The successful conclusion of Bonaparte’s first battle as commander in chief provides a convenient juncture for an outline of the tactics currently employed by the Revolutionary Armies. By 1796 these had become fairly stereotyped and effective, but to appreciate them fully it is necessary to glance back at the chaotic early days of the War of the First Coalition when crude volunteer and fédéré armies—with a stiffening of regular troops inherited from the ancien régime—faced the military might of the European monarchies. From the confusion of the earlier engagements there slowly developed a system of battlefield methods which, in the fullness of time, would underlie the military achievements of Europe’s greatest soldier.
Officially, the French armies of 1791 were supposed to follow the regulations, drills and disciplines laid down in the famous Drill-Book issued in that year. This work, produced during the decade preceding the Revolution, enjoined the adoption of a combination of linear and columnar tactics—according to the requirements of the particular mission, the nature of the ground to be fought over, and the characteristics of the opponents. The norm was declared to be the volley delivered in three-deep lines, but the use of columns of attack for the final approach was also advised. In practice, however, the combination of these evolutions proved beyond the capacity of the raw Republican armies. The first volunteer formations that attempted to follow the printed word found the tactical subtleties wholly beyond the capacities of their training and experience. The evolutions needed to bring a column of troops into line ready for fire action were necessarily complex—as were the maneuvers required when the line was subsequently ordered to advance or retire under fire. The predictable result was complete chaos followed by, as often as not, a mass flight to the rear out of range of howling shot and whistling musket balls. The early revolutionary armies possessed neither the discipline nor the training required to carry out drill evolutions with clockwork precision within eighty yards of the enemy. Even the famed élan and courage of the new armies (often overexaggerated by contemporary propagandists) proved a two-edged weapon. On the one hand it could lead to ill-considered attacks resulting in heavy casualties all to little purpose; on the other, a sudden reverse could cause an equally violent reaction—the troops’ bravery and dash being transformed in an instant into fear and flight.
After a series of heavy reverses in 1792, the French military pundits gradually came to recognize the limitations of their military material and advised the adoption of what may be termed “horde tactics.” It now became the invariable practice to send the most reliable men forward in a cloud of skirmishers (whose nuisance value had been learned by General Lafayette and his French volunteers during the War of American Independence), while behind the screen thus formed the less-trusted mass of the battalions huddled together making up their minds whether to fight or flee. Then, after the cannon and skirmishers had wrought their preliminary havoc upon the enemy lines, all being well, the French columns would surge forward in a series of wild rushes, brandishing swords and bayonets, and on many occasions the astounded enemy would retire discomfited. The noteworthy contemporary soldier General Foy has left the following description of a typical engagement in the revolutionary period, which—even if it paints rather a romanticized picture—is worth citing in full:
The action was opened by a cloud of sharpshooters, some mounted, some on foot, who were sent forward to carry out a general rather than a minutely-regulated mission; they proceeded to harass the enemy, escaping from his superior numbers by their mobility, from the effect of his cannon by their dispersal. They were constantly relieved to ensure that the fire did not slacken, and they also received considerable reinforcement to increase their over-all effect.
It was rare for an army to have placed its flanks in impregnable positions; in any case every position presents natural or contrived loopholes which favour an attacker. On such points the sharpshooters would concentrate their efforts, and élan and inspiration were rarely lacking at such times amongst such troops. Once the chink in the foe’s armour had been revealed, it became the focal point for the main effort. The horse artillery would gallop up and open fire with canister at close range. The attacking force would meantime be moving up in the indicated direction, the infantry advancing in column (for it had little fire to offer), the cavalry in regiments or squadrons, ready to make its presence felt anywhere or everywhere as required. Then, when the hail of enemy bullets or cannon balls began to slacken, an officer, common soldier, or, as often as not, a Representative of the People, would start to chant the “Hymn of Victory.” The general would place his hat with its large tricolor cockade on the point of his sword so that it could be seen from afar and serve as a rallying point for the gallant troops. The soldiers would begin to run forwards, those in the front ranks crossing their bayonets, as the drums beat the charge; the sky would ring to a thousand battle-cries constantly repeated: “En avant! En avant! Vive la République!”
The combination of clouds of skirmishers with such charges in battalion columns was certainly well suited to the temperament and characteristics of the early revolutionary armies. It called for comparatively little precision on the part of the rank and file, made the utmost use of the drive and ardor of the citizen-soldiery, and often overwhelmed their better drilled but less-inspired opponents by sheer brute force. The armies of eighteenth-century Europe—soaked in the intricacies and formalities of Frederickan warfare—were frequently left astounded and helpless by the crude tactics of this “new” type of struggle.
With the passage of time, however, the tough French armies became more experienced, and it became feasible to return to more subtle tactics combining infantry fire and shock in carefully regulated proportions. It was found, for instance, that the skirmishers and cannon fire did not always cause sufficient casualties to shake the enemy’s cohesion—and that a heavier volume of musketry fire was required. Perhaps the best solution to this problem was the adoption of l’ordre mixte*—a tactical combination of troops in column with troops in line. The famous Amalgame of 1794 greatly facilitated this development, for the regular battalion in each demi-brigade was perfectly capable of moving and firing with reasonable accuracy in linear formation, while the two associated fédérés battalions were best employed in column on each flank.
At first every line battalion was supposed to consist of three companies of 330 men each, but in later years this was raised to nine (and in the end six) companies of between 150 and 200 men apiece. The nine-company line infantry battalion contained eight fusilier and one grenadier (or élite) companies. The light infantry battalions, on the other hand—which were supposed to be able to keep up with trotting cavalry—consisted of six companies, four chasseur and one carabinier (the equivalent to fusiliers and grenadiers), together with one voltigeur company which was habitually used in a skirmishing role. Approximately three companies in each demi-brigade would be employed as the sharpshooter screen whether or not the formation contained a regular light infantry unit. As regards numerical strength, owing to the exigencies of active service it was rare for a light infantry demi-brigade to go into action more than 1,000 strong, or a line infantry demi-brigade to contain as many as 2,500 effectives.
The French cavalry of this period was generally abysmal. This arm suffered most from the exodus of officers. The considerable length of time required to train a good cavalryman was lacking, and shortage of horses also affected its capabilities. On paper a cavalry demi-brigade was divided into four squadrons, each being subdivided into two compagnies (or troops) of 116 cavalrymen apiece. Thus a cavalry demi-brigade officially mustered some 900 sabers, but in fact rarely averaged more than two or three hundred during the Republican period. There were three main categories of cavalry—heavy (for shock action), dragoons (supposedly capable of fighting on horseback or foot in close support of infantry formations) and light (responsible for reconnaissance, screening and pursuit roles). Too many were of lamentably poor caliber. However, great future leaders were in the proces
s of emerging from such unpromising surroundings—Murat, Lasalle, Grouchy and Milhaud. Moreover, great feats of arms had already been achieved—as when a French cavalry division charged across the ice to capture the trapped Dutch fleet in 1794.
By contrast, the artillery of the Revolutionary Armies suffered least of all from the emigration of officers, for many of its leaders were drawn from middle-class rather than aristocratic families. Their weapons—thanks to Gribeauval (and latterly Carnot)—were the best in Europe, and although the artillery trains suffered as much as the cavalry from the prevalent shortage of horses* and retained the services of unreliable civilian team-drivers until the early 1800s, their battle efficiency remained generally outstanding. The guns were organized into compagnies (or batteries) of eight pieces, and within the battery were divided into pairs. The Revolutionary period was not without marked effects on the missile arm, however. The number of horse artillery batteries was greatly increased, and a new variety—l’artillerie volante (or “galloper-guns”)—was added to the old categories of line and horse artillery.
The military engineers were equally skilled under the Republic as under the ancien régime. Although the century-old principles of Vauban remained the basis of all fortification work (with subsequent improvements suggested by Chasseloup-Laubat, Montelambert and Lazare Carnot), the French sappers were equally adept at building roads or constructing bridges. However, with the vast expansion of the French forces, experienced engineers were generally in short supply, and General Bonaparte found himself with fewer than 2,000 nominal sappers in 1796 when officially the Army of Italy should have possessed an establishment of 3,300 specialists (one company of miners and two battalions of sappers). Extemporization was accordingly the order of the day. There was a particular shortage of pontoon sections and portable boats—deficiencies aggravated by the dearth of draft horses. However, in Andréossy and Marescot the Army of Italy contained two engineers of talent with a near-genius for improvisation.
Ambulance and supply formations were virtually nonexistent; the consequent shortages of medical care and provisions bred a spirit of self-reliance and creature cunning among the troops (although widespread desertion was another consequence)—and made possible the rapid strategic movements that so bewildered their convoy-minded and depot-bound opponents.
All in all, therefore, General Bonaparte inherited a redoubtable weapon, ready to his hand.
General Bonaparte had won his first battle, but there was little time for self-congratulation. Augereau’s advance from Finale had been unexpectedly delayed by bad going, and as a result Massena’s tired men were forced to execute a march up the road to occupy Carcare before the enemy. By midnight, however, the leading units of Augereau’s columns reached the vital crossroads, and headquarters were established in the largest house in the village. The French were now in possession of their central position and the Austrians had been repulsed; so far everything was going according to plan.
As he bent over his maps with Berthier, Bonaparte had to face a new problem. Although Argenteau had been scattered, there was no confirmation that the complete Austrian force had been engaged at Montenotte. Bonaparte had to decide whether to spend the 13th following the discomforted Austrians or whether to pursue his original scheme of advancing on Colli’s isolated Piedmontese. He gambled on the latter course. Massena, with half his division, should hold Dego—and thus block the most likely Austrian approach route—while Augereau’s force, together with the rest of Massena’s, made an advance on Ceva, and Sérurier’s division moved up from Ormea to achieve a concentration of at least 25,000 men against the Piedmontese. To guard against unforeseen eventualities, a central reserve of six battalions was ordered to remain at Carcare in company with all of Stengel’s cavalry.
The events of the 13th proved this precautionary measure to be wise. Nothing went according to plan. In spite of an initial success at Millesimo, Augereau’s advance on Ceva came to a halt before the ruins of Cosseria castle, where a small garrison of 900 grenadiers under the Austrian General Provera, whose unit had originally linked the Austrian and Piedmontese sectors, defied all attempts to dislodge them. Colonel Joubert led the last assault of the day. “Nothing more terrible,” he wrote afterward, “could be imagined than the assault, where I was wounded in passing through a loophole; my carabiniers held me up in the air, with one hand I grasped the top of the wall. I parried the stones with my saber, and my whole body was the target for two entrenchments dominating the position ten paces off.”4 This attempt, in its turn, had to be abandoned, and the French drew back after a day’s fighting that had cost them 900 casualties. Meanwhile, on the other French flank Massena found Dego occupied by what appeared to be a sizeable enemy force. Bonaparte rode over to inspect the situation and ordered Massena to delay his attack until he heard that Cosseria had fallen. As Provera continued to hold out, Massena made no move, and to cap the frustrations of the day a storm of torrential rain made everybody miserable and delayed the arrival of the supply convoys. Thus Bonaparte had lost a valuable twenty-four hours. Determined to redress the situation next day, he ordered Augereau to retain only a single brigade to watch Provera and to send the rest of his troops through the night to join Massena.
The next morning the situation took a turn for the better. A strong force of French troops attacked the village of Dego about midday, and within a short time Massena had taken most of the 5,000 Austrians prisoner together with 19 guns. News also arrived of the long overdue surrender of Cosseria castle, and the way was at last open to attack Colli. Leaving Massena to occupy Dego, Bonaparte retraced his steps to the west with La Harpe, hoping to meet Sérurier’s division near the town of Ceva.
All was not yet well, however, on the exposed French right flank. Exhilarated by the morning’s success, Massena’s men typically scattered in search of food and plunder, and in this unfortunate situation were surprised by five Austrian battalions under General Wukassovitch in the early hours of the next morning. The unexpected arrival of this force was completely fortuitous; Wukassovitch had received an order from Beaulieu dated the 14th, ordering him to move on Dego “tomorrow”; the letter had in fact been dictated late on the 13th, and it was the commander in chief’s intention that Wukassovitch should intervene in the following day’s battle, but the error in the dating accounted for his subordinate’s appearance at Dego on the 15th. In any case, the effect was catastrophic for the French troops in the vicinity. By one account—probably malicious—Massena himself had a narrow escape from the bed of an amoureuse, being forced to flee in his nightshirt, but it is certain that his men were routed, losing all their guns. Wukassovitch intelligently seized the opportunity offered by this success and promptly put the village into a state of defense.
Austrian Generals Würmser (left) and Alvintzi (right), two of General Bonaparte’s main adversaries in the 1796-1797 campaign in northern Italy
This setback forced Bonaparte to cancel his advance on Ceva once more. Wukassovitch might well be the advance guard of a larger Austrian force, and the French general dared not ignore so dire a threat to his flank. Yet again, the cursing troops of La Harpe and the reserve were hurried back to Dego to restorm the village, and in due course this was accomplished for the loss of a further 1,000 French casualties. Thus, although on the other flank Sérurier and Augereau succeeded in driving Colli back from Monte Zemolo into the fortified position of Ceva, Bonaparte had lost a second day, and every hour that passed increased the likelihood of Beaulieu’s intervention in the battle. The French troops, moreover, were getting hungrier and less disciplined—as the Dego incident illustrated all too clearly—and if it was to survive the army would have to break out of the hills into the plains in the near future.
The possibility of a large Austrian force falling on his right flank and severing his communications with Savona continued to preoccupy Bonaparte’s attention throughout the 16th, and the day was largely spent regrouping the army and sending out patrols to probe the Austrian intentions.
In fact the peril was more imagined than real. After suffering three sharp reverses and losing the equivalent of ten battalions of men, Beaulieu hesitated in the vicinity of Acqui, anticipating a French attack on the place. By the evening therefore, Bonaparte was reassured about the safety of his flank and could turn his attention to Ceva, where Augereau’s troops had attempted a premature assault on Colli’s position but had been repulsed with considerable loss. Leaving La Harpe’s men to garrison Dego, Bonaparte moved Massena to Mombarcaro where he would be able to fall on Beaulieu’s flank and rear in the event of an Austrian attack on Dego, and the same day transferred his headquarters from Carcare to Millesimo. By this time Augereau and Sérurier had massed 24,000 at Ceva to attack Colli’s 13,000 Piedmontese and were preparing an assault for the morning of the 18th, but during the preceding night the enemy beat a skilful retreat to a yet stronger position in the angle formed by the confluence of the Rivers Tanaro and Corsaglia.
A furious General Bonaparte urged his troops forward in pursuit, ordering Sérurier to assault the new position frontally while Augereau advanced down the east bank of the Tanaro to outflank the Piedmontese. This operation, however, proved a failure; Augereau’s men were unable to find a crossing over the Tanaro to support Sérurier’s attack, and the latter was repulsed. On the 19th the attempt was renewed, but once again confusion and indiscipline resulted in failure; Sérurier’s division threw away an initial advantage by scattering in search of loot. Bonaparte thereupon called a halt in operations for two days to complete preparations for a three divisional assault and to give his artillery time to come up.
The Campaigns of Napoleon Page 13
