc d’Orleans on 26 May, while Alcira held out until 1 June, when the allied garrison were permitted to march out on good terms. The troops in the citadel in Xativa capitulated on 12 June, after a valiant defence of thirty-nine days which did much to slow the preparations Berwick was making to advance towards Catalonia. The reprisals ordered by the French commander at the siege, d’Asfeld, were, however, unduly harsh, and much of the town of Xativa was burned by his troops before they moved on. The allied garrison were permitted to march out with the honours of war, but suffered badly from privation and harassment on the road back to Catalonia.13
Energetic efforts by Galway and the steady arrival of troops posted as missing at Almanza, and who had either evaded capture or escaped from the French, brought his army back to a strength of over 14,000 horse and foot. Lerida gallantly held out until the beginning of October, and the citadel garrison only surrendered six weeks later. This was still a blow for the allied cause, as the country around the town had provided much of the produce and provisions needed by the army to operate effectively. News came that Ciudad Rodrigo had been recaptured from the Portuguese, but the defence of Denia became a minor epic; the garrison was commanded by General Juan Ramos, and the governor of the citadel was Don Diega Rejon de Silba, two very capable soldiers. Earthworks had been thrown up to reinforce the formal defences, and it was only at the end of June that the French had properly established their trenches and brought up the siege train. These batteries opened fire four days later, and despite vigorous counter-battery fire from the garrison, on 6 July a breach had been made in the defences. An assault was mounted the next day, which was repulsed with the loss of over 300 of the stormers, and a second attempt under cover of night was no more successful. New batteries having been established, a second breach was made, and on 10 July the French commander, d’Alsfeld, beat a parley, sending a message to Ramos and de Silba that having had to make two assaults, he would certainly make a third and more powerful attack, and would offer no quarter unless the garrison submitted before that took place. The robust response was that they would certainly not submit, and would in turn offer no quarter to his attacking troops. The spirits of the garrison had been lifted by the landing of 400 marines and armed seamen from HMS Lancaster, which lay off-shore. The third French attack went in late that afternoon, directed at both breaches to divide the attention and fire of the defenders, and in ninety minutes of heavy and hand-to-hand fighting the attackers were once again repulsed. A fourth attempt was made at similar heavy loss. ‘A bloody engagement took place, and at the close of two hours’ hand-to-hand fighting, Ramos was again victorious, the Bourbon troops being hurled back to their trenches, leaving the breaches covered with their dead and wounded.’14 D’Asfeld in frustration gave up these expensive attacks, and instead established a tight blockade of the place.
The French went on to attack Alicante. The defence was a good one, and the besiegers could only make slow progress. Although the town had to be given up, the citadel doggedly held out with an English and Huguenot garrison commanded by Major-General John Richards. Such valiant resistance was admirable, but it was plain that the allies had lost the initiative, an however valiant the defences might be, Denia and Alicante must, unless a major land operation was mounted to relieve them, fall in time.
Chapter 9
Vexatious Distractions
‘The number of enemy forces has risen daily.’1
Tired of war, Louis XIV would have welcomed a good peace, for repeated military reverses had taught a stark lesson, and confidential negotiations with the parties to the Grand Alliance to achieve this end were in hand. Still, while inclined to settle matters, he remained obstinate, aware of the central position which France held, with a unity of purpose between himself and his grandson. Formidable armies were still able to be deployed and in the capable hands of commanders like Villars, Vendôme and Berwick they might yet turn the scales; if the Allies would not agree acceptable terms they might yet be imposed. France was as yet untouched, and a powerful stab at one or more of the more minor allies ranged against him – Portugal, Savoy or the German states perhaps – might pay handsome dividends. The Ottomans might even be persuaded to renew their threat to Vienna – Louis XIV had courted them in the past in attempts to distract and weaken Austria, and could do so again. Then there was always the north, where the volatile Swedish king might make mischief to France’s benefit.
King Charles XII of Sweden, twenty-five years old, warlike, capricious and unpredictable, had challenged his neighbours for control of the Baltic, went on to wage against Augustus, King of Poland and Elector of Saxony, and had soundly beaten his army at Fraustadt in February 1706. The prowess of the well-drilled Swedish troops, 40,000 strong and renowned for their discipline and valour, was at its height, The Swedish king established his headquarters at Altenstadt near Leipzig for the winter months, and set out his demands to Augustus, most particularly that he should renounce his title as King of Poland, acknowledge Charles’s own nominee, and abandon his alliance with Tsar Peter of Russia. The strategic aim was apparent, to deny allies to the Tsar and so prepare for a military operation in the east. The king, however, was sufficiently unpredictable to cause general concern amongst the parties to the Grand Alliance that, instead, he might march south and meddle in the war for Spain.
On 23 November 1706 a letter was sent by Mr George Stepney, British ambassador at The Hague to a friend in London, explaining that:
M. Palonquist, Envoy Extraordinaire from the King of Sweden, notified to the States-General and to my Lord Duke of Marlborough, that a treaty had been concluded the 24th past, at Alt Rastadt, between his master and King Augustus; whereby the latter renounces the crown of Poland, and consents to acknowledge Stanislaus, reserving to himself the title of King; [and] promises to send no assistance to the Tsar.2
Charles remained with his victorious troops in Saxony through the winter, and the possibility of war with Imperial Austria grew more likely ove
r allegations of Vienna’s ill-treatment of Protestants in Silesia. That any such an attack would assist at one remove staunchly Catholic France in its war for the throne of Spain was apparently disregarded by the rigorously Protestant Swedish monarch. The danger of a third front opening against the Grand Alliance, with Charles entering the fray and engaging with Vienna was real and any additional diversion of Austria’s attention in this way would be immensely damaging.
In February 1707, the Duke of Marlborough, expressing the widely-held concern at what Charles XII might do in the coming campaigning season, wrote to Antonius Heinsius: ‘I should not scruple the trouble of a journey as far as Saxony, to wait on the King, and endeavour, if need be, to set him right, or at least to penetrate his design, that we may take the justest measures we can not to be surprised.’3 In the third week of April Marlborough took to his coach and went through Hanover to meet Charles at Altenstadt, to press him to stay out of the war, and particularly not to engage in fighting with Vienna. On 27 April 1707 the duke wrote to his friend Sidney Godolphin in London:
This morning at a little after ten I waited on his Majesty. He kept me with him till the hour of dining which was at twelve, and as I am told sat longer at dinner by half an hour, than he used to do. He also took me again into his chamber where we continued for above an hour.4
The suave English courtier and the rough-hewn Swedish king – both being victorious generals of great renown – each quite naturally had a certain fascination with the methods of the other. The king seemed to feel that the duke’s mode of dress complete with his garter sash was too showy for a soldier, but they managed to agree on the main points under discussion. ‘The King expressing great tenderness and respect for Her Majesty as well as friendship for his Royal Highness Prince George of Denmark [the king’s uncle] and seeming very well inclined to the interest of the allies.’5 The concern that the Maritime Powers felt at the Swedish incursion into Saxony was put as forcefully as the duke could manage, within the bounds of civility, but here his courtier’s charms paid no dividend. The king’s cool response was: ‘You may assure the Queen, my sister, that my design is to depart from hence as soon as I have gained the satisfaction I demand, but not sooner.’6 The allied aim, of course, was to see that Charles did not interfere in the war for the throne in Madrid, but turn his attention elsewhere. Marlborough’s ability to offer inducements to Charles XII’s ministers certainly helped, and the English envoy to Sweden wrote three days after the duke met the king for the first time:
By his Grace’s orders I have acquainted Count Piper, M. Hermeline and M. Cederheilm that her Majesty will give yearly pensions; to the first £1500 and to each of the other £300; but the second for the first time £1000, and that the first payment should be made without delay.7
Marlborough took care to enquire about the organisation and methods of the Swedish army, hitherto so victorious under the iron command of their young king. He was surprised to find that their army travelled very light, with little support from an administrative tail and with ‘no artillery train, no hospitals, no magazines’. For an army to be light on its feet was demonstrably a good thing, but this could be overdone to the point of rashness, and the duke added, quite prophetically as it turned out, that: ‘It is an army that lives on what it finds and which in a well contested war will very soon be destroyed [author’s italics and translation].’8
The generally amiable discussions between king and duke ended, and the two men set out for Leipzig to meet the Elector of Saxony, and Stanislaus, now named as King of Poland at the behest of the Swedes, but not recognised as such by Queen Anne. Marlborough paid Stanislaus due compliments, in order to be civil, but indicated no formal recognition. The next day the duke left Charles XII, paid a courtesy call on Frederick-Wilhelm, King in Prussia, and returned to Brussels, having achieved something of a diplomatic coup. Charles XII stayed out of the war for Spain, and instead took his formidable troops to attack Russia on the grim road that led to defeat at Poltava two years later.
Having established his forces in the Milanese, the attention of Emperor Joseph meanwhile was turned to making gains in southern Italy. From Vienna’s point of view this might have been the most promising theatre on which to concentrate even allowing for the continuing problems in Hungary, but it did few favours to the cause of the emperor’s younger brother in Spain. Marlborough, campaigning once more in Flanders, wrote in frustration to Secretary of State Robert Harley in London that ‘the court of Vienna should immediately be written to, to dissuade them from the expedition to Naples, and to press them in the most earnest manner to proceed with the greatest vigour in Spain’.9 Such appeals were fruitless, for the emperor was intent on making sure of acquiring Naples, and diverted significant numbers of his troops to achieve that end.
Count Philip Ludwig Sinzendorf, the imperial plenipotentiary to The Hague, wrote to the Duke on 21 May 1707, soon after the news of the calamity at Almanza was known:
Notwithstanding the defeat, the remains of the army must have retired to Barcelona; and as we are masters of the sea, that city can always be provisioned by the fleet, and the enemy will not be able to besiege it, for want of heavy artillery, and other necessaries. The King [Archduke Charles], therefore may remain there in safety, until means can be taken to succour him with fresh troops towards the autumn.10
In effect, the count was saying that despite the defeat, affairs in Spain would have to wait while the emperor attended to more pressing affairs elsewhere, not just in southern Italy but in dealing with continuing rebellion in Hungary. Sinzendorf went on to point out that when fresh troops became available they would have to be paid for by Holland and England as they would be provided ‘under the condition that the two powers shall furnish their subsistence which we cannot provide … Be convinced that the emperor is not in a position to maintain the troops in Spain.’11
The agreement reached between France and Austria had effectively de-militarised northern Italy with the evacuation of all remaining French troops; the memorandum of the terms had been signed in Milan on 13 March 1707. Although 20,000 well-trained French troops were in this way enabled to rejoin the field armies of Louis XIV elsewhere, imperial forces could clearly be found to occupy Naples, and Queen Anne referred to this in a gently barbed tone in a letter of encouragement sent to the emperor on 6 May:
The gains which the enemy has lately made in Spain may have such unfortunate consequences that I cannot but tell you that it is of the greatest importance that all your troops now in Italy should be used for an invasion of France … Your Majesty is too enlightened to be distracted by a trifling expedition [Votre Majeste est trop éclairé pour s’amuser á une petite expedition]. I am assuring myself therefore that is your wisdom you will think solely of the recovery of the Prince’s affairs; obliging his enemies’ to recall their troops for the defence of their own countries.12
It was no use: substantial imperial forces were committed away from the main theatres of war, and effort which should have been concentrated was diffused. A grand project against the great French naval base at Toulon had been planned for some time, however, and a major threat to the port and naval base would serve very well to draw French attention and troops away from the campaign in Spain.
The Margrave of Baden had died from the festering effects of his wound received in 1704, and the Margrave of Bayreuth, who now commanded for the emperor on the Rhine frontier, was short of men. Too many imperial troops were committed elsewhere. The margrave had the protection of the Lines of Stollhofen, stretching from Fort Louis on the river to Windeck on the margins of the tangled country of the Black Forest, to mask his lack of numbers, and additional defensive works had been constructed northwards along the Rhine to the fortresses of Landau and Philippsburg. His small army was faced by Marshal Villars, one of Louis XIV’s best and most aggressive commanders, and on 22 May the French broke through the defensive lines with complete surprise and little fighting and loss, and the imperial troops fell back in confusion tow
ards Rastadt and Durlach. A delighted Louis XIV wrote to Villars:
I do not know how to praise too much the disposition you made to become master of the Lines of Stollhofen, and the way it was done and the lucky success of the movement … You remember that the greatest advantage that you can draw from this expedition is that of allowing my army to supply itself at the expense of the enemy and to oblige them to fortify considerably their fortresses to oppose you.13
The king could clearly see that Villars’ army could not be maintained in any extended campaign in Germany, but for the time being the Imperial Circles of Swabia and Franconia were laid open to attack. The strategy by which Austria had for years defended its frontier on the Rhine had been broken, while the attention of Vienna was elsewhere.
Detachments of French troops were left to labour at demolishing the now redundant Lines of Stolhoffen, while Villars and his army pressed onwards. The Margrave of Bayreuth had not the strength to check the French advance, and by 8 June the marshal had entered Stuttgart, levying contributions of money and supplies and spoiling the countryside as he went. Villars had cut himself loose from his own lines of supply and his army was in effect a huge flying column, supplying its needs from the regions through which it passed and from the depots and stores abandoned by the margrave as he fled. Out-generalled by Villars, Bayreuth had little option but to retreat further, taking up a defensive position not far from Nordlingen. Soon, French officers had the opportunity to ride over and view the old battlefield on the plain of Höchstädt, and to walk the slopes of the Schellenberg hill, still strewn as both sites were with the debris of the bitter fighting in 1704. Had the available Imperial forces been gathered together under a single firm commander – ‘A general of authority, capable of commanding troops’14 – then Villars’ progress might have been stemmed, for he was very much out on a limb, unable to receive immediate support if challenged, and potentially vulnerable to being cut off from his own line of withdrawal. Bayreuth, however, was irresolute and daunted by the threat he faced, and the Duke of Marlborough, exasperated at the deteriorating situation in southern Germany, wrote to him from Meldert on 7 June: ‘If all the troops Your Highness has in hand were concentrated the army of the Empire would be at least equal and perhaps superior to the enemy’s forces, of which it is certain that at least half are but militia.’ The Duke went on with just a hint of acidity in his tone: ‘If the advantage had been on our side, and we had made an irruption into their country, the French would not leave six thousand men at Strasbourg with their arms folded.’15 However, the margrave, an honest man of rather limited abilities, did little more than wring his hands in despair and hope for better times.