by Rory Muir
The letter quoted on page 58, describing Wellington's proposed then cancelled attack on the Greater Arapile, comes from the National Archives of Scotland. It is not an original, but a contemporary copy, presumably made by Colonel Taylor, the recipient, to send to friends in Scotland – it is among the Hope of Luffness Papers. The heading states that it was written by Henry Clinton, commander of the Sixth Division, although the copy has only the initials ‘H. C.’ in place of a signature, and internal evidence, including the passage quoted in the narrative, strongly points to its having been written by Henry Campbell. The full text is printed as Appendix IV with a discussion of the reasons for attributing it to Campbell.
Even without this letter there is abundant evidence that the First Division was destined to take a prominent part in the proposed attack. John Aitchison wrote in his diary: ‘the 1st Division were moved up immediately to the village of Arapiles. … Ld Wellington immediately issued orders for the 1st Division to attack – we moved therefore into the village of Arapiles, but had hardly entered it when the order was countermanded and we returned and formed in columns of regiments to the ground we had previously occupied.’ This is confirmed by John Mills, by Tomkinson and by the letters of an officer of the Scots Guards quoted in Maurice's history of the regiment.67 These sources make it clear that the whole division was deployed on the right of the Fourth Division behind the village of Arapiles, and that it was only later withdrawn behind the Lesser Arapile; but they provide no hint as to why it was withdrawn and replaced by the Fifth Division, and this remains inexplicable.
There are just as many sources for Beresford's role in having the attack cancelled. Marmont heard the story years later and oddly enough gives the fullest account of the incident, but his version is supported by contemporary British comments. Charles Cathcart told Graham ‘Marshal Beresford's advice was too much taken and he was against fight’; while Alexander Gordon, one of Wellington's most trusted aides, wrote home: ‘I had all along most strongly recommended Lord W. to attack & particularly on that day, but he was afraid of losing men & Marshal Beresford was much against it.’ Lieutenant T. H. Browne later wrote that ‘Marshall Beresford's opinion was asked & he was against an attack, considering the strength of the enemy's position, that the river was almost upon our rear, & also upon the principle which had hitherto made Ld. Wellington decline acting on the offensive.’ And Tomkinson agrees, although he is the only source to suggest that the Light Division was also destined to play a part in the attack.68
The subsequent evolution of Wellington's plans is very much harder to trace: there is a confused but suggestive account in Browne's Journal (which was written up years later from contemporary notes), but otherwise only fragmentary references.69 However, it is fairly clear that Wellington did not commit himself either to fighting or retreating, but kept the choice open. Oman's statement that it was at this point that Wellington told De Lancey to draw up a plan of withdrawal is based on a misreading of Vere: this was done early in the day, although it may have been at this time that orders were issued to the commissariat to retreat.70
It is difficult to determine when Dyneley was sent to hold the Lesser Arapile to the last man. It might have been in the early morning when the French had just seized the Greater Arapile, and there was some fear that they might attack its companion. This fits Dyneley's words quite well, but Vere clearly says that the hill was initially held by two guns of Sympher's battery which were later withdrawn and replaced by those from Macdonald's troop (including Dyneley). If this is accepted, then the most likely time for Dyneley to receive his orders was the middle of the day when a French attack again appeared possible. However, Beamish, the obvious source for any point involving the King's German Legion, does not confirm Vere's account; while Young and Lawford say that Wellington gave similar orders to Colonel Maclean of the 3/27th (‘You must defend this position so long as you have a man’) when his regiment first occupied the hill. Nonetheless, Vere's direct testimony probably carries more weight than the rather tangential evidence which runs contrary to it.71
The effect of the French bombardment is discussed further in chapter five. In his official dispatch Wellington described it as ‘a very heavy cannonade, which, however, did us but very little damage’. But on the same day he privately told Bathurst, ‘I should wish also to be able to equip some more artillery, and of a larger calibre; as it is not agreeable to be cannonaded for hours together, and not to be able to answer even with one gun.’72 This is an extraordinary statement, almost equal to Wellington's notorious criticism of the British artillery at Waterloo, although it has attracted none of the controversy which surrounds the later letter. Its literal truth is readily disproved by Marmont's wound; but it is not clear whether it has any more general truth. Was the British artillery in the centre and right of the army overwhelmed by the French fire and unable to respond effectively, at least until the allies began their advance? We simply do not know. There were three allied batteries in the area: Macdonald's on the Lesser Arapile, which Dyneley assures us kept firing and had the better of the French guns opposite; Sympher's KGL battery on the hill behind Los Arapiles, which Wachholtz says was important in the defence of the village; and Lawson's battery with the Fifth Division, of which little is known.73 Of these, Macdonald and Lawson were both equipped with 6-pounders, Sympher with 9-pounders. None of them suffered heavy casualties, for the total losses of all the Anglo-Portuguese artillery in the battle was only four men killed and eleven men wounded. It is also possible that these batteries were supported by Bull's horse artillery attached to the cavalry, Douglas's battery from the Third Division, or the Spanish battery, although there is no evidence that any of these units were engaged at this point. Andrew Leith Hay describes an incident in which Lawson's battery was overwhelmed by French fire and forced to withdraw, but a careful reading of his account makes it clear that this occurred while the Fifth Division was still on the left.74
The issue of Marmont's responsibility for the overextension of the French left wing, and hence the defeat of the whole army, has been discussed in the main narrative at some length, but there are a few additional points which ought to be made here. It is sometimes argued, among others by Oman, that if Marmont had really objected to the advance of Maucune and Thomières, he had only to send an ADC with orders and it would quickly have been halted.75 This would be a compelling argument if Maucune, having climbed onto the Monte de Azan, had advanced along it without halting or interference from Marmont until he reached the far end: but no one suggests that this is what happened. Rather, Maucune advanced against the village, but then halted and perhaps withdrew a little, either of his own volition or in obedience to orders. This was further than Marmont claims that he wished him to advance, but it was not in itself fatal. The true disaster for the French came when Thomières, instead of halting in support of Maucune, continued to advance along the plateau beyond Maucune's position, Marmont saw the error, issued orders to Taupin to bring his division forward as soon as possible, and was in the act of setting out to halt Thomières's advance in person, and to make the best of the situation he found, when he was wounded. There is no need to believe that he recognized the full extent of the danger – that may be being wise after the event – but equally there is no inherent implausibility in his setting off to take command of the left in person: at about the same time Wellington was riding to give Pakenham his orders in person, and it was natural for Marmont to go to the Monte de Azan both to assist Thomières, who was only a brigadier, and to ensure that the headstrong Maucune obeyed orders.
This reconstruction of events is far from certain, but it fits the evidence as well, and is at least as plausible, as the alternative. The other interpretation, best expressed by Oman, but common to most historians of the battle, including Sarramon, is that Marmont became convinced that Wellington had already begun to retreat, and was afraid that the allies would break cleanly away. He therefore pushed Maucune, Thomières and Curto forward as quickly as possi
ble in order to molest and detain the allied rearguard and only realized his mistake, if at all, when it was far too late to correct it. This is quite possible, and Girard's evidence, for what it is worth, tends to support it. But there is no explanation as to why Marmont should have believed that the bulk of the allied army had already begun its retreat, other than vague references to the dust kicked up by Pakenham and D'Urban, and the sight of the allied heavy baggage retreating many hours before. Nor do any of Marmont's other actions suggest that he thought he was only facing a rearguard. The orders given just before he was wounded indicate caution and anxiety, not overconfidence: Taupin was to hurry forward to support the left (we have Castel's word as well as Marmont's for this),76 while Ferey and Sarrut were to move to the centre. But if Marmont had really believed that he was only facing a rearguard, surely he would have ordered Foy to engage the troops facing him rather than let them escape unhindered?
Marmont's responsibility would be much clearer if we could determine when he was wounded, but it is impossible to fix the time, or even when it was relative to the allied attack. Some early secondary sources, including Napier, have him wounded after the battle has begun, when Leith and Cole start their advance, and Fortescue is inclined to follow them. But Oman and Sarramon, both of whom are, on the whole, highly critical of Marmont, reject this as being much too late, and put the wound clearly before Pakenham begins his advance, and there is little reason to question their judgment on this point.77
Almost all authorities have accepted without question Marmont's statement that he was wounded as he was on the point of setting off to ride to join his left wing. However, Napier does mention an alternative possibility: that Marmont was ‘at dinner and in the act of holding his plate’ when he was struck. This is evidently based on the testimony of Mercier, an engineer officer attached to Bonnet's division. If this story could be confirmed, it would seriously damage Marmont's credibility, but the only other sources which are relevant – Castel and Parquin – tend rather to contradict it, although they are not conclusive.78
One other possibility should at least be mentioned: Marmont may have been wounded earlier than most accounts suggest, while Maucune's men were still attacking the village. This would explain why he blamed Maucune, not Thomières, for the defeat, and his apparent belief that the attack on the village brought on the battle. It is also easy to imagine that the confusion in the command following his wounding was responsible for Thomières's march, or at least for the failure to halt it. Of course, this is a very convenient theory for Marmont, as it exonerates him from most of the blame for the defeat, but that does not make it untrue. On the whole, the balance of evidence is against this argument, but cannot be completely discounted.
There is a disconcerting oddity in Marmont's Mémoires: he implies that Bonnet was his second-in-command, and makes this explicit in a letter to King Joseph of 25 July 1812. Oman, and most other historians, naturally follow this, presuming – reasonably enough – that Marmont could hardly be mistaken on such a point. It was left to Young and Lawford in 1973 to point out that Clausel had been promoted to general of division eight months before Bonnet (18 December 1802 and 27 August 1803 respectively). Sarramon has no doubt that Clausel was in fact second-in-command of the army, and suggests that Bonnet may have acted in the interim before himself being wounded: it may have taken some time to locate Clausel if he had gone to the rear to have his wounded heel dressed. This is as good a reconstruction of events as the evidence will permit, but it does not really explain Marmont's strange inaccuracy.79
If a simple point like this poses such difficulties, it is not surprising that it is impossible to reconstruct precisely the movements of the French divisions. Three problems stand out in particular. How far forward was Maucune's main body when his skirmishers attacked the village, and did he remain in this position or move south or west when the attack was repulsed? Where did Curto's light cavalry skirmish with those of Arentschildt, and why did they not play a more prominent role later in the battle? And where was Clausel's division when Maucune first moved onto the Monte de Azan, and when Thomières advanced beyond Maucune's position? This last is particularly important, for Marmont's orders appear more or less rash depending on whether Clausel should have been in position to support Maucune and Thomières. Unfortunately, there is little or no evidence to answer any of these questions. We do not even really know where or when Clausel was wounded, or whether he was with his division at the time or had ridden ahead. There is some evidence that his troops came into line surprisingly late, after Cole's advance had begun, but even this is not conclusive. Nor is it difficult to ask other insoluble questions. Where exactly was Taupin's division? Where was Sarrut's? Our whole understanding of the battle, and of these early manoeuvres in particular, is much more fragmentary and uncertain than a confident narrative and attractive maps would suggest.
The story of Wellington's sudden decision to attack has been told in many forms. The grain of sand which grew into the familiar anecdote was current in the army at the time. John Mills wrote in his diary of 22 July: ‘At five o'clock Lord Wellington having observed that they had detached a considerable body of troops from their left and had occupied the range of hills said, “Now they have driven me to attack them. They will not let me retreat quietly and we will show them we are not to be bullied.” ’ And soon after the news of the victory reached London, The Times published a private letter from the army: ‘Now arrived the critical moment which decided the fate of the French army. Lord Wellington found the enemy still continuing to open to his left – their impertinence in cannonading us put him out of all patience; and when an officer arrived with information that the enemy were still further off, going to their left, he said – “Then, by God! we will attack them.” ’80
These early versions contain many of the ingredients of the fully rounded tale and help to confirm that at its heart lies a core of truth. Other papers may have published similar stories, or the tale may simply have circulated among veterans by word of mouth. In any case its next appearance in print seems to have been in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine in May 1828. This was in what purported to be a letter sent home after the battle by one Captain Spencer Moggridge, but which was in fact an article written for the magazine by a regular contributor, Captain Thomas Hamilton, then at work on his Annals of the Peninsular Campaigns (1829). Hamilton was a Peninsular veteran who had been wounded at Albuera, but neither he, nor his regiment (the 29th Foot), had been at Salamanca, so that his account is an early but somewhat dubious – because it appeared under false colours – secondary source.
On this height were several officers, one of whom was seated, while his horse was held by an orderly dragoon, and the others standing round him. I had approached within a few yards of them before I observed that the principal object in the group was Lord Wellington. In a moment my attention was arrested. He was at luncheon, and in the act of adding mustard to a slice of meat which had just been deposited on his plate, when the following colloquy took place.
‘The enemy are moving, my lord,’ said one of the staff officers to his commander, already busily engaged in the office of mastication.
‘Very well,’ replied his lordship; ‘take the glass, Somerset, and tell me what they seem to be about;’ at the same time continuing his meal with every appearance of nonchalance. The officer did so for about a minute.
‘I think they are extending their left, my lord.’
‘The devil they are!’ exclaimed Lord Wellington, springing in an instant to his feet; ‘give me the glass quickly.’
He took it, and for a short space continued observing the motions of the enemy. ‘Come, I think this will do at last!’ he exclaimed. ‘Ride off instantly, and tell Clinton and Leith to return as quickly as possible to their former ground.’
In a moment all his staff were in motion, Lord Wellington mounted his horse, and I returned to my regiment.81
William Grattan reproduces this version of the story almost word f
or word in his memoirs, which were first published in the United Service Journal in 1834, six years after Hamilton's article appeared. Of course, it is possible that Hamilton and Grattan both drew on a common source, or even that Grattan told Hamilton the story (although nothing in the rest of Hamilton's article supports this idea), but the very close verbal similarities between the two tales cast a cloud over Grattan's credibility.
In subsequent years many other versions of the anecdote were recorded. In 1831 J. W. Croker wrote in his diary that Alava told the tale at breakfast in front of Wellington, who listened quietly without the least contradiction. This time the food was ‘a bit of bread and the leg of a cold roast fowl’ which is unceremoniously tossed away (to Alava's horror) when Wellington himself saw that the French advance had reached a point he had previously determined. Then come the two conversations preserved by Greville and quoted in the main narrative, and several less interesting versions. In the winter of 1851–2 James Thornton, who had been Wellington's cook during the war, was interviewed by Lord Frederick Fitzclarence, then his employer. He recalled that on the day of the battle he had brought provisions to the Duke near the village of Los Arapiles, ‘I think about 1 or 2 o'clock in the day.’ The food was immediately ordered to the rear (this supports Fitzroy Somerset's account), where Wellington and the staff soon joined them in a farmyard ‘and took some refreshment’ – neither cold meat nor chicken is specified. Wellington remained less than half an hour, but Thornton makes no mention of staff officers arriving with news, or Wellington leaving at a gallop, let alone the food being thrown away.82
